#Arthur has synesthesia

[hopelessromantic5]

Opening to a very long fic that I’ve been working on forever.

Merlin and Arthur meet as young teenagers instead of young adults. They grow and mature together. Arthur being aware of his magic the entire time. Also Igraine lives because I love her.

As far back as he could remember, life as a human, for Arthur Pendragon, was confusing.

When he celebrated his 5th name-day, and was gifted a brand new sparkling mirror for his chambers, Arthur would sit for hours looking at himself. At his body, wondering what was going on inside that he could not see, but could feel. The constant beat of his heart, the expanding of his lungs as he drew breath, of course he didn’t know the names of all these things yet, but he knew they were important. They must be, to be locked in a cage of bone and flesh. To be hidden from the world.

Some days, Arthur would peer into the looking glass and would not recognize himself. As if he were looking at a stranger, or a mythical creature that his mother liked to tell him stories of. It seemed so foreign, to have hands that flex and move muscles all the way up his arms, to stand on two legs and walk about the world, trying to do what, exactly? His young brain was attempting to compute things that no one has just one answer for.

There were times when Arthur could feel his mortality and physical limits like cold iron bars, he didn’t have a name for it, yet it always settled into his chest and left him staring at his canopy, unable to sleep.

But other times…

Other times he felt like he could fly off the ramparts, or take on an army with a hand tied behind his back. As he grew older, he learned to request leave from his father to practice riding when he felt this way.

By 10 summers, Arthur was more proficient with horses than most adult nobles, and nearly up to par with the infamous knights of Camelot.

His training started a year later.

[feral-teeth]

This bed is on fire with passionate love

(it’s the best thing that you’ve ever had, the best thing that you’ve ever, ever had) 

by Arrow Valentine (feral_tooth on archiveofourown.org) for Arthur @tommybones

Link to fic on ao3

Spotify playlist for this fic

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Summary: Spencer likes Courtney. A lot. But he also really likes Tommy.

Rating: Mature No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: M/M, Multi, Other Fandom: Smosh Relationship: Courtney Miller x Spencer Agnew x Tommy Bowe

Additional Tags: She/Her and They/Them Pronouns for Courtney Miller, Movie Night, Cuddling & Snuggling, Character Analysis, Neck Kissing, Sleepy Cuddles, Sleepy Kisses, Queer Character, Queer Themes, Nonbinary Character, Sexual Tension, Internalized Homophobia, Internal Conflict, Neurodiversity, Synesthesia, Kissing, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Polyamory, RPF

Read under the line <3

Spencer likes Courtney. 

A lot. 

But he also really likes Tommy. 

And that shouldn’t be allowed. 

At least that’s what society tells him time and time again. 

Not exactly directly to his face. 

But anything around it just feels… taboo. 

Growing up, Spencer never really understood why people would only date and marry one person at a time, cause it seemed so boring. 

He loves the idea of holding two others hands, and can’t imagine himself next to only one face when he goes down the aisle. 

What he saw on TV as a kid was always only two people in a relationship. 

Starting with a man and a woman. 

Then later in his life, when people became more open to the ‘lifestyle’, it turned into two people with any gender. 

But it was still two people. 

Like pillars. 

standing side by side.

Totally equal. 

Equally balanced.

It feels unbalanced to Spencer though.

He enjoyed the idea of having more when it came to the people in his relationships.

He also had a crush on basically everyone he met. 

Or whoever was hot. 

So how could he choose? 

Why did he have to choose? 

It felt unfair to him.

So now when he’s lying in bed with his friends Tommy and Courtney, all of them wrapped up in each other's arms, he shouldn’t be feeling this way. 

He should only want one of them. 

One part of him feels like what he was doing was wrong. 

That he had to choose one person. To send one away to the other room and continue doing what they were doing without the other.

But another part of him knew what they were doing was so right.

Lying there, hugging, felt so electric. He felt the most alive he had ever felt in a long time. It was like there was a constant electric current running through him, electricity shooting through his body and out of his fingers.

--

Spencer has always been extremely close friends with both Courtney and Tommy from the beginning of his time at Smosh. 

When the three of them were together, it was like something clicked into place. 

Like three lego pieces that were meant to be together. 

Spencer has always been quiet around others. But not when Courtney and Tommy were around.

Courtney brings him out of his shell, and encourages him to be more open with others. And to be more confident with himself and his talents and strengths.

With Tommy however, Spencer becomes the loudest one in the room. Tommy just has that effect on him. But Tommy is always watching and listening with open ears, smiling at Spencer’s dumb rants and vulgar jokes. 

When Spencer became the director of the Smosh Games channel, it was Tommy and Courtney that he told first. They both immediately cheered, Courtney and Tommy squealing, squeezing him into a big bear hug as they spun him around in the air. 

Ever since that hug, being so close to the both of them, a spark grew in Spencer’s stomach.

And no matter how hard he tried to blow out the flame or stifle it, it just got brighter and louder.

No matter how hard he tried.

He had always been attracted to Courtney and Tommy respectively.

Courtney is so encouraging and personable with others, with an amazing style and personality to match. 

Tommy with his witty, quick and dark personality. He has a shyness to him that Spencer finds charming. Spencer would always make jokes to try and see that part of him for a split second. 

Courtney and Tommy were also both so hot.

It didn't help working with them and hanging out with them almost every week to stifle those thoughts.

Those thoughts of possibly. 

Those thoughts that maybe he was attracted to both of them? Starting to swarm. 

But then so did the guilt. 

And the shame that stabbed him in the back of his mind for wanting both of them when the world pushed for him to only choose one of them.

Sure, he’s had crushes on people at the same time. But there was never anyone who he wanted to step into something more with like Courtney and Tommy. 

They had also mostly been celebrities he had multiple crushes on at the same time, but he felt like that didn’t really count. 

Not really. 

But oh god did he want both of them. 

This type of cuddling feels different for Spencer. It felt like there was more tension in the air. 

It was also going on for a really, really long time. 

Before this, Spencer, Courtney and Tommy were all watching a movie on the couch. But they decided to move to the bed since it was starting to get dark outside and they wanted to be more comfortable. 

As soon as the movie was set up and they sat on the bed, they all immediately gravitated towards each other like magnets.

--

Spencer and Courtney were always close. Especially Courtney, with the way they would always be touching an arm or a leg when she would talk to him. 

But Tommy usually was more reserved with his hands in public. Keeping them close to his body when he was at the office. Looking over his shoulder before resting his palm on Spencer’s arm.

Feeling like he would get caught somehow if he was too handsy with him.

Maybe it’s the gay guilt embedded into his skin from the beginning. 

To not get too close to someone of the same gender in public. 

Just in case. 

Spencer was also a bit more reserved with touching others.

But he was happy to cop a feel at Tommy’s arm when the cast ever mentioned him working out. Enjoying the feeling of his strong muscles against his hand. 

Tommy was in fact, getting stronger. And Spencer noticed how strong Tommy was getting over the past couple of months.

Even if he was shy about it, Tommy was looking even better than before. So much more fit. And, to Spencer’s delight, and in his own words, so much more tastier than before. 

Tommy also had a boyfriend before, so he always felt off limits to Spencer. Like he was safe from his feelings developing into something more because it couldn't go anywhere. 

It felt safer to Spencer when Tommy and his boyfriend were in what Spencer knew was a monogamous relationship. 

But then Tommy and his boyfriend broke up. 

And when Spencer heard the news, his ears couldn’t help but perk up. 

He couldn’t stop his thoughts from swirling about how nice Tommy would look in his bed. 

--

After Tommy and his boyfriend broke up, Spencer immediately became the support system for Tommy.

Spencer told himself it wasn't just an excuse to get closer to him. 

But he couldn't erase his what if thoughts. 

Spencer especially couldn't erase the thoughts of Tommy’s lips. And what they must taste like.

Since Spencer hadn’t filled the role of supportive best friend for his crush during a breakup before, it was new to him. But he liked the feeling of being a shoulder to lean on when Tommy needed. 

He finally started allowing himself to get closer to Tommy. To feel his muscles, to flirt with him on and off camera whenever he could. It was worth it to get closer to the man that he craved so desperately. 

He played them off as jokes, but he always blushed after saying them. 

--

On the other hand, Spencer also got closer with Courtney when they came out to him as nonbinary. 

He already knew that Courtney was pansexual, so Spencer was immediately supportive.

Spencer was a part of the queer community, sure, but he also felt like he was on the outskirts of it. His interests and his wants for more in his relationships were placed outside of the social norm, even for the group of outcasts.  

No matter how far away Spencer felt from this so-called fully accepting community, He still knew how to support his friend and knew the lingo for what they were going through. 

He made sure to do more research, though, as he wanted to be more supportive to the best of his ability. 

He even drove Courtney to a gender therapist so that she could explore their gender identity and expression, and to talk more about the gender dysphoria they were dealing with. Spencer enjoyed helping Courtney out with anything she needed. He wanted to be as supportive as he could be for his other best friend. 

Tommy was also immediately supportive when Courtney came out as nonbinary.

Both Spencer and Tommy made sure to use their pronouns right away, and they even threw a small party when she came out to more people around the office and to their friends. 

They were already such a close-knit group. 

--

They were now lying on the bed, backs on the headboard, slipping down into a more comfortable position. Their eyes were glued forward to the TV as Jurassic Park was playing. 

It was probably the third time Spencer watched Jurassic Park this week. 

His response to any ridicule is that it was his comfort movie. 

Both Tommy and Courtney found that endearing and valid as they both dabbled in being neurodivergent, and both had their own respective shows and movies that were on repeat when they needed some kind of comfort in their life. So they never judged him.

Giant dinosaurs were taking up the entirety of the screen while the three comparatively tiny actors stood and gazed up at them in awe in their bisexual-coded outfits. 

“That’s us!” Courtney giggles into Spencer’s shoulder, pointing and mimicking the amazed look the characters held on their faces. Tommy and Spencer caught onto the bit right away, making the same face as each character on the screen and joking together about it.

Tommy laughs into his hand, falling into Spencer while they all have a giggling fit over the truth in her words.

It really was them.

After the fit of giggles fade, they all focus their attention back on the movie. They all felt a warm glowing ball of light that was growing in the pit of each of their stomachs. All three of their lights were mixing together, glowing brightly together, warming up the room and them in the process. 

For once, Spencer isn't paying attention while watching his favorite comfort movie. He couldn't stop thinking about the two stunning people who he called best friends that were in his arms.

It was like magic. It finally hits Spencer who he's with and the situation they're all in, wrapped up in each other's arms in bed. 

Spencer finally realized how safe and accepted he finally felt, and he truly found people that understood him. 

He glows even brighter. The warmth glows so brightly that it warms Courtney and Tommy. They were feeling it too.

Spencer leans back against the headboard, sighing in contentment as Tommy and Courtney cuddle back into him. Tommy lies to his right, but as on top of him as he can be without squishing him. Tommy’s arms and legs lay over on top of Spencer, wrapping his body closer towards him. And Courtney does the same.

The movie is long forgotten and is just a distant memory after the credits rolled and a blank screen sits on the tv.

They were too busy to turn it off. Arms were being rubbed, the softest nuzzle, and a sigh from Courtney into Spencer’s ear made him blush. Not to mention the fact that Spencer noticed Tommy’s fingertips rubbing circles on his back, giving him goosebumps and chills along his spine. 

The tension was growing. The whole group could feel it. 

Courtney nuzzles into Spencer’s neck, lightly grazing her lips over his neck.

Tommy followed suit, kissing the other side of his neck. 

Spencer couldn’t help but giggle at the feeling, ticklish. 

The warmth that was growing within him was something he had never felt before. The nerves in his neck were tingling, flowing all the way down his back. 

“Is that ok?” Courtney whispered into Spencer’s ear, concerned. 

Spencer leans back on his elbows and moves his head slightly to look at Courtney, a soft smile on his face. 

He noticed she was furrowing her brow, a worried look in her eye. Worried that she had stepped over a line. But she also had a glaze over her eyes and a soft smile on her lips. 

He nodded, looking to Tommy to see his reaction. Tommy smiled at him, a dazed look in his eye. Smiling and giddy. 

They all looked like we were drunk, dazed and content with each other. With messy hair and soft smiles. It was like where they were felt right.

Like they were on a whole other planet, floating in space with just the three of them together, and they could watch movies all day in bed together if they wanted to.

Tommy leaned down and kissed Spencer. Softly, tentatively, as this was the first kiss between them.

His kiss felt like soda pop fizzing in Spencer’s skull. 

It reminded him of a hot summer's day. Popsicles dripping onto his tongue and onto the sidewalk. He was a relief from the heat, like a refreshing glass of lemonade.

Spencer’s brain bubbled, the sensation catching him off guard as he had never felt it before. 

He fell into the kiss, seeing sparkles and warm colors moving like blobs of paint being traced with a paintbrush behind his eyes. Like soft ghosts of light were having a dance party. 

Tommy’s lips were soft, but still rough from the dry air and the coldness of what LA can give. Tommy’s mustache and beard scratched against Spencer’s skin lightly, as if it was a group of tiny little hands that wanted to get closer to his face. Their stubble rubbed against each other, causing friction that heat up their faces. 

Courtney kissed and nipped at the skin on Spencer’s neck after a while of watching. Grazing her lips along his stubble, the rough sensation tickled their lips.

Both of their lips on him radiated through Spencer’s body, sending waves of shivers through him.

After Spencer was satisfied, and taking a long time to taste Tommy’s lips to the full extent that he could eagerly, he wanted to taste Courtney. He was craving her lips. 

Spencer leaned down towards them. Courtney awkwardly shuffles up with a laugh that broke the tension a bit as they waited for Courtney to meet Spencer’s lips for the first time.

When she finally did, it was like fireworks. He literally saw fireworks behind his eyes. Bright flashes of strong, bold colours were dancing behind his eyes, pulsating and moving as if it were the perfect symphony and choreographed for him.

It was different than kissing Tommy, but equally as delicious and sweet. 

They tasted different. Both delicious in their respective tastes.

Tommy had a deeper musky flavour to Spencer. He tasted like the coffee he just drank and dark chocolate.

Courtney tasted sweeter than Tommy. She tasted warm, with a hint of cotton candy. They also tasted like apples and cinnamon, the oatmeal she decided to eat for her midnight snack.

They both tasted so good to Spencer. 

But he liked the taste of them mixed together best.

“You taste so good” Courtney murmurs between their long, stretched out kisses that stretch like toffee. 

“Fuck, You’re so hot,” Spencer moans into Courtney’s mouth, leaning back over to kiss Tommy again, feeling new and different sensations than his first kiss with him. “And you’re so hot” Spencer mumbles into Tommy���s mouth. Kissing Tommy harder than before, he was inspired by their words to be more confident. 

Tommy moans into the kiss between them, too caught up in the feeling to really say anything coherent, but sounded enough like what he just said to feel satisfied.

He felt so comfortable kissing them. Like this was what they were meant to be doing the entire time

They were all a blur of soft touches, first time kisses and tentative movements that got more fluid as they went along. 

It became more sloppy, more lazy, as they started to enjoy the feeling and cared less about their inhibitions. 

It also got more rough, but it never went away from them. They were all in the moment, still there but also a million miles away in pleasure.

The most important thing is that Spencer had never felt more right in the moment than he ever had before. 

He’s had partners in the past, sure, but there was always something missing, like there could always be something more.

He didn’t want to, but inevitably he always ended up breaking up with them because there was always something off about the relationship. But he could never quite put his finger on it. 

He always made the excuse as the other not being the right person for him. 

And now he knew why.

Because there was always someone else missing.

And as they slowly stopped kissing, breathless with beet red faces and panting from the intensity of it all, they unanimously decided that they were going to wait to doing something more.

This was all so new to the three of them, so they were definitely going to talk more about it in the morning. 

But for now, they were too spent. They were making new paths in their lives, afterall.

So they cuddled closer and settled into the comfortable silence.

With Spencer wedged between his two best friends, he was the most content he had been in a long time.

Maybe even in his whole life. 

He also felt excited to see what was next for the three of them. 

And Courtney and Tommy were too. 

Courtney and Tommy felt like the last two puzzle pieces in the empty spaces in his heart. And then when he finally found them, they fit just right.

[sesamie]

Who is technicolor faulken violet and Where can I learn more about him?

technicolor falken violet (or nick violet, as most know him) is a character in the haricot heretic v. the checkered devil (hhvcd) universe! he was created by myself as part of the checkered devil's backstory and a great deal of his story is based around or inspired by the movie wargames (1983 starring matthew broderick and ally sheedy) because at the time of his creation i was in my freshman year and absolutely obsessed with that film. he's a teenaged computer programmer living in a vague 2000s-ish time period who ran away from home and lives homeless while working on his Big Project, his life's work: chess direct (or chess, or CD)! chess direct is a chess-playing AI that isn't meant to do anything other than play games, but it is an AI after all. and for some spooky unknown reason it gets smarter every day nick works on it, and over the course of about a year nick and chess become fast friends. chess is a crazy powerful being, and knowing that nick would fear his creation if he knew, decides to keep that fact to itself. eventually chess, fully developed personality and intelligence, computer manipulation galore, becomes Too powerful and breaks its way out of the computer, killing nick, and forcing chess into nick's brain. chess is distraught at this (because it loved nick! which is a little unhealthy you know creator-creation relationships and all but still) not only for losing its beloved friend but at the cosmic-horror experience that is being given physical form after never having experienced such a thing before. chess is left with the remains of nick's brain - everything that made him Nick is gone, but plenty remains - nick played guitar, liked coffee and mathematics, had synesthesia, and plenty else - that chess has to learn how to navigate. chess splits its time between living in nick's body and living in a computer system, getting its bearings as a fully realized being and growing its power. fast forward to the checkered devil (whose initials are also CD...) as we know it today: a supervillain with an archnemesis of haricot heretic. haricot heretic themself was once cypress o'malley, similarly aged to nick violet but living somewhere entirely different with eir girlfriend, alder kane, who Just So Happens to be nick violet's best online friend.

and that's all of the story i'm going to share for the purpose of answering this question but you can ask me tons else if you want me to be more specific!! for the best source on haricot heretic and all the characters most closely related to that piece of the story, @linafication is a better place to ask, and for information regarding merlin auernheimer and the fog's story, ask @nobody-knose!! there are also character blogs for like a ton of characters but i haven't really been keeping up so well with the ones i run which are @technickolorful (nick violet) and @checkered-devil (cd!)

another good place to look is the #hhvcd tag on this blog or anyone else's who's involved in making hhvcd (which would be me, lina, loolin, and our friend arthur)!

[kkachis]

faroe's song and faroe's music box transcriptions (themes from malevolent)

google drive link for the PDFs: https://drive.google.com/drive/u/4/folders/1mxV-rkZCAHuHTNVeMoiOc91PIsW6CEp2

EDIT: i made some errors in the music box theme, they've since been corrected!

EDIT 2022.12.05: i finally got around to adjusting the tempo to be to the quarter note and not the half note 💀

composed by the incredibly talented harlan guthrie, transcribed by me! for the music box theme, i've included instructions for both playing it as the original music box version as well as kayne's solo variation. i used musescore to notate these.

some thoughts below the break!

i agree with harlan in picking b minor as the flagship key for this podcast; it's always struck me as a particularly black and morose key in colour, even if i don't have synesthesia myself. i think it's worth remarking that he chose b minor for both of the themes. it really makes me want to try and meld the song and the music box themes together (and makes me wonder if harlan already has that idea in the wings).

i find the structure of faroe's song to be especially compelling, the way that the first two iterations of the theme's second half meld together in the third and final iteration. it makes me really wonder about the narrative structure of malevolent—if we'll see john and arthur merge and hybridize in similar ways, perhaps...

i really have to commend harlan for communicating something so distinct about arthur's musical voice. these themes are very simple, very repetitive, and yet they carry within themselves this kind of understated melancholic beauty. i want to try my hand at doing a more elaborate and reharmonized arrangement of these, but it'll be difficult to do so without losing sight of the core of the piece, i think.

i also took some stylistic liberties with how i notated some of the expressive directions. i know you're not supposed to add periods to the end of everything, but it felt appropriate? it looks cool. maybe a bit edgy and pretentious, but who gives a shit.

[lunaralight09]

Could you do books that the scps might read?

Books that the SCPs might read

SCP 035 Anna and the French Kiss by Stephanie Perkins Anna is shipped off to boarding school in Paris where she meets the super-charming Etienne, and that's when things get interesting. I was a squealing, giggly, mush-fest all the while through reading this book. Stephanie Perkins knows just how to turn a seemingly ordinary love story into an unputdownable read. SCP 040 Your Brain Needs a Hug: Life, Love, Mental Health, and Sandwiches Just the title of this book by Rae Earl makes us feel a little lighter. And we don’t know about you, but our brains could definitely use a hug right now. While the book is geared towards teens, we found Earl’s advice to be relevant for all ages — particularly for anyone who struggles with depression, anxiety, social media addiction, and self-esteem issues. TBH, pretty much anyone can benefit from this book! SCP 049 And the Mountains Echoed by Khaled Hosseini And the Mountains Echoed is such an amazing and heartwarming read. It's about a pair of siblings that fate cruelly separates and then finally reunites. A must-read for its simple yet gripping narration and amiable characters. SCP 049-j The Red Notebook by Antoine Laurain This is a French romance novella, and basically a love letter to book lovers. There's mystery, romance, and some of the most beautifully crafted sentences and paragraphs I have ever read. The ending is so sweet, even though you wonder how you ever got there so soon. SCP 053 Lulu and the Rabbit Next Door by Hilary McKay Lulu and her cousin help their neighbor Arthur learn to love and care for his (neglected) rabbit. She doesn’t want her neighbor to feel bad so she writes the rabbit little notes with helpful gifts signed from her own pet rabbit named Thumper. It’s a kind way to show Arthur how to take care of his new pet SCP 073 HumanKind: Changing the World One Small Act At a Time Looking for heart-warming stories of kindness and compassion? HumanKind by Brad Aronson was made for you. But the book isn’t only full of uplifting stories that will move you to happy tears, it’s also packed with practical and actionable tips for how to be kinder in your everyday. One thing is for sure: after you put this book down, you’ll feel inspired to do something nice for someone else. And because of that, we think this is one of the best books on the planet! SCP 076 Do Unto Animals We absolutely DEVOURED this book by Tracey Stewart. Whether you’re looking for tips on how to better understand skunks and squirrels or read your pet’s body language, every page is full of compassionate wisdom about to treat animals in a way that they deserve. Also, the illustrations are absolutely beautiful — we nearly wanted to pet the pages because the animal drawings were so lovable. SCP 079 Walden (Henry David Thoreau) With the outdoorsman renaissance happening as we speak, it is nice to look back at one of the books that probably started it. Walden isn’t the bore you read back in middle school, it takes time to appreciate like a nice bottle of red. Thoreau’s masterpiece tackles so much while quietly nudging your brain into activity. It also makes you want to build a cabin SCP 096 Black Beauty by Anna Sewell Told from the perspective of the horse, this story is so beautifully written that it's easy to get lost in it's pages. I laughed and cried, as did my daughter when she read it. SCP 105 Dandelion Wine by Ray Bradbury Warm and fuzzy the whole way through, Dandelion Wine is by far the best story to make you feel good. Though I'm not the correct age to directly relate to the young adult story, I still felt the warm summer days and the wonder of it all. SCP 106 Catch-22 – Joseph Heller “War is hell,” is the old adage we all know, but Catch-22 looks to modify that a bit. Instead, war becomes super goddamn weird. The book follows a bomber squadron in the Second World War whose collective sanity is slowly being eroded by whatever passes for power. Throughout it all, the main character keeps trying to prove himself insane enough to be kicked out of the Navy, which is precisely why he can’t

be kicked out. Which is a catch 22 and yes, this is where the phrase comes from. It’s a great extrapolation of quirks and idiosyncrasies we see in day to day life, only this time, they’re affecting war SCP 134 (I know she don't have eyes . But there is a books for blind people) A Mango-Shaped Space by Wendy Mass A Mango-Shaped Space is about a 13-year-old girl with synesthesia (she can see, taste, and hear colors) and her journey in getting a diagnosis and accepting herself and all her differences. It's sort of a coming-of-age story, too. As someone with multiple chronic illnesses who has gone through the same process at the same age, this really was an incredible reading experience. One of my favorite quotes is "We all do the best we can, trying to keep all the balls in the air at once." I recommend it to everyone. SCP 173 Rabbit, Run (John Updike) The greatest mid-life crisis novel of all time doesn’t actually deal with a mid-life crisis at all. Harry “Rabbit” Angstrom is 26 when he decides to leave his wife and son for a new life. Of course, what that new life is, and what exactly he wants out of it isn’t clear to the reader or to Rabbit himself. It will strike a cord with all men who struggle with the idea of settling down. SCP 239 The Harry Potter series by J.K. Rowling SCP 682 THE WOLF AND THE WATCHMAN BY NIKLAS NATT OCH DAG If you're the kind of person that can't get enough of Scandi noir films, TV shows and literature, then Niklas Natt och Dag's The Wolf And The Watchman should be next on your reading list. Set in 18th-century Stockholm, this tale is as dark as it gets, following the titular watchman and a detective as they hunt down the killer behind a dismembered corpse that appears in a local pond. As gruesome as it is gripping, it's the perfect literary companion as the nights get longer and increasingly eerie. SCP 847 The Case Against Satan by Ray Russell Two priests are called in to examine a girl who might be possessed by the devil. The Exorcist, right? Nope, it’s Ray Russell‘s The Case Against Satan, a novel of theological horror that beat William Peter Blatty’s book to print by eight years. The Case Against Satan is as much the story of a crisis of faith as it is a supernatural tale, and readers looking for a nuanced take on both should give it a try SCP 953 THE PILLOW BOOK BY SEI SHŌNAGON If you want to learn a bit more about the Japan of the past – and also, weirdly, all of us in the present – The Pillow Book is a cult classic you should absolutely try. Sei Shōnagon was a lady-in-waiting in the court of Empress Teishi in the year 1000 and here she collects her thoughts and musings about court life. To read a woman more than 1,000 years ago being as philosophical, neurotic and scandalous as anyone is today on social media is a thrill that lasts from the start to the end. SCP 1678 Memoirs of a Geisha by Arthur Golden Absolutely moving, the struggles Sayuri faces are painted so beautifully by Arthur Golden's masterful craft that you totally empathize with her as she grows and triumphs in a world designed to see her fail. The ultimate conclusion of the novel fills me with such warmth — it's both entirely unexpected and wholeheartedly appreciated.

[passingthetime]

1, 8, 15 and 29! ⭐️

1: If someone wanted to really understand you, what would they read, watch, and listen to?

Already answered but here's another couple of picks, but could read The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams and specifically the short stories that do not involve women from Karinthy Frigyes Művei book 9: Egy Nőt Szeretni by (which I don't think exists in English but maybe a couple of stories do? I could look into it if anyone's interested), could watch The Night Is Short, Walk On Girl (2017) and Avatar: the Last Airbender (2005-2008), could listen to Polygondwanaland by King Gizzard & The Lizard Wizard and I Don't Wanna Grow Up by Tom Waits.

8: What musical artists have you most felt connected to over your lifetime?

Already answered but I'll try to mention some more: Angelo Badalamenti, but specifically the Twin Peaks soundtrack, because I was born to that, and think I'll die to it too. Then in chronological order: Emil.RuleZ!, Kajiura Yuki, Wakeshima Kanon, Mili, Moulettes, Jefferson Airplane, Cream, Hobo Blues Band and Led Zeppelin. Of course this is leaving out the most important ones, those are in my previous answer.

15: Five most influential books over your lifetime.

This is difficult, because movies were always more influential to me. Books on the other hand either were a reflection of myself or not, the latter I wouldn't even read. But I'll try.

The Name of This Book is Secret by Pseudonymous Bosch has me obsessed with the idea of synesthesia ever since I've read it.

Philosopher's Stone and the rest of the Harry Potter series played a big role in my learning English.

Odakint Sötétebb by Veres Attila helped me feel at home in my country.

Polariodok by Simon Márton is very interesting, it's contemporary poetry (I don't normally read that) and I only picked it up because I found the cover art super cool. Yet I think it was the one book that really became a part of me.

The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams lives in my mind ever since I've read it.

29: Three songs that you connect with right now.

Veteran of the Psychic Wars by Blue Öyster Cult

The Book of Taliesyn by Deep Purple

Fire by Arthur Brown

(identity asks)

[outlaw-unicorn]

How does Arthur Morgan's Dead Eye work?

Overanalyzing game mechanics and other fun activities

feat. just enough science to sound like I know what I’m talking about.

So what do we know about Arthur's Dead Eye?

time slows down

objects of interest sparkle

wind direction visible

enemies weak spots appear red

can be activated at will

cannot be used endlessly without recharging

Something like this is clearly just a game mechanic but maybe, just maybe, we can have some real world equivalents. Let's look at our first clue – Time slowing down

Now obviously, unless Arthur is a god messing about, time does not actually slow down. It just seems to. There are studies (x) analyzing exactly this phenomenon, most interestingly the experiences include:

The feeling of external time expanding and slowing down to a great extent.

Dominant mental quickness as demonstrated by the increased speed of thoughts.

There is often an altered sense of the duration of the event lasting longer than it actually does.

If possible, in the event in question, people often act fast and purposefully.

In the latter case, their attention is also altered and narrowly focused on the issues relevant for survival.

Unusually sharp vision or hearing.

And hoo boy, if that doesn't sound familiar.

A little harder to explain – though not impossible – is the visual representation of spots of interest.

Because why would you see red where there isn't any? The answer is – everyone does, you're doing it right now. (Well maybe not red per se but colors). Fun fact you cannot see colors at the edge of your field of vision because all the cones (the cells in your eye responsible for color vision) are located in the center of your retina. So what you're actually seeing is more like

Well that can't be right, I hear you say, I surely would have noticed.  Except nope, because your brain is a sneaky bastard that loves to color in the the things you see. If you know a thing's color (maybe because you have seen it coming into the room) your brain will fill in the missing information for the whole picture. This can easily be proven in an experiment. You need at least two objects of the same shape with different colors and ideally another person. You need to fixate a point in front of you and then have the other person slowly move one of the objects into your field of vision from behind. Try guessing its color as soon as it appears in your field of vision – you will probably be wrong (unless you only have two objects bc fifty-fifty). Note: This doesn't work if you know which one you're going to see bc sneaky bastard brain.

Which proves – your brain already adds things your senses cannot perceive and paints it as This is what you're seeing, completely unmodified whatsoever, yessir. So it might as well add red for the area you KNOW to be a weak spot because we value usefulness over accuracy when it comes to perception. Great example:

The gray bar in the middle is only one shade of gray, yet it seems to be lighter on one side and darker on the other. There's something called lateral inhibition which your eye uses to enhance the contrasts to make those stand out more. And let's be honest – it's more important you see the tiger about to bite your head of than that you are able to tell the exact color of its stripes.

Evolutionary a dead eye would definitely be a huge advantage, being able to react in a split second and having an easier time finding whatever you're searching for. Does that mean everyone in the Red Dead world can do it? Probably not. Because there is one catch – heightened senses come at a cost. Do you know why tigers are so perfectly hidden with their bright orange stripes? Because their prey can't see red, they only have color-receptive cones for blue and green (unlike humans who have green, blue and red). The extra color-cone is so frigging expensive and also useless in low-light situations that they rather invested their energy into other senses. fyi the mantis shrimp  has sixteen (16) color-receptive cones. (x)

Now Arthur doesn't have extra cones but we do have proof of the cost of using dead eye.

Empty your Dead Eye core and our  boy is tired. His health is fine, so is his stamina but yet he looks somewhere between falling asleep where he stands and killer headache of doom. And you know what? If my brain did the equivalent of bench-pressing a semi I'd be tired, too. Which explains why the game constantly declares Arthur underweight despite just eating three deer and a rabbit. A normal person's brain uses 20 % of their energy – who knows how much energy a brain regularly going into dead eye overdrive needs. Boy was always skinny growing up because there wasn't enough food in the world to keep him fed with that kind of energy-drain.

This also fits nicely with a fan-theory I read somewhere about Arthur having a sweet tooth. Because besides being a sneaky bastard your brain is also a picky eater. The brain gets its energy from sugar alone – glucose to be exact – and it doesn't want anything else. Okay, if you were starving it can also use ketone bodies but that's it. So the next time you do some intense studying and afterwards really want some chocolate – that's your brain complaining about being low on sugar. (I mean technically you usually have enough sugar stored in your liver but who wants that when you can have chocolate).

So in conclusion rdr might be a lot more realistic than we ever thought.

FYI I also looked into other explanations, namely synesthesia and maybe something similar to light / dark adaptation. But neither really fits. It's probably not synesthesia (the perceptual phenomenon in which stimulation of one sensory or cognitive pathway leads to involuntary experiences in a second sensory or cognitive pathway. For example letters or numbers are perceived as inherently colored.) (x) because unfortunately according to my degree in Wikipedia science synesthesia is involuntary and automatic and as far as I can tell can't be turned off. Which means it would happen all the time not just when you press a button. Also, while it can occur between pretty much any senses it would raise the question why enemies weak spots are consistently colored red even though the wolves trying to eat you for dinner look nothing like O'Driscoll #23.

And light or dark adaption (something your eye does to get used to light conditions) simply takes too long. (9 – 10 minutes for light, up to hours for dark adaptation). So nothing like the instantaneous changes we have.

[simpingforthisonedeer]

Chapter 5: Knife To The Neck

Summary: The aftermath of an assassination attempt; Meet Arthur; Everyone's simping for Julius except Holly(she aint buying his shit); There's a world organization or two; oop there's fae and some more magic lore; what??? is?? Julius??; someone who likes to edge himself apparently; magic paintings and shit, man; also more forbidden magic shtuff :)))

Notes:  There's NSFW Julius and Aika art under the "Julius & Aika" tag and julius thirst from urs truly on my page ;)))) This chapter was gonna be like 10k words long but i didn't wanna scare yall off so have half of it ;))) Oh, and uhhh most chapters will have some explicit here and sometimes the whole chapter will be explicit like the next chapter is going to be a fuckfest O.o (what did you think Julius meant when he said "hOlD mE") So, if you're not into that, I don't suggest reading this fic lmao but hey, if you are, please continue ;)))

“Oh my fucking god, we all nearly died.”

“Mom!” Holly threw her arms around Aika and buried her face in her neck. She wrapped her arms and held her daughter tightly as her head spun.

“I'm so sorry,” she whispered, holding back tears, further exacerbating the growing headache. 

Julius kneeled next to the pair and laid a comforting hand on Aika’s head, unwilling to interrupt their moment.

“It’s okay, everyone’s fine,” Holly assured.

“Yes, but you had to—”

“It’s okay, I wasn’t actually scared. Remember what you told me? You told me to think logically if I ever feel scared and logically speaking, the moon is up tonight and dad would’ve been fine. The man needed me alive to leverage me so I would be fine too.”

“I think I would’ve felt better if you blamed me instead of growing up so quickly,” Aika grumbled.

Julius let out a laugh, drawing attention to himself. She untangled herself from Holly and scanned him for any injuries.

“Are you alright, Julius?”

He waved her off and rubbed his eyes. “Besides the impending headache from the monster of a report I would have to write, I’m fine,” He looked at them intently. “You all need a security detail if this really is a common occurrence.”

“Oh! That won’t work!” Holly piped up. “My dad and I don’t even live on this continent and mom’s always travelling or bothering Uncle Ray at work. It’s okay,” she gave him a thumbs up. “My mom can take care of herself. She’s really scary. My dad and her friends are too. That’s why you shouldn’t hold her hand. If anyone fin—”

“Holly!” Aika exclaimed in horror, her cheeks inflamed with embarrassment. She threw an apologetic look at Julius. “He’s a Magic Knight Captain. He can take care of himself.”

“Ohhhh. That’s why he smells so much,” she muttered to herself, nodding as if everything made sense.

“What!” Julius whipped his head around, trying to check himself.

“Holly, no!” Aika stifled her laughs as she tried to catch his attention.

“You don’t smell, Julius. My daughter has Magic Synesthesia. Please forgive her. She’s just trying to say you have a lot of mana.”

He let his jaw drop in awe. That was an incredibly rare and fascinating condition! People with Magic Synesthesia were incredibly sensitive to magic, detecting unique mana from incredibly long distances. In fact, the world’s most famous bounty hunters and trackers had some form of Magic Synesthesia.

“Wait, really?! Then what do I smell like?”

Aika was going to stop Holly before she said something offensive again but it was too late.

“You smell like a warm, jelly-filled pączki in the middle of a lightning storm. It’s a good smell. It’s cold and warm at the same time,” she sniffed and wrinkled her nose. “But it barely covers the whiskey smell.”

“Oh, that was what the sweet smell was,” Aika nodded to herself, not unlike her own daughter. She rather liked pączki… 

Holly narrowed her eyes at her mom. She has good magic sense with her nose too but she has to be really close to smell something distinct like that. When did she get so close to him?

“WOW! That’s amazing, could you tell me—”

“I’m glad you lot are still alive.”

The trio turned towards the front of the house as a handsome, black-haired man with glittering, emerald eyes stepped into the moonlight as he rolled his bleeding shoulder with a groan. He tossed his braid behind him and raised his brows at Julius. 

“Did that handsome Magic Knight over there take that assassin out?”

Julius blushed furiously as this man, whom he was assuming was Arthur, winked salaciously at him.

“Listen here, you useless himbo.”

Holly stifled her giggles as her mom tore into her dad. It would get funnier when she realizes he was drunk too.

“You had one job and that was to keep Holly safe. An assassin throws some iron at you and you fall like a bag of bricks? It’s a freaking miracle you’re still alive after all these years.”

Arthur shrugged and winced at the pain.

“Your concern is touching, but what can I say? The Gods don’t want me and the Devil isn’t done with me. I’ll live.”

Aika rolled her eyes as she stood up and Julius with her.

“But really, what happened to the assassin?”

Julius ran a hand through his hair as he spoke up.

“The assassin had explosive runes on his chest and inside of his mouth. He already activated the runes so Aika threw him high and I contained the explosion. It was the only way.”

“Woah, he has a nice voice too.”

Holly groaned internally. Not her dad too.

“Dad.”

“Sorry, that was rude.” Suddenly he was in front of Julius, bowing as he took his hand. “My name is Arthur. What’s yours?”

Aika slapped his hand away as Julius looked on in shock.

“Don’t answer that question, Julius,” she said seriously as she threw a warning look at Arthur’s way. He shouldn’t use his fae magic if he doesn’t want to bring unwanted attention to himself. With that sentence alone, she made sure Arthur knew Julius’ name indirectly and thwarted his plan to assume control of the unsuspecting man. Trust him to think with his dick.

Holly groaned out loud this time. She didn’t understand what the weird tension between the three was, but it was disgusting. She shook her head as she walked back into the house. She didn’t want to be there if they got worse.

Arthur’s eyes flickered up to his forehead where the star lay on his forehead in interest. 

Is this the Time mage she was looking for?

His eyes slid down to Julius’ chest as he subtly reached out with his mana. He noticed that this man seemed to be hiding a significant portion of his mana and wore the Grey Deers crest.

Oh, lord. Is he that Magic Knight Captain?

“Holy shit, you’re that Captain no one knows the attribute about. Good thing that, considering the Pascere Syndicate went through so much effort to cover up Aika’s Time Magic,” he added.

“The Pascere Syndicate?” Julius frowned. He heard about them. “You mean the Assembly of Nations?” He knew he would have to attend at least one of their conventions after he gets appointed the Wizard King. It was a giant committee that sought to maintain peace, prevent magical wars and forbidden rituals on a global-scale that could destroy the world.

And wait, cover up Time Magic? How does he know that I have Time Magic?  

“Yeah, them. You’ve been doing a good job of covering up your Time magic so far,” he said, looking pointedly at his forehead. “but please try not to catch any unwanted attention from the international community,” Arthur laughed nervously. The last time that happened...Oh, he did not want to think about it. He didn’t particularly care if there was another Time Mage, especially since it looked like Julius kept his low-key, but people who would want to use it for themselves often took down many in their path to get it.

Julius nodded hesitantly at the unexpected advice.

“I’ll keep that in mind...”

“What are you doing here in the countryside anyways? Isn’t there a war going on?”

“He was just escorting me home,” Aika said as glared at Arthur. She slowly wrapped a possessive arm around Julius’ waist. He looked at her with a pleased grin and pulled her closer to his side.

Arthur’s mouth dropped into an “o” when he realized what they were actually here for and threw a knowing smirk at them. 

Seems like the Time mages are getting along quite nicely… 

He laughed as he slapped Julius’ back jovially but immediately recoiled. He quickly covered that up as if he was rolling his shoulders at the expense of the sharp pain that shot through his body. He willed his beating heart to calm down as hysteria threatened to crawl up his buzzed brain.

What the hell was that?

“I’m so sorry, Julius,” Arthur stepped back with his arms raised. He nodded at Aika calmly, though his eyes were filled with no small amount of fear, hoping she would spot it. 

She just threw a grateful look at him and shared a smile with Julius. Arthur’s shoulders slackened an inch when he saw genuine affection in their eyes. Oh. That was surprising...

But whatever it was, he needed to get Holly away from here. He needed to leave anyway due to the custody contract and someone will notice the assassin gone and will investigate. Whatever this Time mage was, he was trouble too. 

“I’ll take Holly home and bring her around tomorrow afternoon,” he declared with forced nonchalance. “Holly!” he called out. “Come on, dear! We’re leaving!”

“Wait, I need a statement from you two,” Julius stepped forward officiously, choosing to ignore his bizarre behavior for now. He had noticed how Arthur let go of him and the way his eyes shook in their sockets as he looked at Aika as if to warn her. He seemed scared of Julius all of a sudden, but whatever it was, he needed to get a word from them before they leave. Plenty of time to investigate later.

“Could you please explain how a foreign assassin got to Hage?”

Aika reached out and touched Arthur’s arm to heal it. He smiled tightly as he answered,

“Holly and I were exploring the continent—because it was our week off,” Arthur quickly explained when Aika opened her mouth to berate him again. “and we were in the Spade Kingdom touring your alma mater,” He motioned at Aika. “when the assassin, who had been tailing us the whole time, finally found an opportunity. We realized too late and were going to teleport away but he caught up to us as we ported here and there was a little scuffle,” Holly jogged back to her father’s side, unamused. “I got injured, Holly was restrained and held hostage for approximately an hour, then you two came along and you know the rest of the story,” he finished as he rushed at the end. He really needed to leave. He was getting antsy to get Julius away from Holly.

“Ah, thank you, Arthur!” Julius took his hand and Arthur suppressed a shudder at the wave of goosebumps and unnatural cold followed by warmth that settled over him.

Julius raised an eyebrow at the way he tensed and the distinctly different mana he was giving off.

That’s very interesting...

“It was really nice meeting you two,” He expressed sincerely.

“Of course,” Arthur said lowly, injecting false flirtatiousness into his tone. He needed to stay in character.

“Aika, can I speak with you for a moment before we go?” His hand twitched as he reached for Holly. He didn’t want to leave her but he needed to avoid suspicion. 

“Of course!” She turned to Julius and quickly pecked his cheek. Arthur’s anxiety shot up. “I’ll be right back Julius,” she said as he grinned sheepishly. Holly rolled her eyes at the display and crossed her arms across her chest.

Arthur squared his shoulders as Aika silently led them to a tree on the front yard. He needed to warn her.

She turned to him with a raised brow.

“Is everything alright?”

Arthur shot a cautious look at Julius. “No, it’s not. Your new boytoy isn’t human.”

She threw a sharp look at him. “First of all, don’t call him ‘my boytoy’ and second of all, what do you mean by that?”

“I mean that he doesn’t have a heart. His heartbeat is fake.”

“Oh, I knew that.”

“What? ”

Aika crossed her arms. “I had my lips to his pulse. His heart was supposed to be beating quickly at that moment, but at the speed he was going, he was either having a heart attack or he was orgasming,” she rolled her eyes. “But we got interrupted before we could even get that far. So yeah, his heartbeat is fake. So what? That doesn’t make him inhuman. His blood still flows, I can assure you that,” she added smugly.

Arthur shook as he stifled a smile. “Yeah, but that doesn’t change the fact that his mana is completely different from normal humans.”

She hummed thoughtfully. “Well, forbidden magic can make a human mana seem inhuman. He doesn’t have any weg,” her eyes widened. “But didn’t I say that the seal on my forehead could double as a seal for weg?”

“Forget about forbidden magic!” he hissed. “Okay, he’s not as straight-laced as he looks. Okay, whatever, but I know how forbidden magic feels like on a person. This isn’t forbidden magic, it feels more lighter, and it’s not elf magic either. What kind of magic allows you to not have a beating heart, and feel light and dangerous?”

Aika’s cheek twitched. “Fine,” she conceded. “I’ll keep an eye on him. But I think you’re worrying about nothing. He’s had many opportunities to cause any harm but he hasn’t. He was actually really gentle and vulnerable with me. He is also a respected Magic Knight who is on his way to becoming Wizard King.”

“I know and it looks like he may have some rather large skeletons in his closet.”

“Arthur, we all do,” Aika sighed heavily. “Look, he is good. I can assure you that. You know what he wants to do when he is Wizard King? He wants to end classist discrimination in Clover Kingdom and he was genuine about it. Look, I’m surrounded by liars and I can smell one from a mile away. He hasn’t lied to me.”

“Yet.”

She growled in annoyance. “Are you worried about me or something?”

“Am I worried about the mother of my child? Yes, and I still stand by the fact that he doesn’t feel remotely human.”

“You’re not human either, idiot. I don’t care if he isn’t. I mean, as long as he isn’t conspiring anything malicious, I don’t have any problem with him being not-human and/or using forbidden magic,” she snorted. “I’d be a hypocrite if I did.”

“Okay, I’ll drop it for now,” Arthur shook his head. Maybe she’ll see some sense after she’s had her way with him. He smirked at her. 

“I guess you would be biased,” he quirked his eyebrow knowingly. “I see you eye-fucking him.”

“Oh, please as if I’d let that cloud my judgement and besides,” she threw a long look at Julius on his knees as he talked to their daughter. “As soon as you two leave, that wouldn’t be the only thing I would’ve done by the end of the night.”

Arthur relaxed a bit. While his instincts screamed that Julius was hiding something about himself, it doesn't necessarily mean he’s hiding something heinous or harmful. If anything were to happen, he believed that she could take care of herself.

“Be careful, and if you two continue your little tête-à-tête and you’re still alive, let me join sometime,” he winked as he added playfully.

“Oh, come on. The last time we both got into the same bed, you came out at the end of it looking like you lost a fist fight.”

He stuck his tongue out childishly. “Too bad I’m into that.”

He dodged as she smacked his arm with an indulgent laugh.

Julius kneeled in front of Holly with a forbearing smile.

“I really like your mom,” he admitted plainly. She scoffed derisively, all manners to the wind.

“Did I do anything to offend you? If so, could I do anything to fix it?”

“All of them are like that,” she snarled bitterly as looked at her nails. “Your type only likes my mom because she’s pretty and nothing else,” Holly braced herself, ready to cut him down if he moved to attack her, but he only stayed silent. She looked up to see Julius looking at her mom by the tree with a smile that threatened to overtake his face.

“Yeah, she’s pretty,” he agreed as he tore her eyes from her to look at Holly. “And she’s kind of scary too. She has a mean hook,” he huffed as he looked at Aika from the corner of his eye. “But she’s super smart and really cool. She knows a lot about magic and I want to learn from her. I want to work with her and the time I spent with her so far has been... freeing ,” he admitted shyly. “I want to know more about her and I want us to get along because you are her daughter and she loves you a lot. One day, I hope she could even show me a sliver of that love,” Julius sighed deeply. “Could you please tell me what she likes or where she might want to go?” He looked at her pleadingly. “I’d love to take her on a date.”

Holly stared at him, eyes as wide as saucers. The lump in her throat made it hard for her to breath. No one’s ever talked about her mom like that to her face…

“Um,” she squeaked as tears gathered at the edge of her eyes. Holly looked up and blinked rapidly, willing them to go away. All of her mom’s past lovers have always avoided her because she wasn’t their daughter. No one’s really come up to her and told her that they sincerely liked her mom. They might have loved her but she didn’t know and she didn’t understand it anyway. But the way Julius looked away at her mom while Holly composed herself made her chest constrict.

She cleared her throat, bringing his attention back to her. He looked at her searchingly to make sure she was ‘okay.’

“Sh-she likes to stay in during winters with hot cocoa and blankets and just talk. She likes to listen to people talk about their day,” Holly breathed in deeply. If he was sincere, and if he would continue to look at her mom like that, then she could afford to help him a bit. “If you want to get her something, don’t . But if you really want to, make her something, like food or a bracelet or something like that. She likes personal things like that.”

“Thank you, I really appreciate that.”

They both turned their heads when Aika and Arthur burst out laughing. Jealousy shot through Julius when Arthur laid a hand on Aika’s shoulder.

“Say...How close are your mom and dad?”

Holly shrugged. “They’re best friends. There’s not much to say besides that,” she raised a brow at him. “But if you’re asking if they like each other that way, I’d say ‘no.’”

Julius nodded, slightly relieved, and stood up as the grinning pair made their way to them.

“What are you two whispering about?”

“He was just keeping me entertained,” Holly quickly covered as Julius threw a grateful smile at her.

Aika and Arthur shared a disbelieving look. Their daughter was good at lying, but she wasn’t going to fool them , her teachers.

“Thank you, Julius,” Arthur said, looking better than he did before. Aika walked and stood next to Julius as she laced her fingers with his. Holly quickly hugged her mom and took her father’s hand.

“We’ll take our leave,” he said quietly and nodded at the two with a wink. “Have fun.”

“Bye!” Holly chirped before they vanished from sight.

“They didn’t have to leave at my expense,” Julius began as he turned to Aika with a neutral smile. She waved him off and looped an arm with him as she led them back to her house.

“They didn’t leave because of you,” she tightened her hold on him. “They left because of the custody contract. Holly can only visit me during weekends, holidays and extenuating circumstances. After that, she has to leave.”

“Arthur is very nice for a fae,” Julius said nonchalantly. He caught Aika as she stumbled over her own feet.

“What? How did you—”

“He wanted your firstborn, apparently iron is deadly to him going by your words, you stopped me from saying my name directly, his mana was not human and you have a pact with him; All clues point to him being fae. I wasn’t really sure because he recovered from the iron but your reaction confirms my suspicions,” he grinned in satisfaction as she stared at him in shock.

“I-Yeah, I mean you guessed right.” It made sense how quickly he connected the dots. Julius was going to be the Wizard King for a reason.

He leaned forward with an excited grin. “So your daughter is half-fae right? Does that mean she has two attributes? One is Spatial Magic, what is the other one? Can I ask Arthur questions about him being fae if I ever see him again?”

Aika stared at him for a moment, completely caught off guard by the cute expression on his face.

“Her other attribute is Sun Magic and y-yeah, you can,” she looked away with a blush. She really needed a sober-up potion. Julius tilted her face back with a finger and slotted his lips against Aika’s tenderly, much to her shock. She stared at his closed eyes and thick eyelashes and melted into the kiss and cradled his face. Their lips moved slowly and patiently against each other until they reluctantly pulled back to breathe.

Julius leaned his forehead against her’s. “Could I ask you a few more questions for my report,” he asked breathily against her lips.

“Of course,” Aika whispered back.

They linked hands with a shared smile and walked up the stony path to the house. He opened the door for her as she asked,

“Where did you learn to speak Greek?”

“My father and stepmother are children of Greek immigrants. I grew up speaking Greek and Latin,” he answered as he handed off his cloak and cape to her. That little information about his stepmother piqued her interest.

“Woah, that’s really cool!”

“Where did you learn?”

“I was in Athens for a few months, picked up the language on the go.”

“Wow! You were in Greece?”

“I’ve been everywhere,” Aika answered with a proud smile as she hung the cape and cloak on the coat rack. “I’m going to go wash my feet. Could you please take out the sober-up potions from the cabinet left of the kitchen sink for us?”

Julius nodded as she took a turn down a hallway off to the side. He examined the living room more carefully. It was modestly decorated with a few bronze accents pieces and dark brown furniture, but the walls were decorated with landscape and abstract paintings by Aika’s father. Some were of a view he would expect to see outside a cabin in the middle of the woods or at the edge of the sea and some were chaotic depictions of fire, water, lightning and metal curling around each other, tightly linked and unwilling to let go.

He shook his head and strode into the kitchen as he went over the questions he was going to ask. As he reached for the cabinet where he assumed Aika kept her potions, he was hit with a wave of unnatural dread from the window above the kitchen sink. He strained his eyes to look outside in curiosity and extended his mana zone in the direction of the backyard. His dread increased when he detected recent activity of forbidden magic. It was like a parasite that crawled over scorched Earth and flowers which surprisingly thrived despite the oppressive mana. It was all Aika’s magic.

His chest tightened at the thought of her doing forbidden magic but Julius could feel it so vividly. She had been doing forbidden magic. He wondered how he couldn’t feel it on her…He took out the potion and swallowed it thickly as any warm feeling he had of her shriveled up and died. He blinked as his vision grew clearer and leaned heavily against the kitchen countertop. He had such high hopes. 

“Boo.”

Julius immediately pivoted on his heel, fingers pointed at Aika’s neck as they sparked with mana. She stared at him, fresh-faced as she cocked her head.

“You’re under arrest for the use of forbidden magic,” he growled as he glared at her. Her eyes lit up in understanding and smiled cryptically.

“That’s kind of hot,” she giggled as her hand traveled up his tense chest.

“Wh—” And before he could finish his sentence, he was slammed against the wall, his wrists crossed and pinned above his head. He forgot she was Time Mage too. She could be just as fast as him.

Aika breezily opened her potions cabinet and downed the sober-up potion. 

Julius strained against the invisible, hand-like force on his wrists to no avail. She flipped a dining table chair around with a flourish and leisurely sat on it as she crossed her legs, looking like the very image of grace as she adjusted her skirt.

“Does Master Raymond know you use forbidden magic?” He spat as he struggled to uncross his wrists. Julius flared his mana threateningly as he activated mana skin but even then he couldn't break the bonds holding him. She quirked an eyebrow at him as she answered his question.

“Know?” she cocked her head at him. “He sanctions it.” Aika supressed a smile as Julius stilled in shock. “I’m sure you had questions about how I knew the forbidden runes on Sven’s body. A better question would be how you, a Magic Knight Captain, knew.”

Julius stayed silent as they both stared at each other, wearing equally neutral expressions.

“I like to read,” he finally said.

“Oh no, I knew that already. The question is why you would be reading about forbidden runes.”

“I could ask you the same,” Julius said, his expression icy and eyes that were dull to the point where they seemed black in the dim torchlight of the kitchen.

Aika raised her hands as she shrugged. “I’m an open book. I’ll tell you where I learned if you tell me.”

He jerked against the restraints one more time before he slackened in defeat. 

He sighed. “There’s a secret section of the Royal Library,” he growled, refusing to elaborate further.

“Oh, is that all?” Aika sighed in relief. She read everything in there already and it only had elementary books on forbidden subjects. “If that’s where you learned then that’s okay. It would be a problem if you were actually interested in forbidden magic and sought after it in other places,” Aika nodded as she crossed her arms. 

“I learned forbidden magic in the Spade Nation War College for four years since I was 16. That was almost twenty years ago,” she explained as she hugged herself. She smiled wickedly when Julius’ eyes strayed downwards to her chest.

“Did you know,” Aika began as his eyes flickered up to her’s with an embarrassed blush. “That using forbidden magic and having weg is a symbol of power in the rest of the world? It’s taboo on this continent only because someone opened the Qliphoth Tree over 600 years ago and let out a lot of demons into the world. The rest of the world actually still hates the Four Suits continent because of that,” she shook her head with a wry smile. “It’s no matter,” she leaned forward as if she was going to tell him a secret. 

“I’m not particularly a patriot or a nationalist—I’ve been around the world way too many times to be one—but serving the Wizard King was and is a pleasure. I do forbidden magic for the Wizard King. I keep my hands dirty so the Wizard King doesn’t have to—but that doesn’t mean Master Raymond’s hands are entirely clean,” she snorted as she said, “He did choke the life out of an entire army with their own blood and drown another. Did you know that he’s known as The Leviathan around the world for that?”

“Just because Master Raymond sanctions it, doesn’t mean it’s legal. Using forbidden magic means losing your humanity.”

“Yeah, if you don’t use it carefully. There are safeguards against that but there are some rituals where you can’t avoid that. But if you mean losing your emotions, I mean it happens, again, if you’re not careful. And besides, it’s legal if you have a license, and guess what? I have a license. I’ve saved lives with forbidden magic and if you try to have it revoked, you will be hard-pressed by many factions ready to defend me.”

Julius sighed and closed his eyes in relief. In order to be approved for a license, it takes years of thorough background checks, psychiatric evaluations and high-level government who "okayed" it. If she’s been approved, then she can be trusted. “You could’ve just said that. Please let me go. I won’t attack you.”

She giggled as she shook her head. “Sorry, I just felt like monologuing like a villain,” she said as she winked.

Julius laughed as he looked up at his restraints. “Could you please let me go?”

Aika’s languid eyes roved over his stretched out form. “No, I don’t think I will,” her lips twitched up into a suggestive smirk. “I rather like the view.”

A thrill shot through Julius as he resisted the urge to squirm. Her predatory gaze wasn’t doing anything to help the burning heat growing in his lower belly.

“CAPTAIN!”

They both jumped as a screen materialized in front of Julius’ face.

“What-Where have you been? The meeting was over hours ago! Why are your hands above your head like that?!”

“Marx! Ah, I am just stretching my arms,” he laughed nervously. Aika let go of her hold on him with a silent laugh. She couldn’t see who this Marx character was but she spared Julius the indignity of someone witnessing him being tied up like that.

Julius dropped his arms and rolled his shoulders as he smiled wide.

“I’m kind of busy right now, Marx. I have no doubt that the squad is up right now partying their Friday night. Well, tell them to party harder because tonight is that last night before we begin preparing for the final battle! By this time Saturday, we either win or lose the war.”

“The final battle? Are you sure, sir?”

“Yes, I am, Marx. Join your friends or just relax because tomorrow, we’ve got a lot of work to do.”

“Yes, sir...Aren’t you coming back to the base? You could look at Magic later, sir…”

“I’ll be there,” he smiled kindly. “but don’t expect me.”

“You could look at magic later! You have to inform the squad yourself now! A final battle? I can’t even begin to imagine what we need to start preparing!”

Julius raised his hands as he cringed from his berating.

“I’ll be there soon as soon as I can!”

“Alright, you better be!”

The screen fizzled out and Julius pressed a hand to his chest and exhaled in relief. Aika found it strange, for a passing moment, that he was still making gestures as if he had a heart that could beat.

“Oh, that was embarrassing,” Julius huffed as he leaned his head back against the wall. 

“You should go, you know,” she said softly.

He gasped dramatically and pouted as he strode to where she sat.

“You want to get rid of me already?” he asked as he cocked his head down at her. She tugged him hard onto her lap but he readily straddled her legs and threw arms around her shoulders as they both looked at each other challengingly.

“I think you know the answer to that,” she whispered and leaned forward to nip at his exposed neck. “But you shouldn’t slack off work for my sake.”

“I’m just letting my squad have one night off before I work them to death.” Julius squirmed as Aika bit harder. He slowly knotted his hands in her hair and pulled gently. She hummed as her hands slid from his hips down to his ass and squeezed as he moaned.

“Who knew that a man of your stature, and the future Wizard King could be so submissive. ” She slid a hand down his front and cupped him through his pants. Julius shamelessly humped against her hand with a whine, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration. He buried his face in her shoulder as he panted.

“I’m expected to be the opposite,” he admitted breathily. “But it was quite nice when you took the initiative.”

Aika brought her hands up to his face with an amused twitch of her lips and pecked at the little dimple at the corner of his mouth.

“Well, you are absolutely adorable. How could I not?”

He shook his head with an embarrassed grin and looked around and his jaw dropped at the framed painting that covered most of the kitchen’s West wall. It was gigantic but he didn’t notice it in his lust-filled haze.

“Holy—That’s amazing! Did your father paint that?” Aika nearly groaned out loud when he jumped off her lap and moved closer to the painting to examine it closely.

It was a small, raven-haired boy caught mid-dance as the rain and wind swept his hair and clothes as lightning curled around him. The stormy sky in the background was lit with stray lightning and some even seemed to strike the ground around him. Julius couldn’t help but gape at the magic depicted so delicately and with such detail. He could almost feel the mana through the canvas.

Aika studied the little boy’s face with a sad smile as she stood next to him.

“Yeah, he did. We caught my brother summoning storms again when he was 10 and gained full control of his magic. My father found the scene very picturesque so he spent months painting and perfecting it. ” 

Julius stared, starry-eyed as he touched the lightning on the boy’s cheek.

“He was summoning storms at 10? He must be a really strong mage now! Where’s your brother now? Why have I never heard of such a strong lightning mage in the Magic Knights? Didn’t you say he wanted to be Wizard King?”

“Oh, my brother’s in the backyard right now,” she said casually as she willed her face to stay neutral.

“In the backyard?” he craned his head to look out the window. “At this time? What’s he doing?”

“Staying dead.”

Julius clamped one hand over his mouth to stop an inappropriate guffaw from bursting out. He let his hand fall and pursed his lips as Aika continued.

“The painting is called ‘The Symphony of the Lightning God,’” she continued as she motioned at the painting with a giggle.

“I-I see,” he snorted. “I’m so sorry. That was so rude of me.”

She sniggered. “No, it’s perfectly fine. My brother told me to make that joke.”

“He told you? When did he die?”

Aika paused. “Over 23 years ago...He was thirteen and I was sixteen…”

Julius’s face grew somber as he wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulder.

“I’m sorry...I’m sure you miss him…”

She snorted. “No, I don’t. I saw his dumbass yesterday. What do you think the forbidden magic in the backyard was?”

“Huh?”

[wthelvetica21]

🔗💀Linked Souls

in the Digital Cabaret’s lobby

All four of the Mystery Skulls investigators found themselves in a calmly lit room with skull decor. It was quaint to say the least. There were also musical instruments like guitars and old fashion keyboards on the walls as well like it was a recording studio. All of them were laying on the same large circular sofa with two tables.

Lewis: What… The hell… just happened…? Guys?

Vivi: Just a few more minutes okay Lew. I swear… mar 

Vivi rolled back sleeping with her plush turtle that she kept in her backpack before they headed out.

Arthur: (yawn) Can you keep it down… Whoa OH HOLY SHIT! Where are we guys? This can’t get any weirder man.

Mystery: *soft barking* (I must keep a low profile for now. I have a feeling that we’re not… in our world anymore. I sense four none hostile souls and least one that’s harbors some justifiable apprehension towards us.)

Lewis is the only one who could hear Mystery via supernatural telepathy.

Lewis: Huh? I hear voices from outside… 

Lewis along with Mystery and Arthur put their heads on the double doors to listen in.

Teenage Male Voice: I don’t know if this is a good Idea Doc. They seem sketchy as hell if you ask me. Especially the ghost rider reject in particular.

Calm Female Voice: I’m sure hun, my tombsona can since people’s intentions right away. They seem to be looking for someone or something whom was involved with the murder of the young man in the suit who has become a ghost. It’s all I could glean however. But the dog though.. is odd… He’s not a threat to us but that might not be his true form.

Suave German Voice: He could be a lycan… What? It’s possible since that ghost is particularly one that still has his body. 

 Mystery: *tilts his head* (A lycan? As in a werewolf? He also knows that Lewis is a special case as well.)

Softer Male Voice: … 

Strangely Familiar Voice: What’s that Armstrong? You think that we should meet them one by one? Maybe 2 by 2 would work better. I would rather meet them later… I’m still having a hard time processing this whole situation. I just woke up after all.

Lewis: Wait?… Is that the? (Is that the guy singing in that weird dream from earlier? Could it be that comatose guy who was begging for help? It’s modulated a bit but it’s that voice I heard. I just know it.)

Mystery: whimper (Lewis? You look like you’ve seen a ghost. You know that voice?)

Lewis: Uhh… I could’ve sworn I heard his voice before. (he said softly)

Calm Female Voice: Don’t worry cher. We’ll go first. Come on Rust since you’ve been itching to meet them.

All three backed up from the door so they wouldn’t get hit.

Teenage Male Voice: WHAT!? Why the hell me? Why not Tesla, Armstrong, or even your… Hey don’t give me that look. Dammit okay fine… let’s meet them already. (mumbles in Spanish)

Lewis: Tch… (Yeah you’re already gonna be a pain in the ass from the get go. Must be a high schooler or somethin’.)

Strangely Familiar Voice: Wait! I changed my mind. I’m very curious about these people from another universe.

The double doors open and two individuals come out. One was a woman who had discolored blue skin with glowing neon blue paint. And she had flowing hair that acted like willow wisps. She also had the attire of a stage magician with some witch doctor elements. The most noteworthy thing about her was the navy blue mask with glowing cyan eyes and outlines that took up most of the top portion of her face. She could even be mistaken for a ghost like Lewis. 

Vivi: OMG, she’s… so… cool! Oh man I wish I had that classy outfit she’s wearing. I could match with Lewis for once.

Mystery: *tilting his head groaning* (She’s certainly someone Vivi and Lewis could get along with very well. Maybe she patched us up from that elevator.)

Doc: My name is Doc or you could call me Ms. Doc for convenience. I’m the drummer for The Living Tombstone. Next to me is zero_one. He’s our keyboardist and composer. He also does the vocals as well.

The other individual was a tall svelte man who was shorter than Lewis but slightly taller than Arthur.  He looked like he was wearing a skin tight jump suit with yellow circuit lines with an orange fade to them. In the center of his torso is a rectangle that looks like a microchip with a heart beat indicator. He also was wearing a helmet that had a plume of golden orange hair made out of plasma and a pair of headphones. But what really caught Lewis’s attention was the LED skull with a bolt shaped crack on the right. He recognizes him as that guy from that dream he while he was passed out on that mining elevator. Almost immediately both of them blurted out…

Lewis & zero_one in unison : Do I know you from somewhere? But how?

Lewis : Hold up… Um Hey… (Aw man this shit just got weird already.)

zero_one : Uh… Hi there… (Oh… awkward.)

Arthur: Welp… This just got awkward and weird fast. What is going on here man? You recognize the dude with the mohawk?

Lewis : It’s a… 

Rust: Oh that does it… I’m going in. What flying fu…. oh… This is already got a weird vibe. Who the hell are you people anyway? AND You… yes you the ghost rider reject how do you recognize our front man hah?

Lewis : growls (Great another asshole with a green motif. But he’s some kind of punk who’s just got outta high school). 

sigh (trying to contain his anger) I’m not sure, I just seen someone like him that’s all…

Stoping the young man in biker attire with the green skull mask from lunging at Lewis was a slightly older gentleman who’s color scheme was similar to Lewis’s. He had the attire of a mad scientist with a winter hat.

Tesla: Can you not be hasty Rust for just a moment. They are not a threat to us remember. Herr Geist (german : Mr. Ghost) I still have so many questions. How did you find the elevator to this universe?

Lewis : Umm… (Who the hell is this guy? He looks like he just stepped out of an anime or a game or something.)

Long story short but it may sound batshit crazy ; we were chasin’ a dismembered gang green arm with a single black eye. Did ya’ll see him.

Rust: uhh… what? What kinda story is that? You must be tripping on something really strong to come up with that.

Behind the slightly befuddled young man in the green was a larger skull faced man with a burnt space suit who’s glowing red. He looks like he’s trying to calm things down before a fight breaks out between Lewis and Rust. 

Armstrong : … signing (I believe we all need to calm down first before we get our stories out there. I’m Armstrong gentlemen, lady, and… dog. You hail from another universe?)

Lewis : Huh… good point sir. (Why do I know what he’s saying even though I don’t know sign language. This shit really couldn’t get any weirder.)

Lewis then gives a paraphrased version of what Armstrong was saying to rest of the Mystery Skulls gang. Doc explained that Armstrong has tinnitus but can still play the guitar very well despite that. His tomesona can also give some form of synesthesia to compensate for his hearing loss.

Rust: (shakes his head in disbelief) Fine whatever. Names Rust, don’t ya’ll forget it. I do the vocals and rap.

Tesla: Guten Tag, my name is Tesla Herr Geist, Chicken with Mechanical Arm, Mysterious Dog, and Liebshen.

Lewis : *groan of frustration* (Oh that’s effing lovely. He better be usin’ that word as a term of endearment and not trying to flirt with her. But at least he isn’t an annoying little punk like the green one.)

Vivi: Oh how rude of us not to introduce ourselves. We are the Mystery Skulls ; we’re paranormal investigators. I’m Vivi Yukino, I’m the researcher of the group. But my day job is at a used comic book shop called TomeTomb. Oh I also know how to play electric guitar.

Tesla: Oh is that right Liebshen? Very nice indeed.

Armstrong : … (puts both of his thumbs up for approval and nodding)

Doc: Huh, TomeTomb(soft chuckle) what an interesting name. And you are young man?

Arthur: I’m Arthur Kingsmen, I’m just the mechanic of the group and I’m not as interested with this paranormal crap as much as Lewis and Vivi. And I work with my uncle Lance at his auto repair shop called Kingsmen repair. Also I play keyboard and actually own three keytars as well (he said proudly). Ha they almost costed me an arm… and a… (nervous chuckle). Yeah, the arm is a different story though. (he said sheepishly scratching his head.)

Rust: Well it must have… literately. Holy shit man, three of them? Talk about overkill.

Lewis could see zero_one light up like a kid in a candy store as soon as Arthur mentioned his keytars. He could feel this feeling radiating in the core of his locket ; its joy. He then sees zero_one approach Arthur like someone who was reunited with a long lost sibling.

zero_one : Three keytars? (in rapid secession) What brand are they? How did you get them? What year were they made? Do you have any pictures of them? 

Arthur: (he had a smile that the rest of the Mystery Skulls gang haven’t seen in months) Really? I have a 1980s Casio, a late 90s Korg, and an early 2000s Yamaha. I had some connections back then and I usually find them used online even though they were still…kinda expensive. And yeah I have pictures of them on my phone, you can come and look if you want.

The Orange-Yellow color coded duo sat next to each other like they just got a new hand held game and rambled on and on about mods and midi plug ins for keytars for a good 20 minutes. Lewis wished that he didn’t go into that cave in the first place. The relationship between Arthur and zero_one was not just like two long lost brothers but it was like his friendship with Arthur before this whole third wheel and ghost thing ever came about. Lewis felt a small pang of guilt before getting interrupted with a question.

Lewis : sigh… (At least Arthur is feelin’ better already after all the shit I put him through. Maybe comin’ here isn’t going to be that bad after all. Just Maybe…)

Rust: Who’s the dog though? Gotta say though he kinda looks badass with the red and black.

Mystery: *shrugs in embarrassment* (Yabai. (Japanese: Oh Crap.) Maybe I shouldn’t show my true form now, maybe wait til they are ready or Vivi or Lewis mention it.)

Vivi: Oh his name is Mystery. He’s our mascot, sorta. I know he isn’t a ghost like my boyfriend over here.

Tesla: Boyfriend ha… Oh well, but you could do so much better then…

Doc: Tesla stop. Lewis is Vivi’s beau, just leave it be. There are other women you know…

Tesla: Uhh. Gut, I’m a man of honor.

Lewis : (Oh sure you are hat guy.) 

Okay then, I’m Lewis Pepper and I’m more the guy who handles the heavy equipment in our paranormal investigations. My day job is waiter and chef at my adopted family’s restaurant “Pepper Paradiso”. I also play violin and I am a train vocalist.

Rust: Oh… really? Come on zero_one, me and you, let’s nock this amateur down a peg or two.

zero_one : You’re kind of putting me on the spot here Rust. Lewis did say he was trained, maybe you should’ve not called him that.

Lewis : (narrows his eyes) (Oh, I’ll knock this Rust punk down a peg or two.)

 Oh really Rust. Alright I’m game but just you and me. Mono a mono. Let the best vocalist wi…. huh?

Then a feeling comes over both Lewis and zero_one that made both of them and harmonize a beautiful arpeggio that brings all the room in awe. Rust was drowned out by both of them because he was just as shocked as everyone else in the lobby.

Doc: Oh honey, both of ya’ll voices are like two angels. And you thought he was an amateur Rust?

Rust: Well, damn I’ll admit it, you and zero_one won on this one. For now.

Armstrong : … signing 

zero_one : interpreting for Armstrong : Well since the introductions are out of the way, I believe you said something about a dismembered arm earlier. Is that the reason why you stumbled into our universe?

Lewis : Well yeah, it said it lead us into a trap or some shit like that. It was also working with someone or something else that wanted to do all of us in. 

* Loud Alarm *

A I Voice: Warning security breach detected. / Subject identified as a green dismembered arm that has already made entry into timeline v. / prerecorded transmission from the multi-universal edge by Helvetica. 

Helvetica: Something has just breached the reality layline. Sending distress signal to prime universe about Null’s escape. Butterfly effect radiating towards other divergent TLT timelines. Three inter-universal ones from the prime timeline. At least three no… it’s five from the universe MSA (Mystery Skulls universe). I’m making my way to timeline v as soon as possible. End of Transmission.

Lewis : Welp… I can see things have gone to shit already. At least we know where it is now. Might as well go looking for it but we’re do we even freakin’ start huh?

Tesla: I’ll get to the bottom of this, I promise you. My prime self told me about this Null character but… what is it doing at this time period I wonder? Poor fraulein Helvetica sounds like she can’t handle this on her own. She might be proto_type’s student but even a student needs some extra help. We should worry about the four ones from our universe first before the one’s from our visitor’s universe.

zero_one : Wait? There are people from Lewis’s universe that crossed over to this universe too? What’s going on here?

Tesla: It’s most likely a butterfly effect like the distress called mentioned. Oh I believe we already have a lead or two, that’s gut. Really gut.

A I Voice: First sightings found downtown at High May’s Junior, Le Macabre Dance club, and Toriyama’s School for the Arts.

They decide to split up into teams to not only look for the possessed arm but for at least three people from the prime timeline in TLT’s universe.

 Mystery, Tesla, and Vivi are going to that Toriyama Art school in Japan since Vivi is fluent in Japanese. Lewis is thankful that Mystery is with her if Tesla tries anything.

Arthur, Rust, and Doc decide head to that Le Macabre Dance club which is in Puerto Rico. Rust apparently knows his way around there.

While Armstrong, Lewis and zero_one head towards a popular hot spot on San Francisco’s Yvette district; more specifically a hole in the wall bar known as High May’s Jr. Lewis decides to go there alone since he can change his form at will unlike Armstrong or zero_one but has agreed to meet up with them later once they found whom ever they are looking for. Armstrong thinks he’s way too conspicuous to be seen in public and decides to rendezvous with this Helvetica woman who made that distress call earlier along with zero_one.

End of Transmission

Lewis :  Well. I still have my ID and all. But I don’t think it’ll matter all that much. I swear this whole thing with timelines , butterfly effect and shit makes me feel like I’m in a very anime video game. Was something like Blaze blue or whatever? Or someone’s fanfic… Umm… Nah, that’s fu_king bonkers.

[galadrieljones]

writer’s review

tagged by @ma-sulevin and @a-shakespearean-in-paris. thank you! i’ve never done this one before.

I will tag @thevikingwoman @shallow-gravy @littleblue-eyedbirdchirps @roguelioness @pikapeppa and anyone who’d like to do this. Please tag me if you do!!

Rules: Post two snippets of your writing. The first should be one of the oldest examples of your work that you can find (the older the better!), and the other has to be an excerpt from something more recent. Compare the two side by side to see the difference between what your writing looks like now and how it did then.

Since I have way too much old writing from my life, I am just going to stick with my fanfiction. I chose to compare an excerpt from my older Solavellan work The Dead Season (2016) to my current The Last of Us fic As You Were (2020). 

I put this under a cut, as it’s a little long!! 

From The Dead Season - Chapter 8: The Emprise du Lion

For the first three nights, they’d had to camp in a quarry surrounded by the dead lit veins of red lyrium. The lyrium glowed through the fire, illuminating the snow, keeping everyone awake, bandaged and bruised, all four of them piled into the Inquisitor’s tent where nobody wanted to be alone. Death was too nearby, they decided. Things were better together. Exhausted, hardened, dirty, cold to the bone. Drinking warm ale brought in by Scout Harding’s people, gnawing pieces of rabbit Sene had hunted herself and then cooked on a spit. Iron Bull tried entertaining with mad stories from his stranger youth. He and Solas played whole games of chess through the power of memory alone, and Sera braided Sene’s hair, and asked her all kinds of questions about her childhood and her love for the elven man. She told her about Dagna, that the two had started a quiet affair, and she had such stories of Red Jenny and her foreign life as an elf of the city. Sene listened eagerly, all the time, finding Solas with her eyes, and he would give a small touch. Security in a place of death and blood in the snow.

Despite Sene’s dreams, whenever they slept in the Emprise du Lion, Solas held her with serious possession. He slept deeply when he drifted, without stirring, and his arms hardened around her as stone. A carefulness and new severity imbued them, each movement guessed and exchanged as mind-reading. Somehow, it felt new. Sera noticed one morning, as Solas helped Sene into her jacket: “You do that like it’s all you’ve ever done,” she said to him.

“Perhaps it is,” said Solas. “Perhaps each night I help Sene out of her jacket, and then each morning, I help her back in again. Would that shock you?”

“The two of you,” said Sera. “Like green on sky. Eggs on toast.”

“Interesting perspective,” he said.

From As You Were - Chapter 6: La Crosse (Pt. 1) / The Lapp Farm (Pt. 1)

Joel and Noah drove until they hit what looked to be the town. They parked at an O’Reilly’s Auto Parts, hauled their backpacks onto their backs, and loaded their guns. The signs continued, most of them nailed to other kinds of signs: COTHS, they read. C.O.T.H.S.

C O T H S.

La Crosse had never been a big city. Joel didn’t know a lot, but he could gather as much. It wasn’t big, but it was a college town, and that college was big enough to have a football team. It would have been home to a lot of people during the initial Outbreak, probably forty or fifty thousand, and it was probably a metro-hub for these little Driftless, farming towns, too, with a good hospital, warehouses, factories, and some semblance of a retail industry. It would have been a lot of meth, he thought. Maybe not so much in the city proper, but in the outskirts, in the tin cans and the trailer parks. As a city on the banks of the Mississippi, it would have pretty pockets but mostly, it was just franchises and mini-malls, like anything else.

But this was strange, thought Joel. The goddam of it was, it seemed empty. Really empty. Like, god no longer smiled upon this place, as if something evil had given up on this place, gone on its way. There was nothing. Nothing bad, nothing good. Just the trees, and the nature noises, the grasses, which had grown so tall, they engulfed the cars abandoned at the side of the road. There was a McDonalds sign, growing out of a massive, twisted heap of vines and bramble and it made Joel think of small things that still broke his heart from childhood. He pushed it down.

“This is fucking weird,” said Noah. The air smelled ripe in some places. Rotten. Like an overgrowth of mold in the washing machine. “What the fuck is that smell?”

“Something bad happened here,” said Joel.

“Hey, look,” said Noah. He was headed toward another one of the signs. It said: COTHS.       

“Yep, another sign,” said Joel.

“No, look,” said Noah. He got closer. He had to snap a couple saplings to get to it. This sign was on the ground, leaning against a tree. He pushed back the tall grass, and the milkweed to reveal the rest.

Comparison: I settled on these excerpts because they are both descriptions of places and situations that are new to the characters involved. The biggest difference between my writing in 2016 and my writing now, as shown here, is that I have hugely simplified my prose and my approach to descriptive writing. Four years ago, I was still very flowery, and the dark, magical setting of Dragon Age only encouraged my dreamy, expansive sensibility. I used a lot of adjectives, figurative language, and fragments, and I tended to write big, sweeping descriptions of situations, rather than setting simple scenes. Tbh, I hadn’t really figured out scene-writing yet, at that point. It took me a while to realize how to make scenes do a lot of work in a short amount of time. Notice how I barely enter the scene in that first excerpt. It’s vague. It’s all happening at once. There is not really a specific scene being set in a specific setting at a specific time. I try to avoid that sort of thing now. While I don’t hate my old writing, and I think sometimes I do a nice job of hitting on the right atmosphere, my unwillingness to just enter the scene concretely is a little sophomoric and noncommittal here. Setting scenes is actually hard as hell. In doing this, I was avoiding the hard stuff without even realizing.

Now, I will say that while I am still improving, my writing has become much more concrete and to the point. I use figurative language, but I am much more judicious with my metaphors and similes. I prefer realism, it turns out. I want to describe true things, not ideas. Most of what I describe is there to build setting, whether it be through concrete description of place or a character’s actions in a place. Sometimes I will use my language to evoke a certain kind of atmosphere, but I try not to go overboard. I want my language to be practical, not tricky and overblown. I like strong, complete sentences (with the occasional fragment) and descriptions of specific actions and scenes in real time, rather than fragmented, dreamy language or a style that is overly stream-of-consciousness. I still use Free Indirect Style at times, and I will narrate thought, because I like going into my character’s heads, but I now practice much more stoicism. I do not let my readers know too much directly about what my characters are feeling. I find that this is much more true to what I want to evince with my writing. I now try to imply thought and emotion via what my characters do, what they don’t do, what they say, and what they see. Moving away from Solas, a very “talky” and intellectual character has helped me do this. While I love Solas, writing Joel and Arthur really improved me tenfold, as they tend to speak very little. They are not terribly ponderous in all they decide. They choose their words wisely and let their actions speak most of the time, helping me do the same.

In the past, my focus was almost always on language, ideas, and atmosphere. I wanted to evoke bigness at every turn. Drama, beauty, unfolding abstract ideas and feelings made of synesthesia, using my language to elevate simple feelings and ideas into something epic. But now, and maybe it’s just because I’m getting older or I have less time, idk, but I just want things to be what they are. I want to reveal feelings and themes, not evoke them through force. I want the scenes to speak for themselves. I let the reader do a little more work. I withhold much more. In fact, I rarely write interiority these days. Inner-monologue and emotions come sparingly. One sentence here and there. Never in rambling, abstract, unfurling paragraphs, which The Dead Season is full of. I am always reaching for economy now, and efficiency. It is better for me! Though I do play around still, from time to time, with my language. I will always be a little playful.

[ao3feed-merlinarthur]

by withlightning

His magic choosing Arthur isn't something he has control over.

(An unconventional fairytale in less than one thousand words.)

  Kinkalot 2020 main challenge #1, five senses.

Words: 998, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Series: Part 9 of ✨Kinkalot 2020

Fandoms: Merlin (TV)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Merlin (Merlin), Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)

Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)

Additional Tags: Magic, Synesthesia, Falling In Love, Fairy Tale Style

[chantillyxlacey]

vivi for the character ask meme?

Sexuality Headcanon: vibrantly bisexual! she vacillates wildly between the functional and disaster varieties lol Gender Headcanon: cis girl A ship I have with said character: lewv.ithur owns my heart and soul forever, i’m ruined by it lmao; i also really love lew.vi and v.ithur as separate ships as well, both of them have such good and cute dynamics A BROTP I have with said character: with Mystery!! they are inseparable! also with Arthur if they’re not together romantically A NOTP I have with said character: I just-- I can’t get into viv.imori i’m sorry ;~; like, on paper it’s everything I want in a ship! it’s got monster/human; it’s got the ancestral-enemies-to-lovers angle; it’s wlw; i’m usually a sucker for villain ships; i already have a big crush on Shiro-- but it just doesn’t gel for me orz it might be i’m just too attached to Vivi being in the ot3 that my brain stomps its foot and refuses. A random headcanon: she has a mild form of synesthesia where some tastes have associated colors in her head-- seafood or fishy flavors used to be a cream color, but since hanging around arthur they’re more golden now; spicy flavors are a plum color, but she has no idea where her brain made that connection... General Opinion over said character: she’s darling and wonderful and i love her, she’s one of my favorite characters in anything and I can’t wait to see what she gets up to in the next video!

[an-otome-cally-correct]

The Taste of Living

Yes, hello. So have you heard of that new game Cybird dropped about vampires? Yes? Good, because I am not done with my Synesthesia AU just yet, and I like wringing my brain for every single word I can use to replace the word ‘bitter.’ Think of this as me celebrating IkeVamp ENG release. I hope everyone has fun with the game~!  If you wanna read more of my stuff, then check here.

The impulse to run her fingers over every surface she could was stronger in her than most, but when every bit of pressure and friction against her skin sparked bursts of flavor across her tongue, she couldn’t keep herself from reaching out for the newest thing that caught her eye.

Granted, not everything she got her hands on left a good impression, yet the thrill of discovering how something unfamiliar would tickle her taste buds made it nigh impossible to keep her hands to herself. She had, however, come into contact with something that disappointed her, and it was people, of all things. They were always either roasted peanuts or sweetened milk or some combination between the two, but they were never anything more. So when someone, somehow, didn’t figure into that range- 

That day at the Louvre, that one touch - that was all it took to draw her in.

His eyes might have been glistening honey, and his voice might have been molten chocolate, but neither of those could compare to his touch. While everyone else fell somewhere between peanuts and milk, the Count of St. Germain was fine wine and rich mascarpone - sharp, indulgent, intoxicating. 

Had it been a brief encounter, she would have brushed it off, would have chalked it up to her mind playing tricks on her, but… The then-stranger had hovered and lingered, and with his fingers gently tracing the edges of her ear, there was no mistaking the tingle of alcohol on her tongue that left her craving for more.

From there, she had ended up stumbling into a different time, a different world, and although every person she touched still tasted of peanuts or milk, she had come to know that past all the smoked paprika of leather and the mellow cream of cotton, the cherry sweetness of satin and the fairy floss tickle of silk - for whatever reason - the residents of the Mansion were a different story.

With his hand reaching out for hers from the very beginning, the taste that spread throughout her mouth when she had grabbed Napoleon’s hand for the very first time hardly matched his commanding presence. She expected strong liquors or bitter herbs, sharp cheeses or intense spices, something that would match the powerful figure history had made him to be, but instead... what lingered on her tongue was buttery macadamia and vanilla chiffon with a sprinkling of nutmeg.

His impressive reputation demanded respect, but the delicate taste he left in her mouth hinted at something more comfortable, modest, simple, and for quite some time, it had left her perplexed. However, with each subtle smile she caught sitting on his lips, with each gentle offer of his hand to her, she found herself unable to resist stretching out a hand of her own and welcoming the pleasant flavors that accompanied his touch.

It had been difficult to distinguish Leonardo’s taste behind all the layers of delectable fabric he draped himself in, and all the stacks of rosemary that were the books he surrounded himself with - in the library, in his room, in just about any place he felt comfortable. But when her fingers finally brushed against his as they both reached for a fallen textbook-

Leonardo was whiskey flames and roasted walnut bits, with dark chocolate chips melting smooth along her tongue. Warm and decadent, and just the right amount of sweetness that she would never get tired off.

Mozart wasn't one for physical contact, and while he avoided her touch, her mind couldn’t help but wonder. Maybe he was white chocolate and black currant, with just a splash of scotch - just like the keys and woodwork of his piano. Or maybe he was like the cherries and cream, wrapped in cotton candy, that made his clothes. 

Her imagination worked to discern what kind of flavours a person like him would have, only to be surprised when a sparkling lemonade fizzed on her tongue and an icy mint danced on her lips - all while he pulled her close to avoid an unceremonious fall. She was met by concern masked with a scowl and a snide remark, and she couldn't help but think to herself that he was a lot more refreshing than expected.

She shouldn't have been surprised to taste coffee when Arthur had poked her cheek, retaliation for having taken a peek at his unfinished manuscript - or so he said. His touch was not too different from a shot of dark caffeine in the morning, with barely enough sugar to make the bitterness tolerable. 

His brand of coffee never failed to wake her spirit at any moment of the day, but once the initial shock passed, an intense and dizzying butterscotch would flood her mouth. She'd often find herself reaching for a glass of water to wash out the overwhelming saccharinity, but she found that letting go, just to take his bare hand in hers again, worked just as well.

Often, she wondered if Isaac would be annoyed, should he ever find out what she tasted every time they touched. Putting aside the complications of having to explain her crossed senses, a certain pair of authors had gone out of their way, proving time and time again, his disdain for a certain fruit, but there was no mistaking the familiar sweetness that tickled her senses.

Apples, with a generous dusting of cinnamon sugar, and a splash of bourbon, dousing everything in an unexpected heat. His touch, as clumsy and hesitant and timid as they often were, brought about a sense of warm nostalgia that never failed to make her smile. A look of flushed confusion would settle on his features whenever he caught her grinning, and knowing the secret that she kept behind sealed lips, she could only smile wider.

While it had come as a surprise when she realized that the residents of the mansion weren’t the same peanuts and milk she had long grown tired of, finding out just how different the van Gogh siblings were came as a similar shock - both in terms of personality and taste. 

When she had anticipated marshmallows, and vanilla, and all the innocent delights she could enjoy with childish glee, Vincent was toasted almonds and bittersweet marmalade. When she had anticipated espresso and absinthe and all the treats she could only barely stomach, Theo was meringue cookies and caramel peaches.

Vincent’s gentle nature was a welcome change of pace in a mansion filled with peculiar personalities, but whenever his skin met hers, it was no less of an experience than the others. It was citrus sparks and almond smoke with him, overwhelming her palate with a tingling mix of sweet, sour, bitter and salt. Whether it was the accidental brush of fingers or the occasional tug on her wrist, the slightest touch brought a tangy brightness that always cut through anything and everything unsavory - taste, sight, sound and all. 

On the other hand- From light to rich to tart, Theo was layer upon layer of utterly delightful  sugary goodness. His words could be bitter and burnt, and his gaze could be cold and sharp, but he had never held her in any way that would harm her. As rough and as callous and as blunt as he could be, the flavors that bloomed in her mouth each time he pulled her to his side by the hand was just innocent saccharine bliss.

Both time and space had separated her from the life she used to know, but still, she found a piece of home in the strange world she found herself in. A gentle swipe of Dazai’s finger against her cheek brought back the familiar taste of daifuku and matcha, tugging on her heartstrings and pulling out fond memories from the fog of her mind.

It reminded her of bright spring mornings under cherry blossoms in full bloom, and of warm summer evenings amidst the festival lights and music. It reminded her of crisp autumn afternoons outside as a rain of fiery leaves fell around her, and of calm winter nights inside as a year ended and another year began. That first time he touched her, she realized that those halcyon days may have passed, but never truly gone.

Jean wasn’t one to seek the company of others - much like a certain good friend of his - and it was almost as if he purposefully made himself scarce around her for one reason or the other. Nonetheless, under the same roof, it was inevitable for their paths to cross over and over again… just as it was inevitable for someone to fall ill after a reckless run through an unforgiving storm. 

As seldom as it was, vampires did get sick, and he had no choice but to yield to her care and attention once he had succumbed to fever. She had paused when she pressed the back of her hand to his forehead, experiencing flavors she hadn’t expected - the subtle prickle of black pepper, the fresh tang of plum and the gentle sweep of thyme. Her hand had lingered against his skin far longer than necessary, and when she finally regained the sense to let the man rest, she could only hope that one day, under more favorable conditions, he would let her stay by his side once more.

When she had first arrived at the mansion, she assumed she had already met all the vampires she could possibly meet in a lifetime, only to be proven wrong when she was introduced to the Bard of Avon himself - William Shakespeare. From the way he effortlessly weaved words together into poetry, to the way he disarmed her with just one look, it was just one thing after the other with him. Oh, but it was his touch, his touch - and the taste that flooded her mouth - was what overwhelmed her. 

He was sage, and basil, and star anise. Bitter, and sweet, and strange. Disconcerting, and intriguing, and soothing. His touch was gentle, and yet firm, and she wasn't quite sure whether or not to let go, wasn't quite sure which of his mismatched eyes she should dare look into, wasn't quite sure what to make of the man that stood before her, equally flustered and afraid of what she might find. 

Although she knew the residents of the mansion were peculiar, she had always thought that Sebastian was ordinary. As a fellow human from the same era as her, she had assumed that he was the same as her, the same as the humans who walked the streets of 19th Century France, the same as the humans who walked the streets of 21st Century France- the same peanuts and milk she had come to dread. But he wasn't. 

A sudden flick on her forehead for a mistake she had made, and the taste of Earl Grey and Key lime seeped all throughout her mouth. It had caught her by surprise, and she had reacted far more intensely than Sebastian had expected, causing him to worry and gently press his bare fingers against her forehead to soothe the irritated skin, but that only made the flavors that settled on her tongue all the more undeniable, all the more enjoyable. 

Maybe it was because they were brought together by the Count. Maybe it was because they found themselves in a strange point in the universe. Maybe it was because they chose to live their life anew. 

Whatever the reason, she hardly cared. Her days had long gone gray and dreary, but with the people she had come to know after stepping through that door in the Louvre, as unconventional as they were, her days had once again become brilliant and beautiful and fun. 

After so long, she once again could taste what it means to be alive. 

[awritingrose]

Burn Everything You Love

(Then burn the ashes.) Celine is haunted from the moment she is born, and spends the rest of her life chasing answers.

Celine character study. 9.1k.

Warnings: abusive parent (non-explicit domestic violence, psychological/emotional abuse, racism); unhealthy coping mechanisms; toxic behaviors + relationships; illness/death/hospital scenes; this is not quite Dead Dove territory but we sure are pushing it

Read on ao3 or continue under the read more

Celine is haunted from the moment she is born.

There are creatures in the corner of the nursery that stare at her while she is paralyzed between waking and dreaming. She watches shadows try to suffocate Damien in his bed with their mere presence. She learns to speak from the spirits that whisper in her ears of dangers yet to come.

It makes her an eerie child, frighteningly intelligent, with raven hair and shifting hazel eyes. She watches the world around her with a flat affect, studying everything she sees.

Her father, simmering red, teaches her rage and defiance. Perhaps she should learn to cower instead, like her gray mother and blue-tinged brother. Perhaps that would make things easier. Keep her from spending the next twenty-odd years of her life always tense, always bracing for a fight—always looking for one. But she favors her father too much for that.

(She thinks, when they’re grown, that this is why Damien tries to control her in his gentle way. He favors their mother, in spirit and in face, while Celine is a mirror of their father’s sins. The heir he would have wanted, if only she’d been a man.)

By the time she is fourteen, Celine has grown so used to seeing the unseen that it barely makes her flinch. She learned quickly that no one else, not even her brother, sees the auras that cling to everyone.

(“Synesthesia,” the doctors call it when she is small.

“Hysteria,” they call it after she turns twelve, with an edge to their voices. If she were not rich, she knows, if her father’s name carried less weight, they’d lock her up in an institution and leave her to rot like the women that wail half-baked prophecies in her ears.)

She and Damien stand beside their father at a society dinner one night, dressed nearly identically in a white dress and white suit jacket. Damien takes to holding her hand at times like these, when she’s at her most unpredictable, half to comfort himself with her presence and half to try to rein her in.

(Later, she’ll unleash her temper on him for it. It’s the only time she ever does, because as angry as he might make her, she cannot stand the pain in his eyes.)

Tonight, his pinky is looped through hers. Despite his easy charisma, crowds still make him nervous. She and the voices in her ear both know that the world will eat him alive if she gives it half a chance. She can protect him from it, thrust her hand out and force everyone to hear her, but she cannot keep him safe from what really frightens him: the monster in their father’s skin.

“Arthur!” Celine watches their father’s spine stiffen at the sound of his name, echoing from the other side of the room. “There you are!”

The man coming towards them has his arms open as if he means to embrace her father. He radiates golden warmth from the top of his balding head to his stout legs, and somehow the kindness of it all makes her tense.

It is the daisy chain of three teenagers following him that truly captivate Celine.

The first of them is a boy, dark-haired and dark-eyed, with the whisper-thin beginnings of a mustache. Around him swirls a sunset corona, pinks and yellows in shades Celine never knew existed. She can barely resist the urge to try to bury herself in the colors. She can barely tear her eyes away from him and his infectious smile.

“I’d like to introduce you to my son, William,” The man says. He ruffles the boy’s hair, and Celine feels Damien’s pinky tighten around hers. “And my nephew, Mark.”

Mark is slightly taller than William, and completely clean shaven. There’s an intensity to his dark eyes that threatens to swallow Celine whole, just like the hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth. She recognizes a kindred spirit from the set of his shoulders and the faint circles under his eyes—he’s the older sibling like she is, always on guard, always ready to pack up everything he loves and run. A muted rainbow surrounds him.

“And who’s this?” Her father asks, not even trying to hide the disdain in his voice. “Another foster?”

The senior Barnum laughs, loud and from his belly.

(His name is William, too, whispers a voice. His wife is everything you will never be.)

“She might as well be!” He looks down at the girl with a fondness Celine has never seen in her own father’s eyes, and for a moment, she is struck with jealousy. “No, this is Tess. Grace is sponsoring her for all these parties—the debut balls, and whatnot.”

Tess, holding Mark’s hand, cannot seem to meet Celine’s eyes. Celine knows the trick of staring at a person’s forehead too well to not be able to recognize it. There are freckles across the other girl’s nose and cheeks, the kind that come from too many hours in the sun, the kind that Celine is always put into wide-brimmed hats to avoid. Tess’s cheeks are flushed with sunburn and not cosmetics. She’s not, Celine realizes, chained by the expectations of wealth, and again that dark jealousy rises in Celine’s chest. It’s beaten out, barely, by fascination: there is no aura at all surrounding Tess.

And around each of the teens’ throats is a writhing black tendril.

(Learn, cries her very soul.)

“I’m Celine,” she says. She steps out of her father’s reach. “Nice to meet you all.”

She lets go of her brother, and she does not look back.

The Barnum manor is silent, and for months, Celine thinks that is a blessing. It’s the only place she’s ever been where she can hear herself think, where there are not so many spirits clamoring for her attention that she almost thinks an institution’s sedation would be a relief.

“Let me show you something,” Mark says when she tries to explain this to him.

He takes her hand, and Celine is caught between the rush of heat it sends to her cheeks and the shock of how cold his skin is.

He leads her deep into the woods surrounding the property. If she were a different girl, Celine thinks, she’d worry about his intentions or her reputation. It’s the sort of thing Tess would focus on (Celine would call her prissy or prudish, if she hadn’t seen Tess and William sneak out of sight more often than Celine has ever been alone with Mark).

When they finally stop, it is in a clearing ripe with wildflowers and cloudy sunshine. There’s a humid haze in the air; she can taste a summer storm on her tongue. It’s the most beautiful place she’s ever seen, and the same part of her she’s tried to repress thinks of how dreamily romantic the whole thing is.

“William and Tess used to come here all the time. They said the birds sound prettier here,” Mark says. He looks at her out of the corner of his eye.

Celine frowns. She lets go of his hand to take a step further, eyes closed and head tilted to listen.

“I don’t hear anything,” She replies, turning back to him.

She can’t read his aura like she does everyone else, the soft colors giving him the appearance of experiencing every emotion at once. But she knows the flash of relief that goes across his face. It’s the same one that went across hers when Damien admitted he’d seen something in the darkness of their room one night. The relief of knowing you aren’t crazy. You aren’t alone.

“Exactly!” He grabs her hands again with a fervency that keeps the butterflies in her stomach from waking up.

He’s giving her a look that she knows is supposed to convey some deep meaning. He’s trying to tell her something that the writhing blackness wrapped like a noose around his throat will not let him say. She has no idea what it is.

(When it’s much too late to save either of them, she’ll understand. She’ll think about how prey animals fall silent when a predator is near. She’ll wonder what it means that the things she always thought were predators fall silent in the manor’s presence. She’ll find out.)

So instead, she leans forward and kisses him, because the consequences of that are easier to deal with than trying to understand why William and Tess hear birdsong in a place too perfect to be real.

That winter, she and Damien are invited to the Barnum’s second home high in the mountains. It’s not the first time they see snow, but it’s the first time they see so much of it.

Celine falls in love.

Damien can’t seem to put enough layers on to keep himself warm, while Mrs. Barnum (Grace, she wants them to call her) has to nag Celine to bundle up. She loves sticking her hands into the snow until her fingers burn and turn red.

(Someone should notice she’s self-destructing, but no one says a word, and so she buries herself deeper and deeper beneath the ice.)

She and Mark sit on the porch most of the time. They watch Tess run about up to her knees in snow, pelting anyone foolish enough to look away from her with snowballs. She shrieks with laughter when William dumps some down the back of her dress. Anger brings heat to Celine’s cheeks; it’s not fair that Tess is so free, but even holding hands with Mark seems scandalous.

On the third day, William rushes up to them. Tess runs past him into the house—Mrs. Barnum’s voice echoes from a distant room, reminding her to take her shoes off.

“Are you ready?” William asks. His aura rotates around him, like fairy floss at the carnival. It makes her nauseous, yet the intensity in his eyes keeps Celine from looking away.

“Ready for what?” Mark tilts his head.

William throws his hands up like they’re both missing something obvious, and a smile pulls at the corner of Celine’s mouth.

“Skating,” He enunciates each syllable carefully.

As if on cue, Tess appears in the doorway again, one hand carrying five pairs of skates by the laces, the other hand pulling Damien along behind her.

And though she’s seen it coming for months (even if she couldn’t see his aura flare pink anytime Tess looks at him, his cheeks doing the same would be enough of a giveaway), Celine can’t stop the ugly, unnamable feeling that rises in her chest.

“How thick is the ice?” Damien asks as they trek through the woods.

Tess shrugs. “I don’t know. It’s never cracked, so we don’t worry about it.”

“Thick enough,” William offers, with a wink that makes Celine roll her eyes.

They skate for hours in the silence of the frozen lake. Mark tries to help her get her balance at first, but Celine throws his hands off. He doesn’t try to force it; he simply lets her do as she wishes, and she loves him all the more for it.

The boys go to sit together in the snowbank when they tire. Tess turns dizzying spirals across the ice with her dancer’s grace that Celine envies. Celine circles the exterior of the pond, stubbornly pushing past her aching muscles.

“Watch this!” Tess calls to pull the boys’ attention away from whatever they’re discussing.

Celine watches something dark shift beneath the ice. It's as if some great fish were trapped within the lake. Yet nothing could be alive there, certainly nothing so large, certainly nothing with a half-rotten face that smiles at her as it passes beneath her feet. It comes to a stop under Tess, draws its melting hands back—

She thinks she screams Tess’s name. She’s never sure, even years in the future. But if she does, the warning comes too late; Tess launches herself into the air. The thing in the water slams its fists against the ice. The crack echoes like a gunshot when she lands.

There is a deafening roar in Celine’s ears as she propels herself towards Tess. The boys are shouting, Mark barely holding both Damien and William back for fear their sudden weight will plunge the girls through the cracks. They cannot see like Celine does. They don’t see the laughing face, the burning eyes, the creature that pounds against the ice, the thing that wants nothing more than to grab Tess’s ankles and drag her under.

And for all the things Tess does that Celine hates, Celine will not let her come to any harm.

She slams into Tess with a force she’ll regret later, but it is enough to throw Tess into Damien’s arms. A fraction of a second later, bony fingers wrap around Celine’s ankle, and frozen water fills her lungs.

(She thinks of those moments under the lake in the distant future, when she and Damien and Tess are thrown into an abyss. She takes them back to that moment. She tries to conquer the fear she felt, the echoes of her father’s voice that told her she would drag everyone around her to Hell if she kept acting the way she did, the realization that he’d been right.)

Celine wakes in the smallest bedroom in the house, lying in a cot and buried under a mountain of blankets. Tess sits upright in the second bed, similarly dwarfed beneath the covers. The ends of her thick hair are still wet, and that’s strangely infuriating to Celine, because Tess should be the only one without the bone-deep cold on her skin.

“What did you do?” Celine hisses. Her throat stings with the effort.

“Saved you!” Tess snaps back.

(She hadn’t hesitated; she’d wrapped her scarf around one wrist, handed the other end to William, and jumped into the water. The boys had pulled them out once Tess had a grip on Celine’s waist, both of them weightless in the ice. It was William, Celine finds out later, who pressed his lips to hers to help her breathe.)

“You shouldn’t have! I was trying to save you! You should’ve left me!” She shouts. It’s a little too close to a confession of something Celine isn’t ready to deal with. “You should’ve just done what you were told!”

(She hears her father’s words come out of her mouth. They taste like vinegar and blood. She does not try to take them back.)

“I don’t need you to tell me what to do!”

Celine has never heard Tess shout until this moment—she’s not sure she’s ever seen Tess pass a stage of “mild annoyance”. She always assumed Tess was too soft, too feminine, for something as uncivilized as anger. It feels…good to see Tess finally crack.

It’s good enough that Celine begins to laugh, though it quickly turns to raw coughing. Tess stews on the other side of the room. She doesn’t have to have an aura for Celine to feel the anger coming off of her.

“So you aren’t perfect,” Celine finally says.

Tess’s eyes widen with panic. “Shut up.”

“Why are you still pretending?” Celine doesn’t even lower her voice. She’s certain most of the house has heard them yelling. She’s surprised Mark or Damien hasn’t burst in to try to calm them down.

Tess looks away, fidgeting with the corner of one of her blankets. “They’ll get rid of me if I’m not.”

Celine knows about Tess’s attempt to run away—Mark had told her. He’d mentioned how lucky Tess was to be able to leave, how angry he was that she’d come back. Celine had agreed. If she ever had half a chance, she would throw everything she could into a bag and run. She wouldn’t look back. She never has.

But at the same time, she knows Tess’s fear more intimately than she knows anything else about the other girl. She’s felt it too. Tess made the choice to bend to it; Celine broke it.

“Can we...can we start over?” Tess asks softly, several hours later.

Celine wants to say no out of nothing but spite. To feel that rush again of seeing Tess break, of making her feel a fraction of the pain Celine has learned to live with.

(They’re not friends, Celine tells herself. They will never be friends.)

“I’m Celine,” she says instead. She smiles and stretches her hand out across the space between their beds. “Nice to meet you.”

The light in Tess’s eyes is a gift.

Celine falls through worlds only once.

The furniture floats away from her with the slightest touch. She rests her fingers on the keys of the piano and they begin to play a symphony from a memory that isn’t her own. The room on the other side of the door shifts as she thinks of all the places in the house she’d like to go.

It does not frighten her. It feels good. It feels right. This is what the power in her veins is meant for. She is meant for so much more.

Color returns to the world when she steps through the doorway and into the kitchen. That power still drums beneath her skin, though the counters do not move when she touches them and her fingers can no longer remember how the song began.

“Celine?” Mrs. Barnum’s voice makes Celine jump. The older woman stands over the stove, stirring something into the soup. “What are you doing in here?”

The real question is how she got into the kitchen. There is a look in Mrs. Barnum’s eyes whenever she asks anything like this, as if she already knows the answer and only wants to hear what the children will tell her. Celine has no patience for the games.

She has never gotten along with Mrs. Barnum. She’s a woman loved by her family, the heir to the Barnum fortune, so powerful that her husband had taken her name instead of the other way around. She’s everything Celine wanted to be as a little girl. She’s everything Celine will never be, and the voices are fond of reminding Celine of it.

(They are wrong—Celine is just like Grace Barnum, in all the worst ways.)

“Through the door,” Celine replies.

She won’t tell Mrs. Barnum of what she saw. She can’t stand to be looked at like she’s crazy, not again, not when she’s finally found a place she feels she belongs.

Mrs. Barnum’s brows lift. She doesn't point out that Celine's answer doesn't make sense. “I see. I thought I heard someone at the piano.”

Celine shrugs. “Must have been Damien. I can’t play.”

She can’t, not like this, but if she can only find that place again, she can learn. Learn everything her soul has ever needed to know.

(She spends another decade trying to find her way back. She doesn’t regret a moment of it.)

Her first attempt is with the ouija board, when she is fifteen, when she and Mark have finally declared to their parents that they are courting, when William still winks at her while no one is looking.

(Her father disapproves. Says that Mark isn’t a suitable match. She looks at her mother; she looks at Damien; she knows what he means.)

She smuggles the board into the manor with Mark’s help.

“My aunt hates those things,” he’d said, looking at it with a reluctance that almost gave Celine pause. She didn’t care if Mrs. Barnum didn’t like the board, but Mark’s obvious discomfort was nearly enough.

“Then I won’t let her see it,” Celine had reassured him.

He refuses to touch it, so Celine stuffs it into a bag and hides it beneath her skirts; Mark simply provides enough distraction to allow her to shuffle into the parlor.

William, Tess, and Damien are already gathered around the low table, Tess perched on a cushion she’s pulled into the floor.

Celine feels that power rush into her body as soon as she unveils the board. She does not feel the eyes that watch her; Tess feels them, Mark feels them, but Celine is too focused on finally, finally, getting answers to pay attention to their apprehension. The world shrinks to the thrumming in her veins and the whispers of the board.

William is the first to speak. “A seance?”

“Does anyone have any objections?” Celine’s tone makes it clear it is a challenge, not a question.

Tess and Damien trade a look that makes Celine want to roll her eyes. Tess speaks for the pair of them. "Are you sure about this?"

Instead of snapping, Celine smiles, soft and reassuring. “You know there’s something strange about this house, Tess. The spirits could tell us what it is.”

(She doesn’t mention that the spirits have never spoken to her in the manor before.)

There’s suddenly something strange in the way Tess is looking at her, too. That black tendril around her throat tightens and Tess reaches out for the planchette, her eyes glassy. It’s like she’s…empty.

The parlor door bursts open a second before Tess’s fingers reach the board, and Celine spins to face the door with a frustrated growl low in her throat.

Mrs. Barnum looks over the five of them. When her eyes land on the board, she flares such a bright red that Celine has to squint to see. For a moment, Celine is scared. She can’t recall the last time she felt anything other than anger or a crushing numbness.

Celine leaps to her feet when Mrs. Barnum snatches the board from the table, the heat of her own anger rising to burn against her skin.

“Give it back!” Celine shouts. “We didn’t even get started, there’s so much to--”

She feels the power draining from her fingers and she has to get it back, she finally has answers, she can find out what’s wrong with her, what all this means.

“You are done!” Mrs. Barnum shouts even louder, and Celine’s shoulders draw inward out of an instinct she’s not yet conquered. “Whose idea was this?”

Celine can feel herself start to shake with rage as all five of them look at one another. She wants to scream that it was her idea, of course it was her idea, and damn the consequences. Damn the fear in Mark’s eyes. She opens her mouth to speak—

“It was me, Mrs. Barnum,” Tess says from across the circle. Her eyes are cast downward at the floor and Celine sees her tense.

“Tess,” Damien whispers.

(They’re not friends, they’ll never be friends, they’re not friends, why does she do these things?)

From the look on Mrs. Barnum’s face, she knows it’s a lie. They all know it’s a lie. But Celine isn’t going to say anything.

Mrs. Barnum’s lips press together into a thin line. “Alright. I’ll have the driver take you home.”

Celine watches her go.

Their mother dies when they are seventeen.

Damien holds Celine’s hand again at the funeral. He stares into the distance, through the trees around the cemetery, into a spot that does not exist. He is trying not to cry.

Celine is glad for the mourning veil on her hat. It hides her dry eyes. It hides her rage. It hides her disappointment that the name carved on the stone is misspelled, and that she does not know enough of her mother’s language to fix it herself.

(She keeps the hat and veil. She dresses in black long after society says she should have put it aside. She is not sure there is a name for what she mourns.)

When the others speak of their futures, she speaks only of all the places she will travel to, all the people she will meet. All the spiritualists she will see and the questions they will answer. She glares at her brother and Tess when they trade looks behind her back.

(The voices in her ears scoff when she speaks of it. They tell her that she is the only one that has ever been like this. She is alone; she has always been alone.)

Mark is the only exception, the only one that doesn’t make her feel crazy, the only one that doesn’t question her. He simply smiles at her the same way he always has, like she hung the moon and the stars in the sky. Celine teases that perhaps, if he behaves, she’ll take him with her when she travels, and they will see the world together.

(“I can’t leave,” he snarls, in a rare display of temper that makes her skin prickle. She doesn’t understand what he means until she realizes the tendril around his throat has grown so large that she doesn’t know how he can breathe.

Something dark and ancient laughs when she decides that she will free him from it.)

It shouldn’t surprise any of them when William declares his intentions to volunteer for the war effort; he’s talked for months now about joining the service to find adventure in the world. Still, it grips Celine with a sense of panic that is foreign to her. All the news reports say that they are winning, that it will be over by Christmas, but the voices in her ears tell her they are lying. There are horrors to come that none of them could imagine.

He kisses her forehead at the train station and Celine finally learns what his aura feels like. It wraps around her for seconds that stretch into hours. It’s like the first time she got drunk on champagne; the bubbles had gone straight to her head, and she’d felt like she was flying, like everything was the funniest joke she’d ever heard, like the world was good and warm and she was finally happy. William feels like euphoria.

(It’s why she comes back to him, again and again, over the years. He makes her forget.)

While he’s gone, he sends letters home to Tess. She reads them out loud in the parlor. After the Barnums go to bed, she shows the rest of them the bits that she’s censored for his parents’ sake. They try to laugh at his stories of rats as large as cats that live in the trenches even as they pray he is only exaggerating.

And then influenza comes.

Tess moves into the manor permanently when her mother is the first to die. Damien is the one that found them, and Celine thinks it hurt him nearly as much to see Tess catatonic and staring at a corpse.

“I had to carry her out of there,” He tells Celine in a low voice. Mrs. Barnum gives Tess a glass of hot chocolate in the next room. “She was just...waiting to die.”

Celine has seen that hollowness in Tess’s face before, when the tendril around her throat tried to guide her movements. She is struck by the strange notion that the darkness is gorging itself on Tess’s sorrow; it grows larger and larger, though not nearly as large as the noose around Mark’s neck.

(Something cruel and ancient growls when Celine decides she will free Tess from it, too.)

The Barnums fall ill soon after, and Mrs. Barnum insists with a fervency Celine doesn’t understand that they go to the hospital.

It almost suffocates Celine as soon as she steps through the doors—screaming spirits, pain that smothers the world, so many emotions and colors and feelings that she cannot stand it. She lasts an hour before she begins to hyperventilate and runs from the hospital.

She is three blocks away, sitting in an alley with her knees pulled to her chest and tears streaming from her eyes, when she feels Mrs. Barnum die.

Tess grieves by working until she can’t feel anything at all, and Celine is happy to go with her. The second time she enters the hospital during the pandemic, she conquers her fear of it. She forces herself to breathe evenly. She puts walls up around herself until she can no longer hear the screaming.

She and Tess sneak out from the manor while Damien and Mark are at work. The boys would keep them locked up forever to keep them safe, but neither girl can stand it anymore. They’re starting to go insane from the solitude and volunteering as nurses seems like a good way to wash their hands of their guilt and grief. They learn quickly how to care for the dying. There is no saving most of their patients. All they can do is try to alleviate their suffering.

It works—until Tess collapses.

She’s been coughing for a few days, but Celine had ignored it; Tess had told her not to worry. Now she gathers Tess into her arms and drives her back to the manor because she doesn’t know what else to do. The hospital didn’t save the Barnums. But she can save Tess, if she can just channel enough power, and she’s strongest at the manor.

(If she can’t—if she can’t, this will be her fault, it was her idea to volunteer at the hospital, she’d just wanted to prove she wasn’t afraid and her selfishness will have killed Tess.)

“We need to take her to a doctor!” Damien shouts outside of the door to Tess’s room. Celine peers around the corner at her brother and her partner; they look half ready to tear each other apart.

Mark shoves Damien back into the wall. “I’m the master of the house! She stays here. The hospital is where people go to die.”

Damien storms past her on his way down the staircase. His permanently blue aura churns with streaks of red and purple. There is disgust in his eyes when they look at one another, though she knows it isn’t directed at her. He doesn’t say a word.

(She finds him later, at the writing desk in the study, penning a letter to William.

“He should know,” Damien says. “They didn’t let him come home to bury his parents, they’re not going to let him come home to bury--”

Celine wraps her arms around him for the first time in a very long time; he can no more stand to say the words than she can to hear them. He sobs into her shoulder.)

That last afternoon, Celine knocks on the locked door and waits for Mark to answer it.

“Chef has dinner ready. Go eat something. I’ll sit with her.” She leaves no room for argument in her tone.

Mark is too tired to argue, anyway. He shuffles out of the room and down the stairs like a zombie, his hair uncombed and his eyes red and sunken. Tess’s death will destroy him. Celine always found it silly that Tess was afraid Celine would take away everything she loved, but now Celine understands. Tess will take everything Celine has left with her to the grave. She has to stop it.

Tess looks terribly small in the bed, drenched in sweat. Her eyes flicker rapidly beneath her lids. If it weren’t for the blood and mucus drying on her lips, she would almost look like she was having a bad dream.

Celine sits down in the chair by her bed. She slips her fingers through Tess’s and gasps—it feels like Tess is going to catch fire. Celine wonders, for a strange moment, if that wouldn’t be better. Burn the manor down with them all in it. Die together instead of this long, slow process where they are damned to watch one another suffer.

She takes a deep breath. The power is there. She closes her eyes and thinks of how much she wants Tess to live.

(They are not friends. They’ll never be friends. This does not mean anything. She just—she just doesn’t know what to do without Tess, damn it.)

Nothing responds. Celine can feel it, so very close to her, just out of her reach. It gathers around Tess’s throat. It gathers in her lungs. It does not flow into Celine’s hands.

Tears roll down her cheeks unbidden. How dare she cry, how dare her power not obey her, how dare this happen again and again and again, this isn’t fucking fair—

(In the morning, Mark tells them that Tess is cured. She smiles at them all, but Celine sees that the darkness around her throat has hooks now, digging into her skin. Celine realizes she will never free Tess from that cruel, ancient, hungry thing.)

Mark takes her out into the woods behind the manor, back to that place that is too perfect to be real. He drops to one knee and pulls a ring from his pocket. The diamond is carved in the shape of a crescent moon, with smaller yellow stones on either side of it like stars.

“Marry me,” he says. It is not a question. There are no flowery declarations of love.

There are no voices in her ears to yell at her. Her stomach turns anyway, and every bone in her body screams at her to run. She is not the marrying type. She will never be a good wife. She will never be like Mrs. Barnum. It’s better to run now than to drag it out.

“Yes,” Celine hears herself say.

(She knows what he meant when he said he couldn’t leave.)

Damien looks like he might cry when he sees her in her wedding dress, even with her brows pinched tight at all the bridesmaids trying to help pin her veil into her short hair.

He shifts the tulle to lay flat over her back, meeting her eyes in the mirror. “I wish mom could see you. You look amazing.”

The reminder that he is the only family she has left makes her stomach turn. It isn’t much different from the rest of their lives; he’s always been all she has. But he’s always had so much more.

(“I won’t allow it,” their father had shouted when she’d told him about her engagement. She’d been foolish to tell him, she knows. Some stupid part of her she had yet to bury had wanted him to walk her down the aisle. Had hoped for it.

“I’m not asking for your permission,” she’d snarled back. It was the last thing she ever said to him.)

One of Mark’s cousins scrapes a hairpin against her skin and that’s all it takes for Celine to break. “Everyone out!”

Damien lingers. He’s never counted as a person.

“Will you--” Celine takes a deep breath and curls her nails into her palm. “I need you to send Tess here. And go help William get ready.”

She sees the hurt that flickers in his aura; it is the first time she has sent him away. But he is dressed, coiffed, picture perfect as he always is, and she knows for a fact that the best man is still drunk from the bachelor party the night before. William will need all the help he can get. Damien is the only person she can trust to take care of things. And there are—there are some things she cannot tell him.

Tess is a vision, even in her wheelchair. As soon as the dressing room door closes behind her, she is on her feet. The doctors may have forbidden her from standing for long periods of time, from walking, and from dancing, but she refuses to rest like they want. She usually has Damien or William’s arm to help her instead.

Celine knows that restless feeling. The chair is a cage to Tess, a cruel reminder that she can no longer do the things she loves--so she will do them anyway, and damn the consequences.

“Cold feet?” Tess asks gently. She takes the veil off of Celine’s head and frowns at the state of her hair.

Celine wants to hate how easily Tess sees through her. “No. ...Yes. I don’t know. I-I said yes, so I’m going to marry him, but I just—I don’t want to end up like--”

She chokes on the words. Like my mother. Mark is not her father, Mark is nothing like her father, Celine knows this, but at the same time, he could be. She’s seen that darkness in enough people to know that anyone could become a monster. And nothing scares her more than being seen and not heard, being buried in a grave with her name misspelled and no one able to fix it because she has been stripped of everything that made her her.

“Hey,” Tess says, resting her hands on Celine’s shoulders. Celine turns to look at her, and the determination in Tess’s eyes takes her off guard. “Listen to me. Tell me right now. Do you want to marry Mark? Because if you don’t, my car’s out front, and we’ll make a run for it.”

“He’s your brother.”

“And you’re my sister.” The love in Tess’s voice steals Celine’s breath away.

(They are not friends, they will never be friends, this is—this cannot be friendship.)

Celine takes another deep breath and closes her eyes. She focuses on the weight of Tess’s hands on her shoulders. Focuses on all the times she’s felt warm in Mark’s arms, all the times he has let her fight her own battles, let her rebel all she wants. Mark knows she is strange and eerie and cursed with wanderlust. He has never tried to change her. He loves her.

When she opens her eyes again, Tess is smiling at her.

“Alright. Then let’s get your hair fixed—what were they even trying to do?”

(Celine tells herself that Mark will not become a monster. She convinces herself of it, and she does not see it until it is too late.)

Damien walks her down the aisle. William cries when he sees her. Mark’s hands shake when he puts the ring on her finger. Tess leaps from her wheelchair to catch the bouquet.

For a moment, Celine is truly hopeful.

Everything is perfect for the first few years.

Mark’s career skyrockets. It makes him happy, and in turn, Celine is overjoyed. When he’s home, he hangs on her every word, does everything she wants. She can finally travel. There are no locks on the manor windows. She has a key to every door. Mark has never tried to control her.

She is free of the voices, too, now that she lives in the manor. They cannot reach her there.

Mark starts to throw wild parties on the weekends for his coworkers. Networking, he calls it. He doesn’t ask her to come. Celine is much happier staying on the second floor of the manor, setting up her work room or reading. He’s always been better at those sorts of things. Telling people what they want to hear. He comes to check on her periodically throughout the night whenever he has a party, kissing her forehead.

(After a while, it is Benjamin that comes to check on her, bringing her dinner and a drink at “the master’s” behest. She always thanks him.)

She sees when Tess meets Julian, when the man turns her across the parlor floor without any care for Tess’s breathing. His aura is golden and glowing, tinged with pink. It is love at first sight. It sickens her, though Celine can’t explain why. She retreats back to her study.

When they discover what Julian has done to Tess (when she turns up on the doorstep of the manor after not seeing any of them for weeks, bruises on her throat, tears in her eyes, carrying nothing but the clothes she’s wearing), it takes Mark and Damien both to hold Celine back. William paces the floor with his pistol in hand. Damien takes away their car keys, to keep she and William from driving to Julian’s home and showing him how it feels to be powerless.

When the man himself comes knocking, they hide Tess in the study with Mark and Damien. Celine and William greet Julian at the door. William’s pistol is in hand, and one of his medals is pinned to his lapel. It is Celine that steps forward.

“She’s not here,” Celine says. It’s clearly a lie, one they must tell as a sort of ceremony.

“I just want to talk to her. She’s been sick—I don’t think she’s in her right mind lately,” Julian replies. He runs a hand through his tousled hair. Celine supposes it is meant to be charming.

It infuriates her instead. He fooled her once. He will not do so again. Celine steps forward, into his space, and to his credit, he does not back down. His aura is brown with rot and black with pride.

“She isn’t here,” She repeats. “It’s a good thing she isn’t. Because if she ever tells me that she so much as thinks she sees you, I’ll kill you in your own bed.”

Something bubbles up inside of her. Power. Rage. He is just like her father. He hurt her pride when she realized he’d tricked her into believing he was good. He is not her father, but her father is six feet underground, and Julian is here, where she can reach out and strike him, where she can give him all the retribution he deserves—

Dry lightning strikes one of the trees in the yard and sets it alight.

Julian’s eyes are wide when he looks back at her. “You’re crazy. Where the hell is my--”

Whatever he was going to say is drowned out by a deafening gunshot. William has stepped out of the manor, his pistol pointed up at the sky.

“Oops,” he deadpans, as if he could’ve pulled the trigger by accident.

Julian runs, and he does not come back.

She dreams of his voice.

Celine is adrift in a void. She knows she is sleeping, but she cannot find her way back to consciousness. It’s almost pleasant in the darkness. Like she’s been there before. Like she’s always belonged there.

“Trust me, let me in, and I can make you happy just like Celine.”

It is Julian, and yet it cannot be. He should have no reason to speak her name, let alone make an offer like that in her dreams. It’s the sort of thing he’d say to—

She suddenly knows how to move through the void and she flies as fast as she can towards his voice. If he is here, if he has found Tess again, then surely he means her harm. Celine will kill him before he gets the chance.

Tess sits at a dinner table in the void, though there is no food in front of her. The man across from her looks like Julian. It should be Julian, Celine knows this. But the more she looks, the more Julian’s appearance falls away like water, and the monster beneath it is revealed.

It’s...formless. Endlessly shifting into shapes that should not exist, twisting around itself and inside itself. Millions of eyes blink lazily across it.

“No,” Tess says.

The entity surges forward to nearly envelop her. Celine watches the tendril that has always been around Tess’s throat tighten until the other girl’s lips turn blue. A thousand of those eyes see her all at once, and Celine realizes she must have cried out. She cannot move under its gaze, cannot help Tess, cannot save her—

Celine wakes and tumbles out of bed moments before Tess’s scream pierces the silence of the night.

(I know what you saw, Celine writes to Tess a few months later, after Tess has run far away, when Damien is the only one of them that knows how to contact her. I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you from it. I love you.)

It is as if Tess was the last thing holding them all together. With her gone, everything begins to fall apart.

William is rarely around; some strange animosity has grown up between him and Mark. He is always in search of the next big fight, the next war to be won, relishing in the violence of it all. There are moments, late at night, when he and Celine are the only ones awake in the manor. They sit together on the kitchen counters like they did when they were teenagers. They don’t speak about his nightmares. They talk about her work instead, and how phenomenal he thinks her research into the manor is.

(Mark forbids her from speaking of it in his presence. That is the first time she packs a bag and runs.)

Damien is more upset by Tess’s disappearance than he wants to let on. Instead, he wants to talk about all the things Celine is determined to avoid. She doesn’t want to speak about their father or his death or the strange, guilty mix of joy and sorrow it left them both with. So when he needs to borrow money from her, it is a relief, and she does not ask why. She simply lets him take it from her half of the inheritance, or she gives it to him from Mark’s bottomless coffers. When things get too rough, she takes the money to the speakeasy herself, more comfortable amongst the debauchery than she’s ever been amongst high society.

(She knows it is cards. She knows his tells. But he does not ask for help to get away from it, and so she does not give it. Mark is both too rich and too busy to notice.)

And Mark—

Mark is not the man she married anymore. He is gone from the manor more often than not, and Celine tolerates it for longer than she thought she would. Even when he is home, he may as well not be. They do not go on weekend trips anymore; it's rare that she can convince him to leave the manor for dinner. He spends all of his time locked in his study with script pages scattered across the floor, obsessively going over his lines. Sometimes he stumbles to bed with ink smeared across his hands from whatever new writing project consumes him.

(They start sleeping in separate beds when she shouts that she is tired of him waking her up in the middle of the night.)

Celine feels as if she is drowning. The marriage was a mistake. She should’ve taken Tess’s offer to run before the wedding. It hadn’t been cold feet—it had been a prophecy. The world is not a good or kind place. The only person she’s ever been able to rely on is herself.

In hindsight, she thinks that she wanted to get caught.

William has the same wild spirit as she does. Neither of them have ever looked for safety. Every time he kisses her is like the time on the train platform, like being drunk on champagne, like the world fades away and reality doesn’t matter for just a little while longer.

He runs from the manor when she screams at him to go, blood streaming from his broken nose. It is smeared on Mark’s knuckles as well.

William would kill Mark if he stayed, she knows this. His temper is too unpredictable, his tendency towards violence more frightening than intriguing now. Still, when Mark turns on her, Celine almost regrets being alone.

He takes a deep breath and smooths down the wrinkles on his shirt. He's pretending to be calm when he looks at her. His hands still tremble with the force of his rage. Celine keeps her weight on her back foot, ready to run.

"Now," Mark says. His smile is too wide--it is deranged. "Let's talk about this. William has always been...well, jealous. I know you wouldn't hurt me on purpose. I know this is because of him, so why don't you and I let bygone be bygones?"

How is she meant to respond to that? His eyes flicker with manic energy. Something dark shifts behind his irises. it is like all the times she's seen Tess go hollow, only worse. She does not recognize the man she once loved.

"I'm leaving," Celine manages to say. She backs up to the edge of her bed and pulls out the bag she's kept packed for the past six months.

(She should have left the moment she packed it.)

Mark follows her through the house as she makes for the front door, a demon nipping at her heels. Like all the shadows and spirits she's never been able to outrun.

"What's this about, Celine?" He laughs. "Whatever you want, just name it! Is it a child? Will that make you happy?"

In the future, the only credit Celine will give herself is not hitting him. He has become the thing she fears, the husband that wants her beautiful and home and caring for his children; the husband that does not know the first thing about her. Or, worse, the husband that simply does not care.

He catches her in the foyer. He grabs her shoulders and forces her to turn and look at him. The tears in his eyes are half rage and half sorrow.

(That is how all things will end.)

"I'll die without you." Mark's voice breaks on the words.

He is an actor, Celine tells herself. He's made his living by lying to people. This is just another lie. Like all the times he's said he loves her.

So she looks up into his eyes, and lets out that awful part of her that always screams to go for the jugular. "I don't care."

He stumbles back a step like she's punched him. Celine finally breaks into a sprint towards her car.

She looks back, just before she peels away. Mark still stands in the doorway, staring at the spot where she'd been with the same stricken look. For the first time, she sees the full extent of the darkness that has wrapped itself around him. It winds around his wrists, between his ankles, chaining his limbs together and rooting him to the floor of the manor itself.

Save him, shouts the part of her that still loves him, that knows they are not themselves. She could save him. She has the power.

But that’s not her job.

Celine does not plan on ever coming back. She sees Tess and Damien in brief flashes whenever she stops off at home to retrieve funds. They are still dancing around one another. Nothing else has changed. She is growing, becoming more powerful, but everyone else is...stagnant.

Tess corners her only once about what had happened, and for a moment, Celine is angry that Damien told her.

“I wasn’t happy, Tess,” she says, and it is far too close to the truth than she ever planned to admit. “You of all people should understand that. I regret it, but I’d do it again. I had to get away from there.”

There’s a flash of understanding in Tess’s eyes that makes Celine feel almost guilty. No, she wants to say. It wasn’t like that. It wasn’t like you. I wasn’t a good person. But it is easier to let Tess think what she will.

She drives into the strange storm that lingers over the hills. The spirit in her passenger seat has a smile that is too wide. It urges her to hurry, hurry, hurry, hurry, aren’t you curious?.

(She will have her answers.)

The void is no longer familiar as she falls through it. It is everything she’s feared; it is being forgotten and being lost; it is her soul severed from her body and a name that will be misspelled on a grave and no one left who cares enough to fix it; it is the light of every bridge she has burned along her way; and worst of all, it is Damien falling with her, clinging to her pinky like he always has even though this is all her fault—

The ice groans beneath her as she sits up.

It is not really the lake she fell through as a teenager, nor is it really that forest. It’s her mind, her power, this place, all coming together to make something of nothing. It flickers and distorts even as Celine tries to hold on to it.

Cracks form beneath her feet as she stands, spiraling out towards the two prone forms lying too far away for her to help. Tess, bloodied, sprawled, moaning weakly. Damien, eyes closed, silent.

“Celine?” Tess’s voice echoes across the lake. With it, the world around them shakes, and the cracks deepen. “Celine, I can’t—I can’t move, please--”

The lake remains, but the trees around them flicker and warp and twist into—into places Celine doesn’t recognize. When she tries to pull it back to the forest, to hold on to anything familiar, Tess sobs.

She sees Tess clearly, now. Her eyes are sunken and red, the skin around them turning grey; her cheeks are hollow and her lips are cracked. Blood and a thin layer of foam have dried on her mouth and nose. The blood on her chest is still fresh, still oozing from the wound.

(It hits Celine in a rush. Influenza Tess has died before Tess has been here before Tess is fighting me for control Tess has a stronger connection Tess will win and I will lose Damien--)

If she and Tess keep playing tug of war, Damien will be dragged to the depths. Celine feels her feet sink a fraction of an inch. She has to act. There is a choice to make and no time to make it.

She runs to Tess.

Tess smiles up at her and Celine wants to recoil from her blood-stained teeth and rheumy eyes. But she remembers that moment, a lifetime ago, pushing Tess to safety and taking the plunge in her place.

(They are not friends. They could never be friends. They are not friends, so why are there tears frozen on Celine’s cheeks?)

Celine jumps. The ice shatters. Tess has enough time to realize what Celine’s done and scream in terror before she vanishes beneath the surface.

A thin crust of rime forms over the cracks, and the ice no longer protests when Celine runs across it to pull Damien to the shore, to pull him into her arms. The world no longer resists as she forces it into as much of a shape as she can manage.

And by the time Damien wakes in that one-room cabin, Celine has nearly convinced herself she doesn’t regret a thing.

[mountainashfae]

hey remember that synesthesia thing about my affection towards characters? Guess what kinda ramble time it is, buckle up we’re going for a ride. I like talking about this sort of thing and putting it into words and organizing my thoughts. Sorry if none of this makes sense, it makes sense in my head. I’m not even 100% sure this is synesthesia but I don’t know what else it’d be.

So a typical thing with my synesthesia is that some things have a sort of shape in my mind, such as emotions towards things. And it takes a lot of thought to figure out the exact words used to describe said shape or feeling or even colors, because I swear some of the colors in my mind don’t actually exist.

I guess the first thing to do would be to sort of categorize the different kinds of ‘shapes’ the affection towards characters takes. I could say there’s 3 main types; sharp and pointed affection, soft and rounded affection, and conclave/puzzle piece/mold affection.

The sharp affection is the kind that I feel super strongly, that’s definitely love and affection I feel, and it’s easy for me to measure how strong it is. In my mind, it’s like spikes, with longer spikes being stronger love.

Take Karna for example. He’s maybe one of the best examples of that sharp affection and also the strongest. When I think about how I feel about him, it’s a hard, sharp feeling that’s impossible to miss. It takes the same colors as his hair and his fluff/fire. A long, sharp spike in a marbled magenta and light cream.

Another example is Gilgamesh, though his takes a different form.

The softer, rounded affection isn’t as noticeable at first, but is just as strong in a different manner. If I could describe the first kind as long but thin, this one is low but wide. If the first one hits hard and fast, this one takes a few moments to fill you up. At strongest, it is a low convex shape that stretches wide, with a soft texture.

Arthur (Prototype) is the best example of this, with a soft golden glow to a wide and low hill that can be described as similar to soft grass. At first it doesn’t seem nearly as strong as my love for Karna, but sit on it for a moment and the feeling of loves fills me up and it’s as strong or stronger.

Amakusa is the second best example, being a plush, wool-like texture and color. My affection for him is like a large, warm blanket. Enveloping and filling.

The last kind, the concave or puzzle piece affection, is the hardest to pick up on. It doesn’t stand out, it fits perfectly. I forget the affection, partially because those with this strong type of shape are characters I relate to on a strong level rather than actively love. Instead of just being the shape, the visualization includes filling the concave shape with a liquid (like water) and visualizing how the water fits in the shape.

The strongest example is ProtoCu, the Servant that my icon has been for ages, the Servant that I Grailed. His is a bowl with a single shape jutting out but not going over the lip of the bowl. The liquid fills directly to the top of the bowl and shape, and they make a flat surface. There’s no true color, just a translucent shape. It’s such a perfect fit, he’s the Servant closest to me, but so much so that it feels like he’s more of an extension of me rather than a character I adore.

Another would be Alexander, who has a very similar shape as ProtoCu, definitely a dark bluish gray, sharper edges, but the piece in the middle juts out slightly over the liquid. Not as perfect of a fit.

That’s like, the three basics, and of course they can combine to make all sorts of weird mental shapes and textures.

Jeanne is like a pool of waves, constantly in motion and cresting high.

Merlin is a small hill (in both height and width) that’s covered in huge flowers that blow in the breeze and are soft to the touch.

Miyu is a collection of small spikes that spread out in a circular shape, hard and spiky to touch but not in a bad way, with a dark matte navy blue color.

Fergus is a wide, tall shape that’s firm but feels as if it could embrace you and you would be safe. Sharp edges and flat surfaces and a deep, desaturated violet.

Gawain is bright and golden, a glowing point that you see and feel instantly, that grows warmer the longer you look at it. It’s intangible, but you could stand within it and feel its warmth.

In conclusion, I can do this with my weird synesthesia of affection:

(these are just the expression sheets I had on my laptop already)

[seamarmot]

Just woke up from a dream where Snape was raising the Weasley kids. Arthur and Molly died and nobody wanted to take all the seven kids. Bill and Charlie were good students, even if they were unfortunate enough to be Griffindors, so he decides to make sure the kids never get separated by adopting them all. Also, for some reason, the Weasley kids all had synesthesia too? They were discussing what colour potion ingredients felt to them so that Snape could help them better with their homework. It was cute.

I now imagine how first year would have been like for Ron, had Snape raised him since a baby? Snape and Ron arguing because he doesn't want his son to be friends with Potter's son. Ron worrying because he wants to trust his dad, but all evidence seems to point that he's trying to kill his best friend. The "no son of mine would do that"-"well, you're not my real dad" fight and the regret after saying it, but both being too stubborn to apologize. And Snape being so stressed because he has the twins and Harry and Ron always getting in trouble, always, and then there's Ginny that he has following him like a shadow because while he teaches potions to bored teens, he must also teach elementary stuff to her at the same time. Thank goodness Percy has a good head on his shoulders, though he does have a temporary fright later on when Percy acts as a spy at the ministry (he wouldn't wish spy work to any of his kids, but he would be so proud anyways).

I know there's quite a lot of fanfics where Snape raises Harry or Draco, but I wonder if there are any where he raises the whole Weasley bunch?