#I had a fourth page in mind where he books it to a portal to get to Deer mom

[paper-enigma]

@potatoeofwisdom hey bro remember when you said ‘what if he gets hit by a car’? Weeellll

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I made it supper dramatic >::]

[five-rivers]

Danger First

Chapter 7

@pocketramblr

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"Hey, Midoriya?" asked Uraraka, after Aizawa passed out a costume revision assignment and feigned passing out.

"Yes?" said Midoriya, knowing that his eyes were preturnaturally wide and fine tremors were running through his body. He was a wreck.

"Are you okay? Why did you come to class with Mr. Aizawa?"

"And what's that you're holding onto?" asked Kaminari.

"Um," said Izuku. "I was sort of... abducted by the support department? But in a nice way... And they gave me this grappling hook."

"Wow, cool! I didn't know we could get stuff like that from the support department."

"You should really read the student handbook, Kaminari," said Iida, pushing up his glasses.

"But it's so long!"

Iida tsked and adjusted his glasses more vigorously. "You're a student! You should at least be familiar with what is expected of you! Speaking of which, Midoriya, do you know how to use that?"

As much as he could learn from a ten-minute crash-course. "... yes," said Izuku, but it was clear from Iida's face that he had hesitated too long.

"Midoriya! You shouldn't have something like that in the classroom without knowing how to use it!" Iida half stood up, and Izuku clutched the grappling hook closer to his chest.

"No! Mine!" Maybe he was too attached to something he'd only had for a little over an hour, but the support department hadn't been able to give him any smoke bombs or flash grenades due to 'new school regulations regarding explosives' and he'd gone through a lot this morning.

Distress washed over Iida's face, and Izuku wondered if he'd accidentally smacked into some old trauma.

"I wasn't going to take it!" he said, earnestly waving his hands. "I just wanted to make sure you knew where the safety-"

The door to the classroom slammed open. "Is that my little brother I hear?" asked a beaming man in a track suit. Without waiting for an answer, he bounded over to where Iida was sitting and clapped him on the back. "I have come to embarrass you horribly!"

From the expression on Iida's face, this venture was doomed to failure. "I thought you were joking when you said you'd see me today!" exclaimed Iida, beaming.

"Why... why would I joke about that?"

"You joke about a lot of things. Like knowing vigila-"

"Okay! Yes, haha, funny jokester, that's me! Now why don't you introduce me to your classmates?"

"Of course! I have been remiss in my duties as vice president." He stood and executed a ninety-degree bow. "Forgive me! This is my brother, Iida Tensei! Also known as the pro hero Ingenium!"

Izuku could almost see his classmates start to put together the puzzle pieces of Chibiida and extremely tall older brother. He was more concerned about whether or not it would be rude to ask Ingenium for his autograph... and to check his analysis page on Ingenium...

"That's me! And I'll be your special guest TA today! Now, where's Aizawa? You're supposed to have him for homeroom, right?"

As one, the class pointed to the giant yellow caterpillar in the corner of the room.

"Oh my gosh, Shouta, I thought you were joking-"

.

Ingenium was, to put it in a single word, cool. To put it in two words, he was unbelievably cool. So cool Izuku was almost able to forget the impending field-trip-related DOOM they were all facing.

But not quite.

So Izuku slogged through his classes, still thrilled to be there and waning to do his best, but unable to truly focus past the crushing weight of what might happen. His classmates and maybe-friends hovered at the periphery of his suffering, clearly wanting to help, but just as clearly unsure how, or what lines they could or couldn't cross, leading them to resort to painfully awkward normal small talk.

Until they sat down for lunch, that is, by which time Monoma and Iida had gotten into a conversational spiral about how amazing UA was, how awesome Ingenium was, and how UA was truly superior for being able to have pro-heroes like Ingenium come in as TAs on such short notice.

"Midoriya," said Uraraka, startling him out of his fourth or fifth 'Kacchan sweep.'

(It was still possible that his bad feeling was related to Kacchan hunting him down and blowing him up. He'd be mortified about making such a big deal over it if that was the case, but it would be preferable to, say, a terrorist attack.)

(Why did he keep coming back to terrorist attacks?)

"Are you... okay? You've just seemed really down today, and-"

"Invisible hug!" shouted Hagakure before grabbing Izuku and lifting him over her head.

There was a beat of whispering near-silence. Then Uraraka stood up, slamming both hands on the table and inadvertently making it float. "You have got to tell me your work out routine!"

Izuku agreed.

("Strawberry," someone whispered.)

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"I generally say what's on my mind," said Asui as the Iidas had radically different reactions to the bus seating arrangement.

"Aha," said Izuku. The swaying of the bus plus the strain of probably-Danger-Sense was making him nauseous. "What is it, Asui?'

"Call me Tsuyu."

The first time a person his age let him call them by name since kindergarten, and he couldn't properly appreciate it. Figured.

"I was watching the videos of the battle trials I missed last night," Tsuyu continued, "and I realized, I don't think any of us know what your quirk is."

Izuku's first impulse was to lie or redirect the conversation. Years of quirklessness had left their mark. But on second consideration... was there really a reason to lie? He wasn't going to talk about One for All, obviously, but the rest of it was harmless and bound to come out eventually anyway.

"Well," said Izuku, adjusting the fit of his air filter self-consciously. "That's a good question, actually."

"If you're keeping it a secret, I won't press."

"No, no, that isn't it!" Yes, it was. "It's just that, um, it's really subtle? As in, so subtle I thought I was quirkless until recently. Haha."

"Oh, wow," said Kirishima, "that must have been hard. I mean, I got teased for having a boring quirk, I can't even imagine-"

"Your quirk isn't boring! It's more than enough to be a pro!"

"But what is your quirk?" asked Monoma.

"Um," said Izuku, "well, we're not entirely sure, but... We think it lets me sense things that are dangerous? But I've also got anxiety, so..."

Monoma was frowning, but before he could speak, one of Hagakure's gloves waved frantically in front of his face.

"Is that how you knew I was there?" she asked. "In the battle trial and the entrance exam?"

"Maybe? I think so?"

"You were kind of anxious this morning," said Uraraka, concerned. "Did something bad happen to you?"

"Not- not yet," said Izuku, weakly. "It- We still don't really know how it works, so it could just be the anxiety..." He trailed off. Everyone was kind of staring at him. He pressed back against his seat, wishing there was somewhere to hide.

"Well!" said Uraraka, suddenly pumped up. "We'll just have to keep an eye out! We're hero students, aren't we?"

There was a general cheer of consensus and Izuku managed a shaky smile. So, this was what it was like to have friends.

Eventually, Mr. Aizawa told them to calm down, but there was no heat in the scolding. Maybe, Izuku thought, past the ever-increasing buzzing in his head, today would be okay after all.

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"Yeah," said Hikage, "there's really no chance of that."

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The Unforeseen Simulation Joint was an incredible space!

Space Hero Thirteen was about a thousand times cooler in person than on TV!

All Might, in his golden age rescue-specialized costume, looked like he'd just stepped off the pages of a comic book!

But just like Tsuyu's name, Izuku didn't have the ability to appreciate it.

As the other students marveled over the USJ, Izuku watched the adults quietly talk to one another. It seemed to be something serious.

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"Did you find anything else with the safety checks?" asked Shouta.

"A few of the areas had the difficulty set too high- apparently some of the third-years decided to get some practice in and their supervisor didn't reset everything. Other than that? Nothing." Thirteen shook their head. "No signs of structural failure, no security gaps. Everything seems, well, normal."

"Well," said All Might, "whatever happens, we're prepared!"

Aizawa seriously doubted they were prepared for anything, but the most obvious, most likely things? Yeah.

"What do you think, Ingenium?" he asked.

"Everything looks fine to me," said Tensei, shrugging. "But if it was something obvious, then it wouldn't be so much of a threat, right?"

"We're still not sure how Midoriya's quirk really works," said Shouta. "It could be a threat just to him." He sighed heavily.

Tensei smiled in a way that just about guaranteed Shouta would be teased about this later.

"Well, I'm going to start my speech now!" said Thirteen giving the others a thumbs up. "Wish me luck!"

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As soon as Thirteen finished their (surprisingly moving) speech, all of Izuku's attention zeroed in on the air next to the fountain. A swirl of dark mist appeared next to it.

Izuku felt like he couldn't breathe.

"Mr. Aizawa-!" But he was already looking in that direction, already watching the man made covered in emerge from the dark hole, followed by a veritable horde of villains.

And Izuku didn't use the term villain idly here. Several of the people he saw were on wanted lists.

Ironically, now that he was faced with real danger, the panicked siren in his head eased off slightly. Evidently, at least some of the strain had been fear of the unknown, and now the threat was very, very known in the worst way, that particular stressor was gone.

"There he is!" cried the man covered in hands. "All Might! The one we've all come for! Nomu! Get him!"

A large villain with an exposed brain who practically sang with danger charged All Might, who grabbed him by the wrist and flung him away, towards the landslide zone. "Ha! That's not much of a challenge! You'll have to do better than that, villains!"

"Maybe," said a villain made of the same mist as the portal that had brought the others. The large villain came charging out of the landslide zone, none the worse for wear. "Maybe not."

"You might be an elite player, but can you fight the boss and protect the noobs you're powerleveling?"

The other villains surged forwards.

This is when Mr. Aizawa and Ingenium jumped into the fray, and everything immediately got more chaotic. Izuku rapidly lost track of the multiple battles occurring around him - except, wow, Mr. Aizawa was really mowing through villains, wasn't he - that Nomu guy had to have a regeneration quirk, there was just no way - he'd have to write down that villain's monolog as soon as they got out, it might have clues - Izuku had no idea that Ingenium could fly and wow that gave him some ideas for Iida-

Speaking of Iida-

"This is no time for analysis! Hurry up and evacuate!"

Right.

"I won't allow that."

Yeah the misty villain definitely had some kind of teleportation quirk, which made this whole thing even more gutsy. Quirks like that were always monitored by the government. These guys must not care about their identities.

"Greetings," he said, a metal colar slipping into place around his neck. "We are the League of Villains. Forgive our audacity, but... today we've come to-"

A gust of air from All Might's fight pushed the mist villain back. But the move had left him partially unguarded, and Izuku watched helplessly as Nomu pounded a fist into his exposed side-

Nomu knew about All Might's injury.

Oh, no.

Izuku didn't have time to process that, however, as Kirishima and Monoma jumped forward, attacking the mist villain.

The feeling of danger spiked, and Izuku barely registered Monoma's bewildered expression.

"Only students... but the best of the best... yes he was right to say you'd be a threat." Darkness spread like an ink stain from the villain's body. Darkness... and portals.

Izuku slammed into Tsuyu and Kaminari, pushing them out of the way of forming portals. He wasn't able to do the same for himself.

"Begone," intoned the mist villain, his voice echoing all around Izuku. "Writhe in torment until you breathe your last."

The next thing Izuku knew, he was in clear light and falling. From at least two stories up, over the flood zone.

And then he stopped.

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The ghosts whipped their heads around to stare at Nana. She was sitting on a stool, hiding her face in her hands, though whether it was out of embarrassment or fear for Izuku was unclear.

"Nana..." said Yoichi, softly.

"I know, I know, I'm sorry I saw him falling and pani-"

"What did you do that for!" exclaimed Banjo. "He was only fifteen, twenty meters up! Into water!"

"That's twice as high as Olympic divers go! And they screw up their bodies all the time if they hit wrong!" shot back Nana, other emotions abandoned in favor of rage.

"Uh, guys...?" said Yoichi, weakly.

"Who still watches the Olympics?" muttered En.

"If we had to give him a new quirk, it should have been a combat one!"

"You're just jealous that he has Float and not Blackwhip!"

"So what if I am?" demanded Banjo. "If he had Blackwhip, he wouldn't need that stupid grappling hook gun!"

"So, you admit Blackwhip is just a glorified grappling hook?"

"Better than a glorified- glorified-" He puffed out his cheeks. "I'm going to give him Blackwhip right now!"

"NO!" shouted the other ghosts.

"Banjo," said En, "what do you remember about people who All for One gave three quirks to?"

Banjo went pale.

"Oh, hell," said Banjo. "I'm sorry, I got carried away."

"You can say that again," grumbled Nana.

"But," continued Banjo, "doesn't this mean we can't give him the stockpile?"

They turned to Yoichi, who was far and away the expert on the stockpile quirk. He held up his hands and offered a sick, shaky smile. "We've already started the process of giving him stockpile access. There's... there's really no way to stop it."

Nana started swearing, and even Second and Third looked tense.

"But that's borrowing trouble! Maybe he'll be compatable?"

"With three quirks?"

"It's possible!" protested Yoichi. "I mean, he's- um, he's got One for All? Maybe it's more like All for One than we thought?"

"Disgusting."

"No."

"Absolutely not."

"Never say that again."

"But, again, that's a future problem, unlike the villain attack, which is a now problem."

"I see what you're saying," said En, "but we can't do anything about the villain attack, but we could theoretically do something about quirk troubles. Unless you'd rather watch helplessly while our latest-possibly-last holder is murdered?"

Yoichi sighed. "Okay, yeah, let's take a look."

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Izuku's first thought was that Uraraka must have tagged him, but he had been way too far away from her for her to do that. Unless she had run at him when he dove for Tsuyu? Tsuyu had maybe sort of been between them...

But, no, this didn't feel like Uraraka's quirk. He'd only experienced it a couple of times, but it felt like falling. This felt more like floating on the surface of a pool.

This was, he realized as he drifted helplessly upwards and slightly sideways, Shimura Nana's quirk.

It would be really, really cool if the circumstances were different or if he had any control over the quirk whatsoever. As it was, he didn't appreciate the way he was getting progressively higher. Hitting the water at his previous height would have sucked, but he probably would have survived. Now? Not so much. So, if the quirk decided to stop as suddenly as it had started, he was doomed.

Beyond doomed.

He'd be dead.

Wait! The grappling hook!

He pulled it carefully out of its holster, making sure to wrap the loop around his wrist. He could get back to the ground with the grappling hook, anchor himself at a decent height and make use of this, or even attack, but if he dropped it...

Well. Doom and all that.

His best bet was the top of the downpour zone. It was the closest structure by far. He lined up his sights, fired, and watched as the hook fell several meters short.

That was less than ideal.

He rolled over and looked up. He wasn't that far from the ceiling-

Danger Sense screamed at him, and he was falling, just in time to miss getting hit by a jet of water from below. Izuku, naturally, started screaming as well and fired the grappling hook blindly. He rejoiced as a metallic thunk told him it had hit something and immediately hit the stop button, almost wrenching his shoulders out of their sockets. However, his joy quickly turned to horror as he realized he was now headed toward the hard, unforgiving side of the downpour zone at a dangerously high speed. He squeezed his eyes shut.

Float turned back on.

Izuku let out a somewhat pathetic whine in relief, and hit the retract button on the grappling hook gun, letting it pull him up to the roof.

From here, he had an acceptable view of the rest of the USJ. He shaded his eyes to look back at the main plaza and entrance. He could see Eraserhead and Ingenium fighting back to back in the central plaza. All Might and Nomu were tearing up trees in one of the forested areas, and near the entrance he could see Thirteen, Iida, Uraraka, Shouji, Sato, Sero, and Ashido facing down the mist villain. Hopefully, with those numbers, they'd be able to get past him.

Looking elsewhere, Izuku had to assume Todoroki was in the landslide zone, with the spiky ring of ice in the middle of it. He must be holding back. He could make out a fight happening in the mountain zone, but couldn't tell who was involved.

That was more than half the class unaccounted for, including Tsuyu and Kaminari, who he'd thought he'd pushed away from portals. They were probably in the other zones, but...

He took a deep breath. Focus. Where would he do the most good? Danger Sense couldn't tell him that right now, with all these bright threats all around him. He had to decide on his own.

The fight in the mountain area wasn't going well. The number of visible villains was only increasing.

Could Izuku get there? He bit his lip as he contemplated the distance, then jogged back to the opposite side of the downpour zone roof.

Then he ran.

Then he-

-jumped-

-off the roof.

Float activated at the top of the arc of his jump, and his momentum sent him tumbling forward towards the mountain zone. As he approached and began to slow (air resistance still being a thing, apparently), he was able to see Yaoyorozu and Jiro fighting for their lives. Yaoyorozu did not look good.

This wasn't a great way to be proven right about her quirk having drawbacks.

He aimed the grappling hook at one of the larger, closer villains, not really caring about how much damage it would do, and fired.

.

"Wow," said En. "Kid definitely has a bit of a ruthless streak."

"Imagine how much better he'd do with Blackwhip."

"He wouldn't have been able to get there in the first place without Float."

"Honestly," continued En, "I don't get why Second and Third don't like him. They never shut up about Nana and Eighth being too soft, after all."

"What? They said that stuff about me, too?"

"Yeah, I think they're just unsatsifiable at this point. It's annoying."

"I was much more violent and ruthless than Toshi, though."

"I know."

"Yoichi," said Hikage. "I'm not seeing any sign of additional stress on Ninth's body."

"That's because Izuku is the best."

"Or," said En, "it's because he's only had Nana's quirk for, like, five, ten minutes, tops."

"Or because he's the best. Just look at how he's helped his friends defeat all those villains!"

"Compelling argument," said Hikage.

.

"What- what now?" asked Yaoyorozu, holding herself up with one of her staffs. The mountain zone was littered with various weapons and shrapnel from Yaoyorozu's quirk use. This included a canon. Which was really cool, but seemed a bit over the top... and maybe not the most efficient thing to make, considering Yaoyorozu's limitations.

"I don't know," admitted Izuku. He'd been flung around the field as a makeshift flail/bola by the girls a few times, and was a little dizzy.

He looked back out at the battles still taking place in the plaza. "I think... Maybe we should go down, and make our way around the edge to the entrance. We could pick up Todoroki and see if there's anyone in the ruins zone who needs help-"

Then he saw the hand villain step forward, facing down Eraserhead as Ingenium was lured away in defense of Tsuyu and Kaminari, who had just run out of the wooded area, trailing villains. Danger flared in his mind's eye, and, for the second time in his life, his body moved by itself.

[fickleminder]

the years start coming and they don’t stop coming

In which Lilith’s return distorts her brothers’ perception of time.

Part 2 here

You’ve never seen the demon prince look so embarrassed.

“I can call for —”

“No, it’s okay. They deserve this.”

But you don’t, goes unspoken. You can see the pity in his eyes, feel the palpable disappointment in the air. Even Simeon and Luke make sure to hug you extra tight before stepping through the portal to the Celestial Realm, and Solomon promises to check up on you after you’ve returned home.

Thanking Lord Diavolo and Barbatos for their hospitality, you turn towards the final demon in the council room and put on the biggest grin your breaking heart can muster. “Hey, c’mere.”

Satan doesn’t hesitate to throw his arms around you. It’s almost like he’s trying to make up for his brothers’ absence, the way he crushes you to his chest and cradles the back of your head.

You can’t find it in yourself to blame them. As far as miracles go, this is a pretty big one. Lilith coming back to life is an unprecedented event, one not even Barbatos had seen coming. Nobody has any answers either. She’s definitely not a demon, not an angel, not human; just an immortal who knocked on the front door of the House of Lamentation three days ago.

Her brothers haven’t left her alone since. You’re happy for them, you really are, but a bitter part of you can’t help but wish her return had waited until after the exchange program ended. At least Lucifer had the courtesy to pull you aside and thank you on his family’s behalf (though you’re quite certain you had nothing to do with your ancestor’s sudden revival), in addition to making a pact with you as a token of his gratitude.

With that, you could have summoned all of them to send you off just as effectively as Lord Diavolo giving the order, but it won’t be the same and you know it. Your only saving grace is Satan, the one brother who’d kept his head and anchored you in the sea of loneliness you’d been set adrift in over the last few days.

“I’m gonna miss you, cat boy.”

“I miss you already,” Satan laughs softly, pulling back with a warm smile. “I’ll stay in touch, I promise.”

You squeeze his arms affectionately and glance past his shoulders at the closed doors. There’s the smallest shred of hope in you that thinks the others will come bursting through any moment now, scrambling for one final chance to see you. You give yourself five seconds, silently counting down to a pipe dream, before pressing a kiss to Satan’s cheek and releasing him.

“It might not seem like it now, but the Devildom will always be here for you,” Lord Diavolo says as the world around you fades to white. “Farewell.”

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“Did you lose track of time at the library again? You missed dinner last night LOL.”

“Levi, be nice!”

Satan only hums quietly in response. He can’t be bothered to correct the assumption; it’s a convenient excuse for when his brothers actually notice he’s missing anyway.

The irony of Levi calling him out isn’t lost on him. While the otaku is still obsessed with his games and shows, he’s no longer as shut-in as he used to be, venturing outside the comforts of his sanctuary more often. Satan has passed by the common room on many occasions to find him and Lilith gaming or binging anime together, and the content expression on Levi’s face proves beyond a shadow of a doubt that the void from his Henry’s departure has long been filled.

“Oh, but speaking of,” Lilith sets her cutlery down and smiles shyly at the fourth-born, “I haven’t had the chance to explore the libraries here yet. If it’s not too much trouble, can you show me around and recommend a few books?”

Shrugging non-committedly, Satan continues with his meal, not once looking her in the eye.

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.

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You’ve always wondered how someone with the Avatar of Lust for a brother can have such terrible fashion sense. It should be impossible to go wrong with dressing for a funeral, but you guess life (along with a certain eyesore of a tie) just loves to disappoint you. Still, you’re too glad to have Satan with you right now to care.

“Thanks for coming.”

“Anytime.”

You lean into the demon’s side as he holds an umbrella over both of you. Your eyes are drawn to the flowers he’d placed on your mother’s grave, the only splash of color against the dull tombstone. For the longest time, all you can process is the pitter-patter of the afternoon rain on the plastic wrap of the bouquet, and the comforting weight of Satan’s arm across your shoulders.

“She was in a lot of pain,” you admit after a while, your voice slightly hoarse. “The doctors had to sedate her. She went in her sleep.”

“I’m sorry.” Satan fidgets awkwardly, not quite sure what to say. He’s no stranger to death, but the loss of someone dear is unfamiliar to him. “Perhaps Simeon can find out if —”

“No, no it’s fine. I just — I need to —”

The umbrella is forgotten as Satan catches you, lowering you gently to the ground when your knees give way. You cling to him desperately, and it’s all he can do to draw you close as you start to wail.

.

.

.

Satan barely makes it three steps into the house before getting pounced on.

“How was it? Where did you go? Ooh you lucky demon, I want to hear all the details!”

“Oi, oi! What are you babbling on about?”

“Don’t act coy with me! Lilith saw you at the florist’s yesterday with the most gorgeous bouquet of flowers!”

“Yesterday? But —”

“How come you never told me someone caught your eye? I would have dolled you up, lent you some of my clothes —” Asmo gasps dramatically. “You didn’t wear that horrid jacket to your date, did you?”

Wrestling a hand free, Satan musses his younger brother’s hair. “None of your business,” he growls, walking away with a smirk when Asmo immediately releases him to fix his appearance. “Who do you take me for, anyway?”

“Aww come on, just give me a hint! Do I know them? Is it someone from RAD? Ooh, did you meet them at the library or —”

Ducking into the safety of his room, Satan shuts the door in Asmo’s face.

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.

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“Thank fuck. Who picked your outfit this time?”

“Barbatos. And shut up.”

You grab Satan’s arm with a laugh and lead him towards your table, politely introducing him as ‘Stan from work’ to any relatives who ask about the handsome young man accompanying you. Satan’s usual mask is in place, but there’s no mistaking the gleam of wonder in his eyes as he takes in his surroundings.

“Finally,” you sigh, sinking into your seat and grinning sheepishly at the blond. “Sorry about them. It’s just that they’ve never seen me with anyone, so they’re really curious about you.”

“Well, I’m glad you invited me along. I’ve never been to a wedding before.” The romantic in Satan is openly basking in the ambience of the reception. “You mentioned that your niece had gotten married?”

“Technically my first cousin once removed, but yeah.”

“And you’ve not been seeing anyone?”

“You would have been the first to know if I have,” you tease, nudging him playfully. “Apparently a lot of people are put off by the way I dress. Too modest, they say.”

But not without good reason. The pact marks on your body may be slightly faded from disuse, but they’re still discernable if stared at hard enough: Lucifer’s at the back of your neck; Mammon’s over your heart; Levi’s curled around your right calf; Satan’s circling your left arm; Asmo’s dangerously close to tramp stamp territory; Beel’s just under your navel; and Belphie’s on your ribs at the side you like to sleep on.

Passing them off as tattoos without attracting the wrong kind of attention is a little tricky, so you’d rather take a page from Solomon’s book and cover them up. Being called a prude is easier than dealing with cultists.

(It also helps you to keep your mind off of them, because some wounds continue to hurt even after they heal, so there’s that.)

Sensing the drop in your mood, Satan clears his throat to get your attention. It’s only then that you realize there’s music playing in the background, and couples moving from their tables to the floor.

Your companion stands up and offers you his hand, this time with a genuine smile on his face. “May I have this dance?”

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.

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Lucifer’s tone books no room for argument. “This will be a family event, so I expect your attendance. Don’t think I haven’t noticed your little escapades over the past few months.”

“Tch.”

“Do I make myself clear?”

“Whatever. I’ll be there.”

Satan has to resist the urge to hurl his hardcover at the back of Lucifer’s head when he takes his leave. That’s no way to treat a book, after all.

Beel’s Fangol team has an upcoming match and it’ll be Lilith’s first time watching him play. She’s been hyped up for weeks, so it comes as no surprise that Lucifer would use the opportunity to turn it into a family outing. He’s been doing that a lot lately.

Gone is the stuffy first-born who can spend days in his office if left unchecked. Lucifer is still as strict as ever, still fulfills his duties to Lord Diavolo diligently, but it’s like he’s managed to master balancing work and play overnight. He makes more time for his siblings now, even if it’s to dole out punishments for their endless shenanigans, punishments that vary in severity depending on how cutely Lilith pleads on their behalf.

Lucifer has always doted on her, and she has him wrapped around her little finger. Belphie has even gone as far as corrupting her into pranking him, and she need only bat her eyelashes to get off scot-free.

Lilith was the catalyst for the Fall, her descendent the glue that brought her siblings back together, and her return the final piece in making their family whole again.

But you were family too, Satan thinks sourly, pulling out his D.D.D. to mark the date in his calendar.

.

.

.

When you invite Satan over to your apartment for tea, he never expected to be introduced to your new housemate: a handsome fellow with chestnut brown hair, sharp jade eyes, a runner’s body, and the softest-looking toe beans he has ever seen in his immortal life.

“Satan, meet Satan!” You hold out the tabby towards him with a shit-eating grin.

Both demon and cat blink owlishly at each other. The blond doesn’t know whether to feel endeared by the feline sharing his name or insulted that you would replace him so easily, but all it takes is a single bop on the nose with a curious paw for him to melt.

Satan the tabby, who normally prefers to scale your shelves and nap between your books, spends the entire day a purring puddle in Satan the demon’s arms, shamelessly relishing in pets and massages to the extent that at some point, you have a very real fear they might just end up absconding back to the Devildom together. Thankfully, some kibble and freshly baked treats help you separate the two for a while, at least long enough for you to get some decent conversation in.

You brew a pot of Earl Grey with the beautifully crafted tea set Barbatos gifted you when you had first moved in, and serve the scones you made earlier in the morning using the baking tools blessed by Luke during your housewarming. You don’t know if the little angel had actually imbued them with Celestial magic, but everything you cook somehow always lifts your spirits when consumed.

Satan has to catch himself in the middle of regaling you with Mammon’s latest half-baked scheme. The wistful look on your face is new; you’re usually eager to hear what his brothers have been up to, but something feels off today. He pours you more tea, slides another scone onto your plate, and waits.

“…Are they happy?” You ask after a while.

The demon knows better than to lie, even if it’s to spare you from the truth he suspects you’re already aware of. “Yes,” he admits grudgingly.

“I’m glad.”

Your smile doesn’t reach your eyes.

.

.

.

Lilith stands outside his room, holding a tray of tea and cakes.

“Hey, um, may I come in?” Her smile is both hopeful and uncertain. It’s a gamble, ambushing the fourth-born when he obviously has no interest in her. At best, he’ll make up an excuse to turn her away or just ignore her completely; at worst, well… she doesn’t really want to think about that. To her visible relief, he opens the door wider and steps aside.

Satan clears a space for her to set the tray down. There’s the briefest moment of hesitation before he drags your favorite armchair over and offers her a seat as well. He looks guarded but not openly hostile, a promising sign so far.

“You’ve been in and out of the house lately, so I haven’t had the chance to catch you. I thought we might sit down and talk,” Lilith says, pouring two cups of the hot beverage as she chooses her next words carefully. “The others told me about how you were born, but I understand that you are your own person. I’d like to get to know that person.”

A part of Satan is acutely aware of their one-sided relationship; he is familiar with her through Lucifer, but she has never met him. It makes sense for her to be curious about him, though Satan isn’t so sure he wants to return the favor. She reminds him too much of you in the way she prepares her tea, how she sits on your chair, her shy lopsided smile —

But she’s not you, and you’re not her, Satan has to remind himself lest he commits the same mistake his brothers nearly did after your lineage had been revealed. Now in a convoluted turn of events, it’s you who’s gone and Lilith here, and there’s no reason why he can’t give her a chance and treat her like the sister she could be to him.

It’s what you would have wanted.

Lilith tries not to let her shoulders slump too much when Satan quietly stands up and heads towards his door. She’s prepared to pack up and leave until she spots him grabbing several books from a nearby shelf.

“Have you ever read Mid-Fall Murders?” He asks, handing her a hardcover with a shy smile of his own.

.

.

.

“What’s it like?”

Satan’s grip on your hand tightens. “I don’t actually know,” he confesses, shuffling closer so that your shoulder and arm are pressed against his. It’s a strange sight, the two of you lying side by side on your bed, staring aimlessly at the ceiling.

“Will it hurt?”

“No.”

You’ve never heard a single word hold so much promise, but you have no reason to doubt the demon’s sincerity. Satan wouldn’t take pity on you just because you’re —

A light knock on the door, and in pokes Simeon’s head. ���Ah, little lamb! I’m glad we made it in time.”

“Not so little anymore, Simeon.” You laugh softly, greeting Luke and Solomon as they trail in behind him. Satan brushes his lips over your forehead before getting up to receive your guests.

The day is as ordinary as it can be. You talk and catch up with your friends, trading stories and laughter over cups of tea that neither grow cold nor go empty. When the session turns into a mini book club gathering halfway through, Luke helpfully retrieves the debated titles from the massive shelf in the living room. He takes a while to find them; you’ve accumulated plenty of works over the years: recommendations by Satan, literature published under Simeon’s pseudonym, and handwritten tomes from Solomon to keep you in touch with your magic. The shelf is practically jam-packed with books, the only exception being a corner on the topmost tier, housing a little space that’s empty save for a worn green collar with a rusted bell.

Come sundown the five of you are still neck-deep in discussion, but as with all good things, the get together eventually reaches an end.

“Thanks everyone, it’s been fun,” you say, reclining back in your bed as Satan wordlessly cleans up. You squeeze his hand when he returns to your side and bid the others goodbye. “Hopefully I’ll see you guys soon?”

“About that…” Solomon clears his throat, wearing the smug look that usually accompanies a trick being pulled out of his sleeve, but this time it’s tinged more with excitement than mischief. “Simeon has a little present for you first.”

The guileless smile on the angel’s face betrays nothing as he steps forward and reaches into a small pouch at his hip. “Solomon, Diavolo and I have a theory. Now, keep in mind that this is all very experimental, but if it works, you’ll have more options to choose from, should you so wish.”

And then he brings out a ring.

.

.

.

“Are you, uh, are you okay?”

“Not in the mood, Mammon.”

“Oi, I’m trying to be nice here! Who do you think covered for your sorry ass when you came back past curfew the other day, huh?”

“What the hell do you want?”

“You may think you’re all stealthy and shit, but your eyes were pretty red that night. I thought you were at a book club meeting. Did something happen?”

“None of your business.”

“Argh, fine then! This is the last time I try to be a good big brother.”

“…Mammon?”

“?”

“...”

“...”

“I’m sorry.”

“Eh, what are you — you can’t just say that and then run off! Get back here!”

.

.

.

“Twenty, nineteen, eighteen…”

Lilith’s countdown echoes along the deserted hallway, prompting Beel to nudge the deadweight on his back. “Belphie, go get your own hiding place.”

“Mmngh… zzz…”

“Come on, or she’ll win this round with a two for one. Again.”

“…Just dump me somewhere she won’t find me then.”

A tall order, especially since Lilith can easily track them down by listening out for Beel’s stomach and/or Belphie’s snores. Still, the sixth-born lumbers through the house as quietly as he can, doing a one-eighty whenever he hears Lilith’s cheerful hums coming from the opposite direction. Technically they can avoid being caught if they keep moving, but that would be cheating. They hid in the attic previously so that’s a no go, their room’s too obvious, the kitchen too tempting, the common room too exposed…

Maybe Levi’s room? The otaku had sound-proofed his walls to avoid distractions from the outside world when he’s gaming, so it’s an ideal location to hide. He can stash Belphie in the bathtub and run interference until time’s up.

Backtracking, Beel breaks into a light jog towards the other wing, keeping his ears open for their seeker. It’s only because of his heightened senses that he’s able to pick up the faintest traces of magic on one of the walls, causing him to pause in his steps.

“Hmm? Why’d you stop?” Slightly more awake now, Belphie rubs his eyes and slides off his twin, who’s studying the blank space intently. “What’s wrong, Beel?”

“There’s something here, something…”

“It’s just a wall —”

“No, don’t you feel it? I know you weren’t around then, but it’s the same glamor as that time Luke went missing and we —”

Beel goes white. He whispers a name, a name not spoken in the house for years, and a door flickers into view. One hand grabs Belphie’s in a death grip as the other twists the knob and pushes the door open, revealing an old yet familiar room.

The place is devoid of life. Most of the furniture are covered by sheets, resting under thick layers of dust. In the middle sits a tree, sagging with age and soft with rot. Sunken footprints mark the demons’ furtive venture into decrepit memory, and the creaking of floorboards with every step only tethers the growing nightmare closer to reality.

A photo frame crashes to the ground.

.

.

.

They deserve this.

Satan feels it the moment the spell concealing your room was broken. It had been his way of protecting your memory, ensuring that your sanctuary would only be accessible to those who made the effort to remember you. He cast it about a year after you had left the Devildom, after he realized that leaving your door in plain sight wasn’t doing you any favors.

Hidden away in an alcove at the back of the garden, curled up with a blanket and a thermos of hot tea, Satan slides a bookmark between the pages of his latest novel and leans his head back, closing his eyes with a heavy sigh.

Even this far away from the house, he can hear the cacophony of screams and shouts, objects being flung and shattered into pieces, a muted bang suggesting that a wall has just collapsed. The fallout comes as no surprise; waking up after living the past hundred years or so in a daze will do that to a person – or in this case, demons.

Although the sounds of fighting call to the rage bubbling within him, the vindictive thoughts of his brothers getting their just desserts cool it to a simmer. He knows he’ll have to face them eventually, but he’ll cross that bridge when he gets to it.

“Meow?”

Emerald eyes blink open. There’s a faint rustle from the nearby bushes as a tiny Calico wanders out of the foliage, peering around the garden curiously. Upon spotting the blond demon, it perks up and makes a beeline for him.

“Hm? You’re not Callie. Are you new here, little one?” His mood considerably improved, Satan extends a hand towards the kitten. It skips the finger sniffing step and goes straight to headbutting his palm, begging for attention.

“You’re an affectionate one, aren’t you?” Satan caves immediately and scritches away with a delighted chuckle. He examines the markings on its tri-colored fur, wanting to recognize the friendly feline if it comes back in the future. The Calico is mostly white with patches of brown and black splashed over the back of its neck, near the base of its tail, just under the side of its ribs, and several other spots that seem to collectively resemble a familiar pattern…

Satan’s hand stills. He whispers your name, trembling with hope, and the kitten practically leaps into his arms, nuzzling his chin with a happy purr.

[gawthick]

Cursebreaker Trilogy by Brigid Kemmerer Review

WARNING: This post contains spoilers from the trilogy, so if you have not read any of the books, or haven't read all of the books, be warned.

GENERAL INFO

- Genre: Urban Fantasy

- Age: Young Adult

- Books (in order): A Curse so Dark and Lonely, A Heart so Fierce and Broken, A Vow so Bold and Deadly

A Curse so Dark and Lonely is a Beauty and the Beast retelling about a prince named Rhen who gets cursed after refusing to sleep with an enchantress. To find potential girls to fall in love with him, Rhen's commander, Grey, travels in a portal to modern day Washington D.C. All is well until one day a girl named Harper sees Grey kidnap a girl and gets sucked back to the kingdom of Emberfall. I want to add that Harper has cerebral palsy but I cannot talk about how well the rep was since I do not have it. After the first book, the series takes on a different plot (meaning that the other books are not Beauty and the Beast retellings).

A Curse so Dark and Lonely

- Read: October 2019

- 4 stars

I actually really liked the plot for this one, I find that I'm not really one for Beast retellings since they are done so often.

My favorite character was definitely Grey (I think he's a lot of people's favorite). It took me awhile to like Harper because she was kind of annoying, but I eventually started to like her. It's been a long time since I have read this one, so I can't really remember much lol.

I do remember genuinely laughing at the banter and such because it felt natural and not forced. The characters seemed real and not like paper.

This book made me start to like urban fantasies because it showed me when it's done right, the worlds don't "collide" too much and both worlds seem separate.

SPOILER WARNING

I liked the direction Kemmerer took at the end of this one. Giving Grey magic and saying that he was actually the true heir of the kingdom was a great cliffhanger. I honestly loved how the book ended with Grey running off to find a place to hide because he couldn't handle that he had magic and was the true heir. It was pure *chef's kiss*.

SPOILER OVER

All in all, it was a pretty good first book. I would recommend this to anyone who likes Beauty and the Beast retellings and urban fantasies.

A Heart so Fierce and Broken

- Read: January 2020

- 5 stars

The second book was the best out of the three. Weird, right? I feel like the plot was much better than the first one since it is basically a different story than the first book (in a good way). This one introduced new characters and places other than Emberfall and it made the world seem bigger and like it was actually a real world. I love it when authors do that in the other books in the series.

My favorite new character was Tycho!!! I love him so much. Tycho and Grey's relationship is like father and son, I loved it. Another new character I liked was Lia Mara. She was such a great character in this one. She was brave, and helpful, and showed people how to be their true selves. Lia Mara was inspiring in this one and that's really why I liked her so much.

In this one, I think everyone who read it can agree that Rhen and Harper had a big downgrade in character development. Where Grey had great character development, Harper and Rhen fell flat. I never liked Rhen but I hated him by the end of this one. Harper felt like a whole different character because her morals didn't add up from the first one and she had too much faith in Rhen and like didn't question anything. It was honestly disappointing.

SPOILER WARNING

Lilith coming back was such a bad move in my opinion. She serves no real purpose other than an extra few pages to write if Kemmerer wanted to add some unnecessary tension.

SPOILER OVER

This was my favorite out of the three and I am as surprised as you may be. Usually second books in a trilogy are the worst but it was not the case for this trilogy. I loved everything about this one, the characters, the plot, the development, everything.

A Vow so Bold and Deadly

- Read: April 2021

- 2 stars

Let's be real, this book was such a disappointment. I think we all expected different things to happen. I want to start off with how annoying Lia Mara was in this one. She was such a different character in this one compared to the second book. She was way too dependent on Grey. I understand that Kemmerer wanted people to know that it's ok to have a significant other at your side, but there was no independence from Lia Mara, she relied solely on Grey for everything; it was annoying.

Can we talk about how annoying it was that Harper kept on going back and forth on whether or not she should stay with Rhen? She should've left Rhen back in book two but it only occurred to her that maybe he was making bad decisions in book three? If Harper had kept her morals, maybe she would've left Rhen awhile ago. I found it very immature that both Rhen and Harper kept hating each other and then loving each other. There was no resolution whatsoever.

Something that got on my nerves was when the author told us that Grey and Jake were buds but never really showed the readers? Jake and Grey barely had any kind of dialogue together, let alone be seen with each other. I could count on my fingers how many times they shared dialogue and/or were together in general. It was a bad case of "tell and not show".

SPOILER WARNING

Another thing that really got on my nerves was how Grey and Rhen ended up being buddy-buddy. I was not wanting them to kill each other or anything, but come on! We were getting the development Grey needed, not forgiving Rhen for what he did to him and Tycho. Just because they are biologically brothers and they were best buds for so long does not mean that they need to keep being that. They should have just called it a truce, Rhen give Grey the position, and Rhen just live a normal life. I don't like how Harper changed Grey's mind even though Grey kept telling her that he is not the same person she knew. It was very frustrating and disappointing.

The last thing I am going to talk about was the literal randomness of Grey and Lia Mara being pregnant? Why was that put in the book? There is no reason for that, I think she just put it in there to put it in there. It was painful to read and not cute at all in my opinion.

SPOILER OVER

CONCLUSION

The series as a whole was pretty average and like I said before the second book was surprisingly my favorite. I am disappointed from the last book and I really hope what happened at the end wasn't an invitation for a fourth book, I hope it stays at three. I would recommend this book to anyone who likes good urban fantasies, Beauty and the Beast retellings, tension, emotions, magic, and action.

I hope you enjoyed this review!

[shipwreckedshadows]

The Shadow Prime thing.

[after his failure to keep Catra and Glimmer contained, Horde Prime captures another prisoner in the hopes that she might have some value to him]

Shadow Weaver tested the bounds of her magic as she waited to be retrieved from her cell. The shadows responded to her call, as they always had, but they did so without motivation. They would not be effective in a fight. She tried to search for any hint of darkness on the ship and found that she could sense a large mass of it at the center of the space craft. It pulsed with irrational need and the sins of a prideful man. Her cell was three levels up from the source but she could not recall following any stairs to get there. Perhaps the floor was uneven and progressed at a slight angle, like a giant, spiraling ramp.  Or perhaps there were teleportation pads between floors and she just hadn’t seen one yet.

She inspected the room silently. The bed was docked on either side by two side tables. The one on the right held nothing. The one on the left contained a book. Horde Prime’s insignia had been pressed into the cover. Inside were writings of cultist rhetoric. After thumbing through the pages, she put it back. She never cared for anyone’s rules and she was not about to start.

She lay on the bed and did not move for hours. If there were cameras in her cell, the only thing Prime would observe of his prisoner would be her infinite reservoir of self control. 

After several hours, the cell door slipped open and two clones stepped up to collect her. She did not move, even as they spoke.

“The Lord requests your presence, madam Weaver.” One said politely.

“If he wishes to see me, he can come up here and ask me himself.” Shadow Weaver answered to the ceiling.

“Is something troubling you, my lady of darkness?“ The clone asked after a moment of silence. His intonation had changed. He sounded authoritative and entitled. He held the voice of a king who had seldom lost to anyone. That power she felt from the center of the ship, pulsed now at the foot of her door. The magic of Obtainment swirled within her and she smiled.

“Lovely to see you, Horde Prime. I keep hearing about you.”

“Naturally. Why don’t you allow my clones to escort you and we can introduce ourselves properly?”

Shadow Weaver finally sat up to look at him, “I don’t make for very pleasant company.”

“I would not be asking if I didn’t wish it. You will come to see me if you value your freedom.”

The clone blinked and he returned back to himself - a lost man on the path to purity. Horde Prime’s signature had left and returned to where it came from. She slid off the bed and allowed the clones to lead her to their master.

She frowned when she realized they had moved a floor down. Prime’s signature indicated as much. But the floor didn’t descend at a gradient and she had no memory of a teleportation pad. She kept her mind sharp and leaned more focus into her environment and her actions. They kept walking. The corridors wound around each other like tree branches. Everything looked exactly the same. She wondered how the clones were able to transverse such confusing architecture.

It was too late when she noticed that they had dropped down another floor. She decided to puzzle over it later and calmed herself so she could properly greet and assess Etheria’s new overlord.

They came into a grand room, guarded by more clones. Prime lounged in his throne and managed to look both pleased and menacing. He sat taller than most of the objects in the room. His aura filled the grand room, from the floor to the top of the twenty foot ceiling. Shadow Weaver quelled the Obtainment magic. They would have to feed later. He stood to greet her, arms open wide.

“Welcome, my lady of darkness. It is so lovely to have you here.”

“Nobody has ever said that to my face without later redacting their sentiments.” Shadow Weaver commented offhandedly, “Please spare me the theatrics. I’m only here because you seem have business with me. What do you want?”

Prime scowled, “I can see how, as one of the most powerful magical entities on Etheria, you might feel entitled to direct the conversation. But you are standing in the hall of my light. There are no shadows here, no darkness that will bend to your magic. I will negotiate my terms with you when I feel it is necessary.”

“You sound just like Hordak.”

“Well, of course. I made him in my image. I might have to do the same to you, if you keep with your current attitude.”

“You can hardly blame me. I’m imprisoned here, on this ship, away from my home.”

“Home?” He laughed as he circled her, “You have no home. I know all about your history - your lovely Hordak showed me everything. You’ve been a traitor your whole life. What’s one more defection before everything Etheria once was is lost?” His large frame towered over hers in an effort to intimidate her. She kept her posture relaxed and met his gaze with indifference.

“You wish for me to join you?” She asked skeptically.

“There will be terms, of course, but in a simple word, yes.”

“And will we discuss these terms? Or do I have to endure another round of your plastic pleasantries?”

“We’ll save that conversation for dinner. For now, I want to give us a chance to get to know each other. Come, I wish to show you something.”

She had no choice but to follow him from the throne room, down the twisting halls and into another set of chambers. Otherworldly artifacts decorated the room. Paintings and weapons of distant civilizations mounted the walls, books and odd trinkets sat on shelves and several rugs covered the floor.

“This is my trove of rare and valuable artifacts. It’s a collection curated from all over the galaxy.” He said proudly.

Shadow Weaver couldn’t help but wonder at it all. Other creatures had created, sold, bought, possessed and held these items in their hands. So much history was stored in this room. She noticed an empty pedestal by the large window. 

“It’s... impressive.” She noted without colour in her voice, “Why feel the need to show me? Are you not worried that I may break something?”

“A little.” His fourth eye shifted to the pedestal at the window, “But I feel it is my responsibility to show you the rich history of the worlds I’ve seen”

“And yet you eradicated each and every one of them.”

“Because their people refused to see that they had deteriorated from greatness. They denied my light and without much else to do to persuade them, they had to be purged. It was for the sake of their own good.” His teeth clenched to hold back a wave of anger and disappointment. He saw himself as a protector of the universe. The worlds he destroyed was out of his sense of responsibility to the galaxies - a responsibility to chase away the darkness. Perhaps that was his mission at one point. There were ulterior motives to his mission - motives to rule the galaxy and control everything, from the atomic cycles to the construction of civilizations.

“I kept their possessions to preserve their history, to keep their memories alive.”

“What do you wish to collect from Etheria - so you can commemorate its people... my people?” She asked.

“Originally, I wanted Queen Angella’s wings. She was such a beacon in the fight against my little brother. He had nightmares about her for several months following a bad encounter with her. And she was immortal - that is most definitely a rarity in this universe. You can imagine my disappointment when I found out that she was no longer part of this world.”

Shadow Weaver imagined Prime taking a large scalpel to the angel’s wings, pushing the blade through feathers, flesh and bone. Quickly, she pushed the thought from her mind. “She’s only stuck between worlds, why not build another portal and retrieve her?”

“My lady, do you know how resource intensive portal building is? Besides, I found something better.”

Shadow Weaver waited wordlessly for him to tell her, head tilted to the side and hands clasped in front of her. She had a feeling she knew what he might say.

“The Heart of Etheria. A weapon of magic, preserved inside your planet. I’ll condense it down to the size of a watermelon and put it right at the helm of my collection.” He indicated the pedestal, “I used to have something else to occupy that space. However, it has most unfortunately been disposed of.”

“What do you mean?” Why would Prime do away with one of his precious trophies?

“You ask so many questions, my lady.” he chuckled, “Let me have a turn.” He tapped his chin in mock thought, “Why do you insist on hiding your pretty face from me?”

She scoffed, “Pretty.”

“Horde Prime knows all.” He walked into her personal space and drew a curious finger along the cheek of her mask. “It’s quite hard to speak to you when this thing is in the way.

Shadow Weaver looked up into his face and made no move to stop him.

“You’re so still. Does it not bother you that I might rip your protection away?”

“There are worse things, Horde Prime.”

“Fascinating.” he whispered, “stronger hearts have quivered at the very mention of my name yet yours...” he slipped his fingers under the neck of her gown and shoved them against her jugular, “doesn’t so much as even move!”

“My heart has not moved for over thirty years. I doubt it will start now.”

He kept his hand resting against her neck and removed her mask with his other. She enjoyed the stunned look on his face as he looked into hers. His features remained smooth but she saw the way his extra eyes widened for a fraction of a second.

Prime hardly had his pupils attended to the one single thing, she’d found. Now, she watched them move in unison, across the valleys of scars the burrowed into her aged skin.

She took the mask from him and with her free hand, guided his to the side of her face.

“You are a man of exploration and observation, it seems. It is how you communicate” she said, “You see what is broken and your reflexes tell you to fix it.”

“Are you asking me to heal your scars?”

“Hardly. But healing is your first language. Your tongue speaks through carpentry just as your hands work to build. Observe me, Horde Prime. Communicate with me and perhaps you might land yourself a very good deal.”

He chuckled low in his chest and grinned wide, “How fortunate am I that you can translate so thoroughly.” He traced ever scar on her face until his fingers wove themselves into her thick hair.

“You’re so cold.” He murmured.

“Does it bother you?” She challenged.

“Not at all. It serves to make you more noteworthy.”

He moved his other hand up her neck and followed a trail of gnarled tissue to press the pad of his thumb to her lips. She stowed the mask in her pocket so she could hold his hips properly. Soothingly, she ran one hand up to the center of his back.

“You are sorely mistaken if you think I’m going to put your finger, unwashed and without my knowing where it’s been, in my mouth.” She glared lightly.

He laughed from the deepest bowels of his core. A very good deal, indeed.

[jayofmemory]

Orange Sillohette

Hey yall!! It’s been a log time since I’ve uploaded anything, and while I wish I had ideas for Branded, yall’re just gonna have to have this one shot for now lol. Enjoy~

Chase was shocked awake by the sound of something hitting the ground hard. He stumbled to his feet and put a hand against the wall while he steadied his breathing and blinked the dots away. Everything felt like it was spinning. Where was he? He blinked again, leaning against the cool wall and tried to look around, but all he could make out were the muted, bright colors and lights of a city at night. He could faintly hear the voices around him, they seemed panicked, but the ringing in his ears was too overwhelming to focus on anything.

He tried to make his way to a quieter part of town, not noticing that no one was paying any attention to him. If they were, they would probably think he was drunk with his glazed over eyes, half leaning against the wall as he walked. He had been drinking a little, but not so much to make him feel like this... right? He shook his head, trying to remember how he got into the city.

“I... drove here... and-and went up to the roof... to... d-d-drink.” He mumbled quietly as he walked. Soon he was in a park in the middle of the city, finding a bench and laying down on it.

“I drove past here...” He could see the world going dark as a faint siren sounded in the distance. “I...”

-- -- --

Marvin walked through the city, the first few rays of sunlight bouncing off his hair as it flapped behind him in a loose ponytail. His searching eyes scanned the area, but he wasn’t quite sure what he was looking for. He had seen what happened, but he wanted to know how, and more importantly, why. Why had he done it? Why did he leave so late at night?

A few people gave him a funny look as he quickly walked past, but thankfully none of them stopped him. Just as the shops around him began to open and people started arriving, he came to the park. He sat down on a nearby bench and turned on his phone, scrolling through the texts from his brothers from the night before. He sighed, pressed his fingers to his temples, and took a deep breath. He was still too tense to really think properly.

“-vin?”

Marvin opened his eyes and looked around, but didn’t see anyone.

“Maybe I’m just hearing things...” He muttered. Just then he noticed that one of the crystals on his necklace was glowing faintly. He held it up and gazed at it.

“Huh, that’s weird.” He blew on it and for a moment the light grew brighter.

“Can y- m-“

“Again?” He whispered. “Who’s there?” He commanded.

The crystal glowed bright again, a little more steady this time, and for a moment, Marvin saw a flicker of a form right in front of him.

“Marvin?” And just like that, the form was gone.

“What do you want, spirit?” Marvin tried to keep his voice steady. It had been many years since this crystal had lit up, the one for souls. There was silence, except for the shuffle of leaves in the wind. Did the spirit leave? Marvin looked at the crystal one last time before standing up and looking around quickly to make sure no one was near before making a portal. As he slipped through the portal to his apartment, he felt a sudden weight around his neck and stumbled forward. 

The portal closed instantly behind him and the weight was gone. He shuffled in place for a little bit before he got an idea. He headed to his bedroom and pulled out a box from underneath his bed. He found the crystal he was looking for immediately. It was a much larger version of the crystal that had been glowing earlier.

He sat it on the ground and inspected it. There was a small dot of light that flashed for a second, on the side opposite from him.

“So you followed me home. Hey, you want to talk, right? Follow my lead.” Marvin placed a hand on the large crystal and after a second another hand print appeared, glowing, on the other side.

“You may talk.”

There was a moment of silence before he heard a whisper. “... Marvin... am I dead?”

“I’m afraid so. I don’t know who you are, but you seem to know my name. This stone lets me talk with the dead so I can hopefully put you to rest.”

“I don’t...” The whisper paused. “I-I can’t be dead... I- Marvin please, can’t you do something?”

“I’m sorry, my necromancy is pretty weak.” He paused. “Stay here please.” He released the crystal and stood up, making his way over to one of the book shelves. After selecting a dusty book from the top shelf, he made his way back in time to hear “why can’t I remember?”

“Remember what?”

“How I... died.”

Marvin sat down and opened the book to a certain section. “Hmm... you must be recently deceased then. I remember my teacher saying that the recently departed have trouble remembering how it all happened. Let’s see... here! I found a spell that might speed up the process for you to remember. I just need your full name and the last thing you remember from being alive.”

“Can’t you recognize my voice?”

“No? You’re coming through as a whisper.”

“Marvin... it’s me. Chase.”

Marvin froze, wide eyed. He looked at where he thought the spirit’s eye level would be in shock. “No... Y-you’re joking.”

“Marvin, I’m serious.” The crystal glowed a little brighter. Marvin could feel tears coming to his eyes but he quickly wiped them away.

“Y-you jumped...”

“What?”

“They found you on the ground out front of a 5 foot building downtown. You- the only way you could have been that badly injured is if you jumped.”

“No, I wouldn’t have!” The handprint glowed brighter.

“H-hold on...” Marvin flipped a few pages in the book and pressed his hand against the crystal again, closing his eyes and beginning to repeat a spell. He opened one eye and looked up. There, in front of him, was the glowing orange translucent form of his brother.

“You’re really-“ He reached out and was relieved when he could touch Chase’s arm.

Chase jumped at the sudden touch and looked Marvin in the eye. Marvin couldn’t hold his emotions back any longer and reached over the crystal to hug his brother, burying his face in his shoulder.

“It’s actually you!” Marvin gasped. Chase went to hug him back and realized he was shaking.

“Of course it’s me...”

After a moment longer, Marvin released him and sat back down, instead placing Chase’s hands in his, as if he was making sure he wouldn’t vanish again.

“Um... what all happened last night?” Chase asked, relieved at the touch.

Marvin drew in a sharp breath before he began. “1:34 am. I received a text from Jameson saying you were in the hospital with serious injuries. In a few minutes he texted back that you were dead. I teleported over and they said you.. had jumped off of a building downtown. The impact had practically killed you instantly, but even still, Henrik tried to save you.” He paused and drew in another shaky breath. “Why...”

“Why did I jump.” Chase finished his question. “I... don’t know. I don’t remember anything after I drove downtown. There was... whiskey next to me.”

“Chase-“

“I know I know, I promised I would quit. I just... it was our anniversary. The day I left... the day Stacy stopped letting me see our kids.”

“It was... wait you said the last thing you remember was driving downtown? We can still try the memory spell if you want.”

Chase paused before nodding, a determined look on his face. There was a sound of turning pages and muttering from somewhere outside the room, but he didn’t have time to question it before a searing pain hit him. He cried out in pain and keeled over, putting his hands over his ears. There was a soft touch on his hands again and the pain ebbed away. He sat back up, dazed and noticed Marvin was holding his hands again.

“Gah... is it supposed to hurt that ba-“ Chase froze as the memories flooded back into his head. He wobbled in place and shook his head, his mind finally clear. His eyes widened and he looked up at Marvin, who had worry and curiosity in his expression.

“Chase?”

“I didn’t jump. I was pushed.”

Marvin’s eyes widened before they narrowed in fury. “Who.”

“I can’t... see them...” Chase closed his eyes and tried to concentrate. “I’m sitting on the roof, looking at the stars. I’m holding the bottle, it's maybe a fourth empty. My cheeks feel wet. I stand up and walk to the edge before sitting down again. There is a noise behind me. I turn around and I feel hands on my back, pushing me. Red hoodie... black gloves and... the green eye...”

“Green eye?!” Marvin interrupted.

“Green. Marvin, it was Jackie. No, it was his body.”

“Anti?!” Marvin shot up. “Crap, of course he was behind this! I need to-“

Chase stood up, watching as Marvin made a portal. He turned quickly back to Chase and removed a bracelet from his wrist and slipped it onto Chase’s.

“This should let you be able to talk to the others outside my body.”

“Wh-?”

“Oh yeah I had you possess me so I could see you, sorry for not asking. Come on.”

Before Chase could blink they were in Henrik’s office. He and Jamie were sitting on the bench, asleep on each other’s shoulders, eyes red from crying. Marvin snapped loudly, awaking the two of them instantly.

“Sorry to awake your slumber, but do either of you know where Jackie is?”

Henrik grunted and slipped over to his desk. “He’s at... that building. Where Chase ju-“

“He didn’t jump.” “I didn’t jump.” Chase and Marvin said together. Henrik and Jamie looked at Marvin in shock and confusion.

“Sorry, no time to explain.” Marvin began making another portal. “I’ll get him and come back for you three.”

“Three?!” Henrik exclaimed as he slipped through and disappeared with a pop. Henrik and Jameson stared at each other in silence, now wide awake.

“Well... would you like me to explain all this now or after he comes back?” Chase broke the silence, startling the other two.

“Wha- who-?” Henrik stammered.

Chase stifled a giggle. He knew Henrik didn’t really believe in too much of the supernatural stuff that Marvin loved so much.

“Chase!?!” Jamie signed, hands slightly shaking.

“Yeah um... sorry to scare you two but you can’t really see me right now cause uh.. I’m kinda... dead? But it looks like you can hear me so that’s good! Marvin’s spells worked!”

Henrik stared at the direction the voice was coming from, contemplating everything he knew.

Before either of them could answer the portal opened back up and Jackie flew through it backwards.

“GRAB HIM!” Marvin yelled as he came flying in after.

Henrik grabbed the hero before he hit the wall.

“Hold him there, I need to get it out of him.”

Suddenly Jackie jerked in Henrik’s arms and a distorted laugh echoed through the room.

“W̧h͟a̴̛t͠,̵ ̷y͠o҉̧ù ̨c̨̡a̴̶n̶͞’͟͟ţ͟ ͝f̸i͟͝g̀́h͡t̶ ҉͠m̢̛é ̕o̡͜n̡͞ ͘ý̕o̕u͡ŗ̛ ͟o͢w͢n̢͜,͠ ̸͜m̡a͟g̡i̵͝c̢̛i͟͏a̸n͏?̧͟” Jamie and Henrik paled instantly, being all too familiar with that voice. Jackie’s left eye flashed green as the whites of his eyes went black.

Marvin’s eyes glowed an icy blue and a sudden gust of wind whipped around the room. He pressed his hand against Jackie’s face and said a spell in a language that none of them could understand.

Jackie’s body spasmed in Henrik’s grasp, glitching harshly. Marvin pulled his hand back but continued chanting as black smog erupted from Jackie’s eyes and mouth, glitching and fizzing as it shot towards the ceiling. Suddenly everything was quiet and both Jackie and Marvin went limp. Jamie caught Marvin and Henrik held Jackie up still, then Jackie started coughing and breathing in heavily. Henrik released him and Jackie fell to his hands and knees, trying to catch his breath. Marvin blinked and looked up before pushing himself gently out of Jamie’s grasp and moving closer to Jackie. He lifted his head up and looked him in the eyes before smiling.

“You’re back.”

“Y-yeah-“ Jackie attempted to respond but ended up coughing a bit. “How did you know he was in me? He was... doing a pretty good job of pretending to be me for a week or two.”

“Are you alright?” Chase asked before Marcin could answer.

Marvin nodded and Jackie’s head shot up, looking around wildly. “Chase?!”

“Sorry, you can’t see me.”

“Yet.” Marvin grinned, all eyes moving to him. “That exorcism took a lot out of me but I think I have enough energy for one more magic trick. Henrik? Where’s the body?”

Henrik, who was standing against the wall trying to comprehend everything, suddenly stood at attention. “This way.”

He led them all down a few halls, slow enough that Jackie and Marvin could keep up, until they reached the morgue. “But Marvin- his vital organs are long dead. How can you-“

“Shush. Lemme work.” Marvin smiled confidently. He approached Chase’s body bag. “Chase, do I have your permission to try a little experiment? This is my first time trying to bring anyone back from the dead.”

“Of course you dummy.” Chase responded from the other side of the table.

“Follow my lead.” He commanded again, closing his eyes and resting his hands lightly on the bag. He started saying an unfamiliar spell, with a hint of melody to it. The other three brothers watched in wonder as an orange light flooded the room for a moment, surrounding Marvin’s silhouette. The light faded as Marvin finished and his arms fell to his sides.

“Oh dear-“ he managed to say before he collapsed again, falling unconscious. Even though he was still recovering, Jackie’s quick reflexes kicked in and he caught Marvin.

There was a cough from the body bag on the table and a muffled voice came from within. “Yo can someone open the bag? It smells bad in here.”

Henrik rushed over and unzipped the body bag and Chase sat up and stretched. Henrik watched in wonder as the previously blue with death body was suddenly pink with life again. Chase looked down before looking at Henrik.

“Uh... got an extra gown around?”

Jamie let out a silent giggle and Henrik tossed a hospital gown at Chase, who quickly put it on. He flexed his fingers, a smile spreading across his face, happy to be completely solid again.

“Ok someone want to tell me what the F*** happened?!?” Henrik finally released the confusion that was building up in him.

Chase looked up at him then down where Jackie sat with the unconscious Marvin. “Yeah, I’ll explain everything. Although it’d probably be a better idea to talk in your office.”

[precuredaily]

Precure Day 186

Episode: Yes! Precure 5 38 - “Precure 5′s Cinderella Story” Date watched: 15 May 2020 Original air date: 28 October 2007 Screenshots: https://imgur.com/a/Sc5B6vA Transformation Gallery: https://imgur.com/a/6k6SzS0 Project info and master list of posts: http://tinyurl.com/PCDabout

Glass slippers: not even once

This episode introduces an idea that will get explored a fair few times in series down the road: the fairy tale episode. Cinderella is a particularly popular one, because it’s a simple story that little girls can imagine themselves in and there’s a lot of room to play with the narrative. It’s hardly a revolutionary idea for fiction, but it’s still fun to see how Precure plays with it, and the spin in this episode is particularly unusual for manifesting in two different ways. Let’s explore!

The Plot

Milk decides to try copying down the story of Cinderella for writing practice, as she plans to write her own novel a la Komachi, and copying a book is apparently a good way to study story structure. However, she gets bored copying it verbatim, so she decides to put her own spin on the narrative, portraying the cures as the characters. Nozomi is Cinderella, Komachi is the evil mother, Rin and Karen are the evil sisters, and Urara is the witch (no fairy godmother here). Coco fills the role of the prince at the ball and Nuts is another nobleman. All of the characters are strangely self-aware, except for Nozomi. They know the story of Cinderella, they know they’re characters in it, they’re basically going through the motions as the story dictates. When Urara shows up to give Nozomi her magical makeover, she winds up transforming her into other fictional characters first before she gets it right.

this dress should look familiar

Once she’s at the ball, Nozomi trips and falls, getting the attention of Prince Coco, who in turn dances with her. Nuts also approaches Komachi and asks her to dance, commenting that it’s just the kind of story they’re in. Karen and Rin have an exchange where they ask who Coco is dancing with despite both of them knowing exactly who it is. Urara shows up in a gown, and everyone knows she was supposed to be the witch. Did I mention it was weird? And to reiterate, Milk is writing this, these aren’t the real Nozomi and co. transported into the story. Milk has written them to be self-aware. What a strange book. Anyway, she has Nozomi trip and fall and they all end up in a pile on the ground and that’s where her story leaves off when she’s interrupted by the real girls knocking on her door. She hides her writing from them and tries to find somewhere more private to write, but as soon as she steps outside, Bunbee confronts her and decides to suck everyone into the world of her story.

Darkness imprisoning me, all that I see - wait have I used that joke before?

The next thing they know, they’re inside Milk’s Cinderella! But they don’t bother acting out the story, they see Bunbee holding Milk hostage and he turns the chandelier into a Kowaina, so they transform as well.

The Kowaina is able to use reflected light as laser beams to attack the girls so the team scatters. Dream and Rouge focus on fighting Bunbee to try to rescue Milk, but the kowaina keeps getting in their way, so Lemonade, Mint, and Aqua manage to hold it off while the other two get the jump on Bunbee. They free Milk, and then get upset at collateral damage to the castle being caused by their fight. Bunbee taunts that he’ll destroy this world like he destroyed the Palmier Kingdom, but all the girls respond by kicking his ass and the kowaina’s ass and then Dream performs Crystal Shoot to defeat it, and Bunbee flees.

After they detransform, the clock strikes midnight and they realize they’re still in the story, so they all run to get “home”. On the way down the stairs, Nozomi trips and one of her glass slippers flies off, opening a portal back to Natts House.

Somehow the glass slipper came back with them, and they remember that whoever it fits is supposed to marry the prince. Nozomi and Coco share a glance but before she can put it on, Milk LEAPS into the air and lands inside the shoe, claiming it as a perfect fit. Nozomi starts to chase her, demanding her shoe back, while Karen, Komachi, and Rin pick up the scattered pages of Milk’s manuscript. They take umbrage with her portrayal of them in the story, and the episode closes on Nozomi, Karen, and Rin all chasing her up the stairs.

The Analysis

It’s certainly a fun episode, a nice uptick from the last few. The spins on Cinderella are clever and funny, and this cast really makes it work. I do find it weird just how self-aware they seem to be in Milk’s story. One time in high school (probably around the time this show aired actually) I did a creative writing assignment which completely shattered the fourth wall, but my jokes were more absurdist than this. The characters act as though they’re the real Nozomi, Rin, etc who have been transported into the story and know they have to act it out, rather than like they’re characters within the narrative watching as the events unfold. I don’t really understand why it was composed this way, it doesn’t make sense from Milk’s perspective to have them be self-aware and make comments on their knowledge of the story, that sort of gag is much more suited for the characters being sucked into the story, which they did in the second half of the episode anyway. Structurally it may have been better to have them absorbed into the story early in the episode, play out the tale of Cinderella until the mid-point, and then Bunbee reveals himself or something and the rest goes as normal.

Regardless of whether the gags make sense in context, though, they are hilarious. The wicked stepmother being played by the nicest girl of the bunch is peak irony, and Rin and Karen the frequent head-butters as the stepsisters makes me laugh, although they didn’t really play up their little rivalry. None of them take their roles very seriously, which adds to the comedy. The highlight for me has to be when Urara shows up and transforms Nozomi. She cycles through a couple different outfits before she gets it right:

The most notable ones are Momotaro and Princess Kaguya, who are the subjects of famous Japanese fairy tales.

She also gets turned into a bear, a clown, and even a monster! I enjoy the self-awareness as well. Urara showing up at the ball despite and being called out by the others as the witch, the frequent comments about this all being “how the story goes” or what have you. My favorite exchange is when Karen asks who’s dancing with the Prince and Rin tells her it’s Cinderella, the title character, and Karen responds that she knows but she has to stick to the script. I don’t know why but this is peak comedy to me, and my greatest wish is that it be the actual characters who are saying this and not just Milk writing.

The payoff to this, however, is the revelation at the end when Karen, Komachi, and Rin look at Milk’s manuscript and realize exactly how she’s cast them. Even if Karen and Milk have a good relationship, she doesn’t like being exploited in this way, and when Milk remarks that an angry Karen is scarier than an evil sister, she and Rin lose their minds and start to chase her. Komachi, in typical fashion, is upset but not angry. I have said it before but I love the character interactions in this show. They always manage to play off each other wonderfully, and they seamlessly and believably transition between comedy and seriousness.

Curiously, Milk doesn’t insert herself into the story for whatever reason. You would expect her to place herself in the role of Cinderella so she could get the handsome prince, but she seems more content to play god with her friends, and especially to make Nozomi suffer.... although the worst thing she actually does is have her trip and break things a lot. Considering she says she wants to be with Coco romantically, she doesn’t show it much. She fantasizes about it a little bit when she’s in his presence but on some level she seems to realize he’s a better match for Nozomi. I think it’s telling that she automatically pairs up Coco with Nozomi and Komachi with Nuts even in her fantasy.

The villain plot of this episode is rather lackluster. Sucking the girls into the world of Cinderella and then destroying it isn’t as effective as sucking them into Komachi’s novel, which was an actual dangerous setting that Arachnea enhanced in that instance. It doesn’t benefit Bunbee in any way to have them in this setting, and that’s disappointing. I wish they could have better justified it. It does allow for a pretty good fight, but it’s not any better than battles they’ve fought in the real world. My favorite part is when Cure Rouge mule kicks Bunbee, and then a sequence where everyone gets single or pair attacks in on him where their animation is really warped because it’s going fast.

It’s not bad, you can only see this if you freeze-frame, but boy is it weird. And there’s some other animation oddities in this episode. I’m not sure if I’ve brought up before their habit of drawing a shot from far away that has low detail, and either zooming in on it or starting up close and zooming out, but the point is, when they do this, it really enhances how low-quality the drawing is. And there’s a shot of Bunbee that’s drawn this way for some reason. It’s zoomed in on him as a person, he transforms, and THEN the camera zooms out. I can only assume they originally blocked this shot out as being zoomed out always, because otherwise there’s no reason that his human model should be as low-res as it is.

Here’s a fun little bit of continuity I picked up on that relates to Bunbee as well. If you remember way back in episode 14, he used a missile attack that broke Mint Reflection, and they had to team up to deflect it. Well he uses it again here, but this time, Komachi has Mint Shield at her disposal, which we know is stronger, and it’s able to block the missile completely without anyone else’s assistance.

Additionally, one little oddity I picked up on is, of all things, a reused piece of background music! During the scene where Urara-as-the-witch appears to Nozomi-Cinderella, they cue her in with the track “Strange Occurrence” from the FWPC soundtrack. I haven’t noticed any other instances of them using backing tracks from outside this season’s OST, so this sticks out to me.

I want to say a quick piece about these ball gowns that they’re all wearing and then I’ll wrap this up.

If you have a keen eye and a good memory, you might remember Nozomi’s dress and Coco’s suit as being first seen in her brief fantasy in episode 34:

The others are new.... sort of. Chronologically speaking this is their first appearance, but they also show up in the movie which premiered a week after this episode’s broadcast, and I’m reasonably certain, because of how long movies take to produce, they were designed for that first and then incorporated back into the show. Reusing costume designs isn’t a new phenomenon, I pointed out way back in FWPC that they reused the Romeo and Juliet costumes in the dream episode, I just wanted to point it out.

This was a fun episode with some great gags in it, but while they tried to put an original spin on the concept of placing your characters in another established fictional work, the execution fell short of its potential and keeps the episode from being as good as it could have been.

My next review will be the Yes! Precure 5 movie! I always allow myself to indulge on movies, and this one will be no exception, so in order to make it the best review possible, it’s going to take several days of work to get done. I hope to have it out within a week, and I’ll make progress announcements about it on PCD Status, so please be patient and look forward to that!

Pink Precure Catchphrase Count: 0 kettei!

[gusu-emilu]

Cantatio: Chapter Eight

Ship: Lan Zhan / Wei Ying, but this episode is all Lan Zhan & Wen Qing friendship

Summary: The teleportation closet acts up again, causing Lan Zhan and Wen Qing to step out of one mystery and into another.

Cloud Recesses Academy AU, Rated T - read on AO3

Lan Wangji looked up. He had not realized before, but the sack was covered with talismans, their bottom edges curling up from the fabric.

Dread gripped Lan Wangji. No one would place this many talismans on a bag unless something sinister was inside.

“We should leave,” he murmured.

< Ch. 7 | Ch. 9 > | chapter list

Lan Wangji jumped out of bed and strangled the intruder into his iron grip, only to be surprised that he held the body of a small woman.

“Calm down! It’s me!” she hissed.

Lan Wangji recognized the spiked golden hairpiece below his chin. It was Wen Qing.

“Why are you here?”

“To take a look at this closet, if you stop choking me.”

“It is locked,” Lan Wangji whispered sharply.

“How would you know? I don’t suppose you checked just now?”

The tendons in Lan Wangji’s neck tightened. He released Wen Qing from his grip but still clutched her wrist like a leash. It seemed that she had climbed in through the open window.

Lan Wangji glanced over at the other side of the room. Wei Wuxian lay on his stomach with his hair down across his face and his blankets crumpled in an unusually large heap, breathing loudly with one leg hanging off the side of the bed, oblivious to the charade occurring in his dormitory. This gave Lan Wangji an inkling of relief, but he was still overcome with dread at the knowledge that a girl was in his room. At night.

Boys and girls were forbidden from entering each other’s rooms after curfew. He had violated the same rule in two different ways, all within twenty-four hours!

“This is prohibited. Please leave.”

Wen Qing drew her lips into a thin line. She strained her free arm to reach out of Lan Wangji’s grip and tugged at the locked door of the closet to test it. Having been satisfied that the door was truly locked, she turned back to Lan Wangji.

“Listen. I’m not thrilled to be here, either. But if there’s a portal leading into my room, I want to figure out how it works as soon as possible. My roommates and I might even be in danger if there’s another entrance somewhere.” She leaned closer. “I just found something in an anthology of a cultivator’s travel notes. It’s a stretch, but it might help us.”

“Inform me tomorrow.”

Wen Qing ignored him and began the story anyway. Lan Wangji tried to build a dam around his consciousness to block her words, but like a mighty river, Wen Qing’s words flowed through the cracks and soaked Lan Wangji with intrigue.

“Supposedly, three hundred years ago in Qinghe, there was a shrine built to lock away a treasure. Its walls had over forty locked doors, and only one opened to the treasure. To prevent the treasure from falling into the wrong hands, if the incorrect doors were opened, people vanished within them as if they had been teleported. To further deter thieves, each door was sealed with a magic that could only be unlocked by an object of pure silver treated with special charms and possessing high spiritual power.”

She pulled three needles out of her sleeve. They stuck upward from her closed fist like claws. Lan Wangji’s eyes widened slightly.

“I brought my medical needles with me to test it out. I don’t think their energy is significant enough, but it’s worth a try.”

Lan Wangji did not know what else to do with this information but nod. Then something clicked.

His sword Bichen was made of pure silver.

Wen Qing noticed the flash of realization in Lan Wangji’s eyes. “What’s your idea?” she asked.

“This plan is improbable. Please leave.”

“It’s destined to fail if we don’t attempt it.”

“A trench cannot be filled using a feather shovel.”

She gave an astute tilt of her head. “Then use the feather to patch the tiny crack in the ground before the trench is formed.”

Lan Wangji raised his eyebrows. He wasn’t impressed by her retort, but he was at least surprised. He gave an unsure glance at Bichen, which lay atop a rectangular stool alongside his bed.

Wen Qing drew in an excited breath. “Your sword! It’ll have much higher cultivation than my needles.”

“We should not.”

“Second Young Master Lan, I’m already here. If you need to copy the Gusu Lan Clan rules twice as many times to coddle your ego, so be it. I’ve already broken the rules for you. At least get something out of it.” She paused, as if tasting her next words in her mouth.

“If you refuse, I’ll wake up your roommate.”

A thin line of worry burrowed in Lan Wangji’s forehead. This young woman was very difficult to argue with. He thought back to the words she had said to Clan Leader Nie.

“You have memorized the Gusu Lan Clan rules. Why study, only to disregard?”

“What makes you think I’ve done that?”

“You recited Rule #562 to Clan Leader Nie.”

Wen Qing squeaked out a laugh. “I’m a medical student. My head is crowded enough already. I only memorized that because I knew I could use it against someone.”

“…”

“Are you going to stand there gathering dust, or are we going to try to open the door?”

Lan Wangji looked at the closet. His hands jittered with hesitation. Then he reached for a spare pair of robes and slung them over his body.

“Where are you going?” Wen Qing asked.

“Nowhere. It is improper to be underdressed in the company of a woman.”

Wen Qing rolled her eyes. “How chivalrous.”

After Lan Wangji finished donning his robes, she pointed at the sword. Lan Wangji stared at Bichen for several moments, then with a rush of adrenaline, he scooped it up and unsheathed it. The bright moonlight from the window reflected off its blade with a frosty silver sheen.

He faced the closet door, then looked over his shoulder at Wen Qing with an expression that asked, What do I do now?

“Try drawing some type of array with the tip of your sword. Whatever array you think is best.”

“In the wood?” If Wen Qing wanted him to vandalize Cloud Recesses property, he would have to lay down his weapon.

“No, don’t get all worked up. Just in the air.”

With solemn concentration, Lan Wangji traced a perfect meshwork of interwoven lines in front of the door, deciding to create a qi expansion array. Bichen swished through the air with a muted whirring sound as Lan Wangji dictated its sharp, precise strokes.

They held their breath and waited.

Nothing happened.

“Try opening it,” Wen Qing said.

Lan Wangji pulled on the door. It did not budge. He glanced back at Wen Qing with the tiniest, most imperceptible look of smugness.

It had not worked. Really, it was a total shot in the dark. There was no known connection between this closet and the rumored shrine in Qinghe, which may have never even existed. Wen Qing had no justification for sneaking into his room and turning him into a rule offender.

“I brought the book with me,” Wen Qing said. “Let’s take another look. Do you have anything I can cross-reference?” Wen Qing said as she strode over to the edge of Lan Wangji’s bed. She looked up with dark, determined eyes and a questioning smile, as if asking for permission to sit.

Lan Wangji realized that his odds for persuading Wen Qing to leave were very low. And if he did not comply, Wei Wuxian would be awakened to witness his shamefulness. He nodded in reluctant approval, and Wen Qing sat down on his bed.

An itch scratched at Lan Wangji’s heels, making his movements jumpy and warning him that this scenario was unfamiliar territory. He watched Wen Qing flip through the book for a few moments, then set down Bichen on its stool and perched himself on the bed sufficiently far away from her.

Lan Wangji’s eyes darted to Wei Wuxian’s slumbering body. If the twisted mind of that young man could see him now, he would have deluged Lan Wangji with incessant teasing. Lan Wangji was glad that his roommate was a heavy sleeper.

He selected a borrowed library book from his bedside shelf and began to read under the moonlight that shone down in the shape of a window frame around his shoulders.

Lan Wangji and Wen Qing remained in this position for a long time, scouring pages with lightning speed and murmuring comments to each other.

It was actually quite nice.

Known as a man of his word, Lan Wangji was accustomed to people believing whatever he said with unshakeable faith, until this aspect of his life had become as ordinary as the water he drank. However, at this moment, Lan Wangji felt grateful that Wen Qing believed his story about the closet portal. Despite her sarcasm that nipped at Lan Wangji like a snapping turtle, she believed Lan Wangji so wholeheartedly that she was willing to stay up late in the night to help him study obscure magic and solve this mystery.

As Lan Wangji’s face skimmed through the fourth book of the night, his eyes as placid as glass and his skin as smooth as jade, the corners of his mouth crept into a smile.

The silence was peaceful.

Then, a haunting, ethereal melody coiled through the air like a mournful dragon.

It ceased abruptly.

It was a guqin. Wen Qing snapped her book shut and whirled her head to look at Lan Wangji, who sat motionless with his lips parted.

The guqin’s song had come from the closet.

The closet.

They opened the creaking panel and stepped through the pitch-black doorway together.

When they emerged at the other side, they were not in a closet, and they were not in Wen Qing’s room.

* * *

“What is this place?” Wen Qing whispered.

Lan Wangji blinked as his eyes adjusted to the dim light of his surroundings, which were much brighter than the abysmal black he had passed through in the closet to arrive here, but were still darker than where just minutes ago he had sat safely on his bed underneath a window’s halo.

“Unsure,” was all Lan Wangji could manage.

“Are we still in the Cloud Recesses?”

It was a good question. Lan Wangji had already been trying to determine that for himself. He was not sure how he sensed it, but they were high above the ground. The air held traces of an acrid stench buried by dust and at least four different perfumes. Was this an attic?

Bichen unsheathed itself an inch to shed some light, but there was a magnetism in the room that seemed to swallow Bichen’s glare. The sword vibrated in frustration.

Despite the darkening charm, there was no living essence nearby to cast the spell. Whatever emanated the charm was not alive.

They were alone. And there was no guqin in sight.

Lan Wangji squinted to discern the shapes in the room before him. It was a small square chamber, each edge two or three body lengths long, and a thick stone platform wrapped around the center of the room in a ring. Wide triangular patterns adorned the wall in dark, foreign blotches.

The room was crowded with an assortment of irregularly shaped items that, despite the faint light from tinted arched windows that stretched down from the angular ceiling, were too shadowy to identify. There were many of these objects scattered about. However, they could not be called clutter. They had been carefully placed here, arranged according to some inscrutable scheme.

On the back wall hung an alabaster-white emblem, a hoop with swirling tendrils reaching across its center like cloudy wisps. The symbol of the Gusu Lan Clan. They were still in the Cloud Recesses.

“Yes,” Lan Wangji concluded.

Although he could barely see the expression on Wen Qing’s face, he could sense tension immediately disperse from her body at his words. Lan Wangji also felt something unclench in his gut at the knowledge that they had not gone far from home.

Wen Qing stood close enough for her arm to be lightly nestled into Lan Wangji’s side. He leaned away to break the contact, as touching others made him uncomfortable, but he stayed near enough to still feel the young woman’s aura that brushed the dense air next to him, like a small lantern fire warming the chilly space and reassuring Lan Wangji’s mind.

He checked through the list of buildings in the Cloud Recesses that had multiple stories: pavilions, temples, living quarters, a watchtower. None was recorded of having a room like this. Where could they be?

“Well, the portal worked,” Wen Qing said. “That’s a success. I don’t think it was our doing, though. Do you have a talisman we can light?”

Lan Wangji instinctively reached a hand toward the vast sleeve of his azure robes, only to remember that this pair of robes was his spare. He stopped his hand as it was about to cross over his chest.

“No. Do you?” he said.

Wen Qing exhaled a sharp sigh. “No. Clan Leader Nie confiscated them all. I suppose he didn’t want to afford Wen Chao, my brother, or I any tools that would make it easier to sneak around after curfew.” She shrugged. “Not that it stopped me.”

“Talismans may not work anyway. I believe there is a darkening charm.”

Wen Qing shook her head. “I wish I’d planned ahead better. I could’ve prepared a tonic of mi meng hua to improve our night vision.”

Lan Wangji replied with a polite “hm?” from behind his tightly shut lips. Not because he was interested in further clarification, but because he wanted something to fill the eerie stillness that suffocated the room. He had never been adept at filling silence himself. Not that he was normally this eager to.

Wen Qing seemed grateful for permission to speak a sense of normalcy into the strange void they had entered. “Butterfly-bush flower buds. They clear heat in your qi stage to improve your sensitivity to light. Although they aren’t that effective unless you mix them with bat droppings. It’s not a concoction I tend to keep around.”

Actually, silence would do.

With unspoken synchronicity, they each wandered to opposite sides of the room. Their footsteps were measured, like the ticking of a clock, yet hesitant.

Lan Wangji passed boxes, urns, and diverse magical artifacts. None seemed harmful on their own, but somehow the methodical combination of these disparate objects in one place was unsettling, as if they whispered to each other about a devious plan that Lan Wangji could not decipher. What was this room? What purpose did it serve for the Cloud Recesses?

“Eek!”

Lan Wangji spun around. “What happened?”

“Nothing…nothing…”

A foreboding thought crossed Lan Wangji’s mind. This seemed to be a storage room. Bugs were often found in such places. Lan Wangji did not want Wen Qing to freeze in terror from spiders or termites, leaving him to fend for himself should a more serious threat pounce on them.

Then he envisioned another giant monster bug attacking them. His nose twitched with shame at that memory. He decided that Wen Qing’s entomophobia might not have been as unreasonable as he once thought.

“Have you found anything of interest?” he asked.

“No. Do you think the guqin came from this room? I don’t see one.”

“It is possible.”

“I’ll check in the back.”

Wen Qing’s shadow slinked across the wall on the left side of the room. Having finished inspecting his area, Lan Wangji proceeded along the opposite wall.

He bumped into a sack that hung from the ceiling. It was lumpy and rugged. Tempted by curiosity, Lan Wangji skimmed a hand along a small patch of the scratchy fibrous material. The sack was hard in one place, and then directly next to that protrusion was a deep groove where air sat between the fabric and whatever lay underneath.

What could it be?

He slid his hand a little farther, searching for a seam or an opening of some kind. His fingers closed upon a flimsy tab of paper. He lifted a corner of the rectangular sheet with a faint crinkling sound and leaned his face forward until his eyes were level with the paper.

It was a talisman.

But a talisman for what? It was too dark to study the runes scrawled on its surface.

Lan Wangji looked up. He had not realized before, but the sack was covered with talismans, their bottom edges curling up from the fabric.

Dread gripped Lan Wangji. No one would place this many talismans on a bag unless something sinister was inside.

“We should leave,” he murmured.

“What happened?”

Lan Wangji had only taken one step backward when the talisman he had touched fell from the fabric’s surface.

The entire sack dropped to the ground with a thud, revealing what stood underneath.

The gaunt white body of a female corpse.

“Hnngh!” Lan Wangji cried as he stumbled backward into the curved stone platform. He tripped over its edge and plummeted down until his shoulder blades slammed onto the wooden floor, his neck bent at a frightful angle that shot pain down his spine.

Lan Wangji immediately swung back onto his feet and unsheathed Bichen.

A beam of light shone from the back wall underneath the Gusu Lan Clan emblem. A sky blue guqin appeared, streaking harsh light through the room that pelted Lan Wangji like shards of rock. Its strings played themselves, but it was not the melody a guqin should produce. It was maniacal, strident—the sonic equivalent of a crazed dagger slashing through the air.

It was piercing through Lan Wangji! The twisted music was going to cut his soul!

Before Lan Wangji had time to think, Wen Qing’s nails were dug into his arm, and he was scrambling across the room with her to the door through which they had first entered the room.

But they had been teleported inside! What use was it to run toward a nonexistent door?

But when Lan Wangji reached out, his hand closed upon a weighty stone handle. He thrust it open.

A winding staircase descended into darkness below them.

* * *

Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this chapter, you can be a supportive sibling like Jiang Yanli by liking, reblogging, and visiting me on AO3! New chapters posted every Monday on AO3 and Tuesday on Tumblr.

Ch. 9 > | chapter list

[mobius-prime]

132. Sonic the Hedgehog #73

The Truth is Out There

Writer: Karl Bollers Pencils: Steven Butler Colors: Frank Gagliardo

We open in Knothole Village, the morning after the strange TV takeover detailing Robotnik's life story. Sonic has had Nate and Uncle Chuck make a gift for him to give to his parents - two golden wedding bands made out of power rings for their anniversary!

That's actually incredibly thoughtful of him. Nate gets ready to leave back for Mobotropolis, and at the same time, Sonic gets a call from Sally to return also, so Sonic says goodbye to his parents, Uncle Chuck, and Muttski, and together they head out.

Meanwhile, Sally is sitting in her room talking to Nicole about their "recent findings," when Elias happens to walk in, overhearing and asking if there's anything she'd like to talk about. She seems a bit reluctant at first, but Nicole encourages her to talk to her brother. Elias agrees, saying that he dislikes how they've felt they have to avoid each other lately, that it's been awkward since they never knew the other existed for the majority of their childhood. But now he has something on his mind and wishes to talk to his sister one on one, to which Nicole again agrees.

Well then! This does make sense - after all, Elias was never truly raised as a future monarch, while Sally was groomed all her life to be the next queen. Sally suggests he tell their dad, but he refuses, saying that King Acorn has been too busy worrying about their mother's illness and the affairs of the state and probably wouldn't listen.

But meanwhile, in orbit above the planet, something strange is going on. Snively, who as we saw in StH#72 is alive, is being introduced to the satellites above the globe.

Well this is probably a good sign! One last satellite activates in orbit, the I-SAT unit. We pop back over to Mobotropolis, where Sally has gathered a group to speak to about her and Nicole's findings. During this whole sequence, on the right side of each page, we see each satellite linking up to another one, two by two, until all eight have become linked…

Sally and Nicole begin to lay it all out for the others - two months ago the first satellite activated over the Devil's Gulag, coinciding exactly with the mysterious breakout of all its prisoners. One week later, the second one activated over the Southern Tundra, causing increased seismic activity, and Sonic, Tails, and Nate corroborate that this caused avalanches in the area. Three days later, the third satellite caused a band of Robians to activate in the Great Rainforest, when Sonic was attacked in the temple. And the very next day, the fourth satellite launched the group of asteroids towards Mobotropolis on the day of both Sonic and Elias' return. Four days later the fifth satellite activated over Big Kahuna Island, causing the half-cyborg squid monster to attack the team sent there to rescue Nate. The next day the sixth satellite activated that beam over Knothole that reversed its time displacement, and the seventh activated last night, just before the Robotnik broadcast. Strangely, the amount of time described would only account for about sixteen days between the first satellite activating and the sixth one, meaning that if the first one really did activate two months ago, there's been a gap of almost a month and a half between the sixth and seventh ones. Perhaps… the satellites just felt like taking a break, and nothing of note happened at all between then and now?

Well, that's not good.

Sonic immediately races out of the room towards Knothole, and begins roaming around, calling for his mom, dad, Uncle Chuck and Muttski. He checks their house, checks all the rooms, but the place is totally empty. Not a single Robian is left in Knothole. None. And back in orbit, as Snively cowers, the incredibly mysterious and not-at-all-obvious-who-it-is figure cackles maniacally at the sight of a dejected Sonic alone in the village…

Tales of the Great War (Part 2): The Big Bad One

Writer: Ken Penders Pencils: Art Mawhinney Colors: Barry Grossman

The beginning of this story informs us that it takes place before the previous one. It would kind of have to, because as Tails and Amy continue to read their history book under Jeremiah's supervision, Uncle Chuck walks in safe and sound. Apparently he's been coming here for years now (which would imply that he's had his free will for years, incidentally, meaning that the events of this comic have stretched on for longer than I previously estimated given that he only regained his free will at the beginning of the second era), and was heavily influenced by Kirby's works in his youth to become a great thinker. Tails and Amy ask him to add to the story and tell them how the Great War started, which he tells them from his own memory rather than from the book. After branding Nate a traitor to the kingdom, Naugus and Kodos celebrated their victory, but as these things go with malicious liars, they both turned on each other for their own purposes. Kodos tried to kill Naugus when his back was turned, but Naugus had already suspected treachery, and thus used an illusion to only make it appear like he was there while really being safely in the lab, next to the portal to the Zone of Silence.

Tails asks how Uncle Chuck knows all this stuff, considering even Kirby didn't have the full story, and Chuck explains that since he was a robot, while he was a spy he could simply download any information he needed from Robotnik's database into his own brain. He then continues the story - for a long time, the Overlanders and Mobians stayed separate, with nothing worse than the occasional skirmish breaking out. However, one day an Overlander scout and a Mobian scout encountered each other while out on patrol. Neither wanted to fight, so they instead agreed to tell their respective sides that the other side was far more well-equipped and knowledgeable about the land, to discourage any thoughts of war. However, a band of military Mobians overheard and captured them, dragging them before Kodos. As we know, Kodos loved the idea of war just as much as he hated Overlanders, so he was not pleased with their agreeableness. Thus, he decided to break both their necks where they sat.

Ouch, man. This guy is cold. Of course, as soon as both sides received their notes they were convinced that the other side was full of dangerous and brutal savages, and thus began to gear up for war. We'll have to wait to hear what happened next however, as we've got a situation in orbit to take care of first…

[emmybluefire]

Failures

“THEY DID WHAT!?”

Emmy gritted her teeth, the comet-eyed half elf’s gaze thrust out like daggers on the poor raven-haired receptionist before her. She was seething like she never had before, the hall around her as silent as the grave. It was like it was holding it’s breath, preparing for a major storm that was soon to come.

“I- I’m sorry Archmage! I’m not on the council! I had no say in the matter!” the woman stuttered, eyes flitting from side to side, unsure what to do about her current situation.

With an exasperated sigh, Emmy reeled herself back in and closed her eyes. When I count to ten, I will no longer feel the urge to hurt someone. She told herself. And for quite a long while, she remained silent.

“...Ar- Archmage Bluefire?” the receptionist asked, her voice shaky with nervousness.

“You’re right.” she sighed softly, the boiling sensation beneath her skin fading. At least for now. “You didn’t.” Emmy noted, opening up her eyes to the woman. She was right. This poor receptionist had no say in the matter, not a single ounce. If she was going to be mad at anyone, it would have be the Council of Six. This poor girl was just the middle man between them. The messenger. And it was never ethical to shoot the messenger, so to speak.

The receptionist eased up... if only a little bit. Though the room around her still remained quiet with some level of anticipation. “...S- so.” she shook her head, regaining her former posture. “Would you like me to set up an appointment with someone?”

“I would like to speak with the council as soon as possible, please.” Emmy’s tone, though calm... was cold, devoid of emotion. Those nuisances were not useful right now.

The receptionist gulped. “I’m afraid most of the council is busy at the present time.”

“Are they in a meeting?” Emmy quirked a brow.

“Well- not with each other, no.”

“Then an individual member will do. Archmage Kalec?”

“He’s... elsewhere.”

“Archmage Khadgar?”

“He’s holed up in Kharazahn.”

“Still?”

The receptionist nodded, smiling sheepishly.

Emmy scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Fine. Mondera?”

The receptionist stopped, looking down at her papers. “She’s... actually. Her meeting should be just about finis-”

“Excellent. Send me up there right away.”

“Wait, you have like- two people ahea-”

“I don’t care.” Emmy’s gaze snapped back at the raven haired woman. “Fit me in ahead of them. My topic is far more important that some other mage’s wacky experiment or portal report.”

The woman gave pause, looking almost offended. But Emmy’s presence seemed foreboding to her. Her form very looming despite her actual stature. Emmy’s eyes felt hot, the magic manifesting from them flaring up, making them brighter. They began emitting residual arcane energies in the form of wispy blue licks of smoke. The temperature around her falling drastically in degree. It was like a cold, ghostly draft had entered the room. But nay, it came from her. The otherwise phlegm in her mannerisms making this all the more off-putting.

“Right away, Archmage.” The girl wasted no time. Picking up her long, purple quill, the arrangements were made in an instant. “Just-” she gestured past the the grand circular hall of the violet citadel, and up the stairs to Emmy’s right. “Head on up that way. She’s in her office.”

Emmy nodded once in affirmation. “Thank you, for your cooperation.” Turning heel, she grasped her ribs gently, wincing a bit as the bandages masking her burns agitated the injuries beneath. Damn those Naga... Inhaling sharply through her nose, she lifted her posture as high as she could and, very briskly, started to head in that direction.

The walk wasn’t long. But to Emmy it was arduous. Not necessarily for her body. But for her mind. Yes, the burning pain in her sides and shoulder were worsened by the briskness in her walk--she really should be taking it easy--but her emotions where threatening to get the better of her. A process she was always terrified to allow to happen, as magic is tied to her very being. She’s dangerous when not in control. But part of her couldn’t help it. Couldn’t let the situation stand. The aspects gave up the abilities the titans granted them because they trusted mortal kind to protect Azeroth in their stead. But the longer this has went on, the more she started to believe... the mortals were the ones who fucked up the world to begin with. At least to the degree it’s been now.

Critical as she was of Malygos towards the end... she did start to see his point. And that notion? It scared her. It really did. All the years she’s spent with the mortals she’s grown fond of them. Their culture, their societies, their progression. They, as a whole, were almost like her children in a way. And like children, they were bound to make mistakes. And that? That... was something she worries has blinded her all this time. They’re bound to make mistakes. She always told herself. You just have to forgive them, and teach them where they went wrong. But leaving the Tidestone unguarded in the tomb!? In a place where Naga can easily gain access!? This mistake was far more dire than the others. This mistake threatened the very safety of Azeroth, her people, and everyone on it. Could this mistake even be worthy of forgiveness? She hoped... nay, preyed, that she was wrong.

Knocking on the door, she heard Archmage Mondera’s voice call fourth. “Come in.”

It creaked as it opened, Emmy’s ears twitching at the sound. Before her was a large, circular office. Similar in size to the Violet Lounge high above... only instead of comfy chairs and delectable foodstuffs, it was filled to the brim with enchanted books that flew from shelf to shelf, stacked in large bookshelves almost twelve feet tall. Behind a large, dark oaken desk of enormous proportions sat Archmage Mondera. An ashen haired, middle aged woman adorned in blue mage-plates atop a fine silken gown. The grand lavender and gold Tabard of the Kirin’Tor contrasting against it, accentuating the color of the armor beneath.

“I swear, Margoss, if this is another plea from you to transport Dalaran to Vashj’ir you are going to be sorely dissapoin-”

Emmy stepped in, carefully shutting the door behind her, and locking it. “Is the room warded?”

The woman lifted her gaze from her ledger and stared at Emmy blankly for a moment. But within a fleeting time afterward, she nodded in affirmation. She smiled. “Thaumaturge Sorvegosa. This is a rare pleasure indeed.”

“I fear you may think differently, once you hear what I have to say.”

Mondera’s expression turned from pleasant to that of grim disposition. Tapping her quill to the ledger one last time, she lifted it from the page and set it into the inkwell. Leaning forward, the woman pressed the tips of her fingers together and hummed. “This is about our negligence of the Tidestone, isn’t it?”

Emmy was taken aback, eyes wide with anger. They acknowledged it!? They knew this was going to happen, and didn’t do anything about it!? “Why!?” She asked sharply, hands extended out in an exasperated shrug.

“Believe me... it wasn’t wholly our choice.” Mondera sighed, fingers moving to rub her temples, and to pinch the bridge of her nose.

“You always had a choice. And you chose not the guard the tomb after our war with the legion! Why?”

“We were stretched too thin after that, Sorvegosa. Or perhaps you’ve forgotten. The Tomb of Sargeras became a rather low priority after the champions of Azeroth drove the legion out.”

Emmy paused, once again attempting to reel herself back in. She turned her head away and placed a hand to her forehead, fingers and thumbs caressing her brow.

With a quiet sigh, Mondera waved her hand in a ‘come hither’ type motion, animating the chair in front of her large oaken desk to make itself more accessible to the distressed dragon-in-elf-form before her. “Please, Archmage. Have a seat.”

Placing a hand on the chair, Emmy carefully made her way down. Falling flat in the comfortable red velvet seat. “So... you’re telling me: that you didn’t think Aszhara and her minions would be after it? You can’t know exactly what they’re planning. I understand that. But you do know that such an artifact would have given them quite the edge in their quest for world domination. Surely you could have anticipated that, at least.”

“We didn’t expect her to be coming so soon. Not after the blow we dealt to her forces in the Tomb itself. It was as if... she knew our forces were weak, and took advantage of the opportunity.” She finished pointedly. Half-glareing at the woman before her.

Emmy sighs. “I did warn the council she was coming. Did I not?”

“The Warning came too late. The council had no time to deliberate the best coarse of action.”

Emmy stood up abruptly, the dragoness slamming her hands on the desk. “Dalaran is host to some of the most powerful mages in the world! The best coarse of action would have been to at least send in a group of them to resist! Equipped with a fail-safe too! Should things have started to turn dire! They could have at least weakened Aszhara’s forces enough for us to track and pursue them! We could have warned the other factions of the impending threat... rather than them falling into a pit and discovering it for themselves! Losing their navy’s in the process!” her skin felt like it was boiling beneath the dermis. The air moving through her nose in her seething breath made her feel like a disturbed bull witnessing the color red. She took a deep breath inward, running a hand through her bangs and vigorously pushing them back.

“Well what would you have us do, Thaumaturge? No decision in Dalaran can be made without the direction of the council and those that represent them.”

“I don’t know. Gather what forces you can, find a way to get the Horde and Alliance to work together, utilize the other pillars of creation. Something. You guys have done this in the past. Why can’t you figure it out now?”

Mondera glanced down at her desk, taking several deep breaths inward. She rubbed her temples and simply... settled down. “I will gather the council members as soon as I can. We’ll... deliberate on what to do next. In the meantime just- keep doing what you’re doing--I suppose--with what forces you can muster, Archmage.”

Emmy huffed, pushing herself from the desk. “Alright... I’m sorry to have wasted your time.” she finished, turning heel to walk away. As she reached out to grasp the doorknob though, a small set of tears began to push themselves from her eyelids. A large knot in the back of her throat started to free itself. Damnit... I’m really about to cry now? No. I can’t.

She was lying to herself. Her eyes were drawn to a single candlelight down the hall. It’s little flame flickering, and licking the sides of the wax stick that fueled it. It... began to get hot. The pain in her sides clawing back out to become ever-more agonizing as they once were. With a wince, she grasped her left side with both hands. The room grew dark, and around her she could see the shadows of... countless Naga. Sirens, Myrmidons... each one chanting in a low, infernal tongue. 

Fssh, wgah qam za zyqtahg. Fssh, wgah qm za zyqtahg. Mg'uulwi N'Zoth, eth'razzqi worg zz oou. Fssh, wgah gam za zyqtahg. Fssh wgah gm za zyqtahg. Mq’uulwi N’zoth!

She remembered it as vividly as her own heartbeat. Those words... though she would never understand them... they instilled dread in her heart. She remembered only cackling... and pain.

“Your naught but a fragment. A wannabe of your race. You will never aspire to anything more, Ley-Child. If you were really so mighty, you wouldn’t be in this sorry state. Never again. Never again... embrace him, embrace him and the pain will go away.” Another voice echoed within. The sick, serpentine voice of the Siren who did this to her. But she remained still, stubborn. A hot iron was stabbed into her skin while she lie there, netted down... hopeless to defend, not able to do anything but squeal and writhe in agony. It came again. And again... each insult to her pride worse than the last. It went, and went... and burned and burned... until her mind gave way to sleep, too exhausted to say anything more than the truth. She couldn’t even save herself. No... she had to be rescued. Rescued by the very souls she was trying to protect. Souls who are now, in even greater danger than they were before. It was her fault... the Naga knew they could capture the Tidestone because of her. All her time she spent preparing for the worst. All the wards and webs, and lies she spun to keep her enemies off her trail... it was for nothing. And now the world was going to drown because of h-

“Miss Bluefire?” A mousy voice perked up from behind. In an instant, the darkness faded. Startled, she jumped, spinning around rapidly to face the girl behind her. A young girl, couldn’t be older than sixteen. She had ginger hair and a pair of brilliant hazel eyes, uncorrupted by the trials of the world. Emmy tilted her head, confused... though she hastily moved to wipe tears from her eyes.

“Uh... h- Hi!” she girl extended her hand. “I’m apprentice Kinsey Kenzington! I- we met very briefly. For your book, remember?”

Perplexed, Emmy extended her hand... processing what just happened. “My... book?”

The girl nodded excitedly. “Y-yes! Your book... um. An Analysis On Magic, Less Is More.. yeah? I um... I- I told you my story on how I used one of your- erm...” she paused, still shaking Emmy’s hand. “’Methods’ to easier summon a Water Elemental.”

Barely managing a smile. She chuckled. “Oh! Yes... I um. I remember now. You- you actually made it into my book.”

Kinsey nodded sharply once more, suddenly realizing she had been shaking Emmy’s hand for far too long, she abruptly pulled away, looking down with embarrassment. “Well... I- I guess I just wanted to say hi! Thank you for that opportunity by the way. Little Guppy has been super helpful in classes! I might make him my familiar!” she giggled.

Overcoming the shock, Emmy finally let out a little chuckle. “O-oh. Well. I’m glad to hear it!”

The other girl beamed, skipping off down the hall. And as Emmy watched her, a new sense of motivation enveloped her. Yes... she had failed. That was her mistake, and she must now learn from it. But she can’t let it defeat her. That is what the Old gods would want, after all. No, she had to carry on... so that the new generation, such as the girl she just met, can live a better life than she. That was her oath... her true responsibility.

This is the seaquel-ish post to my last major story writ: Fury of the Skies I know... it’s a tad confusing what happened between then, and now. I just haven’t written most of it because it all happened through RP, and I’m very bad at adapting that into a story XD. Unless it’s the aftermath, of course. But long story short, After Emmy’s first strike on a Naga camp, she met up with a privateer known as Draivian Steele whom Amaranthaea, Dean of @stormwinduniv , sent to help her out. When they got to their next destination though, the largest of the three islands, the Naga were prepared. 

You see, the naga who had escaped the carnage from the first strike went on to warn the others that they had caught the attention of a Blue Dragon, and hence, had several harpoon launchers and nets mounted up and ready to go.

When they got there, they were swiftly overwhelmed. To save Draivian’s crew from certain death, Emmy had burnt the harpoon ropes pulling the ship in, took dragon form to break through a ward they’d placed up (Pulling attention from the crew), and wrought havoc. That was until the weighted nets they’d launched clipped her wings. She was captured. After noticing the Kirin’Tor brand on her shoulder, they decided to keep her alive for questioning. Only... they opted to torture her, using hot irons and fire.

Draivian, appreciating the valor and compassion she showed for a band of privateers, grabbed his best men and came in by dingy in the dead of night a few days later, and rescued her. However, it came to late. By the time they got here, Emmy had already been broken, and in an exhausted stupor, told the Naga the location of the Tidestone. And so, here we are now.

Thank you guys once again for sticking through this long-ass post and reading it! It is... my attempt at explaining a plot hole in Blizzard’s continuity. Azshara said that “I will not leave the tidestone unguarded, as they so foolishly did.” , and to this day I wondered why the hell the Kirin’Tor would be so irresponsible. It’s... not a perfect answer by any means. But it’s the best I could come up with :D , I love you guys, and I hope you have a good day or night wherever you may be.

[aggressivelyclueless]

Storytime

prompted by @browa123 "the book Jack got instead of a pony" Words: 6435 Warning: mildly spooky but that's about it

      It was late, and Maddie had already gone to bed.  Jack still had a lot of work to do, but he knew that it would have to wait until tomorrow.  He stuffed as many parts as he could back into a storage box, and tossed the box up on the top shelf along with all the other projects he'd promptly forgotten about.  He shut the fluorescent lights off, yawned, and then shuffled upstairs.  His body was tired, but his mind was still abuzz; nights like this, he thought, made for good bedtime reading.       Fortunately, he had just the thing for that.  It sat up on top of the bookshelf in the living room, and with some difficulty he pulled it down.  It was by far the heaviest book in the house, and he set it down on the couch and went to grab a soda and make himself comfortable.  He remembered with fondness the day he'd gotten it; he'd turned twelve, and had puzzled for most of the afternoon about what could be in that enormous package on the table.  He'd stacked all his other presents on top of it so that he could save it for last, and he hadn't been disappointed.  John Fenton-Nightingale's Daunting Text of Unearthly Anomalies and Mystical Oddities, the cover had read when he'd pulled the paper off.  Nevermind the fact that he hadn't been able to lift the thing - he was over the moon, and had spent the next six weeks chewing through it one chapter at a time.       Those were the days when you just went out and caught ghosts, Jack thought to himself as he grabbed the blanket from the couch and tossed it over himself.  The lamp on the end table clicked on, and he pulled the massive book onto his lap.  Its pages were soft around the edges from years of use, and most of them were dog-eared.  He pulled the front cover open, and absently began flipping through the pages.  The book seemed to read his mind; it flipped to the first page of his favorite chapter, and Jack grinned.  This book knows me so well.

Excerpt from chapter seventeen, J.F.N.'s Daunting Text, unabridged

     In all the years that I have devoted to the meticulous study and record of the strange world of the supernatural, few items have held as much interest as the gateways to the world itself.  I have only ever seen one with my own eyes, and I regret that I had neither the time nor the tools to study it properly.  I can say this, however, with certainty: it appeared a puzzling and ethereal green, flat like a portrait that might hang on the wall or over a fireplace, but there appeared from it a creature like no other.  I refer, of course, to the Viscous Anomaly (described in detail in chapter twelve), and if it were not for the malevolent specter, I may have been able to study the gateway from whence it came.  Alas, the anomaly attacked me on sight, and I was forced to engage with it as the gateway slowly faded away behind it. Recent research has been conclusive, however, that...

      Jack frowned.  Why was this his favorite chapter again?  He skipped ahead a few pages, finding a fully detailed sketch of the gateway the author had seen.  Ah, yes, that was it.  The portal in the basement looked a lot like it, except without the metal frame and control panels and such.  According to Nightingale, these just appeared sometimes; Jack hoped to find one someday.  Wouldn't that be cool, he thought.  He stared at the sketch a minute longer, and then flipped back to his other favorite chapter.

Excerpt from chapter three, J.F.N.'s Daunting Text, unabridged

     I remember with the utmost clarity the first time I had ever seen a ghost.  At the time, I was eight years old.  My father's father had passed away of the pox, and there was to be a funeral for him the following week.  It was the third night after his passing when he returned; he was but a ghastly shadow in the corner of my bedroom, and I may not have noticed him at all if it weren't for the fact that he glowed most ominously!  He barely possessed a form at all - it was as if he had pressed himself into the corner of the ceiling, and he glared at me with two round red eyes!  I admit with some embarrassment that I had let out a shriek at the sight of him, not knowing at the time that he was my late grandfather, and had slept in my mother's room that night.       He returned to me the next evening, this time appearing slowly.  When I saw him, he dared even to speak!  He spoke - this I remember very clearly indeed! - telling me, "Calm, child.  'Tis I, Matthew Nightingale, and I shall not harm you."       What a fool I was to believe him!  He had no sooner spoken of his benevolence than he crashed through each and every piece of furniture in my room, cackling madly!  I had known him in life to be somewhat of a trickster, but this was less a trick and more a mean-spirited and cruel stunt!       It was then that I swore to exact my vengeance on him, and all that were like him.  The realm of the dead, I discovered, was not entirely separate from the world of the living.  I began to do what little research that I could, compiling as many notes as I could, but it was too little to be able to form any proper defense for the horrible spirit that had crawled into our home.       Over the next weeks, my departed grandfather destroyed more and more of our house, and we were forced to move to one across the city to escape him...

      Jack was heartbroken.  The poor boy - only eight, and already being pushed around by ghosts!  He knew how the story ended, of course, and elected to skip the pages in the middle detailing the prolonged suffering in Nightingale's teenage years.  Jack knew the ending almost by heart, but read it anyway, silently rooting for him the entire time.

...it was on my seventeenth birthday that I acquired the final piece to exorcise the poltergeist of my grandfather from my old home.  My mother fretted when I told her what my plans were regarding the issue, but I remained staunch and undeterred.  I collected everything I needed in a modest canvas satchel, donned my favorite hat at the time (alas, I do miss that hat dearly, but that's another story), and assured my worried mother that I would return after midnight.       As I approached the house, I knew that the spirit's power had grown steadily since the first time I saw it.  The yard outside was dry and dead, and the same ethereal green emanated from each of the front windows.  I remember thinking it was almost as if the house itself had come alive, but I know that's impossible.  The wooden gate hung open, and I made my determined way up the front path to the door.  It swung open for me as I was about to open it for myself, and the front hall was almost completely dark.       I lit myself a candle to see, and made my way into the house.  All the memories from my childhood came back to me in broken fragments, and seeing the rooms where I once played in such disrepair was disheartening.  Nonetheless, I crept silently up the stairs to my former bedroom.  That was the place where the poltergeist had first manifested, and I knew that was where it would be defeated.       My late grandfather seemed, somehow, to know that I'd be coming.  I remember how he'd stared at me - it was as if he was so confident in his abilities that he didn't even consider me a threat to his dominance over the house!  "Child," said he, "Surely you came knowing your demise was assured?  I do not fear you."       He should have feared me!  I set to work at once preparing the ritual for the exorcism - allow me to illustrate the steps, in the event that this information might be useful to anyone suffering a similar ghastly affliction:       The first and most important step: be sure to keep the offending entity distracted adequately enough that he does not interfere with the beginning stages of the ritual.  That can be achieved in any manner!  Each spirit is different, and has its own weakness.  In the case of my grandfather, he was alarmingly susceptible to fits of hysteria, especially after I told him that I was going to make a living with this work, and that I'd put spooks like him to shame!       The second step, which is also very important: draw a circle in white chalk upon the floor, and use red chalk to mark eight corners.  Draw a star between them.  Use one drop of Nightingale's Elixir of Exorcisms (detailed in chapter twenty-seven) to mark the corners as well.  This will keep the poltergeist from fleeing the house in the event that you cannot capture it right away! The third step: under no circumstances should you step outside of your circle!  Spread your blood salt (also detailed in chapter twenty-seven) around the perimeter of the circle.  When it begins to glow, you know you have used an ample amount!  From here henceforth, do not step outside the circle under any circumstances!       The fourth step: recite the curse which applies the most directly to the circumstances of your haunting (see the table in chapter twenty-five for a more detailed explanation).  If you have the correct chant, your circle should glow brighter; if it turns white, you have pronounced everything correctly!  If, however, it quits at once, or slowly dims, or turns a ghastly green, you should probably run and come back when you are more adequately prepared.       The fifth step: do not move away from your circle!  When you have completed your curse, stand perfectly still.  If it appears that the poltergeist is unaffected, do not move!  Sometimes, as I learned, the mystic forces behind the curse take a moment to come into effect.  No matter what the spirit says, or how threatening he is, remain still!  I cannot stress this enough!  He will vanish off the face of the earth, and you will be able to tell because the furniture floating around you will drop out of the air, and the grave laughter will cease, and the candle in your hand will be blown out by some mysterious ghostly wind.  Only when it is silent will it be safe to relight the candle.       It was the first victory of my career, and I remember exactly how chuffed I was that it had been such a brilliant success.  The house never sold after that, however, since it had been known for almost a decade to be "irredeemably and completely haunted," but I knew that the evil within it had been vanquished.  I returned to my mother, and boldly explained what had transpired.  She was too proud of me to speak!

      Jack swelled with pride.  Every time he read the story, it touched him in a way that little else could.  To think that he had the heroic Nightingale blood in his own veins!  He thought, with some jealousy, that it might have been more adventurous in the old days.  Ghost hunting was one of the most important jobs in the world, but it didn't carry quite the same air of mystery that it used to.  That was part of what made books like this so much fun to read.  People actually used to live like that!  How exciting!       He skipped over the next few chapters of Nightingale's autobiography.  He'd spent a handful of early years in the oldest towns in Europe, hoping to find ancient ghosts of any sort.  It hadn't worked out for him; it took him a while to get established as a reputable expert of the paranormal, and it was more fun to read about his successes than his struggles anyway.  He flipped forward a fair amount before pausing on another one of the full-page sketches.  This was of one of the ghastly entities that he encountered several times, and considered his lifelong foe: The Hanged One, a shadowy devil that hung in the air as if from a gallows, no matter whether there was a gallows present or not.  Jack could only stand to look at the sketch for so long before turning the page; something about the blank-red eyes or the wispy edges of the thing unsettled him.  He was grateful that ghosts didn't look like that anymore.  Most of the ones that he'd come across had been variations of green.  That was the color a ghost was supposed to be, he thought to himself with a little nod.       He flipped another few pages, remembering the chapter when Nightingale had first met the Hanged One.  That one always spooked Jack, and he considered whether or not he wanted to get any sleep later.  He decided that it was fine.  He'd read a couple of the fun chapters afterward.

Excerpt from chapter five, J.F.N.'s Daunting Text, unabridged

     It had been six months since I had opened my newest machining shoppe in a scarce-known settlement called Amity Forest.  It's the perfect little hamlet - I'm quite certain of this! - and the quiet has allowed me to perform all sorts of experiments that I was unable to before.  The first day that I arrived, I admit that I had been rather dubious, but my doubts have long since been laid to rest.  Why, I thought, I may just settle down and build myself a little house, if only I knew how to build houses!       How fortunate for me that there was a little house for sale already!  Of course, I had plenty of funds to spare from my wandering days in the abandoned towns of Italy, and after sailing back to the New World I thought that I may settle down for good!  I think, in retrospect, that I may, perhaps, have been better off with some foresight of where I was headed.  Amity Forest is a wonderful little town at first glance, but the time I've spent here has allowed me far more glances than just one.  I am forced to admit that I may be in over my head.       It was the first week after I had finalized the purchase of the house.  I was very much at home already, and I had been in a good mood since my first night in a new bed.  I came home one sunny afternoon, having been in town for errands regarding this-or-that, when I felt the eyes of a mysterious spirit upon me.  I turned, hoping to catch even a glimpse of such a specter, and that was when I saw it.  It appeared as if it was a shadow cast by something else entirely, but the shadow itself appeared in the shape of a hanged man, with a bent neck and dangling limbs.  Its head was faceless - faceless, except for two burning eyes, which fixed themselves upon me and stared, unblinking.  The shadow turned slowly this way and that way, as if there could have even been something holding it up, and even as its head tilted, its eyes remained fixed upon mine.       I admit that I'd been so utterly afraid in that moment that I'd turned and run back up the path and into my new home.  I'd locked the door behind me, and only then did I regain my senses.  A shadowy specter, haunting the very woods in which I lived?  John Nightingale fears nothing of the sort!  I set to work immediately to rid myself of such a haunt, staying up much later into the night than I had anticipated, and being most thorough in the placement of spectral deterrents around the perimeter of the house.  I slept soundly that night, assured that the defenses that I put in place were impenetrable!       After that, the shadowy anomaly in the woods utterly and completely slipped my mind.  I turned my attention to my newest book, John Nightingale's Book of Ghosts (it has since been completed, and is in the process of publication as I write this new book, An Autobiography by John Nightingale.  I suspect that this project will be ongoing for quite some time, and may be the last of my works to be published), and for two days afterwards I was quite happy alone.       I discovered on the third day that I was not, as I had thought, alone.  I had only seen the anomaly once thus far, and it had been well outside of the yard.  Imagine my surprise when I came upon it for the second time, and it was hanging over my garden!  I admit, it had been very late when I saw it, and the candles had burned almost to the end so it was very dark, but I know there was no mistaking it.  It was the very same specter - of this, I have the utmost certainty.  Its red eyes were always fixed upon mine, no matter how I moved or which way it turned as it dangled in the air, and although it said nothing - not even a horrible ghostly wail! - it made its intentions clear.       It was in that moment, as I stared, transfixed, at the ghoul outside my window, that I came to an important realization.  This was no mere spook, nor a haunt, nor even a poltergeist.  This was, in the most awful sense of the word, a revenant.  I could hardly believe that I had been afflicted by such a thing - and how?  Revenants could only be brought to the realm of the living by way of a direct summoning ritual, and there was no one that I knew of in my life that could possibly have loathed me enough to set one upon me!       I knew that the defenses I had set around the house were inadequate.  This was no longer a matter of deterring an entity - this was going to be a battle outright, and I had precious little time to prepare.  At once, I tossed aside my books and my notes, making as much room as I could to concoct a new, more potent blood salt.  I was certain that it would take everything I had - both in experience and in weaponry - to defeat a monster such as a revenant, and I could afford to waste not a second of precious time.       For the entirety of that night, the thing stared at me through my front window.  Every time I looked back, I fully expected it to have disappeared, only to reappear in the bedroom, or hanging from one of the beams in the hall.  It vanished only when the sun began to rise, and I was finally allowed to collapse in exhaustion.       For the next two nights I worked tirelessly in an effort to properly defend myself for the next time the revenant appeared.  It wasn't until the next day after that, when I paid a visit to the library in the village, that I happened upon mention of the revenant.  It's called The Hanged One by most of the people who live here, and it has vanquished at least a dozen witch-hunters prior to myself.  If I was to believe what the historical records told me, it would strike again on the night of the new moon.  At the time, I had nine days to prepare.       I have found out since then that the Hanged One is no normal occurrence of a revenant.  It has not, as far as I can tell, been summoned by anyone, and all of my attempts to thwart its terror have failed.  I have not ever seen it inside my house, but I wonder if my defenses would hold if it decided to enter.  The question still lingers in the back of my mind, in every waking moment: am I to become just another in the list of victims to such an entity?

      Jack shuddered.  He regretted, almost immediately, that he'd reread this particular portion of the autobiography.  He could almost see the spirit, rendered as it had been in the sketch, lurking in any shadow of the house.  Why did he do this to himself?  He'd tried once to calm himself by skipping to the chapter where Nightingale fights back the Hanged One, but that hadn't made him feel any better.  He knew exactly how the story ended - which is to say, it hadn't, even after it had destroyed his house in Amity Forest and forced him to move away to Salem.  Nightingale had never fully banished the Hanged One before the day he died.  In theory, it could still be out there somewhere.       He flipped back to the page with the sketch, making the knot of fear in his stomach twist before he couldn't bear it and looked away.  Why do you do this to yourself, Jack?  He turned forward, past the end of the autobiography, and set his attention instead on a chapter cataloguing most of the more standard ghosts.  This was more familiar territory for Jack; these were the kinds of ghosts that he'd been able to catch, and he tried to set his mind at ease.

Excerpt from chapter ten, J.F.N.'s Daunting Text, unabridged

     In my travels, I have encountered several different kinds of otherworldly anomalies, and have spent years researching and cataloguing them.  Here, I present the fullest extent of the knowledge of my findings so far.  If, in the future, I am able to compile a more complete list, I shall be certain to have published an updated and revised version of this book.  If John Nightingale's Book of Ghosts: Revised is seen in the shoppes, do be sure to purchase a copy!       There are, of course, several categories of ghostly anomalies.  "Ghost," although a term that is applicable to most categories if only in the technical way, is used by experts such as myself to refer to one specific type of entity.  Fear not!  They will all be described in detail.       Creeps - barely on the scale at all.  They are usually only seen out of the periphery of one's vision.  It took me several days to even be able to capture one for study, but after several attempts I was able to hold one in a glass jar.  My conclusion is that Creeps are very difficult to capture because they aren't scary enough - or powerful enough - to be any more than a common nuisance.  They also seem to be unusually shy, and would rather escape and hide than cause any sort of ruckus or mayhem, no matter how small.       Spooks - generally known as "things that go bump in the night."  Spooks are almost as harmless as Creeps; I say "almost" because, while they are equally shy, they will not hesitate to knock over anything left out on a high shelf, or turn hanging portraits upside-down, or cause meat to spoil.  Spooks will flee once their antics are noticed, however, and are rarely caught in the act.  If you are quick enough to catch a Spook, there is a very obvious way to identify it.  They appear very similar to Creeps, but there is a key difference.  Does it have teeth?  It's a Spook!       Ghosts - generally mistaken for Spooks (or, rather, Spooks are often called Ghosts).  They will often cause moderate disturbances within one's home, but my newest research indicates that they may not be fully aware of their actions.  Ghosts are, in most cases, among the least intelligent paranormal entities to exist.  They will often wander through walls or windows as if they aren't there at all, and on more than one occasion I have had to shoo them away from my important research because they kept making such a mess of my notes!  The most important thing about these lower classes of entity, however, is that they can all be avoided very easily!  A modest line of even low-potency blood salt around the perimeter of your home should be sufficient to deter any and all of these paranormal entities.       Spirits - by far the most common sightings.  Spirits can even answer questions if properly persuaded!  Although not horribly powerful, Spirits do seem to possess willpower and are capable of returning to the same place several times, even if caught and released elsewhere.  Unlike Ghosts, Spirits tend to gravitate toward one person specifically, although the reasons for that remain unknown.  If you are, or think you are, being followed by a Spirit, the easiest remedy is to bury a rabbit under your front door.  Spirits will be unable to follow you into your house, and after a few days they won't even know that the house even exists!       Specters - much more devious than Ghosts and Spirits.  Specters are capable of appearing whole - whether or not they resemble a man is entirely dependent on the specimen, and they tend to cause mayhem deliberately, rather than by chance.  More direct than Spooks and Spirits, Specters will often leave faucets running, lock doors from the inside, and hide valuables or important items.  Specters are among the most persistent of any category, and can reappear - sometimes within hours - after even moderately advanced banishment spells.  If a specter is terrorizing a household or person (it should be noted that they seem to have no preference over their target), they can only be dissuaded by one of two things.  The first is a potent and routinely-maintained spray of Nightingale's Ectoplasmic Repellant, applied generously over the front door of the afflicted house.  For best results, reapply at sunrise for ten days.  The second - stronger but less readily accessible - solution is to cover all four posts of the afflicted person's bed in solid gold.  Gold, as a metal, resists any and all corrosion; this makes it a powerful deterrent for multiple categories of spectral anomalies.       Ghasts - these malevolent beings are almost always tied to a specific item.  Dolls - especially really creepy ones - are sought out as habitable spaces for Ghasts, and they are more clever than even most witch-hunters give them credit for!  In order to determine whether an item is within a Ghast's possession, leave it tied to a hefty brick at the bottom of a tub of water.  Come back the next morning; if the item in question has been afflicted, the Ghast will have untied it and removed it from the water.  Ghasts, although incapable of direct contact with the realm of the living, are more than willing to cause disruptions around the house.  Mysterious disappearances of pets or small children may be attributed to a Ghast - this is especially dangerous because small children's dolls are often the most susceptible to their devilish clutches!  Fortunately, there is a very simple way to rid a household or company of a Ghast!  Simply take the affected item and throw it off a cliff!       Haunts - one of the more severe paranormal afflictions.  Haunts will settle into a certain place, and are usually tied to a specific tragedy or event.  Victims of disasters, for example, will often return as haunts and affect their previous home, or the place of the disaster.  Haunts can be especially violent!  The utmost care must be taken in disposing of them, and that task should be left to those who are properly trained!  Haunts may, before they have adequate time to sink into a building, keep to the shadows, or possibly present themselves as Spooks or Ghosts.  If the remedies for any of the lower-class phenomena have no effect, there is a high chance that a Haunt is actually at fault.  If funds are short, or if one wishes to banish a Haunt as a test of their own abilities, there is a way to accomplish it.  Nightingale's Elixir of Exorcism should be used in conjunction with the Aint Afraidus No Ghostus banishment spell - but, do be careful!  As an added precaution, I personally recommend carrying a vial of Nightingale Emergency Arsenic in the event that a Haunt may attack directly.  Get it in the eyes!  They hate that!       Ghouls - able not only to appear in full form, but also to manifest physically almost anywhere after dark.  Ghouls are among the most aggressive categories of paranormal phenomenon, and can injure man and beast alike.  Characterized by gaping mouths and sharpened claw-like fingers, Ghouls are a terrifying menace even at first sight!  Unfortunately, there are few things on this earth that can destroy them, save for sunlight; a well-lit room is also a very difficult place for a Ghoul to manifest, and it can be one of the only places safe from such a terror in the night-time hours.  No attempts should be made to remove or otherwise evict a Ghoul without a professional witch-hunter present!  They are easily aggravated and can cause horrible damage in seconds!  Ghouls, Poltergeists, and Revenants may be deterred with household items, but such a solution will be only temporary and professional help is necessary to be rid of them.  In the case of an emergency, a Ghoul may be placated by prolonged music, but failure to properly entrance it could be disastrous.       Poltergeists - one of the most dangerous categories of ghostly occurrence.  Poltergeists attach themselves to homes or buildings and will attack the living on sight.  The best course of action, if confronted with a Poltergeist affliction, is to run!  Staying in the same house as a Poltergeist even for a few days is extremely dangerous, and they will not hesitate to destroy any and all earthly possessions left within their grasp.       Revenants - the most powerful of all paranormal forces.  Revenants are exceedingly rare, fortunately; they can only be called upon by an exceptionally advanced summoning ritual, and once set loose they cannot be controlled.  A Revenant will attach itself to the accursed target, and will stop at nothing until they are destroyed.  Only a handful of successful Revenant summonings have ever been recorded in history; only once has such a thing been defeated.  If you find yourself unlucky enough to be at the mercy of a Revenant, my only advice is this: pray.

      Jack paused.  He'd been hoping that he'd be able to get a decent amount of sleep, but the tale of the Hanged One was still stuck in his head.  He sighed.  He really did do this to himself.  Maybe if he crawled into bed with Maddie he'd feel better.  The silence of the house at night was unsettling, and he was certain that if he stayed down in the living room too long he'd find himself face-to-shadow with the Hanged One, or maybe some other ghastly apparition from the book.  He turned back down to the pages before him.  He'd give this one more shot.  He flipped to yet another chapter, although his hopes weren't particularly high, and tried one last time to distract himself.

Excerpt from chapter thirty-three, J.F.N.'s Daunting Text, unabridged

      I remember the last season I grew petunias - I've since dug them up in favor of a larger plot of bloodflowers - and I must say that I do miss them.  They grow very well in the warm summers here, and they carry a rather pleasant scent without overpowering the air.  I must make a note of caution, however: none love petunias more than bees and wasps!  The best time to prune them is very early in the morning, before such insects can be seen crawling about on them.  I have been stung many times over a summer when I have forgotten this!       Bloodflowers, on the other hand, are very peculiar plants indeed.  They earn their name because of their dark red petals, and because of the fact that, unlike all other plants I know of, they refuse even the richest soil.  The first year I planted them in the garden, they'd all withered in ten days.  I tried again, and this time kept them well-watered, but to no avail.  I had heard that they were somewhat tricky to grow, but surely it had something to do with my soil, and not with me!       As it turned out, it had everything to do with my soil.  Bloodflowers are unusual plants in many ways; I discovered after several failed attempts to cultivate them that they will only grow if a small piece of meat is buried in the garden every few weeks.  The reason for this - at least to my knowledge - is unknown.  I learned it from the seller who's been providing me with the cuttings, and one night I thought I may as well give it a try.  I kept a few scraps left-over from dinner, and planted them as I would any other seedling.  I must admit, it felt quite silly - as if I could perhaps grow a chicken like that! - but the results were simply astonishing.       The bloodflowers in my garden prefer chicken to pork, although I'm uncertain if all do, and once I began to provide the correct environment they grew like any other plant.  Their blooms are particularly interesting; they grow white buds, and only when the blossoms open up do they suddenly take on their red hue.  I have only seen this happen once, and it is such a spectacular occurrence that I know I shall never forget it.  The flower bloomed, as flowers do, and the red color appeared on the petals as if the center had been pricked and bled into them.  It takes only seconds to stain them, and only then do they gain their multiple intriguing qualities.       I had been hesitant, at first, to believe that such a thing existed.  One flower, capable of repelling all manner of ghosts, witches, and even the devil himself?  Surely, that must be a grand hyperbole!  Only when I began cultivating them did I realize how powerful they are, and they have become an important ingredient in many of my most potent elixirs.  It's said - and I cannot wait to behold this for myself - that their scent alone is enough to cause a spirit harm, and it is in that hope that I've planted so many.  The Hanged One has been vacant from my yard since I began this venture; that encourages me to believe a fuller extent of their mysterious properties.       I have used them in the preparation of a relatively simple yet spectacularly versatile substance - the blooms, when picked and dried, can be ground with rock salt and beetle wings into a fine red powder.  Blood salt, as I have named the substance, can be used in a wide variety of circumstances; it dissolves into warm water very easily, and I've sold many samples of John Nightingale's Devil Poison already.  Surely, if an evil spirit masquerades as a living man, it would be revealed in an instant if the concoction was slipped into a glass of wine!  It should be noted, however, that I have yet to find proof of this, as there are no spirits in my home at all, much less any strong enough to present themselves as living men in order for me to put my suspicions to the test.       How fortunate for me that I have become so successful at cultivating these plants!  I've done my best to make use of the leaves as well, but their only purpose as far as I am aware is to fill my basket of clippings and be thrown out into the woods with the stems.  Only the blooms are of any use to me, and so I have kept the garden outside my window where the stout little bushes have flourished.  I have noticed, too, that the wasps dislike them almost as much as the ghosts do - that, in my opinion, is a fortunate thing indeed!       I had planted the petunias again, very closely against the bloodflowers, in the hopes that they would remain free of pests and insects.  They appeared to be free of them, and I was glad for it.  Gone are the days of being stung trying to pick a pretty flower!  They can now be gathered in peace, and I've made plans already to produce and sell John Nightingale's Wasp-Repelling Powder which can be used by gardeners who have had the same horrible luck as I have...

      Jack yawned.  His eyes fell out of focus for a moment, and he nearly nodded off.  He caught himself, snorted, and blinked a few times; he really should be in bed, he thought, and he shut the book on his lap in an effort to convince himself not to fall asleep on the couch.  Right.  Sleep.  Upstairs.  He pulled himself up to his feet, the Daunting Text still in both hands, and set it back up on the top shelf.  He yawned again, somewhat satisfied.  At least the Hanged One had gone from his mind, and he'd be able to sleep.  He thought of the adventurous John Fenton-Nightingale as he shuffled upstairs.  He'd read the story about how he met his wife in the morning.  Emilia Madeline Fenton was her name, and Jack thought that she must have been the most beautiful woman in the world.  Nightingale spent an entire chapter of his autobiography fawning over her; they'd married after only a year, and they'd been inseparable and happy for the rest of their lives.       Jack crept into his room.  Maddie was fast asleep - she probably had been for at least an hour - and he tried his best not to wake her as he slid into bed.  She half-woke anyway, mumbling something about what time is it? but not protesting too much about it.  She stretched out somewhat, drifting back off again almost immediately, and went quiet again.       Jack draped an arm around her, smiling.  His tiredness began to overtake him in an instant; her scent was comfort, and everything slowly melted away into dreams.  He dreamt of John Fenton-Nightingale, and all the adventures he had; he dreamt of scientific breakthroughs and spectacular ghost-catching feats; he dreamt of his beloved Maddie, and in that moment he was truly happy.

[alwaysananxiousmess]

What the Fuck have We Gotten Ourselves into Now? - Chapter 1

I’m making this a couple of chapters long. 

So we were talking about Simon’s au and how Gavin breaks the fourth wall and knows we exist. This takes place in the case that Gavin summoned us and wants to know what the fuck we were thinking when we made them and gave them horrible lives.

@digieyes2000 @doesjohnnyghostisgay

Word Count - 1030

====

Gavin stood there at the circle, in the basement of the PIE headquarters, which was basically the equivalent of his brother's and his husband's house. He didn't care whether he was caught, he wanted answers. The old runes were sketched on the floor in pink chalk, he couldn't find anything else. And there was a couple of lit candles. He had turned the lights off, but with the small windows near the ceiling, that most basements had, shone more light into the room then he would've liked, considering it was midday or something. And he was in a red bathroom robe that he had sown a hood on. At least he was wearing clothes underneath it. But it was clear despite how professional he tried to make it look, he just looked like a creep standing over a bunch of scribbles in a circle. The basement door slammed open and the lights turned on. Ghost appeared on the stairs of the basement. He and Gavin made eye contact. "What the fuck are you doing?" Ghost asked. "Summoning our universes equivalent to Gods," Gavin replied, almost nonchalantly. He picked up an old book off the floor and opened it, as if trying to ignore the other man. "Jordan?" Ghost wondered, slightly thinking that Gavin was crazy. "The other Gods," the bathroom robe adorned man sighed and rolled his eyes, looking towards the shorter male. "Okay... carry on then.." he said, skeptical. The short little gremlinesque man sat down at the bottom of the stairs, waiting for whatever Gavin was trying to do, fail utterly. Gavin flipped through the pages of the book in his hands, and started to repeat the unfamiliar words listed there. Almost in a chant. Ghost, being a bystander, was uneasy about the situation, but let it continue. Gavin finished the chant quickly, and slammed the book shut, throwing it across the room. It hit the wall, and landed face up, open. The pages started flipping rapidly, as if a sudden wind had entered the room. Within minutes, a flash of light and three loud thuds, almost in unison, was heard by them both. It soon faded, and they looked to where the thuds were heard... Only to find three teenagers sitting there in absolute shock. They were in a line, all sitting down in various positions as if they had landed there. One, the one in the middle, was holding an iPad. They wore a dark grey sleeveless hoodie and jeans, with a t-shirt that had the genderfluid flag printed on it underneath the hoodie. They were a red head, with their hair curling a little past their chin, and their dark bluish green eyes were wide. To their left was a boy in a grey and black hoodie and sweatpants. He had glasses on, and green eyes with dark hair. He held a phone in his hand, and was blinking rapidly. The last teenager was a dark haired girl, who had some sort of screen instead of eyes. She was wearing a denim jacket that was patched, and shorts. "Teenagers?" Ghost blinked, glaring towards Gavin. "You summoned three poor teenagers through a portal?" "They aren't just teenagers! They're gods!" Gavin snapped back. "I know what I saw, and I summoned the right people!" "Gavin you're out of your fucking mind!" Ghost shouted. "They're kids!" "Gavin?" The boy whispered, barely being able to be heard over the shouting. But the other two teenagers looked over at him. "And that's.. that's Ghost. What the actual fuck.." "That's.. Ghost? He looks like the Ghost from my friend's VenturianTale au," the redheaded teen said, shaking their bangs from their eyes. "But that's not possible? They're characters," "Who even are you two?" The short haired girl asked, shifting. Gavin looked over to them and approached the boy, despite Ghost's protests to get his ass back over there because he wasn't finished yelling at him. "You're Simon," he said. It was less of a question and more of a statement. "Uh, yeah," the boy confirmed. "I'm Simon. And you're, you're Gavin. But you're a character. You're not real." "Simon?" The redheaded teen whispered to themself, their eyes wider then before. "No way.." "I very much am real," Gavin's tone started to have an edge to it. "And I have some questions for you three," "Whoa there sucker, I have questions for you," the girl snapped. "How did I get here, and how are you real?" "Gavin get your little ass over here before I slap the shit out of you what-" Ghost started, only to stop as another figure came down the stairs. "What are you guys arguing about now?" Toast glared at Gavin and his husband, before spotting the three teenagers. "What the hell?" The redheaded teen ignored the others presence and pulled Simon into a hug. "You're Simon! You're Dad!" "What- Rhys?" Simon realized who they were. "Oh my fucking God, out of all the ways I thought we would meet each other.." he hugged them  back. After a few moments, Rhys pulled away and looked towards the girl. "And you're Digi, I recognize you from her icon on tumblr." "That's right," she nodded. "Someone tell why there are three teenagers in the basement," Toast glared towards Gavin in particular, considering he was the one in a red bathrobe with a hood sown onto it. Ghost crossed his arms. "So this idiot," he glanced towards Gavin. "Decided to summon the Gods." "Jordan?" Toast asked, blinking. "No! The other ones!" Gavin protested. "Them!" He waved towards Simon, Digi, and Rhys. "We're hardly Gods," Rhys scoffed. "Dad made an au, and Digi and I contributed a little bit with it." "Well clearly somethings different considering mY AU IS STANDING RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME AND THEY'RE REAL PEOPLE," Simon sounded a bit panicked, but wouldn't you be? "Wait, so if your au is us," Ghost said, looking towards the three teenagers. "Does that mean, everything that ever happened in our lives is because you made it that way?" Rhys, Simon, and Digi exchanged slightly panicked glances. "Well in our defense we didn't know you were real people," Digi spoke up, shrugging.

===

And I ended it there.

[barbarabarry91]

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[thedefinitionofbts]

Our First and Last (Ch. 3)

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7 | Ch. 8 | Ch. 9 | Ch. 10 |

Ch. 11 | Ch. 12 (Final)

Pairings: Jeon Jungkook x Reader (MAIN) | Park Jimin x Kim Taehyung | Jung Hoseok x Min Yoongi | Kim Namjoon x Kim Seokjin

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Soulmate Au, Scifi

Words: 4K

“He’s a genius”

“I heard he’s the one who uncovered most of the information we know about dimensional universes.”

“He published an book on space-time when he was 23 and got tenured as a professor in the university’s theoretical physics department at age 25.”

“That’s crazy!”

“I also heard he’s still single”

“Gross, you know students can’t…”

You stop listening once the girls began talking about things you weren’t really interested in. You were sitting on a bench by the fountain at your college campus, when you overheard some girls talking about the most famous professor at your university. Could this be the guy Jungkook was talking about? You think to yourself, as you pretend to flip through the pages of your textbook while eavesdropping.

The endless search for this so-called “guy who will tell you everything you need to know” has continued in vain since Jungkook had brought it up the day before he left. It’s been months and you had no luck in this quest to find answers. That is, until now.

You quickly run to the university’s information desk and look up this so-called genius professor in the university staff catalog.

Professor Kim Namjoon

Theoretical Physics Department

Building W-52 Room #701

Office Hours: 6am-6pm

You didn’t even have time to think before found yourself running towards the physics building on the other side of campus. You sprint through the courtyard and over the Stonebridge, crossing the river, before you finally reach the east bank. The buildings were much older there, and their stonewalls were covered in blue-green ivy. It was a quite area, and from what you knew, most students strayed away from majoring in physics these days. Claiming the job outlook was not too good and the thought of being a nerdy professor was unappealing.

You walk through the empty hall. It was quiet, dimly lit, and smelled of old books.

“Can I help you?”

You turn around to see a lady peaking at you above her reading glasses. She exuded a kind aura and you could tell her age was up there from the way her short, curly gray hair shone under the lamplight.

“Um, I’m looking for Professor Kim Namjoon.”

“Oh, he’s in the library on the second floor.”

You politely thank her and walk up the round staircase. The wooden steps would creak ever so often, but you still tried to be as quiet as you could, not wanting to disturb the silence.

The shelves of the library were so tall they looked like they reached all the way up to the high ceiling. The books were thick, the type that you didn’t even bother looking at because you knew you would never have the patience to read through it all, the type that would make your backpack so heavy it could cause chronic back pain and other spinal health issues. You shiver at the thought of having to haul such monstrous things to and from school. No wonder students rarely come here.

The place is empty, completely void of living beings, other than the man sitting at a desk in the center of the room. Must be him.

“Professor Kim Namjoon?”

The man glances up from the book he was absorbed in, his face looking much younger than you had previously imagined. He looks around confused before his eyes locate you standing by the doorway.

“Yes?” He says, taking off his spectacles and signaling for you to approach him.

“Umm, I have some questions about the Yin and Yang dimensions” You say, voice slightly shaky because you didn’t know if this was something he’d be willing tell you about, and you also didn’t know if he was busy doing something actually important and didn’t want to be bothered at this moment.

“Of course, that’s my favorite topic to talk about” His mouth forms a wide smile that put his dimples on display. You feel your previous hesitation dissipate at his positive reaction.

You slowly but steadily begin asking about the cycles. Are they really 100% accurate and if “glitches” were possible, in which Namjoon just chuckles, saying that it depends on how you view accuracy in the scientific world, in other words, do you consider a small error rate to be negligent.

You continue on and finally sum up the courage to bring up Jungkook, once Namjoon has made it clear that he has always strongly believed that glitches are very much real, and that he knows way more than you expected.

“That’s amazing!How do you know all this?” You ask, genuinely curious and in awe of how much information and knowledge the man seems to be able to contain in his brain, after he has explained everything about the Yin-Yang dimensions down to the last detail.

“You’re forgetting I’ve dedicated my life to researching different dimensions of the universe” Namjoon chuckles, grabbing another book from one of the old dusty shelves of the vast library and walking over to his cluttered desk.

“The transition period occurs when you two meet at the same age.” He proceeds to explain. “Meaning, you’re going to have to travel through the portal to meet him, instead of the other way around.”

“That’s in a little over a year” You whisper to yourself. At first you thought it was too soft for Namjoon to hear, but he surprises you by nodding his head knowingly.

“What happens if I don’t?” You ask, out of pure curiosity, cause god knows you wouldn’t be able to resist doing anything you could to see Jungkook. But you were just wondering if changing something so key to the process would alter it entirely.

“Then it all ends” Namjoon says, peaking at you above his glasses. His head was still tilted down at the book as he licks his finger to turn the page.

“You mean… I won’t ever see him again?” You ask, trying to keep your voice steady, but it comes out shaky enough to expose how terrified you were at the thought.

Namjoon sighs and shakes his head. “You won’t even remember such a person even existed.” He says, causing your legs to go numb, and you to almost stumble and fall backwards on the hard wooden floor.

“But what happens on my first and his last meeting?” You ask when you’ve finally regained your balance, remembering that the inevitable day will come, and this is your chance to find out more than you ever could anywhere else.

“The next time he is born and ages up, and you are old and start aging down, it will have been like the glitch never happened as the cycle starts anew, and the thread of time realigns.” Namjoon’s voice is steady and even. He seems to be reading an important passage from the book in front of him as he answers your question. “You’ll forget meeting him in the Yin dimension and he’ll forget meeting you in the Yang dimension, meaning both of you will lose all the traces of the memories you had of each other.”

You want to respond, but your throat has gone dry and the room feels like it’s spinning. You grip the edge of the table and bite your lower lip, trying to stop yourself from falling backwards and just fainting.

“Unless of course, the legend is true,” He says, noticing you haven’t responded after a long silence.

“T-the…. legend?” You croak, barely audible, but the professor’s ears are sharp.

“Park Jimin and Kim Taehyung” He states, matter- of -factly.

“Oh” You say, furrowing your eyebrows and recalling the famous tale.

“Funny thing is, that story is the reason I’m here today.” Namjoon chuckles again. “I was so obsessed after hearing that story as a child that I couldn’t stop thinking about it, which lead to developing a passion for studying universes and researching space-time, and here I am.”

“Were they really lost in the depths of a black hole in the end?” You ask, wondering if that’s the only other option for you as well.

He shakes his head and sighs.

“That’s a simplified version of what happened. But in reality they actually jumped into a wormhole, only to reach another dimension where they could live together happily for a set amount of time, meaning their lives would inevitably end one day. But we don’t know what happens to biological life after organisms die in that other dimension.” Namjoon folds his hands together and pauses before continuing. “According to my research, the most plausible explanation is that their essence just ceases to exist, but the people there believe they either go to a place called “heaven” which is so glorious its inconceivable by imagination or “hell” which is a fiery pit of doom.”

“Complete bliss or unbearable pain. It sounds risky and scary.” You shiver a little as you try to wrap your head around the foreign concept.

“What did he do?” Namjoon suddenly asks.

“Huh?” You lift your head to look at him confused. The professor is looking at you with an unreadable expression.

“On your first his last”

“Oh, he….” You close your eyes and picture the day you first met Jungkook. The memory was fuzzy, and your head almost hurt trying to conjure the time you saw him disappear for the first time from the back of your mind.

Then you see it. Clear as day, sending goose bumps shooting down your spine.

“He jumped into a black hole”

“Sometimes those dreams are so vivid they feel like events that actually happened or something.” You explain to Dr. Kim, your primary psychologist, as he calmly takes note of your every word, writing all the details down in his notebook.

It was only the fourth session you’ve had since entering the clinic, and you’re already finding it much easier to remember the dreams you have at night. Before you sought treatment you would wake up in the morning covered with cold sweat and clammy hands that shook nonstop, not being able to recall a single memory from your dream the night before, even though you knew you dreamt of something because of the lingering intensity of the emotions you would wake up to.

“What is the closest feeling you can describe from those dreams?” Dr. Kim asks, looking at you with furrowed eyebrows. His gold brown bangs covering the wrinkling of his forehead.

You take a moment to think. Attempting to find the right word to describe the feeling that has been familiar to you for most of your life.

“Longing” You finally say, feeling a bit vulnerable admitting it so openly.

Dr. Kim nods and jots a few things down in his notebook. Before he’s able to ask the next question, you hear the door open slightly, and someone peak their head in. He was also a young man in his mid-twenties, probably the same age as Dr. Kim, but he had pale pink hair, and was slightly shorter in stature.

“Taehyung!” He says excitedly as he walks in the room. He closes his mouth when he notices you sitting on the leather couch across from Dr. Kim, clearly in the middle of a session.

“Dr. Park, we promise our patients privacy” Dr. Kim, closes his eyes in annoyance as he turns around to give the pink haired doctor a scolding look, but the tone in Dr. Kim’s voice is not harsh, and you can tell they’ve known each other for a long time.

“Sorry, I forgot you were with a patient.” The pink haired doctor says as his cheeks flush a shade similar to his hair color. He begins to slowly back out the room, but your words bring his feathery backward steps to a halt.

“Oh no, it’s completely fine. My session is almost over anyways,” You say, waving at Dr. Park to stay in the room. He hesitates for a second, but ends up beaming at you for being so chill about it, because some patients tend to have explosive tempers.

Dr. Kim sighs. “Please make it quick, Dr. Park” He mutters.

“Eh, why are you being so formal?” Dr. Park says with a smile that makes his eyes disappear into crescent moons. “I’m not used to you not calling me Jiminie,” He says, almost coming out as a whine.

You almost choke on the saliva you were swallowing as you hold back a laugh. Dr. Kim’s cheeks are heating up as he tries to not die of embarrassment. His fingers fidget with the note taking pen he’s holding in his hand, waiting for Dr. Park to just cut to the chase.

“Oh yeah, I came to tell you that we just got a new addition to the clinic. He’s some MD-PhD neurosurgeon going by the name of Dr. Jeon.” Dr. Park says remembering why he burst into the room at such an awkward time.

“A new doctor?” Dr. Kim says utterly confused and surprised at the same time. “But didn’t we make a pact that this clinic would only be run by you and me?” He says, voice rising a little.

“Whoa, Taehyung, calm down, he came as a patient” Dr. Park explains. “I just diagnosed him with depression. He should’ve came in the earlier stages of his condition, but his superiority complex has hindered him from accepting he’s in desperate need of help.”

“Well, what can you expect from an MD-PhD neurosurgeon. They’re geniuses that have been praised all their lives. It’s understandable why he wouldn’t accepted it right away.” Dr. Kim says.

Dr. Park nods and exits the room after apologizing to you one last time for the interruption.

“So where were we?” Dr. Kim says as he turns his attention back to you.

The first and last time you and Jungkook were the same age was on your twentieth birthday.

It was strange because he jumped into the portal the same time you did, your first his last, which lead to the two of you entering the heart of the glitch, the dimension where Yin and Yang collided due to a somewhat minor flaw in the design of the universe.

That was the year the two of you got to spend time in the most beautiful, most complete image of the world. A perfect combination of Yin and Yang, a dimension that transcended time and space and only existed because of that 0.0000001% error in the otherwise near perfect flow of the cycle.

The world wasn’t completely cool toned anymore, and according to Jungkook it wasn’t completely warm toned like the Yang dimension either.

For the first time, you were given the honor to witness what it looked like when the flowers in the field encompassed all the colors of the rainbow from the bright red glow of molten lava to the crystalline blue of an ice palace, and the grass was pure green, unlike the bluish tinged sort of green you’ve known all your life.

The sunlight was warmer than you were used to, but it was reminiscent of the feeling of being in Jungkook’s presence.

There was so much to see and so little time, but that wasn’t going to stop you from making the most of a one-time opportunity.

“Wow, it’s beautiful,” You exclaim as you absorb the magnificent scene of the seaside presented before you. The warm blush of the red beach at sunset meeting the cool blue waves of the aquamarine ocean, sending cool surges of clean air tainted with hints of salt rushing towards your face.

“I can’t believe we actually made it before the sunset” Jungkook says, staring in awe at the swirling pinks, yellows, oranges, lavenders, and blues painted in the sky.

You guys had spent the entire day on the road, riding on trains and hiking through forest-covered hills, hoping to finally reach the threshold where land meets sea.

You’re so excited that you suddenly grab Jungkook’s hand and run towards the cool foamy waves, laughing and feeling more joy than you’ve ever felt in your life. You hear Jungkook’s playful laughter echo behind as he follows your lead. The moment you guys reach the wet sand, you take off your shoes with Jungkook mimicking your actions as well. The ground is cool, damp, and squishy, almost acting like a soothing massage to the sore feet you had been walking on all day.

When the clear water hits the surface of your skin, it sends shivers down your spine. You wiggle your toes in the wet sand, and turn to look at Jungkook, who’s staring at you with an amused expression. His eyes glowing warmly from the glare of the sunset, face wrinkled from the smile spread across his face, and hair blown back from the ocean breeze exposing his smooth forehead.

He walks up behind and back hugs you, wrapping his strong arms around your waist as you rest you head back against his firm chest. The two of you standing ankle deep in the water, mesmerized by the sun lowering itself below the horizon, at the line where the sky meets the sea.

Before you even realize it, another year passes, and this time you find yourself swirling through the dimensionless portal again, on your way to see Jungkook. You have to continuously remind yourself of what Namjoon told you, that you’ve reached the phase where it’s your duty to get back to him since he hasn’t traveled through the portal yet in his timeline.

Put nicely, traveling through a space-time whirlpool was extremely uncomfortable. The spinning made you nauseous, and you felt like you were being pulled in a hundred different directions.

Every cell in your body was screaming in protest but despite that and the constant fear of not knowing when it’s going to stop or where it was actually taking you, knowing you would get to see Jungkook at the end of it, even if it was only for second, gave you the strength to put up with virtually anything.

When the spinning stops, you make a feeble attempt to open your eyes. The sunlight was too bright, too vibrant, almost blinding, and the ground you were sitting on was hot, too hot, causing beads of sweat to emerge from your skin.

“Jungkook?” You call out.

No answer.

You blink a few times to help your eyes adjusts to the brightness.

“Y/N!”

You whip your head around and almost burst into tears when you see the nineteen-year-old run up to you. Oversized white t-shirt and jeans. Classic Jungkook.

“How do you survive in this heat?” You ask, desperately fanning yourself with your hand, but it doesn’t really do much at all.

Jungkook laughs, his youthful appearance was glowing radiantly in the warm-toned environment.

“You look and feel cold though” Jungkook says, ask he playfully pokes you in the arm.

He wasn’t joking. You were sucking in all the heat from the surrounding area because thermal energy moves from high to low. Now you understood why you always felt warm when Jungkook came to visit you in the Yin dimension.

“We could take a walk in the shady forest” Jungkook suggests.

You nod, eager to get out of the burning sunlight.

The forest was overgrown with vegetation, and there was a narrow dirt path that led to a clearing in the middle. You notice the various species of trees that had bark ranging from chestnut brown to almost a sandy yellow. Their leaves were bright green, and the wild flowers scattered amongst the grass were vibrant oranges, yellows, and reds.

It was slightly less hot, but the temperature was still higher than you had ever experienced in the Yin dimension, even in the middle of summer.

“There’s a place I’ve wanted to take you” Jungkook says.

You follow him as he expertly navigates through the overgrowing plants, and helps you step over crooked rocks and fallen trees.

“Sorry about the inconvenient path, but this is the easiest way to get there”

And that’s when it hits you that he’s probably done this many times, too many to even count, just so he could find an easier path to bring you along.

Soon you hear the sound of flowing water and Jungkook turning back to tell you “we’re almost there”. His excitement contained in that same adorable bunny smile.

It wasn’t long before the two of you reach the second clearing, and the rushing waterfall greets you with its fresh scent of nature and musical splash of clear water. You stare at it in awe, soaking in every last detail of the dazzling image, feeling a wave of excitement saturate your body.

“Dr. Jeon Jungkook?” Jimin breathes, as he hastily opens the door to his office, shocked to see the man soaking wet from the rain, looking like he’s going to pass out any moment as he leans against the door pane.

“Let’s just get this over with,” Jungkook huffs as he pushes past Jimin and plops down on the black leather couch, not bothering with any formal greetings.

“Forgot your umbrella?” Jimin asks raising an eyebrow and grinning slightly at the sight of the lean, toned man whose white dress shirt is now clinging to the curves of his chest and shoulders.

“No, I felt the urge to take a shower in my clothes” Jungkook retorts sarcastically, he sounds annoyed, as always.

Jimin sighs. This was the third session with Dr. Jeon, and they still haven’t gotten anywhere. He was resistant, not willing to open up no matter how hard Jimin tried to ease his way into Jungkook’s mind.

“Is this what you get paid to do?” Jungkook asks, staring at Jimin now. Eyes like dark orbs piercing through the soft soul of the pink haired psychologist. “Ask meaningless questions that you already know the answer to?” The sharpness in his voice was evident, and it was clear he was there against his will.

Jimin can feel his own anger and annoyance rise, but he’s had enough years of training to know that Jungkook is just saying these things to hide his vulnerability.

“Well, let’s just get started shall we?” Jimin says, taking a deep breath and sitting down on the couch directly across from Jungkook, ignoring his previous attacking question.

Jungkook doesn’t respond and instead just looks out the window at the pellets of rain splashing against the large glass windows. The storm continued to drown out the view of the city outside, and all that was visible was the mix of blurry gray buildings and distant lights.

“Did you do anything today?” Jimin proceeds to ask, while taking out a pen and notepad.

“If a ten hour extracranial to intracranial arterial bypass counts, then yeah” Jungkook says absentmindedly, still avoiding eye contact with Jimin.

“Did you feel that the procedure was mentally draining or was there any physical fatigue afterwards?” Jimin asks, looking at Jungkook intently.

Jungkook huffs out a mocking laugh. “Look, Dr. Park, I’ve been doing this for years, I think I can handle whatever my jobs requires of me without complaining about feeling….’tired’” He looks down at his hands, dark wet bangs partially covering his eyes. He’s fiddling with his fingers, feeling a slight tremble due to the strained muscles in his wrist.

Jimin nods, already used to this kind of response by Jungkook.

“Are you able to recall any dreams at night?”

Jungkook slowly lifts his head and looks at Jimin, caught off-guard by the sudden change of topic, with no transition, no warning at all. Jimin had never gone as far as to ask anything about his personal life, wanting to ease his way towards Jungkook’s trust by only talking about work related topics, but it wasn’t working and crawling at a snail’s pace was not getting either of them anywhere.

The psychologist stares back, patiently waiting for the neurosurgeon to answer.

“They’re vivid and I can spell out everything to the last detail, except one aspect.” Jungkook says, biting his bottom lip, regretting the words even as they came out of his mouth.

“And what is that?” Jimin proceeds, voice even with no trace of hesitation.

“The person that consistently shows up in every single dream, but I can’t see their face and I don’t know who it is.”

Jungkook stares blankly at the coffee table situated between the two of them, unsure if telling Jimin any of this will even matter. After a long moment of drawn out silence, with nothing but the pitter-patter of the rain echoing past the window, Jungkook’s voice finally cuts through the room once again.

“It’s like I’m reaching out for someone I can’t see.”

...

[spookysummersmores]

Mind Heist - Chapter 6

Word count: 3,449

Author's note: Here we go. It's all come down to this. What exactly is Bill's game here? Why is it getting so hard for Dipper to fight Bill off? And can Mabel come up with a plan to get Bill right where they need him and eradicate his black magic from Dipper's head...before it's too late?

Half of this was written at an extremely late hour. The other half was written this afternoon, during an unseasonably intense thunderstorm! So...tension was high...;w;

Let me tell you; writing Bill dialogue is a real experience. I am always half TERRIFIED just THINKING ABOUT what I'm writing and half completely and totally down for just...PUNCHING his LIGHTS out. lmao

There's a surprise hidden somewhere in this chapter! So have fun with that! :D

Also, there are some references to the real-life Journal 3 novel, so SPOILER WARNING there in case you haven't read it, and there is a brief mention of blood, so I'll tag the trigger warning, just in case.

Special thanks to @ichipine once again for the input, as well as all the great contributions to the original RP piece this chapter is based on! This chapter - and the whole fic in general - wouldn't be the same without them! ❤❤❤

Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy! There are just two chapters left that'll wrap everything up, so stay tuned for those! ^-^

Mabel and Dipper both yelled and tried to escape, but it was no use. As much as they struggled to break free, Bill's grasp was too tight to get out of. As they glanced up, they saw that he was covered in strings of bubblegum from the trap Mabel had left for him, and as he began to taunt them, it turned to ash and crumbled off.

"Oh, THIS...now THIS is PRICELESS!" Bill cackled as he gazed menacingly down at the children's frightened faces. "You HONESTLY THOUGHT you could outsmart me? Here in MY domain?"

"This...ISN'T your domain!" Dipper cried out as he struggled. "It's MY head...and I'm NOT...gonna-"

"What? Let me destroy you from the inside out? C'mon, what's the fun in that?" Bill retorted menacingly. "ALL you had to do" - he gripped Dipper tighter with each overly-emphasized word - "was JOIN me, Pine Tree. A GREAT new world is coming, and YOU could've been one of the elite few!"

Dipper couldn't even respond. He felt as though he were being put through a vice, and all the while, Bill just continued monologuing with evil delight.

"You don't know what you're missing, half-pint...but why should I bother with you anymore, anyway? There's no use fighting! You're DONE FOR whether you want to admit it or not!"

"What...are you TALKING about?!" Dipper squeaked out, still determined to break free, but hardly able to move at this point.

Bill put a hand to his face as he continued to laugh. "Boy, I tell ya - if there's one thing that defines you Pineses, it's STUBBORNNESS. You just DON'T know when to GIVE UP!" He brought Dipper directly in front of his empty, unsettling eye so he had no choice but to gaze directly into it. "Look, let me put it this way...the last guy whose head I got into...we sure had a BLOODY good time!"

An image of the journal's Bill Cipher entry appeared. A six-fingered hand was seen lying across one of the pages...as red liquid slowly dripped onto the page.

So the red splatters on the page HAD been blood after all. Could...could the author be DEAD? Killed at the hands of BILL?! Dipper was horrified.

"And keep in mind - THAT guy was in pretty good shape for a mortal fleshbag!" Bill continued. "Meanwhile, you don't really even need anymore of MY input - your OWN BODY was already beginning to burn up BEFORE I came along, and me just BEING here is making the flames burn higher. Every time you and your puny little consciousness tries to fight back, more and more of your energy just keeps draining out of your ears. So...just so you don't end up causing your OWN demise before I get to have a little FUN...I think...it's HIGH TIME I just let your own nightmares and human weaknesses consume you." Quick flashes of Dipper's various nightmares and the overgrowing brambles slowly creeping up on the mind library flashed across the eye-screen next. "Oh, but don't worry! I'll make sure your precious journal finds a safe space first...'cause it's coming home with ME!"

While Bill had been hassling Dipper, Mabel certainly hadn't just been sitting and letting it happen. She'd managed to slip out just one arm out from Bill's grip. Quickly, she imagined a baseball bat for her free hand.

"Leave...my BROTHER...ALONE!"

The bat went to hit Bill straight in the eye. It was JUST about to make impact...but then...

"WELL! I'm surprised at you, Shooting Star! You wouldn't hit a demon with" - a one-eyed pair of glasses appeared over Bill's giant eyeball - "GLASSES, would you?" Rather than the eyewear shattering upon impact, though, as one would expect, the...bat was what ended up shattering into pieces. Mabel was left in complete and utter disbelief. And Bill found it hilarious.

"M...M-Mabel..."

Mabel, afraid for Dipper's life, tried desperately to get out of Bill's hand. With her free arm, she managed to squeeze herself out a little, but not enough to change anything. The only thing she accomplished was tiring herself out.

Bill laughed maniacally. "Oh, GIVE it UP, Shooting Star! Did you hear ANYTHING I just said?!" He put a hand to what would normally be a person's chin. "Then again...after the whole 'sock opera' fiasco, I think we've all seen how GREAT of a listener you are..."

Mabel felt her stomach twist with guilt at the sound of that. And even in the state he was in, anger began to eat Dipper up inside when HE heard.

"With your brother's physical state deteriorating, his mind isn't going to last much longer if I can help it! But of course...YOU and I could always make a-"

Suddenly, Bill was slapped upside...whatever part of himself you could call his head by a giant frying pan. A cry of pain emerged from him, and he instantly dropped the twins to the ground. HARD.

Mabel jumped to her feet in an instant, but as she brushed off her sweater and looked up, she saw Dipper groaning as he tried to recover from the impact. It seemed like it took everything he had just to pull himself to his feet.

Immediately, she ran over to him and helped him get up. "Dipper...are you okay?"

He nodded, slowly...and then Bill went lunging after them again.

This time, though, Mabel was too quick for him.

In the span of half a second, Mabel wrapped an arm around Dipper, thought up a series of cartoony hole portals in the floors below them, jumped down them with Dipper in tow, then finally conjured up her trusty grappling hook - just in time to hook the stained-glass light fixture and gently lower them to the fourth floor. Each hole closed as the twins fell through it, leaving Bill up on the second-highest floor...far too close to the top-secret room for comfort.

"HA! YES! STUCK the landing! Secret agents, eat your heart out!" Mabel proclaimed, proudly, but fortunately not too loudly. "Hey...thanks for the frying pan. Perfect timing, too!" She grasped onto Dipper's hand and started to pull him along. "C'mon, Dippin' Dots, let's find a place to lay low so we can-"

"He's right."

Mabel, alarmed by the noticeable fatigue and defeat present in her brother's voice, stopped and spun around. "What?"

The world spun a little, and Dipper leaned one arm against the wall, holding his back as Stan would after a particularly hard shift. "I'm...gonna be honest, Mabel..." he whispered to her. "Bill's right. Being this sick, it's...screwing with my mind. It's getting harder to fight..." He took a deep breath before continuing to speak. "But I mean...we've GOT to get him out of here, and-"

"Hey, hey now! C'mere..." Mabel dragged a chair out of the nearby cheat-code 'computer lab' and sat him down in it. "Yeah, I noticed you were getting kinda worn out earlier...which I knew HAD to be weird, 'cause...usually, in dreams, you've got energy for DAYS. So...he is right, then..." She gave him a look of pure concern. "I'm really worried about how much longer you can hold up. Maybe you should just...leave it to me, bro, and sit out the rest of this crazy-fest."

"No. NO WAY. I can't let you face Bill alone," Dipper responded. "And besides, the spell's strength increases tenfold with each person that assists with it. This is BILL we're talking about; the AUTHOR was TERRIFIED of his power. I don't think just one spellcaster is gonna be enough to get him out and undo all of his nightmare-bending outside."

"But...you're gonna get real hurt if you do much more, and-!" Mabel growled with frustration. "Aaaaah, this is awful...this is awful times double infinity!" She sank down on the floor beside him.

A book on the shelf beside her, one with a spine that was oddly colorful for something of Dipper's, happened to catch her eye. She glanced up and noticed that they were sitting in the middle of the 'holiday memories' section.

The little book, bound in yellow leather and decorated with shimmering confetti, was the memory of a family New Year's Eve party the twins' parents had thrown when they were five - the first one they'd ever been allowed to attend. Mabel smiled when the memory came flooding back to her own mind.

Suddenly, as she turned the page, the discordant, yet still pleasant, sound of party horns and noisemakers blasted from the book and echoed through the halls. Mabel cried out in surprise.

"Shhh, Mabel!" Dipper shushed and quickly shut the book. "Don't freak out! That's just how my memories work! You open the book up, and it comes to life. You can even kinda...pull things right out, if you want. I used to imagine doing that a lot when I was little...I never thought it could really WORK that way." He thought for a second. "Think of it as, like...if your scrapbook could talk."

"...Hold the phone. Open it up and it...springs to life...!" Mabel gasped with delight. "I've got an idea happening here! Dipper - what do we still need for the spell?"

"Ah..." He pulled the spell out of his vest pocket - it was awfully fortunate that Bill hadn't seen it - and took a look. "A projectile. Something that will strike him with force. The reaction between the white magic of the crystals and Bill's dark energy will activate the trap and clear all black magic out of the area."

"Well, I think my trusty old GRAPPLING HOOK can do the trick!" Mabel continued, beaming. "And remember you told me about those paper clones you made of yourself in order to try and ask Wendy to dance?"

"W-well...yeah," he replied, a little embarrassed about that situation now.

"If your memories come to LIFE...then that means memories of PEOPLE could probably just...come right out of the book, if we wanted 'em to! Right?" Mabel paced a bit as she brainstormed. "If Bill wants to get YOU...then why can't we just get a few Dipper decoys to distract him? We can get him when he least expects it! And that way, YOU only have to help with the most important part!"

Dipper gasped. "Mabel...Mabel, that's perfect! Besides...there have been a few days where I've really missed Tyrone. It'd be kinda cool to see him again." He grinned. "Let's go find the book of clones. It's back upstairs, the floor right underneath Bill...so we've gotta be sneaky." The twins fistbumped in agreement.

Suddenly, they heard a strange commotion a few floors down. When they peered over the balcony, they were horrified by the sight that awaited them.

The strange, tentacle-like limbs of the nightmares had grown to impossible lengths and had finally begun to seep into the mind library itself. One had snaked its way through the crack in the entrance doorway, while another was intent on trying to bust its way through a window - and it had already created a good-sized crack. The lights in the lobby began to flicker and short out, as if to flee from the impending doom.

Dipper gulped. "And we definitely don't have any time to waste..."

Mabel quickly took hold of his hand. Off they went to hire help and get the real Dipper to a safe spot.

"Let's let my friends out in the woods take care of the mortal scum for now..." Bill said as cryptic images of the nightmare creatures he was summoning flashed across his eye. "I just love the smell of FEAR in the morning!" He cracked his weird little knuckles. "Won't be long...so in the meantime...time to break down some barriers!"

As Bill tried figuring out how best to get past the security sealing up the journal room...

"Hey, BILL!"

Suddenly, he heard Dipper's voice call out and spun around.

Dipper folded his arms defiantly. "If you're so powerful, how come you can't pick a lock?"

Bill turned an angry, hellish red. "Sass won't get you ANYWHERE with me, Pine Tree! Didn't your parents ever teach you to RESPECT YOUR ELDERS?!"

And with one blast of fire, Dipper appeared to melt.

Then...

"Seriously?"

Bill spun around, and there was Dipper. Standing there by the door. Arms folded. As if he'd never been touched.

"WHAT?! I just DISINTEGRATED you!" And so he blasted Dipper again.

"You know..." This time, Dipper was standing on the stairs leading down to the next floor. "You should REALLY work on your aim."

"AaaaaAAAAAHH-"

Mabel observed from the twins' hiding spot. "Okay, Dipper, Bill's totally distracted!" she whispered, giving him a thumbs-up. "He's on Number Five and on his way down! Now's a good time to get him out of here." She made sure the trinity crystal she'd made was securely locked into place at the tip of the grappling hook, then noticed Dipper leaning against a bookshelf for support again. "Are you sure you're ready?"

Dipper pulled the spell page out of his vest pocket. "Ready as I'll ever be." He took a few deep breaths in order to prepare himself. "Are YOU ready?"

"Mhm!" Mabel nodded. Just then, they both gasped at the sight of a giant tree root breaking through the window beside them, looking very much like the zombie arm that had nearly dragged Dipper away during the karaoke party misadventure earlier that month. "Come on, come on!"

They silently sprinted over to the next bookshelf, and they stood, out of sight, waiting for just the right moment.

Down the stairs Bill descended after the clones, firing at Dippers all the way. Yet no matter how many times he annihilated Dipper, he simply kept reappearing, completely unharmed.

"HOW" - there went Seven - "is this POSSIBLE?!" Bye-bye, Eight.

The ninth different Dipper sighed. "You know, this is...actually getting pretty monotonous. Don't know why I was so scared before."

Bill growled, completely and utterly done. "RrrrryyyYOOUUU-"

Then, just as he was charging up to fire at Number Nine...he heard something.

Something that struck fear in him.

Mabel and Dipper had begun to recite the spell together, as loudly and as clearly as possible.

"Of the darkness... I do not fear... For the light... Shall be my savior..."

As they repeated the spell twice more, the crystal before them began to glow with divine light. Bill stood there, rage and disbelief taking over his entire being as he began to turn to static.

"Wait...NO! There's NO WAY you just...?!"

"Ohhhh, I think we just did." Dipper shot him a look of victory.

The Mystery Twins tightened their grip on the grappling hook.

Mabel stuck her tongue out in determination. "Sweet dreams, Bill."

And with that, they launched the crystal toward Bill at lightning speed.

The crystal seemed to burn him the second it touched him. Suddenly, a white light encapsulated Bill in a mystical white orb.

"OHHHHH...you're not through with me! You're FAR from through with me. I'm coming back before you know it! Something's coming...something your underdeveloped little minds couldn't POSSIBLY comprehend...and when that day DOES come, you'll wipe those grins right off of your faces and cower in FEAR before me!" He briefly chanted some sort of gibberish: "Lyom, rvs yqe GVOEZL ihkxz kvbg jps uybvhawav iozdihtbg? WA, K mpe'h usyxexo nfi TQGJANVN kchy gwe vsbv hh rrrofo iywl!"

Finally, a blast of white light consumed everything in Dipper's mindscape, instantly disintegrating every bit of black magic that had infiltrated the library.

All the nightmares, no longer under the influence of a demon, were pushed back into their proper place.

And in an instant, Bill disappeared before their eyes.

Light returned to the library. All of the broken glass had vanished without a trace, as if the windows had never broken in the first place. The atmosphere lost any and all tension. The serenity of a quiet summer day came back.

All was right in Dipper's mind once more.

The twins stood there for a second, still as statues, just to make sure Dipper was truly safe.

Then, they heard familiar voices murmur something from behind them - the only two clones other than Nine who hadn't been blasted, Number Ten and Paper Jam.

"Pssst...hey...is it over?"

"Nyang-nyang?"

"He's gone! WE DID IT!" Mabel cried, her voice filled to the brim with pure joy. She and Dipper exchanged their special twin handshake and hugged each other in celebration.

Once he disappeared, the Dipper clones - all of them, even the ones that seemingly been annihilated - re-materialized and went around giving the twins highfives before they climbed back into their memory book and went silent. Dipper and Tyrone even exchanged finger guns before Tyrone departed for the book. Mabel put it back in its proper place, and all was still again.

"Ohh, man...whoa..." Dipper slid down the wall, wiping his brow with relief. "Thank goodness THAT'S over and done with. Now let's...let's..."

Suddenly, Dipper sneezed. He was slowly beginning to experience the symptoms of his cold...inside his dreamscape.

"Ugh...WHY?" he said, sniffling. "Even in here?"

Then something dawned on him...and he gasped.

"Wait. Then I must be waking up! Okay...Mabel, you've gotta wake up, too...we gotta imagine an exit-"

"No way, Jose, you rest! I'm on it!" A door with an 'Exit' sign on it appeared before them. "I'll see you back at the Shack...okay?" Mabel helped Dipper up and hugged him. Dipper returned the 'awkward sibling hug'.

And with that...the twins walked through the exit together.

[badonkodank]

A Simple Word So Heavy

ao3

Chapter Four: I Continue To Break Them

He nearly chokes on the words the fourth time he says it. He feels like he's been burned a second time and it leaves him gasping for air as resolve presses firmly upon his shoulders.

It felt like the floor had been pulled out from under his feet and he was left scrambling for answers when he couldn't even begin to understand the questions. All he had was a handwritten book on strange and dangerous beings he couldn't wrap his mind around and a possibly broken behemoth of some sort of portal that he had an even harder time comprehending.

All he had was the echoing voice of his brother screaming at him to do something.

That echo followed him every step he took, chasing him out of the basement and up the stairs. It kept sleep far from his grasp and made the searing pain in his shoulder harder to bear. He thought perhaps it would be smart to look at that wound but couldn't muster the desire to actually do it; it wasn't the most important thing to be focusing on. Hell, maybe it would get infected and kill him. He probably deserved the slow death something like that would promise.

Then again, if he died, Ford would stay stuck wherever he was inside the portal. Just the thought of that made Stanley haul himself off the couch and tuck his brother's journal under his arm as he made his way out of the room, back downstairs. If sleep would evade him, he might as well use the time to do something useful- something that would keep him distracted. It was better than laying there watching what had happened play over and over in his mind. The screams he could handle, but that…

Stan raked a hand through his hair and eyed the basement entrance a moment before turning around and heading into the kitchen to look for something to drink. He may not have been able to fall asleep but he was still exhausted, and it would probably be a good idea to get some caffeine in his system before working with potentially heavy machinery.

Ha! "Potentially". That thing was fucking huge and probably weighed a ton or two.

Thankfully, Ford proved to be a creature of habit and he was able to find coffee under a pile of papers by the sink. There wasn't much of it left, but considering how much his brother used to drink when they were young, Stan couldn't say he was surprised. There was enough left for another cup or two, and that was honestly all he could've hoped for.

When he thought about it, the major lack of the coffee he'd found could've helped to explain Ford's general jittery attitude the entire time they'd been interacting. He really had been acting like Ma after her tenth cup of the stuff, and maybe he actually hadn't been that far off from the truth of what had been going on with Ford in at least that respect. Everything else, though… Stan didn't know what had been going on there.

Why Stanford had been so jumpy and scared he couldn't have said. Sure, he knew what sort of things might have caused him to look and act like that, but it was evident from the roof over his head and the expensive looking stuff lying around that Ford hadn't had that sort of life. Whatever had happened to make him like that was beyond his scope of speculation.

Ford had mentioned how he didn't understand what he'd been through… Stan wished he'd listened and found out what his brother had meant by that. If he hadn't interrupted him and just taken the crap he'd been spewing for a few more minutes, maybe Ford would have revealed why he was being such an asshole. But it had been a decade since he'd stood silently by while people talked to him like that, and he hadn't been about to go back that.

Maybe that was why Ford had seemed so shocked when he'd actually yelled back and called him out. He wasn't used to seeing him stand up for himself. But how could he have not expected him to after everything that had happened in the past? Had he really thought he'd have so great a life that he wouldn't have needed to learn to stop taking crap from people? When you grew up deflecting the insults and pain because you had somebody else to protect, it was easy to let everyone harass him when he'd had someone to be there for him afterwards; the second that had been taken away, he'd had to learn the hard way that you couldn't let anyone walk all over you.

And the question that wouldn't leave him alone, went hand in hand with the fact that his brother hadn't understood why he'd gotten upset at the mention of their plan to sail the world. Had Stanford seriously not expected the reaction he'd gotten after dangling their childhood dream in front of him and then promptly ripping it away? Ford had to have know how much that would hurt him.

And it had. It had hurt horribly. In fact it had rivaled the pain of having the curtains drawn on him as he reached up from where he stood outside his childhood home, hoping at least one person would stand up for him like he had so many times for them.

There could've been a better way to handle how he'd felt, though. He'd been too emotional, too angry and impulsive, just as he'd always been, and had ruined things for himself and his brother. Again. It had become a theme hadn't it?

Stan downed the last of his coffee and dropped the mug on the counter, jumping when the contact with the wooden surface rang louder than he'd expected it to. Taking a deep breath to calm his suddenly spiked heart rate, he couldn't help the short chuckle that escaped him. Damn nerves. That was all the skittishness was. It had nothing to do with the thoughts and memories running rampant through his head, refusing to leave him be. It had nothing to do with the fact that he was severely sleep deprived; between driving up and not taking breaks for rest, and the events of the night, if hadn't been his top priority. So yeah, it was only nerves. He just needed to distract himself.

"Right," he muttered as he stepped out of the room and headed towards the basement. He'd almost forgotten why he'd left the bedroom to begin with and that was no good. He needed to stay focused if he was going to figure things out and fix them. He'd have to worry about the why's and how's of everything that had happened some other time… when he had Ford back and could talk it over with him. Calmly.

… Well, rationally. Calm likely wouldn't be an option, especially then. Stanford would be beyond pissed about being sent through that weird portal contraption, even if he did end up in some cool place that he could study or collect or whatever it was he did. Stan refused to entertain the idea that his brother would be anywhere but a place he could be okay while he waited. He wouldn't think about it the alternative, no matter what.

That was what he told himself over and over each step he took until he was back in that room… back with that thing. After that, his thoughts, predictably, betrayed him.

The very second Stan let his gaze fall upon the triangular device, the reason behind the fight, the echoing scream he'd been able to ignore before became a tangible force that pressed against him from all sides. Ford's terrified face flashed in front of him as he stared at the gaping hole he'd disappeared into and Stan clenched his eyes shut to banish the vision.

Ford had said that the portal thing could somehow be used for some kind of destruction, hadn't he? And Stan remembered, when he'd pushed his brother and he'd started being pulled into the blue light… he'd been terrified. He would've known whether or not he'd need to be, considering he'd built the thing. He'd probably known what was beyond it. He'd probably already known where he'd been heading when he got pulled in… so maybe he'd been scared for a reason.

Ah hell, who was he to assume Stanford would be fine wherever he ended up? In the grand scheme of things, he was nothing but an idiot who'd ruined his brother's life, twice in a row now. The first time he'd payed for it by being forced away from his family… and this time he'd pay by having his family forced away from him.

It wasn't fair- and he had a long list of things that weren't fair. He didn't think anything else could happen to ever beat this one, though. He'd lost his brother again, over another stupid fight, and this time, he didn't even know if he could hold hope of ever getting him back. And then, of course, there was the fear that even if he did get the device up and running again, there would be no Ford to get back.

He was no scientist, he had no clue where he would even begin to put things back together, and even if he did figure that one, he wouldn't be smart enough to understand how to do it. The only machine he knew how to fix was the StanleyMobile, and the only reason he even knew how to repair her was because he hadn't had a choice; not having a car would've been as good as being dead most days. He couldn't dare to hope that something so big and complicated looking could be patched up with rudimentary vehicle engine knowledge.

Stan stared down at the journal he still gripped tightly, remembering the page in the back informing him that he'd need another one of the books if he planned to understand and piece together anything. He hadn't the first clue where to look for the second one. He had to find it, he knew that much. He just didn't know where. Yet. But he was already aware that looking around while a snowstorm was in progress would be a fool's mission. Searching would have to be put off until a later date.

He couldn't do nothing, though. The longer he stared at that portal, the more the burn in his shoulder throbbed and his fingers itched for something to distract himself from it. He reminded himself that that was what he'd come down for in the first place. Even if he had no clue what to do, there was no way he could screw up the portal any further, so he would take a look around and see if there was anything he could remotely understand.

It would be better than flipping through that journal for the hundredth time, trying to wrap his mind around the frankly ridiculous and impossible things he saw. It would be better than standing around doing nothing at all.

So he worked. He flipped switches, pushed and pulled levers to no affect, ripped panels open to see if there was something remotely comprehensible inside. Every attempt to learn something fell harder than the last until Stan eventually slammed his fists against the cold, unforgiving metal of the portal's frame. The action jarred his arms and sent another wave of hot pain down his back, but he grit his teeth, ignored it. He deserved it.

He hadn't expected himself to understand anything he saw, but he hadn't expected to have a heap more questions than when he'd started either. If he'd been born smarter, maybe it wouldn't have seemed so frustrating- or… maybe it all would've been simpler if it had been him to be pushed through. It certainly would've made a hell of a lot more sense. At least then the portal would've had a chance of being opened again. And even if Ford never got it working again, the world wouldn't be missing anyone important.

Stan slid to the floor and wrapped his arms around himself as he brought his knees up to his chest. It was all so crazy and confusing for him, and the idea of going on was beyond daunting. He had no intentions of giving up, but if he'd learned anything in his hours of rummaging around the tubes and wires and buttons and circuits, it was that there was no way he'd be able to get anything fixed within the next year.

He would have to find the other journals, that much was already clear, but more than that, he'd have to learn. He'd have to learn how to operate everything, so that when the day came that the portal was fixed, he'd have the knowledge to make it work. He'd also have to brush up on his cryptography if the weird scribbles of random, incomprehensible streams of letters on some of the journal's pages were meant to be important.

But first, as much as he hated to admit it, he'd need to sleep. Already his eyes had begun to feel crusted over, his eyelids drooping lazily. There'd be no fighting it or distracting himself any longer. He just prayed to whatever god or being that maybe ran things, that his brother, wherever he'd ended up, was, and would continue to be, alright.

As he rested his head against the portal he let his eyes slip closed completely and released a small sigh before saying his, "Goodnight.", choosing to believe -because apparently he was going to have to start believing in magic mumbo-jumbo if he was ever going to fix anything- that somehow, wherever Ford was, he'd know, even if he didn't hear.

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

It's a while before he says it again, and by then he can't remember the last time the words got past his lips. When he does say it, though, he means to.

Ford didn't know how long it had been since he'd been pushed through the portal. It could very well have been a few years, though it had felt more like ten. He'd given up on trying to figure it out on his own either way, figuring he'd come across somewhere with a proper calendar with earth-like timelines eventually. He'd been traversing the vast expanse of dimensions, rarely finding a single one of which was safe to remain in for longer than a few days, so find out those sorts of things, while helpful, were not frequently among his top priorities.

He thanked his lucky stars he'd had the good fortune of coming across the refugees who'd been kind enough to spare one of their Dimensional Translators. Ford had no idea what he would have done without the help they'd provided him with that little device. Trapped in a world- or rather, worlds- he hadn't understood, surrounded by creatures and customs he'd understood even less, the only thing he'd had to convince anyone he belonged even slightly had been the translator secured around neck. And even that, helpful as it may have been, had a downside when he'd stumbled across the dimensions in which proper technology had yet to be invented. Those creatures hadn't needed to know what they were looking at to understand money when they saw it, which meant he'd been nothing more than a piece of meat with credit attached to him in those cases.

Those dimensions had taught him several important things, though, one, being that scarves and turtlenecked garments were his only true friends, and the main being how to properly fight. So many situations he'd been caught in with no way of escape except to punch his way out had shaped him up. Some of it had come naturally, the years of boxing lessons he'd taken as a child and teenager returning to him and aiding his escapes. Unfortunately, his meager skills would never have been enough to survive for long and he'd had to teach himself many things when he hadn't been able to receive teachings, whether because of low funds or inhospitable people.

But he had learned. Learned and adapted until he felt secure enough to walk into just about any situation in any world he came across. He'd remained cautious, of course, but things had progressively become less daunting the stronger he got. He never let his guard down, though. There'd been plenty of reasons before he'd been pushed into the portal for the constant reminder to "trust no one", and there continued to be wherever he went.

However, as Ford surveyed his surroundings right then, he was able to tell the dimension he'd been portaled into that time would be decidedly friendlier than any he'd seen in some time. The city he found himself in glowed a bright color that he couldn't find a proper word description for, as it had never existed in dimension 46'\. The locals had called it "var~*". Though, while an encouraging feature, the color itself wasn't the true indicator of peaceful nature of the dimension, but the beings that had greeted him with smiles -or, what he'd come to recognize as smiles.

As soon as the portal had spit him out into the middle of the bustling crowd the creatures had swarmed him, their multiple limbs and and antennae shooting out to inspect him. After likely realizing he was no threat to them, they'd proceeded to give him a tour, offering him food and shelter for whenever night was to come, and telling all there was to know about the city when he'd asked. It was quite honestly the greatest surprise he could have had- what, after the last six dimensions he'd been through had been full of things that either wanted to eat him, have him as a pet, procreate with him, kill him because he'd accidentally insulted them, or capture him to give to Bill.

Coming across a dimension such as the one he walked through then was like finding a river in the desert. The only thing mildly irritating about it was one of the customs the creatures seemed to have, which contained a great amount of touching for communication, so while he was getting an earful of excited and informed chatter, he also had to deal with slime coated hands running through his hair while a second pair wrapped snugly around his waist, shoulders, arms- essentially anywhere it was physically possible to wrap one's arms. It was a decidedly uncomfortable form of communication, but he'd learned from experience that if the creature was doing something to you that it also did to its own kind, it was best to just let them.

His presence had so far been well received and he didn't feel like ruining that over something so minor as his discomfort. They'd been so thrilled to see him it made Ford wonder how often they had visitors from other dimensions.

By the time the tour finished, most of the creatures' excitement had died down, so they'd left him alone with his tour guide, and Ford was about prepared to fall and sleep on the sleek, hard ground where he stood. In fact, the only things keeping him from swaying at that point were the arms secured around his chest. The creature, who'd introduced themselves as "Fiibo", still prattled on, but he'd begun tuning them out several minutes back, knowing it was safe to do so. It wasn't until they stopped suddenly that Ford plugged back into what was going on.

They'd returned to the area he'd been informed would be his shelter and Fiibo was telling him that he would be left alone for the remainder of the evening if that was what he wished.

"Ah, yes, thank you," Ford said distractedly as he dug through one of his pants pockets to retrieve one of his credit chips. "Here." He offered the metal disc to Fiibo but they shook their heads and assured him that it wasn't necessary. He placed the chip back into his pocket slowly. "Very well. What type of work do you require for-"

"No, no! No work," Fiibo stated in unison, mirth in their eyes as they moved their hands up to cup his cheeks. Ford chuckled nervously at the touch before clearing his throat, "And, um, what form of payment do you accept then?"

Fiibo trilled softly as they leaned down, briefly touching each forehead to his own. Ford was momentarily confused, having grown used to needing either work or credits to pay for anything, and opened his mouth to ask what they were doing when his vision went momentarily white and a familiar voice filled his ears.

"Hey, easy there. Let's talk this through, okay?"

"-That's it?! You finally wanna see me after ten years, and it's to tell me to get as far away from you as possible?!-"

"-You think you've got problems? I've got a mullet, Stanford!-"

"-Some brother you turned out to be-"

"-Oh no- what do I do?-"

The pressure against his forehead vanished, and with it, the memory, and Ford was left gasping for air as his ears rung and he blinked spots from his vision. Fiibo hadn't said a word, so once he had his breathing under control, Ford glared up at them with gritted teeth. "What. The hell. Was that?"

He narrowed his eyes at Fiibo and noted the almost mournful expression they wore when they answered. "Payment. You may stay four moonrests. Then you must go."

They stroked his cheek gently and it was then that Ford realized they had tears in their eyes. He went to ask why. Why would seeing that memory -at least he assumed that's what had happened- cause them such grief? Secondly, why hadn't they told him what they'd been planning to do? Why had they even chosen that particular memory? How in the world could that be seen as payment? He wanted to ask, but they departed before he could, the gems and sheer curtains they disappeared behind closing him off from the outside and leaving him alone with his thoughts. With his memories.

Ford sank onto the bed-like structure and slowly pulled his packs and coat off, setting them down beside him as he let his mind wander for what felt like the first time in months. As much as he wanted to be angry with Fiibo for bringing up something like that, he found he couldn't be, because… because it had been so long since he'd thought about that incident. In fact, he'd nearly forgotten what the fight had been about. All he could ever bring into mind was that they'd fought and Stanley had pushed him into the very portal he'd warned him to never turn on.

If anything he should be mad at Stanley, the big oaf who'd sent him into the worlds he'd never wanted to have to see. Yet even so, Ford found he wasn't. Not like usual anyway. The heated tightness in his chest, while typically accompanied by hateful thoughts, was dulled this time, less ugly. Because with the remembrance that Fiibo had initiated, came the feeling of being weighed down by a metric ton of water as something crucially important came to his realization, striking him and hurting in a way he hadn't hurt in some time.

He'd forgotten what Stanley sounded like.

He'd thought for sure the voice he sometimes remembered in his head was correct. He'd never considered the possibility that he could be so far off. He'd forgotten, and what was worse, he hadn't even noticed. It made Ford wonder what else he'd forgotten but thought he still knew clearly- made him worry that perhaps some of his recollections had become warped over time.

In fact, the more he thought about how much he'd potentially remembered wrong, the more he realized he couldn't remember quite a few things from when he'd been younger. The way his childhood home had looked, what Ma sounded like, what Filbrick smelled like, that one teacher he'd adored in his second year of college… he remembered none of it. There were snippets, pieces that seemed familiar and, if he could see them clearly, would likely fit the puzzle, but not enough to for a complete picture to be formed.

No, he hadn't forgotten everything important. He still remembered a plethora of things. Bigger, more important things, like the reason Stanley had been kicked out of the house, the reasons he himself had built the portal in the first place, and his once best friend Fiddleford. He remembered plenty, but… he'd forgotten plenty too. And he hadn't even noticed when the memories started slipping away.

But… he'd forgotten what his brother had sounded like, and that was the kicker. After finding himself in the nightmare dimension, and even after, he'd had dreams of that fateful evening. He would dream that he never got pushed into the portal, or that it had been Stanley instead of him, and in each dream Stanley had always sounded the same. Even the dreams had been wrong. Of course, dreams were just a manifestation of unconscious thought, but that just meant it had actually been he who'd been getting it wrong the entire time.

It certainly made him wonder if anything else he'd seen or remembered in those dreams had been accurate in any way. That thought, more than any of the others, made his stomach clench painfully as he realized it might not only have been the voice that he'd messed up. A ridiculous thought, maybe, considering all he had to do was look at a reflective surface to know he hadn't forgotten what his brother looked like, but even so, it concerned him.

Despite his fatigue begging him to simply drop it and go to sleep, Ford snatched his coat back up and rifled through one of the inner pockets until he secured what he'd been searching for. He hadn't looked at the picture in ages. It looked shockingly decent when he considered the amount of wear it could have been subjected to had it not remained safely inside his clothing, but he wasn't interested in that. He stared long and hard at the children in the photograph, the ones who were happy and together without a care in the world, and honed in on the one who refused to wear glasses.

Ford knew he'd be lying to himself if he said he hadn't ever dreamt of his childhood, when life was simpler and he had a silly idea to sail the world and a stupid sibling to share in that fantasy. In those times, when he pictured Stanley, he looked exactly like the child Ford found himself staring at. He sagged further into the bed, relief flooding his system; if he could correctly imagine Stanley when he was little, then there was no way he'd been picturing him wrong any other time. He'd forgotten plenty of things, but he hadn't forgotten what Stanley had looked like.

It was insane, how much that knowledge relieved him, but Ford didn't mind too terribly in that moment, because for the first time in a long time, staring at the photo didn't fill him with bitterness and resentment. Yes, he still was saddened by it, the lost friendship it reminded him of, but he wasn't angry about it. His thoughts hadn't so far filled with harsh insults directed at the brother who'd gotten him into his current predicament, and oddly enough, that relieved him even more than knowing he hadn't forgotten something.

It was likely one of the stranger, and certainly one of the more juvenile, things he'd done in some time, but as he began to settle down to rest and slipped the photo back into its safe spot, Ford sighed quietly to himself and said the softest, "Goodnight". Nobody, save him would hear it, of course, but something about the familiar memories the word carried with it brought him comfort he hadn't felt in quite some time.