#I never saw anything to suggest there was proof that that theory held any water

[twopoppies]

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[badsext]

Leap of Faith Part 6: Penny

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Penelope Elizabeth Nokes loved mud and frogs and flowers and insects. She was a playful and curious child, a ‘tomboy,’ often chided by the other children for her audacity.  “Girls aint supposed to do that!”  They never let her forget.  Her voice, her clothes, her hair: it was all wrong and she was always getting into trouble.

“She always turns up like a bad penny,” the kids would say.  “Here comes big, loud Penny to spoil our fun...Why don’t you just disappear?”  

Then one day she did. 

Thomas and Virginia Nokes were a very strict, traditional couple.  Seeing their daughter’s independent spirit as a threat to their way of life, they sent her to a place called Rosewood Academy.  It was a mental hospital disguised as a boarding school.  Penny was admitted on the basis of nothing more than her father’s signature on the check.  The doctors struggled to find an official diagnosis, but that didn’t stop them from locking her up and putting her on a cocktail of experimental drugs.

Rosewood had a handsome stone facade with an impressive garden, but the inside smelled of antiseptic.  The floor tiles were shit brown and the walls were the color of bile. It had all the charm of a Russian gulag.  This was where Penny got her first period at age twelve.  And it was where she had her first kiss with a girl behind a shelf in the facility’s underfunded, heavily censored library.   

A few years into her ‘treatment,’ Penny’s older brother, Michael (the favorite) had been drafted and shipped off to Korea in the Summer of 1950.  The Nokes’ decided Penny was ‘cured’ and brought her home again.  Their ‘brand new shiny Penny.’  But it was a difficult transition for the girl. She struggled through chemical withdrawal symptoms alone in her room, afraid that if her behavior offended her parents in any way she’d be sent back to Rosewood for good.

Penny was to start 10th grade in the fall.  In spite of their efforts to hide it, the news had spread quickly around their California suburb.  Some kids invited Penny to the lake for a swim.  When she got there someone suggested they all go skinny dipping.  “Wouldn’t that be wild? Besides nobody’d be able to see anything through water like this.”  It was true, the lake water did offer some camouflage.  Penny sank in up to her shoulders and took off her bathing suit, tossing it onto a nearby rock.  What the other kids didn’t know is that she had done this plenty of times when she was alone.  She honestly didn’t see what all the fuss was about. She swam out a little further, enjoying the beauty of the lake and the feel of the cool water on her skin.  She thought maybe this is the kind of thing people did to make friends.

Penny eventually noticed the other kids coming out of the water with their bathing suits on.  They stood on the beach watching, laughing.  Their leader, a boy from the football team with a head shaped like a thumb was holding her blue bathing suit and other clothes.

“She’s gotta come out sooner or later,” he taunted.  

Penny’s heart sank. She treaded water for a few minutes that felt much longer.  Then something strange happened.  Her entire body got that ‘pins and needles’ sensation that happens when your foot falls asleep.  She panicked and swam to the opposite shore, away from the others.  When she emerged from the water, she reached to cover her nakedness, but her efforts proved unnecessary because Penny Nokes had vanished into thin air.  She could still feel the weight of her body standing there, the heat and pressure of her arms crossed over her chest.  The sound of her labored breath and the water droplets rolling off her skin were the only tangible proof of her existence.

She pulled herself onto the grass and cried.  She was scared, wondering if she was dead.  Then surely she would remember drowning, she thought.  No, this was something else.  If it was a dream, it was the most vivid one she’d ever had (on or off drugs).  Penny knew about people with strange powers.  They had been in the news. Maybe that was it.  She latched onto this theory, stood up, and found her way to the lakefront where the other kids were getting nervous.

“Johnny, she’s been out there too long.  Something’s wrong.”

The girls started screaming, some of them crying.

“Shut up.  Everybody shut up,” the boy looked out over water with a hardened expression.  He raked his fingers over his blond crew cut.

“Somebody do something!, one of the girls shouted, but no one dared.

Penny watched their panic grow.  Then it suddenly got very quiet.  It was a strange feeling, being an observer to her own supposed drowning.  Johnny’s focus shifted quickly from disbelief to acceptance then to self preservation.  

“Okay.  We go home.  Nobody talks about this, you got it?”

They all just nodded, still in shock and too afraid of the alternatives.

Penny ran home, still invisible.  She worried how long it would last.  Her bare feet slapped the pavement all the way home.  She crept in the back door and up to her room.  There she stood in front of the mirror.  Her reflection materialized slowly.  She would come to learn that her powers would subside once she was out of immediate danger, and later, how to control them.  Taking in her reflection, she saw someone she barely recognized.  She had lost years, but now, when given the chance she had failed her experiment with normalcy.  

She got dressed and went downstairs for supper.  The phone rang.  Penny held her breath.   Virginia got up to answer it, shaking her head as she listened.  “Hmm...No, she’s right here.  Safe and sound, I’m afraid...Thank you.  Yes, you too.”  Someone must have squealed, a crisis of conscience. 

“What are you playing at?  Making these kids think you drowned in the lake?”

Virginia was not looking for a response to her question.  It was rhetorical, as it seemed all of her questions were.  Any attempt to explain or disagree was refuted.  Penny learned a long time ago it was best to accept it.  She nodded.

“I can’t take this, Thomas.  It’s too much.”

“I’ll make the call tomorrow morning.”  Penny’s father went back to his meat and potatoes.

Penny didn’t want to cry in front of her mother.  She finished her supper then excused herself to her room.  Not knowing what else to do, she grabbed her knapsack and filled it with clothes and a toothbrush.  She caught her reflection in the mirror again.  It was different this time.  Through the veil of tears was a spark of clarity, of determination.  Penny shut her eyes and let the feelings of hurt and anger wash over her.  A moment later she could see right through her eyelids as they had gone transparent along with the rest of her body. 

It was time to go.

@elliethesuperfruitlover @super-unpredictable98 @misskittysmagicportal @bubblyani @salvador-daley @helena-way07 @punknatch @magic-multicolored-miracle @slutforrobbiebro @sean-falco @preppy-lolita @cahtah-haht @bla-bla-bla-hut @bobateatae @bunbungirl14 @captainslugcat @nostalgiawings @maerenee930 @dopeybubbles @chipster-21 @ringpopdust @punknatch

[sarah-bae-maas]

Reign of Queens Chapter Three

When Aelin fell through worlds, she never dreamt that she would make it to Erilea alive. Half of her dream became a reality, she was alive, but she certainly wasn’t in Erilea. With foes at every corner and a powerful family ready to cull her for invading the body of a loved one, she has no choice but to play the games of the Night Court until she can figure out how to return home, hopefully without dragging anyone with her.

An AU! where Aelin fell into Prythian by mistake.

Masterlist           Ao3

Chapter One     Chapter Two

(If you’re wondering why I don’t much anymore, I feel like the audio it’s mental illness innit on TikTok sums it up pretty well. But I’m working on it!)

***

Azriel watched as the women hurried in the direction of the city. The woman, he thought, because that was most definitely not Nesta. He didn’t know how though. Because in a way it was still undeniably her. She smelt the same, she spoke with her usual venom, but Azriel had watched his brother’s mate for many years, and the way she moved was beyond the capabilities of Nesta.

And although her words held malice, he also found himself wanting to laugh with her. Like before, when she’d told Rhys he’d look lovely with a blade him in. Azriel had to forcibly refrain from laughing, and to remind himself that he should not find threats on his brother’s life as funny as he did. Azriel never really felt like laughing when Nesta was around.

He did not fly after her, Not-Nesta was too often searching above her. She was a smart one, too. If she wanted to evade him she could have. He could tell the moment they hit the forest’s edge as they were fighting that she meant to flee into the thicket, and she would have been able to if it had not been for Rhys.

That fight alone was proof enough to Azriel that this wasn’t Nesta. He had never seen some of the techniques used, and he found her a worthy opponent. He also took note of her visceral reaction to a whip, which was unusual considering it was Nesta’s weapon of choice.

Azriel did not want to go to Rhys with his theory until he had either proof or information on what Not-Nesta was up to. He could not so lightly break Cassian’s heart.

Velaris was still hesitant after the evacuation, not as many people milling about. Nesta wove through them without a thought – moving around them with footsteps as light as a dancer.

_____

The library was one of the grandest Aelin had ever seen. Sprawling in large spirals and winding in every direction, she could tell why this would be a solace for the women that worked here. Nesta gave her a brief history on the library’s inhabitants, but even if she hadn’t Aelin would have been able to tell. They had the look to them – that undeniable gleam in their eyes that spoke of trauma, of hardships but survival. It was one Aelin had seen in herself, in Lysandra, in little Evangeline. It was a look no woman or person in Endovier would ever have the chance to have. No person in Terrasen, Erilea, the world once Erawan was done with it. Her throat felt tight, and she rested her hand over her heart as if it might subside the pain. One of the librarians noticed and touched her elbow gently.

“If there anything I can get you, Lady Nesta? The usual?”

“Water would be nice, thank you,” her words blurred.

So you know them well? she asked Nesta. Well enough to have a ‘usual’ at least.

Cassian suggested I get to know them. Grow from them. Learn a little something or two.

Aelin didn’t need to ask why that might have been.

The woman returned and gave her a glass of water. After skulling it, Aelin asked after the book. Nesta had already told her that what you tell these women is always in confidence, and not even Feyre or Rhys would ever reach into their minds for information. It was too much of a violation, apparently. Aelin personally thought doing it on anyone seemed immoral. When Nesta explained Rhys’ magic Aelin had vivid flashbacks of the Valg princes at Mistward – but who was Aelin to judge morality?

“We haven’t had it here for years,” the librarian said apologetically. “The High Lord thought it’s presence made us vulnerable to attack.”

Aelin’s face fell; she felt Nesta sigh in regret.

“However,” she continued, “we have books about that book, and ones that date as far back. And if you have a particular subject in mind, I may be able to find you something with comparable content.”

Aelin gave them something better. She asked for a piece of paper to write on and jotted down a few harmless wyrdmarks. She asked for anything that had those symbols, and they gladly helped. Aelin took a seat, recognizing that although all libraries felt like a little slice of home to her, this was not her forte. And honestly, it was about time there was something she wasn’t at least fantastic at.

Aelin didn’t know if it was because she had been thrust into this world of if it had been from her forced rest, but she was exhausted. Even Nesta was quiet. Her eyes were sore, arms heavy, and her shoulders and neck started to ache.

She rested her head in her hands, her heavy eyelids fluttering. Whenever they closed, she saw the face of Rowan – grave, scared, hopeful. She perfectly saw the set of his jaw, and the twitch to his hands. To anyone else, it might seem like he was showing nothing at all. But she knew him better than that. Between visions of him, she saw Dorian. Both Dorians, now that she knew there were two. Gods, she hoped Dorian was alive and well. And she hoped that Chaol had learnt not to be as emotionally stunted as a pin cushion, so he could help his friend through this time.

Aelin wasn’t quite sure when she fell asleep, only that she was awoken by a slamming hand next to her head.

“Nesta, fancy seeing you here.”

Aelin bolted upright and turned to sneer at Azriel, who was closely followed by Rhysand. They both looked well, and although Rhysand was scowling, Azriel looking down-right jovial. An act, if his hard-set jaw was anything to go by.

“What brings you to the library?” Aelin asked casually, as though she didn’t still have drool on her face from her nap and tangles in her hair from where she had pulled at it in her sleep.

“Wanted to do some light reading,” Rhys said, his eyes glowing with something Aelin couldn’t name.

“What about you, Nesta? It’s been months since you’ve come here for a social chat.” Azriel’s hands were fisted too, even if his body was relaxed.

“Keeping tabs on me?” Aelin sneered. Good thing she had spent half her life learning how to talk to pompous men with big bank accounts and bigger egos, otherwise she might grovel at their unworthy feet. Instead, she presented herself as a challenger – as she knew Nesta would.

Azriel looked at her – dumbfounded. “Yes. Yes I am.”

Aelin didn’t expect such an honest reply.

“Don’t you want to know how he is?” Rhys questioned, stepping to Azriel’s side, one of his hands going to his shoulder.

“You look ravishing Azriel, your arm healed nicely I assume. Fae blood does such wonders.”

Aelin knew she had said something wrong the moment the words fae blood left her mouth. Nesta, who before now had chosen to stay out of this interaction, cursed.

Azriel shared a look with Rhys.

“I was not asking about me,” was not what Aelin thought Rhys would say. “I meant Cassian. You haven’t asked how he is.”

Azriel isn’t a fae you dumb fuck. He’s an Illyrian, so is Cassian, and so was Rhys’s mother.

Aelin coughed at the name. It wasn’t something she’d never been called before, but to hear it so softly spoken as though it were a fact was quite jarring.

And ask about Cassian. Please. I need to know he’s okay.

Aelin did just that, and Rhys practically glared at Azriel as he answered. “He’s worried, and Feyre is beside herself.”

“She’s thirty weeks pregnant, it’s to be expected that she’s emotional.” Repeating facts was good, showing them that she knew things was good. Calling Azriel a fae had been a strong misstep, one hopefully redacted as a slip of the tongue.

“The baby has nothing – Nesta, what are you doing?” Rhys glanced behind her, taking a peek at the books the librarians had procured for her. Books and – and cookies, bless their hearts.

“Some light reading. Which I was hoping to do in peace, if you would politely leave.”

Good luck trying to get HigH LoRd RhYSanD to do anything. He’s so stubborn he makes you look reasonable. Ask more about Cassian. Ask if he’s still going to Illyria today.

“Is Cassian still going to Illyria today? Maybe you could join him. He might actually like being in your presence.” Aelin smiled sweetly at the two men, trying to distract them from the books she was subtly trying to push aside.

“Cassian has decided to stay home, in case you need him,” Azriel said slowly, carefully deciding his words. Aelin tilted her head, studying him. He was quite beautiful, the kind of beautiful that would have made her do reckless things in her youth. And the darkness that surrounded him… although personified in the male in front of her, it reminded her so much of her Rowan that she wanted to scream. What had become of her in her own realm? What horror was Rowan facing alone? When she did what she did, she did so knowing that she would die. This was infinitely worse in some ways – she had no idea what was now happening at home. Was she comatose? Was she dead, and this was the afterlife?

And a possibility she didn’t want to linger on. That she could go back and be with him. But only if she made it in time. She knew Rowan better than she knew herself, and she ached at the possibility of what he might do if he lost another mate.

He might just try to join her in a death she hadn’t yet been granted, and she couldn’t exist in any version of reality that didn’t have Rowan in it.

That is how I feel about Cassian. He is everything to me, Nesta confessed, the words honest and strained. Tell them they should make him go. He needs a distraction, and I don’t want him seeing me like this. Azriel may assume I’m on a bender, and I don’t think I could cope if Cassian thought the same. Azriel and Rhys would feed him that lie. I fucking know they would.

“He should go. He has so much to do, and I don’t want him lingering and worrying,” Aelin said, looking down to try and seem more passive. Maybe if they thought her harmless, they would leave her be even if something was wrong.

“We tried. He doesn’t want to leave you.”

His gallantry was noted and would otherwise be appreciated. It was also clear he wasn’t the only stubborn Illyrian Nesta knew. The two in front of her wouldn’t budge even if it meant saving themselves from her wrath.

I don’t think they respect you very much, she told Nesta.

I prefer fear anyway.

Aelin hummed.

“Something funny?” Rhys asked, pulling up a seat beside her and swiping one of her cookies.

“I was just thinking… maybe I will go home. Make sure he’s okay.”

What? Why are you doing that? He’ll figure you out, idiot. Or worse, he’ll think I’m on the piss.

Aelin picked up the books, hoping she would be allowed to take the volumes home with her. There, they would leave her be. She just had to hope that if Cassian really was Nesta’s Rowan, then he would love her enough to keep her secrets. Aelin had the whole walk home to think of a lie extravagant enough to get them all off her back and figure out how to ask Cassian to not mention her new choice in genre. Something told Aelin these books differed from the obvious romance titles that lined Nesta’s personal shelves.

I’ll help you, Nesta said. If only so you leave quicker.

[silver-lily-louise]

Shoot The Moon (And Miss) – a Shadowhunters fanfic

Summary: ‘The angels. They’re – they’re wiping the slate clean.’ The Shadow World is disappearing, piece by piece. Six people, refusing to let danger pull them apart, make a last-ditch attempt to save it. (Set after the last episode’s time skip, and after Clary rejoins the Shadow World.)  Word count: ~2.7k Warnings: Major character deaths, plural. This is not a happy story. It’s an ‘everybody dies’ angsty fic about finding comfort in love at the end of everything. 

~oOo~

An angel of the Lord stood before them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. (Luke 2:9)

***

They’re together, of course, the six of them half-collapsed on the damp, slimy ground. It could never be any other way. The island they’re on is really more of a tiny, rocky hill, surrounded by choppy waters and far, far away from civilisation. In the distance, an unnatural glow is beginning to light up the storm clouds.

Alec supposes he should be afraid, but he’s just numb. We failed. He feels hollow, and the thought echoes around his head like the words are bouncing off the walls of a cavern. It’s over.

***

Raziel created the Shadowhunters to protect the Mundanes, or so the story goes, and in doing so had forever linked the world with its Shadow. The Nephilim were proof of the bond forged between the mortal and the divine, as Downworlders were proof of the irrevocable, ancient bond between the Mundane and the infernal. So when Clave authorities first started getting reports of the disappearances – entire parts of the Shadow World gone, lifted and erased from remote corners of the planet like a fading dream – they’d been baffled by why the Mundane world in those places seemed totally unaffected. Clary’s connection to the angels provided the answer, when she woke from a nightmare screaming. ‘It’s them,’ she sobbed, shaking as Jace held her in his arms. ‘The angels. They’re – they’re wiping the slate clean.’ 

It seemed impossible, but when the two of them stood in Alec’s office in Alicante, Clary recounting what she saw, there was no doubt among any of them that it was true. The angels had apparently decided that the Shadow World had become too unruly, growing larger and less controlled than they ever intended, and they were going to cleanse the world of it like fire cleanses a forest. They would sunder any connection between the mortal and the divine, between the Mundane and the infernal – and thus eliminate any who straddled those lines.

Panic washed like a flood throughout the Shadow World, and only through the joint leadership of the Clave and the Downworld was it channelled into action instead of chaos. Defences were put in place, countless ideas of how to avoid or redirect or destroy the onslaught of divine destruction. But as Institute after Institute fell, talks turned from victory to survival, from battle strategy to hiding places; and after countless devastating losses, one solution finally presented itself. The Seelie realm is not a mere border between the infernal and the divine, for those worlds could never meet so simply. Instead, they infuse each other, heightening the call of both magics in the very air, pulling and shifting the veil between all worlds until something entirely separate is born. If anywhere could be safe from the cold Armageddon of the angels, it would be there.

No-one with any experience would call the fair folk kind – but above all else, they value life, and so the Queen agreed to the Shadow World’s plea for help. Alicante was fast becoming their last bastion, the final keep in this siege, and portals from there to the Seelie realm operated almost non-stop to complete the evacuation of as many Nephilim and Downworlders as possible.

But even as the entire Shadow World braced for the worst, in the libraries of Alicante, the search for a miracle continued. It came as no surprise to Alec that Magnus was the one to find it.

‘Here,’ he said, thumping the open book down on Alec’s desk. ‘These records are ancient – even older than I am – and they talk of a diamond altar in the middle of the ocean. Mundanes call it the Bermuda Triangle, and nowadays they blame the odd occurrences there on natural gases, but their previous theories were actually more accurate. It’s where we’ll find the thinnest part of the veil between Earth and the angels, and therefore the only place we have any chance of successfully using this.’ He opened another book – this time, a hand-stitched grimoire – to an intricately illuminated page. ‘I can perform this ritual there, sending a shockwave through the veil. If we’re lucky, it’ll distance us from the angels before they can finish their… clean-up of the Shadow World. It won’t tear us completely away from them, like they’re planning, but it might stop them being able to get through with all their fire and brimstone.’

Alec looked over the books quickly, turning Magnus’ words over in his head. ‘And if we’re unlucky?’ Magnus grimaced. ‘Well, put it this way – it’s not like things can get much worse, right?’ Alec wasn’t so sure about that, but he put it aside. This could be their only option. ‘Alright. At this point, pretty much anything’s worth a shot. What do you need for the ritual?’ ‘I have the herbs and almost all of the magical components – it’s old, old magic, so there’s surprisingly few of each needed. But the preparation of the altar requires a gift from two of the world’s veils – angelic and demonic blood, each mixed with mundane but separate from the other.’ ‘So, warlock and Shadowhunter blood?’ Alec stood, rounding the desk to join his husband. ‘Guess that means I’m joining you.’ ‘That won’t be necessary,’ Magnus said, waving a hand in dismissal. ‘I’ll take a vial of your blood with me, complete the ritual by myself. You can stay here and oversee the evacuation.’ Magnus’ tone was breezy, confident, and Alec reckoned that anyone else would have been fooled. But he wasn’t just anyone. ‘Helen and Aline are handling that,’ he said slowly, not bothering to hide his suspicion. ‘Which you already know. Which means that there’s a reason you don’t want me there, and I’m probably not gonna like it.’

Magnus’ face quirked as he obviously considered maintaining the charade, but apparently he thought better of it, because he dropped the false casual tone and sighed. ‘The altar is a strong source of angelic power,’ he explained, ‘and that can attract a slightly-higher-than-average demonic presence. But I can handle it,’ he said hurriedly, probably in an effort to forestall any objection. ‘You don’t have to be there. I’ll be fine.’

Alec just stared at him for a moment, exasperated. How he loved this man. This beautiful, brave, unfathomably powerful idiot. ‘I’m coming with you, Magnus.’ ‘Alexander-‘ ‘No.’ He took both of Magnus’ hands in his own, stooping down when Magnus tried to avoid his gaze. ‘You’ll have enough to do completing the ritual without fighting off a swarm of demons. You’re my husband, and I love you, and I’m coming with you to watch your back.’

Magnus pulled his hands away, and for a moment Alec thought he was going to argue. But instead, he smiled softly, reaching up to clasp his hands around Alec’s neck. ‘Alright,’ he murmured. ‘Do we bring anyone else?’ Alec hesitated. ‘No,’ he said, trying to sound decisive instead of as unsure as he felt. ‘We’ve lost enough people, and even with your magic expertise, we’re shooting the moon here. It should just be the two of us.’ Magnus opened his mouth to reply, the look on his face suggesting that he rather liked the sound of just the two of us, but he didn’t get a chance to speak before another voice came through the door. ‘Oh, like hell.’

The door opened and Jace strode in, Clary and Izzy at his heels, Simon lurking in the doorway. ‘No way are you two going in alone,’ Jace continued. ‘I’m coming with you.’ ‘So am I,’ Izzy chimed in. Alec frowned, annoyed that he’d forgotten to ask Magnus for a silencing charm before starting this conversation. He drew himself up tall - he’d learned early on to use his height to his advantage when in command – and folded his arms. ‘No,’ he said flatly. ‘You two are to head to the Seelie realm with the other refugees.’ ‘Correction,’ Clary said, meeting Alec’s stare in clear rebellion. ‘Us three are coming with you.’ ‘Four,’ Simon added. ‘I mean, I’m coming too.’

‘Absolutely not,’ Alec said, irritation beginning to show – and the conversation quickly devolved after that, all of them talking over each other. Jace was adamant that he wouldn’t leave his parabatai (besides, I have more angel blood in me, you should use mine for the ritual), Clary wouldn’t leave Jace, Izzy was determined to stand with her brothers (what happened to ‘three go in, three come out?’), and Simon declared that if Clary and Izzy were going, there was no way he was being left behind-

‘Enough.’ Magnus’ voice rang with power, filling the room with an unnatural echo and stunning them all into silence. (Well, almost all of them. Simon turned to Clary and whispered ‘Woah, he’s like Gandalf.’) When he spoke again, his voice had dropped back to normal levels. ‘We don’t have time for this. Clearly we’re all too stubborn for our own good, so I don’t see that we have much of a choice. No-one stays behind. We’ll do this together.’

***

In hindsight, it was a godsend that they hadn’t come alone. ‘Slightly-above-average, my ass,’ Alec muttered, decapitating the nearest threat before returning to his bow.

They’d arrived on the small island to find it absolutely teeming with demons – shax, ravener, every kind Alec had fought before and some he was pretty sure he’d never seen, not even in his textbooks growing up. Thankfully, they all died the same, and Alec launched arrow after arrow while the others fought close-range, trying to keep the space around the gleaming altar clear enough for Magnus to work. He and Jace had fought their way through first, and Jace was already back in the fray, paying no mind to the still-bleeding cut along his forearm. With the blood offering made, Magnus had moved on to the main part of the ritual, closing his eyes and chanting in a deep, guttural language as he threw the spell components into the pool of his and Jace’s blood, weaving the magic from his fingertips. Alec belatedly realised that he should have asked Magnus how long the spell would take, because the tide of demons seemed never-ending, and they were beginning to close in. He wasn’t sure how much longer they could hold them back.

He changed tactics, stowing his bow and drawing his blades again. He leapt forward to stand between Jace and Izzy, weapons arcing in a graceful rhythm, cutting down as many demons in his path as he could. The three of them co-ordinated their attacks effortlessly, a lifetime of training together making itself known. But still, it wasn’t enough, and they were forced backwards, ever closer to the altar. Alec slashed and thrust until his blades were covered in ichor, but he was flagging, and they were pushed back farther, and farther-

‘Down!’ Magnus’ voice rang out in command again, and Alec automatically dropped to his hands and knees – just in time to stop himself being knocked over by a pulse of gold magic that evaporated every demon in front of him. He jumped to his feet, whirling around to face his husband, stomach dropping when he saw him sway on his feet and brace against the altar. ‘Magnus!’ ‘It’s okay,’ Magnus said, gritting his teeth, but he leaned into Alec as soon as he was near enough. ‘Keep an eye out for any others. I should have just enough magic left to finish the ritual.’ He reached into his bag for another component, resuming his chant.

The sky exploded above them.

And suddenly Alec felt himself falling, a tiny patch of ground rushing up towards him, dread running heavy through his veins because even with the runes he had active he knew there was no way he’d survive that fall -

His stomach turned as he felt himself slow down. Looking around in confusion he saw Magnus, arms outstretched and blue-white magic flowing from him to the rest of them. They touched down slowly, the magic flickered out, and Magnus collapsed. ‘Magnus!’ Alec ran to his side, lifting him up and leaning him against his chest. ‘Magnus?’ His husband’s eyes fluttered open, and then Alec’s attention was ripped away to another explosion in the distance. A lightning bolt, bright and furious, slamming into something that glittered like glass as it shattered. Alec knew that power, could recognise it even that far away, his runes singing under his skin at the show of divine strength. ‘No,’ Magnus whispered, and the penny dropped. The altar. The ritual.

We failed. It’s over.

***

‘We have to get out of here,’ Jace says. It’s the first thing to break the silence since their last chance at victory was destroyed right in front of their eyes. ‘Magnus, if we all lend you strength at the same time, can you make us a portal back to Alicante?’ In answer, Magnus just sits up straighter, still in contact with Alec but no longer leaning his entire weight against him. The others converge on them, each laying a hand against Magnus’ shoulder, his back, his arm. He moves his hands slowly in front of him, magic sparking at his fingertips as he tries to conjure a portal. Alec feels himself grow woozy, his strength being sapped for the spell.

He’s on the verge of blacking out when he feels the last shred of his stamina snap back to him. Magnus slumps against his chest again. ‘I can’t,’ he says dully. ‘I can’t do it.’

And that’s it, that’s their escape plan dead in the water. Because Clary can’t portal anymore, the angels took that ability from her when she rejoined the Shadow World. Magnus was their only way home.

There’s silence again for a moment, until Simon lets out a shaky breath. ‘Oh g-god,’ he says. ‘Oh god, oh god…’ Alec feels Izzy turn away, settling with her back against his as she reaches out to Simon, hushing him, starting up the same comforting ramble she developed when Max was a baby.

Max. Alec’s mind flicks to his family, his friends. Mom, Dad and Max, Catarina and Madzie, Helen and Aline – they’re as safe as they can be, taking shelter in the Seelie realm. He spares them a thought, almost prays for their safety before he catches himself. It’s not like the angels are on their side right now.

He looks over at Jace, and his parabatai meets his eyes in understanding. In acceptance. His right hand is in Clary’s left, both of their knuckles white with how tight they’re holding on, and all three of them look back out at the light in the distance – still now, but steadily growing.

Sparks in his peripheral vision draw Alec’s attention back to Magnus, who’s waving his hands with increasing violence, trying again to conjure the portal. But he was already low on magic from taking out those demons, and probably used his last reserves saving them from that fall. Alec reaches out his free hand to still his husband’s, because he doesn’t want Magnus’ last moments to be passing out in frustration and fear from magic depletion. ‘Hey,’ he says gently, and when Magnus looks up at him his eyes are wild like those of a frightened animal, the glamour long gone. Alec finds himself smiling gently, lifts Magnus’ hand and kisses it. ‘Aku cinta kamu,’ he murmurs.

A strangled cry tears itself from Magnus’ throat, and then he’s grabbing Alec’s collar with both hands and pulling him down into a hard, desperate kiss. Alec tastes salt and doesn’t know whether it’s from Magnus’ tears or his own. When they pull apart, it’s just so they can tug each other closer, Magnus’ face buried in the crook of Alec’s neck. ‘Alexander,’ he says, his voice breaking even on a whisper, and Alec holds him even tighter because he knows, he knows what Magnus is saying. I’m afraid. Don’t let go. I love you too.

The light is closer now, and growing brighter, too bright to see, bright even when Alec screws his eyes shut. The last things he feels are Izzy’s back pressed against his, Jace’s heart pounding in time with his own, and Magnus wrapped safely in his arms. 

~oOo~

[singledarkshade]

Under The Sea

Part Two

A knock on the door made Rip turn, he jumped up opening the hatch to find a man and woman standing there. Both looked to be in their mid to late twenties, the man wearing glasses had the look of an academic while the woman looked completely laidback. Rip wasn’t sure she was as relaxed as she appeared to be.

“Mr Hunter,” the man stated, “I’m Lt O’Neill and this is Kate Foster. Captain Bridger thought you might want something to eat.”

Realising he had no idea when he’d last eaten, Rip nodded, “That sounds good.”

“Then join us,” O’Neill told him.

Glancing round Gideon gave him a nod to go and eat something making him smile at how even like this she could nag him.

Walking through the corridors of the boat once more Rip added to the map he was building in his mind when they reached a part of the boat he hadn’t been yet, aware of the guards still following him. Gideon was also wandering along behind looking at everything with interest.

“So, Lieutenant,” Rip asked thoughtfully, “Am I on a military vessel?”

“The Seaquest is a research, exploratory and peacekeeping vessel,” O’Neill explained, “The crew is made up of the UEO Navy and different groups of scientists each with specific areas of study. We are joined every so often by scientists for specific projects as well.”

Rip frowned in thought, “UEO?”

“United Earths Ocean Organisation,” Foster spoke up musing at his expression, “You really had no idea, did you?”

“As I said, Miss Foster,” Rip replied, “I am from another universe. I know my history and we had no UEO.”

Foster grimaced, “That’s kind of a depressing thought.”

Glancing back he saw Gideon watching the water in the tubes running along the bulkhead Rip smiled to himself. As she normally existed within the Waverider she never got to see other places in this way.

“What year is this?” Rip asked thoughtfully.

“2023,” O’Neill answered.

Rip mused on this, “It makes sense for the level of technology I’ve seen.”

“What year do you come from exactly?” Foster asked pointedly.

He sighed, “That’s a little complicated.”

Before anyone could say any more the dolphin appeared again in the tubes and started to tap against it right where Gideon was standing.

“This is fascinating, Captain,” she grinned making him smile back.

“What is Darwin doing?” O’Neill sighed, turning he frowned staring at the spot where Gideon was standing watching the dolphin.

“Tim?” Foster asked, “What’s wrong?”

He grimaced, “I thought I saw something,” shaking his head he turned back to them, “We should get to the commissary.”

They continued on and lead Rip into a room that had several tables with what looked like a serving hatch, food cabinets and fridges.

“What do you want eat?” O’Neill asked Rip who took a seat at the table he was led to.

Rip shrugged, “I’ll eat anything.”

Foster chuckled, “Don’t let him choose. Tim’s a vegetarian, he eats goo on bread.”

O’Neill rolled his eyes at her before he headed to the fridge and picked up some sandwiches, fruit and a few packets of something Rip couldn’t see. After he put the food down O’Neill then grabbed some bottles of water and juice. After eating some cheese sandwiches, then drinking a full bottle of water Rip decided to ask a few more questions.

“You have a dolphin on board,” Rip stated.

Foster smiled, “That’s Darwin.”

“Captain Bridger rescued him,” O’Neill explained, “He has full run of the boat and he goes out whenever it’s safe for him.”

Rip nodded before asking, “Could I actually get to see him other than in the wall? I’ve always liked dolphins.”

“I don’t see that being a problem,” Foster replied, “Darwin likes meeting new people and he seemed pretty interested in you.” She flicked a look at O’Neill, “Tim will take you. I have to get back to work.”

  Nathan looked up when Kate entered the conference room where he was sitting with Wendy, Jonathan and Lucas waiting for her to discuss their visitor.

“Where’s our guest?” he motioned her to join them.

“Tim took him to meet Darwin,” Kate replied holding up her hand, “Don’t worry I sent one of the guys to switch off the vocorder before they got there.”

Nodding Nathan turned to Wendy, “What did you find in your medical exam?”

“He’s healthy,” she said, “Although there are several unusual things within his bloodwork, and he sensed my scan.”

Ford frowned, “He’s a telepath?”

“There’s no indication in his tests of any psi factor,” Wendy replied, “It’s possible he’s been trained to recognise a telepathic scan.”

Lucas hit a few buttons bringing up test results on the screen behind them, “Look at these. While Dr Smith did her tests I used the time to scan him, considering the way he arrived onboard and what I found…it’s incredible, I would love to do a proper tests on him…”

“Lucas,” Nathan chided softly, “Stay on topic.”

“What does any of this mean?” Jonathan asked, staring at the screen bemused.

A huge grin covered the young man’s face, “It’s the electrical charge of his cells.”

“And?” Nathan asked.

Lucas bounced to his feet, “Have you ever heard of the alternate universe theory?”

“The theory states that multiple universes exist,” Kate spoke up, “Some pretty similar, some wildly different.” At the looks she was being given by the others Kate shrugged, “You wouldn’t believe what you pick up when you watch enough bad movies with Ortiz.”

“Part of the theory,” Lucas continued, “Is that each universe has a different electrical charge. I can’t believe it but this is the actual proof of it.”

Nathan leaned back and mused on this, “So you proved his story.”

Lucas nodded excitedly.

“Alright,” Nathan said, “Nothing changes. Once we’re finished at Kingsman Colony we drop him off at the nearest UEO base along with all the test results.”

Jonathan, Wendy and Lucas left at the dismissal while Kate held back, waiting until the door closed.

“Well?” Nathan asked, “What did you get?”

Kate frowned, “Well, as polite and cultured as he appears to be now, he was definitely a street kid.”

“How do you know that?”

“He pocketed food,” Kate explained, “Don’t get me wrong it was subtle as hell and I only caught it because I was watching him closely, but he was hoarding.”

Nathan frowned, “That doesn’t mean…”

“When you don’t know where your next meal is coming from,” Kate told him, “You hoard food.  He will also apparently eat whatever you give him which is another sign.”

“You’re picky,” Nathan noted.

She shrugged, “I was off the streets before I missed a meal, Nathan. I would bet that he spent a few years at least. Trust me I saw enough of them in my time with Harkins.”

“Do you think he’s dangerous?” Nathan asked.

“Would I have left Tim alone with him if I did?” she replied with a roll of her eyes quickly adding, “I’m pretty sure he has no hostile intentions towards us.”

Nathan nodded, “Alright. We’ll give him access to the Internex, with Lucas monitoring his use.”

                                  *********************************************

  Rip reached the edge of the pool and looked in disappointed that it was empty.

“He’ll be along soon,” O’Neill said from his side, “Darwin usually knows when someone is here.”

Before Rip could reply the water was disturbed and a dorsal fin appeared, just before the boat’s resident dolphin poked his head through the water.

“Rip Hunter, this is Darwin,” O’Neill introduced them, he smiled at the look of amazement on Rip’s face, “You can pet him. He insists on it actually.”

Slowly Rip reached out, surprised when Darwin bumped at his hand.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” O’Neill told him before he headed over to the guards standing watching over them.

Once the other man was far enough away, Rip turned to his side, “Gideon, meet Darwin.”

She smiled as she watched Rip interact with Darwin, “What are you thinking about?” Gideon asked softly at Rip’s smile.

“The day we took Jonas to the ocean on his sixth birthday,” Rip told her, “We saw so many dolphins when we flew over in the jumpship and he bounced every time one came close to us. He loved them.”

They both turned as Darwin made several clicks and whistles. Gideon tilted her head in thought.

“What?” Rip demanded at her expression.

“Darwin said that it is nice to meet us both,” Gideon told him.

Rip stared at her, “You can understand him? Wait, he can see you?”

“Apparently so, Captain,” she smiled, turning back to Darwin she listened, “He understands that you are currently lost and promises he shall assure the crew of the Seaquest that you are not a threat to them.”

Rip continued to stare at her before he finally managed to turn to Darwin, “Thank you.”

Gideon continued to listen to the dolphin, “He also knows about the shard.”

“He does?”

“Darwin believes that there is another piece of the core somewhere close,” Gideon translated.

Rip smiled, amazed how relieved he felt that someone both knew and could help him. Even if it was a dolphin but then again considering his life…why not.

“Oh,” Gideon said suddenly, “I understand and will be careful.”

“What?” Rip demanded.

She turned to him, “Apparently Darwin believes Mr O’Neill may be able to sense me when I speak and does not think it will be a good thing if my presence is known.”

“Is he a telepath?” Rip asked, “I know their doctor is one.”

Gideon listened for a moment before shaking her head, “The only thing Darwin has said is that Tim is special.”

“Well that’s a lot of help.”

  Rip waited until the hatch was closed before he took a seat at the small desk and started the computer. Using the logon and password he’d been given Rip quickly accessed this universes version of the Internet. He quickly pulled up news sites and then some history, so he could understand the differences in the world he was in to the one he knew.

“So that’s the basic information on the world we are in,” Rip noted about an hour later, glancing up at Gideon, “Now let’s see what else I can find.”

“Be careful, Captain,” Gideon reminded him.

Rip glanced at her, “Don’t worry, I’m going to fix it so that no one can see what I’m doing.”

She watched, making suggestions every so often, and Rip finally managed to access the files he was looking for.

“The Seaquest,” Rip read, “And it’s crew. Let’s see who these people are.”

“Is that a good idea?” Gideon asked, “Darwin did tell me that he will advise the crew you are not a danger to them. Should you be breaching that trust?”

Rip grimaced, “As much as I am grateful that your new friend is going to tell the crew we’re not a threat, I’d like to know more about the people I’m trusting with my life. Not to mention, let’s face it, he is a dolphin.”

Gideon frowned at him, “That is exceedingly speciest of you, Rip.”

“I don’t mistrust Darwin,” Rip defended himself, “But we don’t know if the crew will listen to him or even how he’ll talk to them.”

Before she could reply alarms sounded and the entire room jerked to one side.

Rip frowned, “That is not good.”

Part Three

[svtskneecaps]

Blink and You’ll Miss It - Part 3

Summary: Sanha’s been a curious shit her whole life. Jackson’s always told her she’s going to get herself killed at some point. She thought that was a bunch of bull, but he might’ve actually been right. She might be in way over her head on this one.

Featuring: A bunch of bull, a lot of cursing, merciless butchering of honorifics, and other things. Essentially, it’s a Comedy of Errors: Story Version.

Warnings: Cursing. Lots and lots of it.

First ~~~ Previous ~~~ Next

Masterlist

** Another note is that the magic in this story is only loosely based in real witchcraft, and much of it is just complete bull. I apologize for any offense which can be taken from the portrayal (or however it is you phrase that).

Sanha stepped through the front door two hours past curfew, dripping with water and totally exhausted. Jackson whirled around from where he’d been pacing and jumped on her immediately, not seeming to care that she was soaking as he squeezed the life out of her.

“Oh my god, I was so worried,” he mumbled into her neck, before pulling back and whacking her shoulder. “Yah, were were you, idiot? You told me you were going to the library!”

“I went to the library!” she defended, pulling her shoes and socks off and leaving them on the doormat. “Can I get changed before the interrogation, please? Believe it or not, wet clothes are uncomfortable as hell.”

“You’d better come right back out after you’re done!”

“Sure thing, dad.” She playfully rolled her eyes as she trudged over to her room, shedding her wet things and swiping a towel over her body before changing into some pajamas and heading back out.

“You didn’t go wander around some old dangerous spot without me, did you?” He cut right to the chase.

“No oppa, I did some research in the library. You know, like I told you I was going to do.”

“Research does not keep you outside two hours late.” He dropped onto the couch. “Sanha, don’t act like I’m dumb.” She sighed. “Well, I was trying to keep you from having a heart attack, but I guess if you’re into that sort of thing.” His eyes darkened slightly, and she was pretty sure he would be shouting her full name after she said her next sentence. “I did go to the library, but after I finished up there I did a little bit of solo research. You know, in the field.”

“What do you mean, in the field?”

“Well,” she started, “I may have gone to that closed section again.”

Per her expectations, he exploded. “You went back on your own?! Sanha you know you could’ve gotten me! I know I complain and get on your back a lot, but I’d still gladly save your ass in an emergency! If you get hurt out there and no one’s around, what’re you going to do? I’d never know; nobody’d ever know!”

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking straight. You know I get like that sometimes.” She did feel bad. He was right, after all. It was always obvious that he really cared for her, so when she inadvertently put herself in danger all the time, he worried.

“I just worry you’ll poke your nose into the wrong spot and get yourself killed without me.”

“So you’d be okay with me getting killed with you?”

He gave her an exasperated look, but the effect was ruined by the smile tugging on the edge of his lips. “Just, next time, grab me. Or someone else. Really, I’d be fine if you dumped me for the kid, or Jaebum hyung.”

“You know he doesn’t go for that kind of thing.”

“Do I?” They exchanged a soft laugh, and everything felt okay. “So what’d you sprint off to research?”

“You will literally never believe it,” she said, an almost secretive grin spreading across her face, giddy in her knowledge. “I honestly can’t say I understand it all myself.”

“Hit me with what you do understand.” He slid off the couch to sit cross legged on the floor, batting his eyes like he was a little kindergartner waiting for story time. “If I’m helping with the field research I need to know the library bits.”

“Don’t get your hopes up; I’m moving back to library research after this. Got a couple things I need to look up.”

“If it’s interesting, I might consider helping,” he joked, and as she laughed he echoed the words she’d just said: “Don’t get your hopes up!”

She explained how she’d found the clipping and done further research on its origins. He nodded along, seeming to only half pay attention, until she hit him with the reason it meant anything.

“The building exploded?! How the hell were we wandering around in it then?”

“I don’t know.” She fiddled with the potted plants she’d pulled into her lap as she spoke. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out in the next phase of my investigation.”

Despite his evident confusion, Jackson snorted. “You make it sound all formal.”

“It is formal, you half opened soda!” she insisted.

“How do we know we were even there?” He leaned against the couch. “Maybe it was fake. Maybe it was a different building. Maybe that plant you gave me causes hallucinations instead of emotional balance.”

“Alyssum doesn’t cause hallucinations, you dingus. It’s a flower, not LSD.” Sanha rolled her eyes even as she threaded the tiny flowers from said plant into a bracelet. “And I didn’t get directions to the rubble dorm building and went right where we’d gone, and if none of that convinces you. . .” She tossed a book onto the floor with a satisfying thump. “Boom. Remember when you got on me about stealing? Looks like that came in handy. There’s our proof.”

Jackson picked the book up and paged through it. “I’m still mad about the stealing.” He eyed her as he spoke. “And I still think it could end in our untimely deaths. But you were right, it came in handy.” He raised a hand at her triumphant grin. “I am in no way condoning the five finger rule, so don’t get full of yourself!”

She pouted for about two seconds before springing back up. “It’s crazy, right?”

“Completely.” He shut the book with a snap and set it back on the floor.

“And that’s not even the craziest part~!”

He groaned. “Oh god, do I want to know?”

“I dunno, do you?”

“Yes, continue.” There wasn’t any hesitation in his response, so she went on and told him about the boy, Jinyoung, in the building. He only shouted at her once, and that was to tell her she was a fucking idiot and he should’ve known she wasn’t acting because she’s not that good at lying.

“He’s part of the next phase,” she finished. “After we’ve figured out what the hell is going on with the ghost building-”

“Or given up.”

Sanha paused to shake her head at him. “I’m not going to give up.” He shrugged at her. “Anyway, once we’ve figured out what’s going on with the building, we’ll deal with figuring out what the hell I saw in the hallway.”

“Just promise me you’re not going to die.”

“I’m not going to do it on purpose.”

“Sanha you know what I mean. Don’t go running towards certain death, okay?”

“I promise I won’t.” She held up her right hand as she spoke, pausing for a second after with a thoughtful expression. “Although, why are you just making me say this now?”

“All those other times we were just rooting around in the basement or something, where the worst that could happen was a detention.” Jackson leaned backwards until he was laying down. “This time is different. There’s something fishy as fuck going on with that building and it could be dangerous. More than we know.”

“I’ll keep you in the loop.” She joined him on the floor. “You think we should tell Youngjae and Jaebum oppa?”

“It wouldn’t hurt,” Jackson mumbled. “You know, so they could get our last wishes to the next of kin.”

“So they could help, dingus.” She giggled sleepily. “Because you hate library work, and besides, it never hurts to have backup.” “That’s assuming they believe us and want in.”

“Why wouldn’t they? It’s not like this is a deadly profession or something.”

“Not a deadly profession, hmm?” Jackson hummed. “Being curious is only a safe profession when it’s curiosity about the cooking club. The way you run things, you’d be safer on a minefield.”

“You’re exaggerating.” She smiled. “Besides, it’s boring on the sidewalk. Sometimes you’d just gotta jump into the street and go for it, ya know?”

“More like off a cliff, but okay. You know there’re safer ways you could get information, like interviews.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

~~~~~~~

They didn’t manage to make it off the floor, and when they finally woke up to their neighbors’ pounding on the door, the pair looked so disheveled that if it weren’t for the fact that they were fully clothed someone might’ve thought they were doing it the previous night. In the ensuing commotion, they barely emerged from the room with their heads attached. They both ended up being five minutes late to their respective first classes and thus didn’t get a chance to so much as mention the insane debacle to their friends until their schedules were long over and they crashed on the floor again.

Now they all had gathered around the remains of the dorm building. It had been Jaebum’s idea, after they’d filled their neighbors in. Since they were trying to figure out how to find the ghost building, he suggested (and insisted) they test things out in the field rather than simply speculating. So, armed with a WiFi hotspot and a couple theories they’d headed out.

“What’d you guys have on you that day?” Jaebum asked from behind the laptop, striking out the last failed test.

“Same stuff I have right now,” Sanha said, frustratedly kicking a pebble into the remains of the building.

“You’re sure? Nothing magical at all?”

“Nothing.”

“Maybe it’s got something to do with those star charts you found?” Youngjae suggested, sitting as close to Jaebum as he could get while flipping through said book. He got kind of freaked out when it came to investigations late at night or in other spooky situations, and the sun was sinking on the horizon.

“What would stars have to do with ghost buildings?” Jackson turned from where he’d been pitching pebbles into the ruin.

“Well, if it was some kind of spell then maybe it’s weakest at a certain point, timing wise?” He turned a page. “Like here it says that the best time to cast love spells is when the sun is in Cancer.”

“Whatever that means.” Jackson snorted and turned back to the pebbles.

“No, we might be onto something.” Jaebum’s fingers flew across the keyboard. Sanha joined them on the piece of rubble they’d perched on, looking over the older boy’s shoulder. “What day were you here?”

“Last Saturday.” They scrolled through the web page.

“What does any of this have to do with the building?” Jackson threw a rock against a piece of rubble to crack it into smaller bits as he spoke.

“Different planets have different powers, you know, different influences, and each one ‘rules’ a different day.” Sanha pulled herself away from the computer to explain. “So different spells have more power behind them if they’re cast on a certain day, and they have less power on certain days.”

“Oh.” He paused. “So is that why you always do spells for doing well on your exams on Sunday?” She nodded. He made a noise of understanding. “I just thought that was because the test was Monday.”

“I mean it was partially that.”

“Got it!” At Jaebum’s words, she leaned back over the computer. “Psychic attack, banishing negative energy, increasing prosperity, purification. . .”

Youngjae frowned. “None of that sounds like what we’re looking for.”

“Wait wait, right there!” Sanha’s urgent words called everyone’s attention. “There, glamour! Glamour’s weaker on Saturdays.”

Youngjae’s nose wrinkled in confusion. “What does that mean?”

“It’s kind of like an illusion.” Jackson answered that one. “You can glamour an object to look like something it isn’t.”

The younger boy looked surprised. “How’d you know that, hyung?”

“Sanha’s pranked me with it before,” he grumbled, looking away. Sanha grinned in a self congratulatory manner for a few seconds before refocusing.

“So maybe that’s what this is,” Jaebum mused, staring across the empty space as though he could see the building.

“It’s a really good glamour though.” Sanha frowned, getting up again and joining Jackson in the ruins. “Since if the building is actually still here, we just walked through the wall.”

“So we’ll have to come back Saturday then?” Youngjae asked.

“I guess so.” Jaebum closed his computer, still glaring into the ruins as he thought. “And look into stuff that protects against glamour.”

[davidastbury]

August 2017

Margaret ...1965 She had a flat in the All Saints district of Manchester, quite near to the big hospital. On summer evenings, with the window open, the noise of the ambulance sirens would have bothered most people, but she didn't mind. Her friends gave up trying to persuade her to join them - she preferred to stay at home during the week, reading or listening to music. The man from downstairs was a problem. She shouldn't have encouraged him by letting him in, but he was obviously lonely, and she had felt sorry for him. But then he started to get his drug kit out and she smoked with him. They would watch television and giggle - but afterwards hated herself. So she stopped answering her door when she knew it was him - she didn't want to see his worried face and his trembling hands; his dirty matchboxes and silver paper. So she would sit reading - any book would do - and look up when an ambulance passed - her face tightening with concern at the poor person being rushed to On the Train For a few miles the train ran parallel to a motorway and we were going a lot faster than the cars. A young couple have moved seats so that they can be together. We are all being quickly carried to our destinations - we have no control, no say in the matter. The young couple are sharing their food, pouring drinks, having a laugh about something and the lights have been dimmed as the future rushes towards them. Summer Nights A mad, hot night. Last year in a mini heatwave our little city was pretending to be New Orleans - music blaring, smoke of fast cooking, half-dressed people toppling over and laughing and the continuous rattle and bang of public pleasures. I was walking through all this, head down but seeing everything, hoping not be confronted with aggressive friendliness. Unexpectedly the people ahead started to split up, skipping unsteadily into the road. A police van was parked and several officers were standing over someone lying on the pavement. I was waved on - I couldn't see who it was or anything - there was a dark stain of some liquid - perhaps urine or alcohol or blood. We all moved on - we were an obstruction - we weren't wanted. And then I saw another policeman alone in a doorway He was just standing and staring. Early twenties I'd say, his shirt dark with sweat, black hair across his forehead and superb eyes - eyes as beautiful as a woman's staring into space - numbed with shock at human stupidity. Who Could Blame Them? They were absolute beginners- everything was new, untested, exciting. They knocked each other about with amorous cruelty; their kisses and betrayals leaving them marked for life. Eventually they returned to safe ground to lick their wounds and through the following decades look back and ask themselves - 'was that really me?' On The Train Fascinating face on platform 4. Woman in her fifties I'd guess. Why is her face fascinating ? Not had enough time to analyse but I suggest this theory:- we are instinctively drawn to a paradox: the regular, although pleasing, does not hold us. And the greatest paradox is when the face offers two different messages - the upper part gives a certain expression to the lower part. In this case, as I can remember it, her eyes are gentle but her mouth is set in a hard, uncompromising forcefulness. This doesn't occur in younger people but is fairly common in middle age and beyond. Mr Robinson I once worked at a firm where the golden rule was 'documentation'. Everything had to be written down - meetings with customers, phone conversations, follow-ups to enquiries, orders and transfers - everything. Not only did it have to be written down but it had to be written in only one type of black ball-point - the Bic Crystal. The firm used to buy dozens of boxes of these and they were stored in locked cabinets behind the desk of Mr Robinson. Whenever your pen ran dry (about twice weekly) you had to go to Mr Robinson and request a new one. He would sigh and look at you with hostility. 'And where is your old one?' - he would ask - because you had to present proof that your pen had expired. He would examine it and then, instead of tossing it into the rubbish bin (where someone might dishonestly retrieve it and return it for replacement) he would snap it in two. This involved some straining and heaving - the yellow bones of his knuckles showing through his skin. I remember how he turned his face away to avoid splinters when the pen fractured. I was sixteen - cocky and humorous - and had the impression that he would have liked to do that to my neck Going back isn't always a good idea - but there he was back to where it had all happened. It would have been nice to feel a connection; a confirmation of how he remembered things, but instead it was as if he had no part in anything. The trees had changed shape - the beach was smaller - the grass held no memory and the place knew him not. Couples I'm thinking of people we've met on holidays . A young couple from Liverpool in Tunisia - he Kurdish, open-faced and friendly; building up an ice-cream business. She as lovely as a film-star, accent like the Beatles, got herself a hairdressing shop and doing-very-well-thank-you. They had left their little boy at home with his grandma but his mum never stopped thinking about him. We got onto the subject of Kurdistan and yes, she had been there twice with her husband - met all his big family. I asked how she got along with them and she replied - 'The men are really nice... but the women were standoffish, they weren't friendly.' I remember the long silence. At first we all nodded, showing deep sympathy and then a unspoken humour appeared until it became a struggle to keep our faces straight. Tenerife - Hotel Restaurant, breakfast. All eyes on her as the waiter fusses her to a table - really, there is no need to walk backwards! She floats on the attention with only the slightest flicker of pleasure - as if born to be served. And then she exchanges a few words with her boyfriend, or husband or whatever he is. Her voice is pitched low so that even those very near won't catch it - she doesn't want to be heard, but she enjoys all the eyes being on her. And then a couple struggle their way through the tables, loaded with a baby and all the necessary equipment. He hollow-eyed and with a ginger beard; she with that slightly crazy look of new mothers. The baby, a girl I think, is installed in a high chair and starts drumming with a spoon - uneven tufts of hair shake about as she gazes at all the smiling strangers. Six Thousand Miles Away A priest called on her without any notice - just a knock on the door. He informed her that her mother had been arrested in California and was being held on drug charges. It was a shock but not a surprise. Apparently she had a lawyer and was getting help, but she wanted to see her daughter - a letter explaining everything was on the way. He gave her a sheet of paper with details of where the penitentiary was situated. When the priest had left she sat and remembered the tensions and troubles of her childhood - the instability and fights - the extravagant promises - the treatments - the start-ups and relapses - the succession of awful men, all greedy, drug ridden and over friendly - it was all hard-edged and unpleasant. California was five/six thousand miles away. She couldn't just drop everything and go. If her mother was ill she'd go to meet her without any hesitation - if she were ill she would rush to be with her - of course she would - what daughter wouldn't? Hotel Pool. Tenerife Hockney blue water and Topkapi tiling. Lovers, enjoying the semi- concealment, laugh and maul each other. Nymphs and brats frolic in the foam. I go deep into the turquoise thunder and see it all slide above me - the white hotel with blue railings - the dancing sun-umbrellas - the melting clouds - an orange triangle of bikini - white, perfect teeth - golden hair and nut-brown legs. The nice thing about being away on holiday is that priorities are reversed - the trivial becomes important. The rescue of a butterfly in a fountain attracts a crowd - a toddler splashing another is high drama - kites that will not fly draw masses of technical advice. I like to join the confusion in many languages - Germans looking at me think that I am German and I say 'Ja wohl ' and do my Friedrich Nietzsche face. Saudi Arabia There was nothing - thousands of miles of emptiness; nothing but sand and the occasional cluster of palm trees. What became known as the capital was given the name Riyadh, which means 'underground water'. The palm tree gives shade - it gives food, dates - it supplies fuel, slow burning wood - for construction purposes it has leaves to mix with clay for bricks and adobe, and hard wood for supports - the leaves can also be dried and woven into floor coverings and screens - even the ash after burning can be used as nourishment for plants. For hundreds of years the palm tree supplied comfort and shade for travellers, poets and storytellers. There was nothing else in Arabia, but from this austere beauty came Islam and then the black gold of crude oil. And that nothingness will surprise us again. Hotel Tenerife Met a woman in the hotel - originally from Germany but lived all over the world. She's at least 80, perfect English, smokes continuously ('and have done all my life'); gave up driving last year and misses it badly, sold her beloved Porsche but says she's going to buy a new one; loves London and is fighting to save Soho and Camden from the developers. She says outrageous things and you know at a glance that she isn't what the English call 'respectable'. She's thin and wears saffron coloured tops and creased linen trousers - which may be a throw back to a hippy past. There is a husband too, although I haven't seen him, and then she told me that he was staying 'Up in the room'. With a dismissive flick of cigarette ash and a wicked smile with half of her mouth, she added - 'Man-flu' A Near Miss Out in the hills in a mini-bus. Driver rolling with the wheel; cheerful music loud at full volume and still managing a shouting chat with his pal in the front seat. Cocky driving - all accelerator and brake. We all hold tight as he swings us on the hair-pin bends and look with dismay at the sheer down to a dried up riverbed far below. And then he gets his timing wrong and we very nearly go through the low wall - which would have been the end of us. But we were lucky - but only just. He resumed his shouting chat and his hairy arms wrestled with the wheel. I felt a rising anger, surely justified, at how our lives were at the whim of his caprice, and yet it was a sort of synthetic anger - not on my own behalf - more for the nice young couple in front of me, who were too busy looking at each other to see anything else. The Ghosts of Oxford Street It was said that if you walked the length of The Strand you would pass at least two murderers and one international spy. Today if you walk Oxford Street, preferably on a hot afternoon, it is likely you will meet the ghost of Dr Stephen Ward. Ward loved Oxford Street for two reasons - it had lots of coffee bars with huge windows and passing along those pavement was a parade of the prettiest young women in the country; perhaps in the world. He was well known in these coffee bars, always in a grey suit and white shirt, chain-smoking Player’s untipped cigarettes, sometimes alone sketching, sometimes talking with a friend, but always, always with an eye on the young women passing outside. And the women adored him. So many shared his flat and talked about his fussing over bathroom arrangements and disapproval at unsuitable boyfriends. The coffee bars closed down long ago. Friends The smiles and waves when leaving friends are insincere. The cheerful - ‘See you soon’ is bogus and everyone knows it is - but we play our parts because we have to. You don't want the music of their voices to fade away. You don't want to return to your own silences. You imagine the conversations continuing - you offer suggestions - you make jokes. But what you will miss most of all is the feeling of easy happiness - of undemanding happiness! And the certainty that nothing bad can happen. Ronnie He disliked me from day one. We shared the same office and I did my best to have as little contact as possible. What got him was probably my 60s cockiness and effete languor. He was double my age and had been through the war - apparently in Lancaster bombers. He viewed me with contempt, and he was much the same with the other people. We knew he was a bit weird - if something went wrong he would explode with rage, sort of hysterical, his voice high. And I would have never have known more about him if I hadn't been seated opposite him at the annual Christmas dinner. He was talking to the man on his left and I could hear what was going on. Ronnie was explaining why he couldn't use the offered ticket for a football match - he was unable to cope with excitement. As the evening drew out I learned a lot about him. Somehow he had managed to survive the war - Lancasters had a bad reputation, they were very difficult to get out of if you were hit - only 16% of airmen successfully made it. The crew would be in a state of terror throughout; drenched in sweat but shivering with the cold. When the war ended he found there was nothing for him. He called at the RAF places in Pall Mall, and he was humiliated. He was mentally ill at a time when it was regarded as shameful. He was offered a place at university but he didn't feel strong enough to study. He lived as a lodger on full board; he had a bedroom and use of facilities. He said it suited him better than having to cook and do things like shopping. I listened to all without looking at him and pictured him hanging up his hat and coat on a hook behind the door - the low ceiling and floral wallpaper - the suitcase under the bed - the wardrobe door that swings open - the light switch on the end of a cord - a neat pile of paperback thrillers - a cheap Timex watch - two pairs of highly polished shoes - and on the bedside table a small framed photograph of Winston Churchill. Mary Notnice… (1966). For Frances Mary was furious and it was best to keep out of her way. Later that day I thought she had calmed down a little and asked what was wrong. Apparently the boss has said to her that she looked like Sonny and Cher. I said that Cher is gorgeous. The boss had told her that she looked like Sonny. We hear about so many people being ill in one way or another. People sometimes say that they will pray that their friends will recover - but they don't know how to put this into words. I know that simple sincerity is the key, but structure is also important. I would like to offer this prayer for healing… ‘May the One who was a source of blessing for our ancestors, bring blessings of healing upon (recite the English/ Hebrew or just English name in full) a healing of body and a healing of spirit. May those in whose care they are entrusted, be gifted with wisdom and skill, and those who surround them, be gifted with love and trust, openness and support in their care. And may they be healed along with all those who are in need. Blessed are You, Source of healing. Amen.’ Mary Notnice ….(1965 and all that) She is the only one I would like to know more about - I am curious of what became of her. The rest of us - thrown together in that office in Cross Street Manchester - were very average and conventional. We posed and squawked, brimming with boasts and shrill ambitions, and the normal torments of pretentious young people - randy and restless, trusting and treacherous. But Mary was never part of our group; she distanced herself and nursed her anger. She would frown through her fringe - her pointed elbows keeping you at your distance. I remember how she wore a fluffy jumper of some sort, incongruously feminine, and commenting that it concealed needles - that got a laugh, and it now makes me ashamed. She disliked us and hardly ever joined in the conversations. I can still see her sitting by herself in the staff-room, her tea-cup empty and her hands out of sight. She sat like a painting, totally still, totally remote, totally self contained. It should have been enough. The sky opened and gave them everything - all their dreams came true, not just their dreams but even things beyond their dreams. It should have been enough. But it wasn't. Are You a Lesbian? She was in her bedroom, not properly dressed, just sprawling and thinking her own private thoughts when her mother came in - she didn't knock, she just came in. You could see she had a determined look, as if resolved to do something and was set on doing it. No preamble - out came the question - ‘Are you a lesbian?’ This was a continuation of an earlier conversation. They had talked about boys and the mother mentioned boys who had shown an interest. The girl hooted with laughter at her mother’s cringy suggestions. She choked with snorting derision. So the mother had been pondering a certain thread of thought. Hence the question - which was asked with that concerned, pained, but creepy expression that mothers use. The girl was shocked - real jaw-sagging incredulity - a mixture of astonishment and annoyance - she looked so alarmed that the mother backed off immediately, mumbling apologies - but at the same time pleased. Alone again, the girl stared at the ceiling and then grabbed her mobile to text her girlfriend. L'éducation Sentimentale Leonardo’s Madonna touched him with icy fingers and he moved away. Once he visited Italy and stood perfectly still in front of Primavera, by Botticelli, as she tossed flowers and smiled at him, romping and randy. Others called to him - Renoir’s sizzling nudes, golden girls in the river, water up to their hips, splashing and laughing. But he remained loyal to his Tess. She haunted him - and although he was never without a copy of the book, he could not read it again… Tess - the love of his life. On the Train Couple sitting at a diagonal to me - mid thirties at a guess. The speak together but don't look at each other; they listen only to the voice. Years ago, when they were getting to know each other they agreed not to have secrets and to tell each other everything. He told of the fears that had tormented him all his life; he also recounted his past - what he had done and what he would have liked to have done. She was shocked - and that was the end of it. And so he never mentions his secret fears but they haven't gone away - they crowd up and show in his face - and they are to be found (in a coded form) in everything he says 
On the Train She must be a dancer! Long rangy limbs with the elasticity of the super fit - reaching and stretching for her cluster of bags and things. Fabulous angular face - beautiful bones that will never change - sharp shoulders - pointed chin - a jaw like a Lautrec - a profile like Buffet’s ‘Annabelle’ - pale grey ‘didn't-get-much-sleep-last-night’ eyes - front teeth showing in a childish sort of way - silver rings through her left nostril, girlish and yet puzzlingly androgynous - she’s like a boy who has decided to be a ballerina! But the train has been stopped and with the sun beating down we are feeling the heat. A man is struggling to open the windows. The dancer takes off her jumper and tosses it onto the opposite seat - in that quick movement, with her arms stretched fully above her head and wearing only a very abbreviated, sleeveless T-shirt, she showed off her thick black armpit hair. !’ Mischief in Patisserie Valerie I shouldn't make such assumptions when I see people, but this is too good to miss! Here is a normal looking young woman - she keeps glancing at the door, as if expecting someone. Her expression shows equanimity and patience, but you feel that her slow-blinking seriousness is actually a mask - her wondering, girlish gaze is a fake. She has a steady stream of boyfriends - few of whom hold her interest beyond a couple of weeks. There is a set routine - she annoys them. She does things that will irritate or embarrass them - when out on a date she might spill her drink down the front of his trousers - or she might borrow his iPad and delete some of his apps. When she sees the anger on his face she becomes contrite and compliant - and he softens - then she does something else to annoy him. It is her game and she plays it to perfection. If the boyfriend is clever he will join in, but mustn't give away that he knows - if he isn't clever, he's finished! Mary Temple (Minny) 1846-1870 Cousin of Henry James. She was intellectually brilliant, headstrong, restless, searingly honest. The photograph was taken at the age of 17 - after she had cropped her hair. As time ran out (she died at 24) she made a single demand:- ‘You must tell me something that you are sure is true.’ More birds than ever this morning. All waiting for me to go out in the rain and feed them. At the back of the garden, in the branches, a line of jackdaws, blinking and cawing - water dripping from their beaks. On the lower branches are pairs of wood-pigeons, but some single ones too - perhaps widows or widowers. I put out bread for them and a mix from a sack - wheat, sunflower, maize, oats, millet, dari, rapeseed oil. That will keep them happy for a while - and if they are happy I am happy. There is something that will make you smile and feel happy every time you come home. In your hall - the first thing you see - a little girl’s pink bicycle! She was in her second year at medical school and had already decided to be an opthalmologist. She used to sit in the library studying a book called ‘The Eye and Orbit’ and other titles dealing with surgery of the eye. She was called Jackie (Jacqueline) and she was the girlfriend of my friend Kevin. Kevin kept her very much to himself - we only saw him when he was alone. I once commented on this and he said that Jackie didn't like being in a crowd; she was shy and very quiet. But around that time there was some sort of incident on Oxford Road; very near to the medical library. A man was on the pavement and people were bunched up around him. Someone had phoned for help, but it wasn't clear what had happened - a woman said that he had fallen over in a fit of some sort. Another said that a man had come up and hit him and then ran off. He wasn't fully conscious. Jackie, apparently untroubled by shyness, announced that she was a medical student and that everyone must stand back and let her through. She knelt beside him and did all the things that doctors do in such situations - but - all the time she was working on the man her face was very close to his - very close - nearly touching. Later Kevin told about this - the incident with unconscious stranger and how Jackie had put her face over his. Of course, it was all about the eyes! But I said nothing, letting him work it out for himself. Rick He didn't want her to go but what could he do? He knew that she had intended going to university right from the start. They agreed to make the best of it - she would come home for the vacations and he would visit from time to time. And that's what they did; and for a while it was okay. But the journey to Cambridge from the North West is difficult - it isn't something you would do every weekend, even if you could afford it. So they saw less of each other. Inevitably, her new life began to fill her needs and her interest in Rick diminished; unfortunately his interest in her increased. And then it was all over. Rick didn't take up with anyone else - he took girls out to clubs and parties but there was never anyone ‘special’. He told someone that he was stuck and could not move on - no one felt right - that was his phrase - ‘No one felt right’. At the Jewellers #3 An unhappy customer! They should have ushered her into a private room and offered soothing words and sympathy - instead she's having a rant and everyone can hear - except me of course. Exiles Even a small kindness to a stranger can be important - it may seem insignificant but that unexpected friendliness will reconnect them to what they may have lost - a much greater kindness with other people - at another place - at another time. The Haunted House There had once been a double murder in the house and it was never again occupied. Gradually it became a ruin, the roof collapsed and tree branches grew through the windows. Naturally, to eight-year-olds it was a place of fear and wonderment and excitement. It stood alone and desolate and although we were told never to go near the place, we used to meet-up there and explore the dark rooms and broken stairway. Two areas were too terrifying to enter - the cellar and a kitchen scullery - it was where the bodies were found and the doors were nailed shut. As it grew dark we would take turns at telling ghost stories - we would creep up behind each other and scream. It was good fun, but we felt real fear too and we would all leave the place together - not quite holding hands, but very nearly. Once, as we came out of the country lane and back to civilisation - street lights and road traffic - I found that I’d left my jacket back at the haunted house. The jacket was important but even more were the items packed in the pockets, back-door key, knife, cash, and a Smiths pocket watch (yes, as a little boy I had pocket-watches) and other treasures. I had to go back and get it. I had to go back, in darkness, alone, down the lanes and across the fields to a place that even grown-ups shunned. I was shaking with fear. I could hear someone coming after me and it was Jack. He wasn't a best friend and he was younger. We didn't speak, and I knew he was as afraid as I was, but having someone next to me - even a seven-year-old - somehow made me stronger.