#about marienne

[philcsophcr]

➽ lux et veritas! welcome to yale, ( MARIENNE HUGO ). you’re a ( PROFESSOR ), aren’t you? your form says you’re ( 31 ), go by ( SHE/HER ), and excel in ( PHILOSOPHY ). but looking back at your college essay, i’d describe you as ( THE SMELL IN THE AIR BEFORE A STORM; A STRING WRAPPED AROUND YOUR FINGER; SOFT CASHMERE BLANKETS; DEEP THOUGHT AND DEEPER GAZES ). keep out of the shadows!

baseline.

full name:  marienne louise hugo neé harris nickname:  mari, ri, lou name meaning:  liberty/equality affiliation: none (uncommons eventually) age:  thirty-one date of birth:  november 27 star sign:  sagittarius place of birth:  athens, georgia current location:  new haven, connecticut gender:  cis-female pronouns:  she/her sexual orientation:  demisexual religion:  philosopher occupation:  philosophy professor family:  john harris (father), marie harris (mother), TBA Harris (younger sibling, WC), TBA Harris (younger sibling, WC), ian hugo (husband), verona hugo (daughter) education level:  graduated from yale with a masters degree in philosophy living arrangements:  cheap faculty housing near campus with ian hugo and verona hugo financial status:  middle-class spoken languages:  english, latin, greek, mandarin personality:  (-) dogged, easily distracted, flippant (+) intelligent, loyal, passionate

inspiration.

bio.

marienne was born in athens, georgia to her parents john and marie.

she has two younger siblings (both of whom are WC and genderless until taken up)

she was always a smart, precocious, and sometimes too invasive child.

the wonders of the universe have always fascinated her.

she worked very hard in school to get things done and make a path for herself.

her dream was to study philosophy at yale and she succeeded in that dream thanks to opportunities afforded to her by her hard work.

after attending yale and graduating with a masters in philosophy she spent a lot of time studying and learning.

eventually she applied for a professor position at yale and with the right certification was hired on.

she met Ian Hugo during the beginning of her teaching years, having sat with him at a coffee shop by happenstance and ranted for a long time about philosophy, so much so that he was forced to just stare in awe of the amount she was getting out (and the fact that he was a bit smitten)

she noticed this after a bit and laughed it off, offering him a chance to talk about his passions (which he did, teaching her more about literature outside of the philosophy books she trended towards) and after that they formed a close friendship.

it didn’t take long for them to end up on an actual date, and from there romance blossomed. Ian was a part of the uncommons but marienne had (and has) no idea as of yet.

the two were married a few years in to their relationship and have been together since.

they have a young daughter named Verona who is the spitting image of the them put together (and a little bit a potato because all babies look like potatoes)

marienne’s curiosity has drawn the attention of the uncommons and they now have designs on recruiting her and want her husband to help. 

she has never once believed that everything is hunky dory at yale and has long suspected SOMETHING. maybe not demons (though she’s open to the possibility) but something was very wrong with the school.

these are just quick notes I have a lot more in my head sksksk

wanted connections.

best friend — obviously her husband is her best friend for all intents and purposes, but generally you need someone outside of that that you bounce ideas off of. Can be any adult around her age from town or the university (professor or not) and I’d really be tickled if they were secretly a demon and she hadn’t like gotten suspicious at all yet! This is the person she goes to when stuff is tough (this is a WC on the main but can be filled in game if someone really wants to)

younger siblings — both were able to get into Yale, one is more thrilled about it than the other, but Marienne leaves her home open to both of them to come and go as they please. Whatever their affiliation, it doesn’t matter. Gender doesn’t matter. It’s a WC on the main!

coffee buddy — someone who likes when Marienne gets on a tear about philosophy. It could be one of her students or another professor or anyone in between, but they meet up for coffee once or twice a week and ask Marienne questions for her to be able to ramble on for a bit.

rival — professional or otherwise, this person just doesn’t like Marienne. Whether they were into Ian and she ended up with him, whether they think her class is ridiculous in the grand scheme of things (and are firmly grounded in their thoughts), or whether they just straight up don’t like her for whatever reason, they’ve formed a rivalry with Marienne which she feels, and while she doesn’t go out of her way to participate, she won’t sit back and be abused either.

anything and everything, just hmu if you have ideas.

[rainparadefromhell]

fuck your little joe x rhys ship i need all the women that joe goldberg hurt to gang up on him and beat him to death in s5. that's what i want <3

[puppercupboard]

She's here to steal your girl and your ship!

Tip your artists! 🐩

[carveredlunds]

How can "You" put together a scene like the montage of Marienne being held captive in a box with Halsey's "Bells in Santa Fe" playing in the background, or a scene like Beck writing "Bluebeard's Castle" with flashbacks to her relationship with Joe, or have Love say "If I'm not enough for you, you'll kill me", and the writers seem like they're so close to saying something profound about the Female Experience, but then they drop the ball at the last second by having Taylor Swift's "Anti Hero" play as we watch Joe succeed yet again because they writers seem to have forgotten that he is not in fact the anti-hero?

[sleepynegress]

YOU Part 1, FINAL Trailer...

[silverspadesss]

PIB, FUCKING TALK TO YOUR BOY.

[rosedews]

you season 4 is kinda weird

[blairwld]

Well.... just do not go after him please

[voidsumbrella]

huevember catchups :p all of which are a little rough, none of which follow the sketches. oh well. 20 will... probably be posted tomorrow? along w/ 21

17 - ??? + h @ 243 [¯\_(ツ)_/¯ idfk]

18 - aspen + h @ 226 [requesting coffee and bracing for a long night in the er waiting room. again.]

19 - marienne + h @ 210 [angel jellyfish meets jellyfish angel]

[msbrightsde]

“And what about with me? Would you say your feelings are involved?”

“Obviously”

“Who is it obvious to?”

[elisabethswritingcorner]

It’s Wednesday, time to share a few sentences of your current writing project! Let’s go!

“At least you are honest. I love it, though. It’s not too sweet,” the young soldier said, and with a wink he added. “The beer, I mean. Not you, of course.”

What?

To avoid saying anything stupid - she had no idea how to reply to that - she took another sip of beer. Nope, still no idea if she liked the taste or not. It wasn’t bad, though, and yes, it was a little less sweet than what little beer she’d ever had back home.

“You might be right,” she just said, and unsure how to proceed from here, she asked, “So you’re from around here?”

“Born and raised at the Five Lakes,” he answered proudly, as if that name should mean anything to her. (It didn’t.)

She smiled and nodded though, which was enough for him.

“My name is Aylon, by the way. But my friends call me Lonnie. You can definitely call me Lonnie.”

From the corner of here eyes she could see both Marienne and Min roll their eyes.

[scalpho]

the fact that pib's story and character doesn't lean into the horror/tragedy side of things as the other neverafter PCs do is part of why i find him so interesting

the motives and stakes that pib faces as an individual are never really as pressing/high as those that the others in the group face. marienne is already destroyed and tomas is already dead, which pib cannot and does not seek to undo (he wants revenge on the giants later on, but he only seeks it when going to snowhold & the land of giants becomes something they have to do anyways. and his starting priority isn't revenge - he's more or less just trying to get by after the fall of marienne), unlike the others, who are either in the throes of their tragedies, or actively attempting to undo what has already come to pass, or, mostly, a mix of both.

there's also the fact that pib isn't a "character" in the way the others are, but rather the archetype of the trickster cat. as both a trickster spirit and an archetype, he already holds a little more agency than the others because he's not bound to being "pib". he does grow an attachment to the identity of pib in a way that doesn't seem typical of the tricksters (the fox says that he's "gotten too caught up in it" when he returns to the trickster forest with no memories of who they are), but, ultimately, if something happens to the story of puss in boots, he's still the cat. he knows there's more for him than just pib, that, although he's still subject to the whims of the authors, he's not bound to one destiny in the same way his friends are.

in any case, whether we're talking about pib or the cat, he doesn't need to fight in the way his friends do. he doesn't need to care the way he does, or maybe even shouldn't care in the way that he does (the fox overall seems to suggest that pib is softer compared to the other tricksters; "it was a mistake to send him", "you're more the hero than you think", etc, and almost seems to look down on him for it) but he does anyways. he fights and tricks for the sake of his friends, for the sake of tomas, for the sake of the neverafter. and he does it because he chooses to. he's a trickster, who we might expect to act in a self-serving way, but he chooses to be, for the most part, selfless. he has a little more agency than the others and, instead of taking it and running, he uses it to help, to choose to be good, because he cares about the people around him. he's a little asshole with a heart goddamnit

[duckprintspress]

Did you know? So far this April, Duck Prints Press has put out 10, yes t.e.n., new short stories? Two to our website, and eight to our Patreon! Learn all about them now...

Website Releases

Title: Foundations Author: Johnathan Stern

F/F, Science Fiction, Meet Cute on Mars

Addison is browsing the stacks of the Valles Marineris Coprates Chasma University Memorial Library when she's shocked to find someone looking for the same obscure book about the history of space travel that is.

-

Title: Worlds Apart (but Still Close) Author: Sanne Burg

F/M and M/M to F/M/M, Urban Paranormal, Confessions of Mutual Attraction, When in Doubt Fuck it Out

Flo is consistently frustrated with how her boyfriend Arthur's bodyguard Kacen is always watching her suspiciously. But when she discovers Arthur and Kacen in bed together, it casts a whole new light on the relationships between the three of them, and Flo finds herself considering possibilities that had never dawned on her before.

Patreon Releases

Title: Coffee For My Valentine? Author: Cedar McCafferty-Svec

F/F, Contemporary Romance with a Splash of Magic, Bookshop-slash-Coffee-Shop Meet-Cute, Heat Resistance for the Win

Valentine's day is invariably a disaster for Nissa. And when she starts this Valentine's work day by spilling coffee all over a new customer?

Maybe she should have just stayed in bed this morning.

-

Title: Glass Slipper: A Dance Author: Cedar McCafferty-Svec

F/NB, Fantasy, Dating Royalty is Hard Even if Your Stepmother Isn't Evil, Attraction at First Sight, Getting to Know One Another

Going to the ball was Marienne's dream, but it still never occurred to her that she'd catch the eye of the Royal Heir Apparent. Their dance is a dream come true, and their walk around the gardens together helps demonstrate they could have a future together even putting perfect first-dances aside, but that doesn't mean things will be easy.

-

Title: Into the Wyvern's Lair Author: Mikki Madison

F/F (Pre-Relationship), Fantasy, the Inherent Eroticism of Being Competing Mercenaries After the Same Mark (and the Same Pay Day)

Usually, Kella wouldn't take a job from a tiny podunk town in exchange for the risks of facing wyvern, but they're offering 25 gold pieces, and that's too much to resist. She doesn't expect the job to be that hard - it's not her first time facing a wyvern - but she also doesn't expect competition, in the form of a stubborn mage who has been hired by the same town at the same rate. But what she really doesn't expect is the wyvern...

-

Title: Washer Wars: A Laundromat Feud Author: Samantha M. Piper

F/F, Contemporary Romance, Meet-Awkward, Sometimes the Only Difference Between Fighting and Flirting is Point of View

Every Saturday morning, before the crack of dawn, Dee goes to the laundromat to do her laundry alone and in the quiet, with her pick of the available machines.

Until the morning she's not alone anymore.

Truly, she doesn't know what's worse: the loss of her solitude, or that this intruder has taken the biggest washer.

-

Title: Fool's Gold Author: Eliot Lovell

M/M (Pre-Relationship), Fantasy, Dragon Hordes and Lifelong Dreams, Hurt/Comfort

When Tomas sets off to defeat a dragon, he does so despite the aches and pains of growing older and a bum hip. Little does he expect that his attempt to be a valiant hero will be derailed prematurely when he's set upon by wolves. After they leave him unconscious in the woods, the last thing he expects is to be rescued and nursed to help. But he has one burning question: who found him, and why?

-

Title: Escape Author: Sanne Burg

F/M + F/M Established Relationship with Partner Swapping, Contemporary Romance, Middle-Aged Characters, Friends with Benefits to Lovers

Anxiety means that it doesn't take much to push Liam into needing some quiet time to himself, and he's so appreciative of his wife Alice taking the initiative to get him that quiet time.

He's slightly less appreciative when their friends-with-benefits partner-swap married friends Dan and Lola show up, especially considering that it was finding RPF fanart of him and Dan having sex that triggered Liam's anxiety in the first place...

-

Title: Old Kings and New Author: Lyonel Loy

M/M, Fantasy, Omega/Omega, Middle-Aged Characters, Bonding Over Shared Favorite (Rape Fantasy) Books

No one in their right mind would name Isemund king, but he's the only heir left, and so the council names him and then flees before the conqueror Caith can seize the castle.

Isemund is prepared to die at the hands of the invader.

Caith has other plans in mind.

-

Title: Georgia Rain Author: R. L. Houck This is a sequel to the Patreon-exclusive story "Pretty 7 Days a Week"

F/NB, Contemporary Suspense, Reunion after a Long Separation, They Work Hard for the Money, You'll Never Guess How This Sex Romp Gets Interrupted...

Four years after the events of Pretty 7 Days a Week, Tomas, who has changed their name to Aster, has built themself a new, better life no longer working on the streets.

The last thing they expect is for Lydia to come sweeping back into their life. It's also the last thing they want...or so they keep trying to tell themself...

So, Looking for New Queer Short Stories to Read? Visit Our Webstore and Become a Patreon Backer Now!

[thenewrises]

enjoy my brain rambles (18+ MDNI)

idk the last time i did a theory/full lore post on anything since 17 year old me played mystic messenger in 2017 (IN FUCKING PHYSICS!!!!!) but for some reason 14 days with you has been on the forefront of my brain for over a year so. also it's so funny how not into yandere games/dark romance i was years ago but the moment i started college and started reading shit like ACOTAR (not dark romance but like... y'know... rhys...) i am like damn... what if someone was THAT into me me... (this does not include haunting adeline i fucking hate that book)

anyways sorry for the ramble!!!! some fun stuff i have found in the last idk few days of perusing old stuff, new stuff, etc.

also, a lot of hints i've found have been followed up by "👀". this is not the case with everything but just a lil tidbit i noticed! :)

The official 14DWY blog is @14dayswithyou

edit: put 18+ mdni in title because the game is 18+! should have mentioned that LOL

Ren's name!

I have been super interested in finding out his name, which i will send guesses sometime to the ask box when i have more as to not spoil anything if i'm right. BUT, i can share everything i have collected! i do know we will know more about him in day 7 possibly but i want to hopefully give some help if anyone wants to guess like me!

(Not In Name) ❌ - T, D, Z, S

(In The Name) ✅ - N, R, A, E

does not begin with - E, R, B, A, P

does not end with - N, L, Y

extras ⁃ 8 letters (could be more) ⁃ not traditionally masculine ⁃ american ⁃ emerald has three letters (E, A, R are my guesses) ⁃ clarence (two letters right spot) ⁃ emerson (one letter right spot) ⁃ marienne (one letter right spot) ⁃ his sister called him ren

so, with this in mind i have a few ideas. it seems the letter "R" is in the fourth position in his name. the letter "E" seems to be at the end of his name. i believe his name may be unisex or possibly more typically feminine, but he was named by his mother after her two friends (which i believe are Teo's relatives). some guesses about the name i have are: i believe his name may begin with an L or F, but this is just a guess i have but i do not believe it begins with a C. either "ren" is in his name altogether or another variation such as rien. but! this is just a theory (matpat... thank u).

some extras:

_ _ _ r _ _ _ e

edit: upon some scrolling before bed i am starting to believe their name may end in “rence” or “riene”. will update but that’s where i’m landing right now.

edit 2: may ALSO end in renie!

2. Ren's hands!

so we know ren has scarred hands from an accident prior to the events of the game before he ran from home. i don't know exactly what caused the scarring, but i believe it was some kind of altercation with his father from the sounds of it. it was said that ren left his mom in absolute hysterics when he left, so i believe there are a few things that could have happened.

i don't know if ren's father would hurt his mother but let's assume he wouldn't, maybe ren was presenting more masculine, talking back to his father, becoming a "threat" towards taylor, who knows! whatever happened, ren got into an altercation with taylor that ended in the scarring. I believe it has something to do with fire, taylor may have been set of fire somehow. maybe taylor wanted to burn the house down. OR, maybe ren tried to burn the house down with taylor in it...

it's possible that taylor may have tried to harm ren's mother that he attempted to save his mom and burn his father/harm his father. whatever happened, hana was not present for this as i believe this is when ren ran away from home IF this is how it happened.

maybe what happened to his hands was much longer before he left. i've seen some questioning that when leon had a birthday party, he invited hana but she did not go for reasons unknown. what this could mean is that something happened WHEN hana still lived there before she was sent off to school. maybe this was when ren got the scars on his hands. maybe taylor tried to harm ren due to him simply being male, maybe it was something else. maybe ren fought back. maybe taylor tried to hurt ren's mother, causing him to be punished by his father. all i know is, ren in an ask has said “I-I didn’t mean to… He— I didn’t have much of a choice…”

3. Playlist!

a while ago, saint put out this playlist and explained that characters and endings are connected to the songs. from other's guesses and my own curiosity, i went through and did some eliminations and found these to be the most possible to be connected:

shapeshift - ren

almost had me - violet

glimpse of us - leon

angel - ending

god complex - ending (possibly leon)

EDIT: gun - ending (most likely bad)

heart-shaped hologram - EDIT: I believe this is ren's introspection now

these could be inaccurate! but from what i have seen i think these are the best guesses for some of the songs. maybe i'll try to guess more in depth, but for now, this is just from what i've read up! 14 days also has the potential to be an ending, but once again this may be another post.

conclusion

i am so out of my mind. but it is so fun to evaluate lore i have always loved doing it and this game itched my brain. i reccommend this game if you're interested in horror and are 18+ then i say check out this game! read the warnings ahead of time, but i find it funky fresh

anyways womp womp, redacted come home, emo boy by ayesha erotica lookin' ass

[flamingfoxninja]

Pinocchio loved his father. You have to remember that as I tell you what happened. It’s crucial that you remember. Because he truly loved his father. You can probably say the same thing about loving your family, your sister and brothers, and it would mean the same as myself loving my own mother and father. But the love that I had for my family paled in comparison to the love Pinocchio had for his, or the love that his father gave right back. Maybe paled isn’t the right word, but I don’t think there is any word close enough to describe the immense difference between them and everyone else. They were each other’s world, with all the stars and moon and magic that surrounded it. Which is strange if you thought about it, since Pinocchio wasn’t in the village for very long.

It was weird when I first met Pinocchio. We live in the little village of Amanti in the country of Marienne. It was a quiet classic sort of village. Not everything had magic or witches or monsters that you hear in the stories you know. Some places are just the background sets, the places that just travel through in order to get to the real plot. That was our village, quiet and unobtrusive, and we liked it like that. Boring compared to most, but it was peaceful and everyone was happy and friendly with everyone else. The children certainly knew the other children, and I prided myself with knowing everyone in town. As much as a child would know anyway. But the one person I knew very well was Pinocchio’s father. 

He was an old man, with polished circle glasses and silvery gray hair. Though looking back, he probably wasn’t older at fifty at most. I had a habit of assuming anyone with remotely graying hair as old or ancient, because only old or ancient people ever had magic to them. And Pinocchio’s father was the most magical person I had ever known to that point. He worked as a wood carver, always tinkering away at his shop making clocks and toys to sell. But my favorite things were the puppets he made. Little wooden marionettes. It would take him a while to carve them, putting in extra care to their body and shape, perfecting them in ways that I would never even think about. About twice a month he would take his marionettes into the square in the little portable stage he had, and put on a show for the children. We watched as he made the marionettes move and dance across the stage, telling stories of knightly princes and clever princesses. It was the most magical thing I had ever seen, watching him breathe life into those puppets. 

Once, I was lucky enough to be taken by my mother to get a new clock. I must have been six or seven at the time, and saw him working on the head of a puppet as we walked in. My mother had wanted to ask about the prices or some other adult things, but I was louder and must have asked him a hundred questions about who the new marionette was and how they were made. It must have exasperated my mother but he took it in stride. He gave the warmest smile as he gently explained to me how the parts are made, how the strings are attached, and how he was able to make them so realistically. His eyes never stopped twinkling as I kept up my questions. I think it made him happy, knowing I took an interest. But then I asked why he was careful in carving the puppets. He paused, like he knew the answer immediately but couldn’t find the right words to express it. And when he spoke there was a twinge of sadness. He said, “Because I am not just creating a body, I am creating a life. And you must always take responsibility.” I was confused by his answer, but my mother had jumped in and took control of the conversation to the clocks he had available. They did their business and me and my mother went home. I saw the same sadness in Pinocchio’s father as we did. And though I knew that my mother was very much annoyed at me inside, she looked different as we left. It was the first time I saw the look of pity on someone. When we got home she took me aside and explained to me how adults can be lonely too sometimes. Sometimes, not everyone can find their True Love like in the stories. Or how sometimes, even after finding your True Love, you may still not get a Happily Ever After. It was pretty world-shattering to learn when you’re six, but she had told me how proud she was for making him happy while in the shop. Because Lonely People can still be happy too. I had made a promise to try and keep Pinocchio’s father happy for as long as I could. Even if it wasn’t as long as I had thought. 

And then life went on. The sun rose and set. The Baker baked and the Farmer farmed and I grew up. I still played with my friends and got into mischief that all children do. But I made sure every week to visit Pinocchio’s father to make sure he was happy. Sometimes I would give him gifts, small flowers or fruits I had on hand. Or sometimes I would give him good names for his newest marionettes, like Mr. Bisket or Madame Pearl-head. It would always make him laugh, and that made me feel good, knowing I was keeping my promise. 

But one day when I was nine, he disappeared. No one knew where he went, but a few people saw him acting strangely the day before. He was frantic, running all over searching for something. Then the next morning, he locked his shop and just left. No note, no word to where he was going. He was just gone. For weeks rumors sparked around the village, going from him losing a valuable wood carving to him chasing after a True Love, or just lost his mind and wandered away forever. They were almost as varied and colorful as the marionettes he used in his shows. Those same marionettes that hung lifelessly in the back of his shop. 

Then, a few months later, he came back. It was an astonishment really. No one had actually seen him return, much less expected it. Everyone thought he was dead. Or if he was alive would never actually be seen again. And yet, there he stood, opening his shop more joyously than before. His arrival was unannounced, but word spread fast and soon everyone came out to welcome him back. And we all saw that he didn’t come back alone. Standing next to him with twinkling eyes and a wide grin was a little boy, who he introduced as his son Pinocchio. 

When I first met Pinocchio, I wasn’t sure if I liked him or not. He was…new. Too new in my opinion. His rosewood skin was polished. It didn’t have any scuffs or bruises that you would see on the other children. He had the straightest teeth I had ever seen, like white-painted fence posts.  And sometimes when he moved, there was an odd stiffness to him that he wouldn’t shake off. He wasn’t inflexible exactly, but when he stretched it was like he was making sure that he was still able to move. Gently rolling his joints over and over until he was satisfied they were in order. It reminded me of oiling the hinge of a door. But more than that, I didn’t like the feeling of being replaced. Pinocchio was like the missing puzzle piece that completed his father, bringing him so much happiness and love that one only read about. It hurt seeing that. For years it was my duty to make Pinocchio’s father happy. But now Pinocchio came in and effortlessly took my spot, even if it wasn’t my place to begin with. 

I didn’t know how to process that feeling, so it started to come out as mistrust and anger. It wasn’t exactly mean, but it definitely wasn’t nice. I think his father caught on how I was feeling pretty quick, at least much faster than me. Pinocchio wasn’t in the store when I went to visit again a week later. It was just his father, who smiled brightly when I came in. I had missed our weekly visits while he was away, and I liked to think that he did too. When I entered he had me sit on his chair and said that he had a very important task for me. Pinocchio was new to the village, and he was afraid that Pinocchio might get lonely. He asked if I could show Pinocchio around the village and introduce him to the other children so he could play and make friends. I wanted to scream. I felt so sick. This was how our relationship ended, not with Pinocchio replacing me for his father, but with Pinocchio replacing me for everyone else in town. It was really silly looking back on it, but those feelings were so strong and genuine that I wasn’t sure if I could contain it all. But Pinocchio’s father looked so delighted at the idea of Pinocchio making friends. So I begrudgingly went along, agreeing to take Pinocchio to our games. I was making him happy, so I’d put up with whatever weirdness Pinocchio had. 

Embarrassingly, it actually didn’t take very long for us to become friends. For all of my worry and aggression when we had first met, he was just a normal kid. When I introduced him to the rest of the children, he got along with everyone so well. I wanted to be mad at him, that this was proof he was replacing me. But I wasn’t. I actually got along with him too. And I liked him a lot. We played every day after that, any chance we got. Tag, exploring, marbles, you name it. Pinocchio was one of the gang, he fit in so well it was like he was tailor made. There was a charm to him you know, where he would be so genuine that you couldn’t help but admire. When he laughed at your jokes, you knew he actually thought you were funny. If you got hurt, you could tell he was actually worried about you, not like most kids where you only worry if you would get in trouble. He really did care. 

Most importantly, he was honest. He was the most truthful kid I had ever known. If you want to get an opinion on something, you go to Pinocchio. He would always tell you what he thought, but he was never mean about it, or sugarcoat it. Just stated it as fact. And he would always find something he liked about whatever you showed, even if it was actually terrible. Of course, we would still get into trouble. He wouldn’t shy away from regular child mischief. But he always owned up to it, and accepted whatever punishment he was given. The first few times this happened, we had left him behind to take all the blame. No one wanted to get caught right? But he never called out anyone else. He wouldn’t lie about it, he just wouldn’t say anything to get anyone else in trouble. It must have rubbed off on the rest of us because eventually we all stayed to take in our share of the blame. He was good like that. He was my best friend. 

You need to understand, you have to understand just how honest he was. I’d never met anyone more truthful than Pinocchio. It wasn’t just a quirk or, or his personality, or even a pledge or anything superficial like that. It was a part of his core, his entire being. When he spoke the truth, there was a great comfort to it that just weighed on you to know that this was how the world worked. It was his own magic. So when I heard him tell his first lie, it killed me almost as much as it killed him. Almost. 

It was late that night, all of the children in town were out on the streets. All the adults were asleep, peacefully unaware that we snuck out of our beds for a bit of mischief and fun. It was a bright full moon, giving us enough light to play and dance under its gaze. I don’t think I had as much fun before as I had that night. At least, before she walked in. 

She was beautiful as she walked into the village square. Her face illuminated in moonlight with eyes twinkling like stars. Her dress was a void black, frayed and marked in intricate designs that covered her body. It was frayed, but it trailed behind her like an evening gown. Billowed might actually be the better word. She was so graceful it felt like the wind had summoned her, breezing through our simple lives without a care in the world. We all stopped our games just to watch as she walked closer. By the time she reached the square, everyone surrounded her. She was so beautiful. Like the night itself had taken form. She leaned on her staff and addressed all of us. She said she had a game for us to play, and seemingly out of the night air itself she pulled out a magnificent ball. It was as white as the purest snow, covered in the softest silk. It was wondrous and magnificent and promised to be the most fun for anyone to play with it. I wanted that ball so badly. We all cheered in excitement to play with that magnificent white ball. 

Soothing our excitement, she explained the rules. She will ask us a question and if we answer truthfully, we will get a turn. We all nodded, agreed to the rules. Eager to please and to take our turn. She started with my neighbor from down the street. “What is the name of your father?” she asked sweetly. Smiling, my neighbor answered, “My daddy’s name is Nico.”

A scream rang out. It was thick and ragged, coming from deep in the village. We all turned towards the sound, confusion on our faces. But the woman called to us, focusing our attention on her and her game once more. She walked up to a little girl next. “What of your father’s name?” she asked. “Robert,” the poor girl answered. Another anguished scream pierced the night. The woman moved down the row, one by one, asking each child the name of their fathers. And with every answer a painful scream. All of us cried. The children at the beginning of the line cried for the deaths of their fathers. While those at the end cried for what was to come. I myself wept so achingly because that ball still called out to me and I knew in my heart I would kill my father to play with it. Even as the night air choked on death. Even as I saw the ball writhe and squirm in the woman’s hand. Hatred burned inside me as I stared at that horribly beautiful woman who still wore that gentle smile. But I could not turn away. The ball had already claimed me, as it waited to eat my father’s name. 

Pinocchio stood next to me. His presence gave me some comfort, as little as it was, but he confused me as well because he did not cry. He looked pensive. His brows furrowed in deep thought. I wasn’t the only one who noticed as the woman approached. She turned her head slightly as she looked at us. Pinocchio looked uneasy while I sobbed. It felt like I was crying for the both of us, and that was important somehow. If I was the one crying, then Pinocchio wouldn’t be distracted with his own tears. That my tears allowed Pinocchio to think, give him time to take action and do…something. Honestly I was so racked with despair that I had to cling onto something otherwise I would go mad. So I cried for Pinocchio as much as me, and the woman saw. I think that’s why she asked him a different question, what his own name was. And Pinocchio answered truthfully. “My name is Pinocchio”. She smiled, then asked him, “And what is your father’s name?” 

Pinocchio looked uncomfortable, hesitated in his unease, then answered.

“Daniel”.

I couldn’t breathe. I was so terrified but I think this was the moment that broke me. I couldn’t breathe as I watched Pinocchio lie. Lie in the face of evil or god or whatever being it was that demanded the truth. He lied. I didn’t know how it was possible. I didn’t think that he was even able to lie. He never lies. But he loved his father. He loved his father more than himself and the moon and stars. His words lied but his love was genuine, and I wept knowing I could never have a love as profound as that. 

In my grief I had failed to notice the lack of a scream. But the woman didn’t. She frowned, then snarled. And with a wave of her staff Pinocchio fell to the ground dead. It happened so fast I didn’t even realize. Just watched his body go limp and loose and sprawled out below. I think it was my mind trying to process what happened, but it reminded me of one of his father’s puppets. As if the puppeteer that was holding him up suddenly cut the strings from his body. When I realized he was dead, I just had another reason to cry. And while I was next to be asked a question and kill my father, my tears were shed solely for my friend and his bravery. 

Then a miracle happened. Before the woman had a chance to turn away, Pinocchio’s body started to glow. It was a rich and vibrant blue, light and airy like the day sky. It rivaled the sun as it cut through the night, and blazed out of my friend. 

I’ve learned much about magic since then. Not just tricks and wizardry that most people have, but raw magical powers only possessed by the most powerful of arcane creatures. Fairies are one of them. Fairy magic is ancient. You cannot escape a fairy boon or curse. It will stay on you for all eternity and then some. But fairies know this also, and that is why when they lay their spells they are just as cunning as they are powerful. To avoid the brunt of the spell, they would use their own magic to shift the spell in a new direction. Weaving the magic to a new purpose. Changing a spell of death to eternal sleep for example. A fairy cannot completely alter the spell, and they definitely cannot remove another fairy's magic. If they do, then they will face a magical backlash of unimaginable power. 

When that woman used her magic to kill Pinocchio, she had disrupted the fairy spell that was placed on him. I don’t know how or when he had met a fairy, or what he did to receive their boon, but he had one. And it was powerful. And when that boon was destroyed, all that was left was unrestrained raw magic. The brilliant blue light came forth from Pinocchio’s body pulsing fanatically until everything was covered in its light. I couldn’t look away as magic enveloped everyone. Distantly I heard the scream of that wretched woman. I was scared, I was sobbing, and it felt like I would see nothing else but that blue light. 

Then suddenly, it was gone. The magic had vanished, leaving us still standing in the square. The woman and her staff and her horrible ball, they were gone. The night was gone too, an early morning sun gently rising in the sky. If I had not wept so harshly before I would have cried in relief seeing the sun again. The adults had come out of our homes and rushed towards us, embracing us in their own relief for what had transpired. I could have willingly drowned in my mother’s hug, fiercely clinging onto her as she gripped me. But the grief still stayed. Because Pinocchio’s body was gone too. 

The village has changed since then. It isn’t as overt as you might expect. The people are friendly enough with one another, we still have a sense of a small town comradely. We don’t go out at night. But considering the monsters that would normally lurk in the darkness, that’s just good practice. And we don’t shy away from the odd traveler that enters. They are still welcomed for their business. But really, only for their business. We don’t allow them to stay for long. But sometimes they stay long enough to realize that we never say our names. Not to each other and certainly not to outsiders. Names are a very powerful thing you know, but they aren’t needed in daily life. The Baker is The Baker after all, so we get by just fine. The only names that we say are the names of the dead. And Pinocchio’s. 

We’ve never recovered his body. It had disappeared along with the other wicked things from that terrible night. As well as his father. When some villagers tried to give him the news of his son’s death, they weren’t able to find him. His woodcarver’s shop is still closed, with marionettes hanging in dust and darkness. The villagers say Pinocchio’s name because he had died. And I know he did. But I also know that magic is a wondrous thing, and miracles can be repeated. Pinocchio’s father didn’t die that night. Pinocchio did in his stead. So I will wait for Pinocchio’s father to return once again, with Pinocchio standing at his side. Someone should greet them back properly. After all, his name isn’t Daniel.

[thisisnotthenerd]

bands of iron, bands of gold

Elody finds out about the siege from a messenger. Snowhold struck while her forces were scattered, holding back the rapid encroachment from the north.

“The women and children have gathered–,” he says, “--gathered in the cellar of the keep while the guardsmen defend from the parapets. They say the prince is with them, with so few guards to spare.”

“And what of the progress?” she pores over slowly shrinking territory on a map that changes every hour. The prince is with them.

“The castle walls have not been breached, and the keep remains unmolested. The people of Greenleigh are afraid, but hidden. They cannot last much longer without aid.”

“I will send all that I can, but we are more than a day’s ride out. Their forces here may yet seek to join the siege, and there are not enough soldiers even now to hold the line.”

“Whatever you can spare, your highness.” The prince is with them.

Prince Gerard is hidden in the keep of Castle Greenleigh, with the women and children of a falling kingdom.

As the troops under her command march back to the heart of Greenleigh, Elody cannot help the impulse to hold her mace. The gold, far less burnished now, dulled with the blood of enemy combatants, is far from the simple trinket it once was. This is not something that can be left to fall in a pond, to be found by something more than a frog. The weight of a kingdom rests in her hands, scepter and orb made a weapon of war.

She snaps back to attention as the verdant flags of Castle Greenleigh flutter on the horizon. The sigil of a lily flutters in the wind, torn to and fro as beings of ice and wind batter at the walls of the keep. The stones fall with every mile she pushes forth.

When all is said and done, the survivors emerge from the keep, eyes seeking the light and wincing at the brightness of the winter sun after weeks of darkness. One by one, they emerge from a battered keep, seeking the comfort of home.

She does not wait to see if he comes up, safe in the hope that he would not have left the castle.

The call to search comes hours later, when no one has seen the prince in over a day. Those that stayed with him only recall the reflection of bloodshot eyes in a shadowed corner, and the reassurance that war could not reach them dying down in the final days.

In all the rubble and destruction, there are many bodies–but none that she knows, warped as it has become.

Prince Gerard is gone, gone with the winds that battered the keep for days on end.

She sends scouts to search in the guise of monitoring the changes in borders as the Snow Queen sends her inhuman armies. Many people have fled Greenleigh in the wake of the battling soldiers, but there is no prince to be found among them.

The pond is her last resort–maybe the only place left in Greenleigh that has not truly been touched by war. It is a feeble hope that this worry might be allayed by whatever is there.

But indeed, there is only the pond she remembers from nearly twenty years ago–frozen over in the dead of winter, the frogs and fish far beneath the ice.

War has never stopped for love–why would it now? She cannot afford the time anymore than she can the heartbreak, buried as it is.

Prince Gerard is gone, gone like her parents, gone like the peace that Greenleigh cherished for decades.

Whispers of battles fought across the Neverafter reach Greenleigh as fast as all tales of war spread, rapid enough to know the nature of the danger only after the conclusion of the battle. Undead armies in the north, giants in Marienne, missing princesses and dead princes in faraway Elegy.

Jubilee is her closest ally in this ever growing war–the old king is solemn as he fights in the name of fiddlers three. When the kingdom falls she offers him a place in Greenleigh, if only for a moment’s respite. He thanks her, but leaves in the night for the Blackwood Forest.

After a while, she stops hearing from Old King Cole. At first, she sends scouting parties down the road to Shoeberg to track the latest caravan. The people who flee may brave the haunts of the Blackwood to find refuge in Shoeberg’s prosperity, as the world falls apart around it.

She goes herself on impulse, wanting to know what happened to the old king.

A ways off the path, she finds furniture, misshapen and warped into the proportions of men, wandering the Blackwood in search of flesh and blood, the magic that changed them fading into the air.

A day’s ride after she passes the border into Elegy, she happens upon a town, abandoned and falling apart as all things do in the Neverafter.

The remains of the fairy who made men of objects are easy to find in the outskirts of the abandoned home of the princess of Elegy. A large rotting pumpkin sits at the heart of a battlefield, surrounded by the rogue enchanted furniture. The fresh bodies are more unnerving than the silence of the clearing, disturbed only by the creaking of wood and metal joints that bend in strange and fractal ways.

The first is an old man–past the prime of life, limbs spread at odd angles–crushed by the enchanted creatures. He has the look of a budding witch, magic tinting the air around, but a strange lack of personal effects.

The second is that of a young woman in a tattered gown and small tiara. Her bow lays at her side, quiver emptied into the enchanted onslaught. The scavengers have already started to come for her far more than any other. When Elody moves the bow to try and see what felled this girl, this young princess far from the land of her birth, foreign briars creep up the wood towards her seeking hand. They do not grow from the cursed ground but seemingly from the girl herself.

The sight of a mutilated little girl is jarring; the various chests and tables surround a canyon in which she is the only occupant, presumably drawing fire from her allies. Had Elody and Gerard married earlier, she could have borne a daughter the same age as this girl in a red cloak, bearing the ax of a woodsman far larger than her.

The puppet left under the table must be the toy of the younger girl, abandoned on the battlefield. Shaped like a marionette’s attempt at a little boy, it reeks of fading enchantment magic and something else, darker than the innocent face would have her believe. The only thing marring the toy is a missing nose, ripped from a wooden face with clawed hands that do not match those of the martyred girl.

The cat in boots is peculiar, and sticks in her memories of Marienne, of a humble boy rising to become the Marquis de Carabas with the aid of a trickster. This little animal, mangled by magic, is far from the estate now, no title nor land to speak of. She would not have noticed it save for a little blue cape now stained with blood.

The fairy’s corpse is odd–the progress of rot and death more advanced than would be expected for something that could not have died more than a few days prior. At a glance, the magic sustaining her and the furniture is seeping into the blackened earth and spreading from the clearing with a vengeance. Elody brandishes her mace and approaches the fairy, hoping the magic is not a sign of the fairy’s life returning, when she sees it.

A glass shard, torn from a greater structure and bloodstained buried in the chest of a man whose eyes she recognizes, warped as they are. Gerard.

He looks more froglike than the last she saw of him, at the dinner table arguing that war could not reach them in the castle. His crown rests on his brow between bloodshot human eyes, ill-sized for a frog’s head. His hands, membranous and viridescent, are flayed where they desperately pull at the shard. The shard pins his body to the earth–much as she tries to remove it, she cannot without taking it into herself.

She walks from the battlefield, mace stowed and Gerard’s wedding ring on her right hand.

Prince Gerard is dead and gone, taken by the times of shadow. Not in Greenleigh, but in a forest, far from home, condemned again at the hands of a fairy.