#and then moon tea did make an appearance in the end AND I OOP

[mercymaker]

“Women only drank moon tea for one reason; maidens had no need for it at all.”

Moon tea or tansy tea is a medicinal herbal tea used in the Seven Kingdoms, as well as beyond the Wall, to prevent or abort pregnancies.

Moon tea is made generally by maesters and woods witches out of tansy, mint, wormwood, a spoon of honey, and a drop of pennyroyal.

[lupinlongbottom]

Practically a Weasley pt. 3

Charlie Weasley x Reader

Summary: What could make Charlie’s life more full? He already had a wife he adored, a job he loved and a child who loved him more than the moon and stars. Lunch with his mum isn’t the first idea on his list, that’s for sure. 

Word Count: 4.1k

Warnings: a couple of swears? but like when isn’t there my dudes

A/N: So like, these are probably like 3 different stories in one, no clear plot. Oops that’s just my brain getting excited at the idea of their child and the Weasley dynamic so idk still cute

Part 1 ... Part 1.5 ... Part 2 ... Epilogue

__

“Charles Septimus Weasley!”

The name echoed through the quaint cottage, volume boasting only what could be rivaled to a howler. Charlie had been anticipating a screech like that all day, quietly enjoying a pot of tea, reading the latest issue of the Quibbler before his wife awoke.

“Yes my flower?” Charlie hummed, eyes not leaving his magazine. The latest headlining story involved a sighting of a new type of mini-dragon, one with invisible wings. They were not lizards, a fact Charlie was sure of.

“I just received an owl,” (Y/N) pointed, hopping down the oak stairs as if it were nothing. “From your brother,” she crossed her arms.

“You’re going to have to be more specific, love. Got quite a few of those,” he took a sip of tea.

“From Bill, the brother who was watching your daughter last night?”

“Oh love, I can’t remember much from last night. Maybe you can jog my memory?” His eyes peeked over the magazine, eyeing his wife up and down. 

“Cheeky,” (Y/N) replied cooly, feeling a slight heat rise to her cheeks. “He said that Kayda had a wonderful time with her cousins, but when it came time to get ready for bed, she didn’t have any pajamas.”

“Oh?”

“You know what she had, though?”

“Not exactly,” he shrugged, flipping the page. “I let her pack her own overnight bag.”

“Did you double check it before you dropped her off?” (Y/N) crossed her arms, all her weight shifting to one side. “You know, considering she’s five?”

“I trust my daughter,” Charlie said, finally setting the magazine down, looking his wife in the eye. “But, to answer your question, it just might have slipped my mind.”

“Funny,” (Y/N) moved over to the table, standing directly over Charlie. “You know, last night, I was wondering why I couldn’t find that little red thing you like,” (Y/N) hummed, tapping her chin. “But Bill made it abundantly clear that Kayda had a very similar ‘night gown’ to wear.”

It took Charlie every ounce of his being to not laugh out loud. “And? You wore the black thing I like even better,” he grinned, pulling his wife onto his lap. “I’m sure Bill was mortified.”

“Charlie, I’m mortified! I don’t need your brother knowing what sorts of intimates I own!” (Y/N) allowed her head to fall into her hands. Charlie wrapped his arms around her, pressing a kiss to her temple.

“Flower,” another kiss. “He know’s we fuck. He babysat the evidence last night.”

“Charlie!” (Y/N) slapped his arm, trying to escape her husband’s grip. He tightened his hold. “I’m serious. We have lunch with your mum today! How am I supposed to look anyone in the eye?”  

“Then don’t,” Charlie shrugged, swaying side to side, resting his head on (Y/N)’s shoulder. “Try avoiding your best mates once Bill tells ‘em after he drops Kay off,” Charlie laughed, pressing a kiss to his wife’s neck.

“No,” (Y/N) practically sighed. “Fred and George aren’t going to let me hear the end of it,” Charlie pressed another kiss to her neck, this time sucking lightly on her pulse. “Charlie, we shouldn’t…”

“Funny,” Charlie said, rubbing his hand up and down her arm. “You didn’t say that last night. Got out all the candles, busted out the turntable—”

“—we have to leave for The Burrow soon,” she sighed again, leaning into Charlie’s peppering kisses. “I barely have enough time to get ready as it is!”

“Come on, love. You look even more radiant than the day I met you,” He pressed a kiss to her lips, soft and sweet. “We can be quick, considering we took our time last night,” another kiss. “Think of it as an encore presentation.”

(Y/N) laughed, finally releasing herself from her husband’s grip, headed towards the stairs. Charlie focused all too intently as she walked away. “Well?” (Y/N) stood at the end of the stairs, hand on her hip. “You coming?”

__

Charlie and (Y/N) arrived to their planned lunch on time. It only took a quick use of their floo and a careful once over of their appearances to make it to Molly and Arthur’s.

“Charlie! (Y/N)!” Molly exclaimed, practically rushing over to the fireplace to greet her children. With two wet smooches, (Y/N) and Charlie entered the living room. “Oh, Kayda is going to be thrilled that you’ve made it,” Molly said, rubbing Charlie’s cheek. “Sorry, sweetie. Floo powder.”

“Mum…” he hissed, swatting her hand away. “Where is everyone?” Charlie noted, taking a longer look at the living room and kitchen. 

“They’re out playing quidditch, dear,” Molly answered, nodding her head to the back door. “Ginny made time in her busy schedule to be here, so Fred and George have been testing their little sister’s skills.”

“Sounds about right,” (Y/N) laughed, putting a dish on the kitchen table. “Do you have room for a cake, Molly? Charlie and I made one last night,” (Y/N) laughed. “Well, Charlie did most of it, but I added the hundreds and thousands.”

“I’m sure with the lot outside working as hard as they are, they’ll appreciate the treat, it won’t go to waste,” Molly smiled, setting the table. “I think the twins were trying to get little Kay up on a broom, might need her mum’s eye on that.”

(Y/N) groaned. “Peachy. Thanks for the heads up, Molly.”

“(Y/N), hear me out,” Charlie approached, blocking (Y/N) from opening the door to the backyard. “If they let her fall off you take Fred and I’ll take George.”

“Deal.”

The couple walked out to the makeshift quidditch pitch, hand in hand. Only two redheads could be seen flying in the sky, relief leaving their bodies with a deep exhale. 

“Mummy!” A little redhead exclaimed, her chocolate brown eyes meeting (Y/N)’s. She struggled out of Ginny’s lap to run over to her mother, barreling faster than a snitch. Her little arms wrapped tightly around (Y/N)’s legs. “You’re here!”

“I am!” (Y/N) giggled, pulling her daughter up into her arms, kissing her forehead. The softness of her red bangs tickled (Y/N)’s nose.

“Daddy made it too, you know,” Charlie mumbled, fighting back a grin. He pulled his family in for a short hug, enjoying the warmth.

“Hi daddy,” Kayda said, waving to her father lightly, her hand moving in small circles.

“Glad to see you two made it safe,” Ginny laughed, walking over to her brother and his wife. “You just missed Bill.”

“He’s not staying for lunch?” (Y/N) asked. Ginny shook her head. “Amazing,” (Y/N) sighed, setting her daughter down. “He didn’t… share anything about their night last night, did they?”

“No, nothing out of the ordinary,” Ginny hummed, fingers running through her pixie cut. “But Kayda couldn’t stop talking about the dinner that Auntie Phlegm made.”

Kayda’s eyes lit up, a lightning bolt of remembrance hitting her face. “Oh! Mum! Aunt Phlegm made this yummy—”

“Kayda, her name is Aunt Fleur, not Phlegm,” (Y/N) looked at Ginny, who was wearing a proud grin, pride boasting from her chest. “What did Fleur make you?”

“Sorry mum,” Kayda sighed. “Aunt Fleur made dinner with all vegetables! She cut them really, really thin and called it rat-a-patoolie!” 

“Rat-a-patoolie?” Charlie asked.

“You ate vegetables?” (Y/N) asked.

“They were really good, better than your veggies, mum!” Kayda smiled, hands on her hips. “Did you see that I dressed myself?”

“I did,” (Y/N) smiled, noting the bright purple overalls atop of a lime green jumper, not a pair of matching socks in sight. “I heard dad let you pack your clothes.”

“We heard that too,” Fred said, leaning down from his broom, now hovering over his family.

“Bill told us all about it,” George winked, hovering a few meters away from Fred, spinning upside down. “Say, Kay, how were your pajamas?”

“Red!” Kayda exclaimed, jumping lightly.

“Don’t worry, (Y/N), Uncle Billy made sure that she wore something else,” Fred cooed. “Mummy’s ‘fun clothes’ are folded neatly away.”

“You both have seven seconds to fly away,” (Y/N) said, pulling her wand out of her sleeve. “Before I do something I regret.”

“I’d listen to her, blokes,” Charlie laughed. “She nearly had my head this morning.”

“Bet she had more than your head this morning,” George smiled, high fiving Fred. The two laughed in the air, circling menacingly.

“Charlie, Ginny, take Kayda inside,” (Y/N) pushed up her sleeves. Charlie nodded and swooped his daughter right up.

“What’re you going to do from down there?” Fred chided, flying higher on his broom. “Last I checked, little (Y/N) isn’t good in the air.”

“Yeah, as long as we’re up here,” George laughed, holding his arms out. “We’re untouchable!”

(Y/N) stood for a moment. This was true, she was never good on a broom, practically cursed the second she sat upon it. It had been years since she tried again.

“Mum’s going to kill you!” Kayda shouted, cupping her hands around her mouth. “You’re just scaredy-cats! Come down and fight her like boys!”

“Kayda,” (Y/N) scoffed. “I would never kill your uncles,” she smiled, patting her head. “Seriously injuring or harming them? Fair game.”

“No fair,” Fred yelled. “Using our favorite niece to taunt us?”

“Low blow, (Y/N),” George added.

“She learned that all on her own,” (Y/N) laughed. “Now, do you want to disappoint your little Kay-Kay?”

“Uncle Fred, Uncle George!” Kayda waved, grinning widely. “I wanna see your new toys!” Charlie whispered in his daughter’s ear. “Please?” she pleaded, now corrected by her father.

“Kayda…” Fred groaned, hanging upside down on his broom. “Stop looking so cute!”

“(Y/N), using children like this should be a criminal offense,” George pointed. “Punishable by an unforgivable curse!”

“Charlie?” (Y/N) turned, giving her husband a knowing look. “Time for the big guns.” Charlie nodded, leaning in to whisper to his daughter one more time. 

“Uncle George and Fred?” Kayda asked, batting her brown eyes. “If you won’t come down to play with me, I’ll make Uncle Percy my favorite uncle.”

“Percy!?” The twins screamed in unison, instantly lowering their brooms and landing on the ground below. 

“Go on, (Y/N),” Fred said, getting on his knees. “Take your best shot! We’ll take anything over your daughter’s threats.”

(Y/N) smiled, walking over to the twins, tapping her wand to the tip of her nose. “Rictusempra,” she mumbled, causing the twins to buckle in complete hysteria. She turned around to her husband, still holding their daughter. “Let’s go see what Molly cooked for lunch, yeah?”

__

“Mummy,” Kayda whimpered, pushing her plate away. “I don’t want any carrots.”

“Darling, you’ll hurt your gran’s feelings if you don’t at least try them,” (Y/N) sighed, patting her daughter’s back. The rest of the family had finished eating over 20 minutes ago, Ginny had already left, the twins were outside. (Y/N) was determined to get Kayda to eat one baby carrot, even if it killed her. 

“You won’t hurt my feelings,” Molly piped up, washing the dishes. “Charlie never cared for carrots either,” she laughed.

“Molly,” (Y/N) hissed. “If she can eat Fleur’s ratatouille, she can eat at least one of your carrots.”

“Let me try,” Charlie said, sitting on the chair next to his daughter, cracking his knuckles exaggeratedly. “Kay, you remember going to go see Harriet, right?” Kayda nodded. Harriet was her favorite to visit at the sanctuary, after Charlie of course. “She didn’t used to be as big as she is now, you know why?”

“Because she grew up?” Kayda asked, looking up at her father.

“Well, yes,” Charlie smiled lightly. “But she grew because she also ate her carrots.” Charlie put his hand atop his daughters, holding it gently.

“Dragons don’t eat carrots, daddy,” Kayda laughed, swatting his hand away. “You said Harriet used to eat spinach too! She can’t eat both!”

(Y/N) laughed. “She’s right, Charlie, Harriet couldn’t possibly have eaten both carrots and spinach,” Charlie gave (Y/N) an exasperated look. She shot back a shit-eating grin.

“Tell you what,” Charlie said, picking up a spare fork. “If you eat a carrot, I’ll eat a carrot,” he held back a gulp. “Then you can go and play with Fred and George all you want, okay?”

“You’ll eat a carrot?” Kayda’s brown eyes grew to the size of saucers. She quickly shoved her fork in her mouth, the orange disappearing behind her lips. A few chews and swallow, she grinned. “Your turn, daddy!”

Charlie sat still. “You ate that fast, Kay,” he laughed nervously, tapping the fork lightly to the plate. “Did you think she’d eat it that fast?” He turned to (Y/N). She laughed.

“She’s your daughter,” (Y/N) shrugged. “Stubborn and determined as all hell.”

“As all hell!” Kayda repeated, grinning wildly.

“Kayda,” Charlie groaned. “What did we say about swearing?”

“That mummy and daddy are allowed to do it, but not me,” Kayda sighed, looking down. Her crestfallen expression quickly flipped. “Eat your carrot, dad!” she exclaimed, changing the subject.

“She’s right,” (Y/N) hummed, leaning behind Charlie, wrapping her arms around his chest, head resting on his shoulder. “You’re avoiding the carrot, dad.”

“(Y/N),” he groaned again, feeling (Y/N)’s lips press against his temple. “Carrots are gross.”

“Stop being a baby,” (Y/N) laughed, her hand guiding his to the plate, stabbing a baby carrot with the fork. “You’re setting a bad example for your daughter,” (Y/N) said, holding his hand, now forcing the carrot closer to his lips. 

“What’s in it for me?” Charlie asked, turning his head away from the fork.

(Y/N) smiled, her lips meeting his for a short peck. “The satisfaction of your daughter’s dreams coming true,” another short kiss.

“Please, daddy?” Kayda pleaded, clasping her hands together. Molly grinned from the sink, enjoying the scene before her.

“You have two beautiful girls asking you to eat a carrot, Charlie. There are worse things.” Molly laughed.

Charlie took a deep breath, finally determined to fulfill his promise. With a bated breath, he put the carrot in his mouth, chewing slowly. All eyes were on him, waiting for his final swallow. “There,” Charlie groaned, slamming the fork down. “Are you all happy?”

“Yeah, I am,” Kayda said, dropping down from her chair. “Gran, can I be excused?” Molly nodded. “I’m going to go play with Uncle Fred and George!” 

“You did it,” (Y/N) laughed, rubbing Charlie’s back. “You ate a carrot without vomiting,” she grabbed Kayda’s plate, finally turning it into the sink.

“And they say love is dead,” Charlie said, wiping his mouth. “I can’t believe Kayda actually ate a carrot. I was almost certain she would throw a fit.”

“You underestimate our daughter, sometimes.” 

“Maybe so,” Charlie groaned. “She just holds such a power over me, (Y/N),” he shook his head. “I better go make sure Fred and George don’t use Kayda as a test subject or something.”

“A doting father never rests,” (Y/N) laughed. 

“You know,” Molly said, turning from the sink. “I never thought I’d see the day where Charlie was under the complete mercy of a little girl,” she laughed, pulling her greying hair out of her bun. “Besides Ginny, of course.”

“Children change people,” (Y/N) shrugged. “Changed me a bit. Kayda gives me more than enough inspiration for new books. I reckon I could pump at least two or three more out just thinking about it.”

“Children?” Molly asked excitedly.

“What?” (Y/N) felt her cheeks heat up, realizing what she had just said. “Oh, Godric no! I reckon one’s enough. I was talking about my books, Molly.”

“You never thought of having another one?” Molly sat at the kitchen table, summoning a pot of tea. “Children are a blessing, you know.”

“Charlie and I never talked about it,” (Y/N) shrugged. “I know Kayda wants a little brother, asked for one last Christmas. But Charlie’s so busy at work, I’m practically locked in my study every hour of the day now that Kay’s at school…”

“Last I remember, you and Charlie didn’t talk about having Kayda,” Molly hummed. “Come to think of it, you didn’t exactly talk about marriage either. You’re a very spontaneous lot, the two of you,” she smiled, sipping from her mug. “I know it’s none of my business, but I would adore another grandchild.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, Molly,” (Y/N) said, forcing a small smile. “It’s just, our life is just so perfect the way it is, you know? I have a husband who loves me unconditionally, an angel of a child and a career I love. I’m just afraid—”

“That a new baby is going to ruin it?” (Y/N) nodded her head. “Did I ever tell you about when I had Bill? Arthur and I had the same conversation about having Charlie.”

“You did?”

“Children bring joy, (Y/N). I’m sure you know that with Kayda. I’m sure Charlie knows, too.”

“You seem a bit biased,” (Y/N) smiled.

“I am,” Molly laughed. “I just can’t wait for more grandkids! I’m up to four now, quite the collection.”

“I’ll try talking to Charlie, see where his head is at,” (Y/N) stood up, hearing a loud crash from outside. “Didn’t Fred mention at lunch that they were working on a new dungbomb?” Molly nodded. “I didn’t realize becoming a mother meant I had to babysit my best mates and husband, too,” she sighed, enjoying the jovial laughter Molly sprung from the kitchen as (Y/N) went outside.

The scent was excruciating, swelling into (Y/N)’s senses. The culprits, (Y/N) deduced, were laughing like maniacs. The sweet bell-like sound of her daughter’s laugh was sprinkled into the mess.

“Mummy! Do you smell that?” Kayda laughed, calling from George’s lap, his arm wrapped lovingly around her. “Uncle George farted!”

“Did not!” George said, looking down at his niece. “I thought that was you!” Kayda’s laughter rang out again, shaking her head wordlessly. “Maybe it was Fred?”

“Oi! Maybe it was the dungbomb?” Fred asked, pointing to the exploded fragments a few meters away from the group.

“Can’t even go along with Kay-Kay’s joke? What kind of comedian are you?” George asked, glaring at his twin. “Honestly, I don’t even know you anymore.”

“Where’s Charlie?” (Y/N) asked, realizing that her husband wasn’t around.

“He’s out flying,” George said, thumb pointing to the pitch. “We convinced him to—”

“—blow off some steam while we had some quality time with the greatest product tester,” Fred ruffled Kayda’s bangs, eliciting a grin from the girl.

“What did you say to him, exactly?” (Y/N) asked, knowing full well that Charlie wouldn’t have just left their daughter in the hands of the twins for too long.

“Oh nothing…”

“Just maybe that his quidditch skills are dwindling every second he spends off of a broom…”

“The fact that also his little sister is dominating in the quidditch world and out-shining him as the ‘Weasley star’…”

“Alright,” (Y/N) said, holding her hand up. “I’m going to find my husband, don’t let Kayda eat anything funky, okay?” (Y/N) turned to the pitch, walking away.

“Is a ‘face pickling fudge’ considered funky?” George shouted, ignoring the finger (Y/N) was proudly flashing for him.

(Y/N) looked to the sky, watching Charlie zoom through the various hoops on either end of the field with ease, as if he had been born on a broom. The wind breezed through his hair, blowing it back. Charlie noted his audience, lowering almost instantly.

“No helmet?” (Y/N) laughed, kissing Charlie as he dismounted. 

“Seekers don’t wear helmets, love,” Charlie said, combing through his hair. “Besides, you love the wind-swept look.”

“I do,” (Y/N) hummed, kissing her husband again. “For someone who claims to never fly at work, you were pulling those stunts off pretty easily,” (Y/N) noted, tracing her finger in a loop.

“I didn’t say I never fly,” Charlie said, laughing lightly. “But flying for fun and flying away from an angry dragon are two completely different things, flower.”

“Maybe,” (Y/N) agreed. “Why don’t you fly more around the house? Kayda would love to watch you.”

“You know how you are on a broom, love. The second Kay sees me fly around, she’ll want you to join. I’m just avoiding that disappointment.”

“Disappointment?” 

“When Kayda figures out that her mum’s a wussy,” Charlie beamed, fully expecting the slap to the side he had received. “You know I’m right!” 

“Kayda knows that I’m shit on a broom,” (Y/N) said, crossing her arms. “I know how badly you want to get her on one, but we agreed—”

“Stop talking, (Y/N),” Charlie said, hopping back onto his broom, holding his hand out. “Get on the broom.”

“Are you kidnapping me to make a point?” (Y/N) laughed, pointing an eyebrow upwards at the notion.

“Wouldn’t call it a kidnapping,” Charlie said, offering his hand again. “Don’t you want your child to know you’re not a wussy? If I can eat a carrot for our daughter, you can ride on a broom for her too.”

“I failed flying class at school—”

“I didn’t,” Charlie said, taking his wife’s hand, pulling her up onto the stick. She sat behind him, holding onto his chest tightly. “I’m the one flying this broom, yeah?”

“Charles Weasley if you do any funny tricks, I swear on my own life—”

“What? I can’t hear you!” Charlie shouted, swiftly lifting into the air, pointing to his ear. “The wind!”

“Shut your mouth, Charlie!” (Y/N) screamed, clinging to her husband tighter as the ground below became smaller and smaller. “You can hear me perfectly fine!”

Charlie stopped, floating midair, The Burrow the size of an apple below them. “Love, there’s no need to shout,” he said, turning his head slightly, a grin stretched to his face. “I’m right here.”

“I think I’m going to be sick,” (Y/N) said, burrowing her face into Charlie’s red jumper.

“Aim for one of the twins, would you? I overheard them scheming to put different prank supplies for Kayda in her bag before we leave,” he laughed. “Besides, you’re the one who gave me this jumper, I quite like it.”

“I guess it’s not so bad from up here…” (Y/N) said, taking another look at the ground.

“Of course not,” Charlie laughed, causing (Y/N)’s arms to bounce. “You’re with your favorite person, your husband, whom you trust I hope?”

“Kayda’s my favorite person,” (Y/N) said simply. “You’re up there, though."

“I could flip this broom around right now and you have the audacity to say that your daughter is your favorite person?”

“Hey, she’s our daughter. Last I checked it took the two of us to make her,” (Y/N) laughed. “I can be a bit of a narcissist and say that my favorite person is a perfect mix of my other favorite person and myself, right?”

“Perhaps,” Charlie said, flying slowly around the grounds, gently elevating and dipping every so often. “She’s pretty perfect.”

“Do you want another?” (Y/N) blurted, not even realizing what she had said. 

“What?”

“Molly said something after lunch that had me thinking—”

“Yes,” Charlie said simply. “Of course I want another.”

“You better not be pulling on my leg, Charles Weasley.”

“I’m serious,” Charlie laughed. “I know my mum planted that seed in your head—obsessed with her grandchildren, that one—but understand that I’d be open to having another.”

“Open?”

“Like you said, love,” Charlie began to fly closer to The Burrow, watching Kayda jump enthusiastically below. “It takes two,” he shrugged. “Don’t get me wrong, I would love nothing more than to try day and night—”

“I get the picture,” (Y/N) laughed, her face surely growing pink. “I’m not entirely sure I want another, honestly. We didn’t plan Kayda, but I’m so happy she’s in our lives…”

“So maybe we don’t plan?” Charlie shrugged, turning his head again. “Maybe we just continue our weekly routines—a little less carefully—and accept whatever is to come of it?”

“We’re quite against planning anything, aren’t we?” (Y/N) said, loosening her grip on Charlie, finally growing used to the height.

“Speaking of, we didn’t use any—”

“—this morning? No. No we did not,” (Y/N) laughed. “An oversight.” (Y/N) pressed a soft kiss to the back of Charlie’s shoulder, leaning fully onto his back. A husband who loved her, friends closer than brothers and a child who lit up her waking days? Maybe another wouldn’t hurt.

Right?

__

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[sxvxrxssnape]

minerva mcgonagall’s personal mission to make severus love christmas part 5

aka snolidays/snapemas day 11 and 12 (hot chocolate, baking) // pre-PS/the years between. minerva and severus friendship // content warning: panic attack and mentions of lily potter. i feel like this should be considered a snapetober entry oops. word count: 4287  @blog4snape

The night ended with more hot chocolate as the five stood together and watched a choreography of lights move above the pond, creating elves loading a sack full of gifts onto the outline of a waiting sleigh, watched it become glowing reindeer pulling it off the ground, rising in height and getting smaller and smaller until it disappeared and the light show began again. 

It felt like magic and he refused to believe none was involved. 

He fell asleep fully clothed that night, contentment and milk chocolate running through his veins as he begrudgingly made another mark on the imaginary scorecard. 

Minerva was definitely winning.

Saturday was spent finishing the potions for the infirmary, bottling and stoppering the dozens of phials, and methodically scrubbing the cauldrons clean as he read from a book hovering above the wash basin, the pages turning with a flick of his head. 

He dropped the potions off at the hospital wing, secretly pleased that Poppy was far too busy with a floo call to a student’s parents to bother giving him more than a thankful nod and a wave of her hand. He didn’t mind their conversations, but when three students were laid up sick on starched cots, Severus preferred to be as far away from the infestation as possible. 

He spent the night reading, a cup of tea in hand, the soft glow of candlelight nearby to illuminate the words of one of the books he had picked up from Diagon Alley. 

Sunday morning found him sprawled out on the couch in his living quarters, fully dressed once again, with the candles snuffed and the book astray, the teacup still nestled between a cushion and his thigh. 

He spent the day holed up in his office with a correcting quill, the stack of essays he kept putting off, and no less than four packets of crisps. It was dinnertime by the time he finished reading all the scrolls of parchment, his fingers cramping and eyes bleary. He had the beginning of a headache forming, but the grading was nearly caught up on. 

The remainder were short-answer questions, at least.

He wasn’t sure he could sit through another stack of eighteen inch essays for at least another month.

Perhaps two. 

The crisps had made him nauseous, so rather than attending dinner in the Great Hall, he flooed into the staff lounge and helped himself to his precious french press that had been left behind. As the coffee grounds soaked, he glanced around the room and took in the stockings.

There were some new additions.

There were his and Minerva’s - white, cable-knitted with fur trim, bearing their names embroidered in black thread - but also a bright blue with Filius’ initials, a pastel-pink made from crushed velvet with Pomona’s name spelled out in tiny yellow flowers, a black with silver snowflakes bearing Aurora’s family crest, and a neon orange war crime that could only belong to the headmaster. 

All of them had candy canes peeking out. 

There was a tree in the corner now - a tall, proud-looking noble fir - looking like an oversized houseplant when it was devoid of lights and decorations. He finished making his coffee and sat down at the round table, eyeing it carefully.

The rest of the castle was still surprisingly devoid of holiday decorations, but if this tree had already arrived, it was only a matter of time before the rest of it started creeping in. Soon enough, the place would look like a tinsel factory had exploded inside of it and the number of trees within the castle walls would put the Forbidden Forest to shame. 

He scowled at the thought. 

Later, he realized he had spoken too soon. 

Monday morning brought a fresh shower of snowflakes, a drop in temperature, and about thirty-six douglas firs into the Great Hall. These were already decked out with lights, ribbon, and colorful baubles. Some of the trees had clearly chosen sides, cheerily standing tall with the weight of red and gold ornaments, while others were laden with green and silver, blue and bronze, or gold and black. 

Garland clung to the old brick, neatly tied with red ribbon and perfect pinecones, spaced out above the portraits and high, arched windows. 

He didn’t want to think about the rest of the castle. 

There was white chocolate peppermint tea waiting for him at the staff table, so he conceded that not everything that morning was absolutely terrible. 

Tuesday was a bad potions day.

Not for him as a brewer, of course, but as a professor. 

By the time both his classes ended, eight different cauldrons had either melted, exploded, or absolutely disintegrated without a trace. He lost a full jar of moonstones because one student had decided to bring the entire fucking container to her table rather than count them out beforehand like he had advised, and it had taken all his self-control to stop himself from breaking down right in front of the class of sixth years. 

He had collected those moonstones himself, wandering the Forbidden Forest all fucking night, with only a lantern to light the way. They were supposed to last him at least another two months before he would need to venture out again - and the last time he had gone out, he’d nearly sprained his ankle on an upturned root and gotten a tree branch to the fucking face. 

Tuesday evening found him four drinks in, asking the house elves to please bring him some hot, salty chips from a local shop, and when the darling little elf returned with the newspaper cone, he babbled stupidly for two solid minutes from gratitude alone. 

Wednesday was a headache, a blur of back-to-back classes, a lot of frustrated yelling at completely inept students, a full pot of that wonderful white chocolate peppermint tea, and a sudden decision to not assign any more homework for the rest of the year.

Not because the awful little slimeballs deserved a break, but because he did. 

The elves made mushroom and wild rice soup for dinner, alongside everything else they always made, and Severus took more comfort than usual in the hot meal. 

Wednesday night was his turn to patrol the castle, so he stayed up half the night wandering the empty corridors. He pulled his cloak tighter around himself as he entered the Astronomy Tower, groaning as he realized Aurora was still there, carefully packing away her supplies post-lesson. 

“Oh, don’t act like you aren’t glad to see me.”

“Believe me when I say I’m not.” Severus returned, stepping to the edge and looking over the grounds. Most of it was cloaked by shadows, but the silver light from the moon was still enough to softly make out the silhouettes of the greenhouses and Hagrid’s little hut. “What, no comment on how I’m out past my bedtime?”

Aurora laughed, putting a bronze telescope back into its case and fiddling with the straps. “Not this time, no.” She glanced up at him and warned: “But don’t you ever make me miss out on family dinner again or you will regret it.” 

Thursday morning he slept in. 

He barely had enough time to pull on his teaching robes and run fingers through his hair before he had to hightail it to his classroom, frazzled and out of breath. He hadn’t had time to prepare the chalkboard the day before, and was quickly writing out the recipe in his messy scrawl, when the seventh years started filtering in.

“Alright, you’re going to need number three pewter cauldrons today,” he called out over his shoulder, finishing the last line of script. “Fill them with two liters of room temperature water and put your burners on low. Today we’re going to be brewing a more complex -”

“Professor?” 

He scowled at the interruption. “What is it, Mr. Greenwood.” 

“I think your robe might be inside out.”

He blinked and tried not to let his face flush with embarrassment. “Thank you, now as I was saying -” he continued awkwardly, shrugging out of his robe and flipping the sleeves inside out. 

“Your shirt buttons are fucked up too.” 

“Language!” he scolded, swallowing down the sharp coil of emotion building at the back of his throat. “And do not speak to me like that.”

“Hey, you’re the one walking in here, unprepared, with your clothes all fucked.” Greenwood muttered. “Just what were you up to before class, sir?” he grinned, his comment eliciting a few chuckles.

“Detention, Greenwood.”

“Now, wait a second!” the boy faltered.

“Do you wish to make it two?” he asked, his voice dropping an octave as he raised an eyebrow in questioning contempt. “Because we can surely arrange that.”

“No, sir.”

“Good.”

He finished the lesson on autopilot, quickly fixing the buttons on his shirt in the supply closet, fingers shaking nervously as he muttered angrily to himself. He shrugged back into his robes, double-checking they weren’t inside out again, and downed a calming draught on a whim - the shiny light blue bottle catching his eye from its place on the shelf - before returning to his desk. 

He made sure to scowl at each of them in turn and surprisingly enough, not another student made an unwarranted comment about his appearance, his teaching, or even each other. It kept him from reaching for another calming draught when he felt its effects lifting. 

Friday found him having a panic attack.

Then again, if no one opened the door to the broom closet he had squandered in, if no one came face-to-face with his crouched down, fingers tangled in his hair, not-quite-yet-out-of-breath, full body trembling self, could anyone really prove he was having an anxiety attack?

He’d barely made it through his second class and had dismissed the second years twenty minutes early, sans homework - and oh, Merlin, they were going to think he'd gone soft - before attempting to return to his personal quarters.

It didn’t quite work out as planned. 

His knees had felt shaky and he’d felt as if something were gripping at his throat, pressing down on his lungs, and he had to sit down and ground himself before he had a full-on breakdown in the middle of the corridor. He’d found himself stumbling, as he hid behind the closest doorway, the tidal wave of unchecked emotions too much.

His resolve was breaking.

He tried to focus on his Occlumency shields, tried to push back the unfiltered pain and fear he refused to think about - could not think about - because if he did, he was afraid he would never be able to function again. He was afraid he would break.

The dam was already broken though and now, now the rest of it felt inevitable. 

Now he was simply gasping for breath, tears welling in his eyes that he refused to let fall, sitting on the floor of a dusty broom closet, bathed in the dull yellow light that flared whenever it sensed movement, like some sort of spotlight - a beacon honing in on him, existing solely to put his downfall on display. 

Far too many thoughts were flitting around his head, crashing into each other and making it difficult to tell them apart, to pinpoint just what had been the trigger, the reason behind his weakness - because surely, that’s what this was right now: weakness.

Footsteps sounded in the corridor and he tried his best to muffle his ragged gasps, hand curled into a fist and pressed into his mouth, teeth sinking into the pale flesh, threatening to break through from the force he was using, so desperate he was to not make a sound. 

It didn’t work.

The footsteps paused, their owner faltering. 

Voices were speaking from the other side, hushed and mumbled, and with another stroke of panic, Severus realized they belonged to more than one. Students, most likely, and he curled tighter into himself, vehemently wishing for the ground to open up and swallow him whole. 

“Are you okay?” a hesitant voice traveled through the aged wood. 

He didn’t answer, but he figured his breaths were answer enough.

“Are you having a panic attack?” a different voice called out, sounding just as unsure as the first. “It sounds like you’re really struggling.”

“Do you need help?”

“They probably can’t answer, dummy.” a third voice spoke up, but this one wasn’t addressing him. They were all familiar, but his brain wasn’t letting him process anything to fruition. “Hey, if you can hear us knock on the door.”

He considered ignoring them, but in the end he knocked.

“Good!” the first voice praised. “Alright, knock if we were right about the panic attack.”

Again, he knocked. 

“Do you want help?” the second student asked. “I’ve helped my share of students through these.” He suddenly recognized Casper Jenkin’s voice, one of his seventh year Slytherin prefects. 

He groaned; as if this situation could get any worse. 

“I’m gonna take that as a no.” Oliver Greenwood’s voice muttered, so apparently yes, it could get worse. He was stumbled upon by his own snakes - and his disrespecting seventh years, at that. 

“Do you want us to get someone?” Allison Bone, the original speaker, questioned. “Madam Pomfrey or your Head of House? If you’re all the way down here, you’re probably a Slytherin, huh?”

He choked out a laugh at that. 

“Laughing!” Bone approved. “Laughing is good! That means you’re getting control of your breathing. The worst part of it is over now.” 

“I’m going to open the door, okay?” Jenkin told him, and the doorknob started turning. “It’s probably pretty cramped in there - definitely won’t help.”

“Don’t!” he let out, just as the door opened and he found himself blinking up at his snakes, the three of them blinking down at him, equally dumbfounded, and he wanted to scream at whatever joke of a higher being had shifted the cards enough to lead him here. 

“Oh!”

“Professor Snape?!”

He lifted a shaky hand to his face, brushing back disheveled locks of hair. “Get out.” he whispered, low and angry, not caring about the semantics that it technically didn’t apply. 

“Are you sure you don’t need -” Bone started, then faltered at the growing expression on his face. “Right, we’re leaving.” 

Greenwood eyed him a second longer than his companions, but rather than the teasing glint he usually held whenever addressing him in class, he wore something softer. “Sorry.” he mouthed, genuine concern flickering for a brief moment before he also left. 

He put his head in his hands and started laughing, softly at first, but when it became an ugly sob, he fought to regain his composure, nails digging into his scalp. 

He managed a deep breath, wiped his face on the sleeve of his robe, and hurried to his personal quarters. He was moving on autopilot now, slipping out of his teaching robes and into a jumper, grabbing a bit of floo powder and calling out a quiet, “may I come through?” when the flames turned a brilliant green. 

He stepped into Minerva’s quarters, bypassing her concerned look and collapsed onto the old couch, pointedly ignoring her as he stared at the vaulted ceiling. 

“Severus?”

“Panic attack.” he mumbled.

He remained silent after that, listening to the rustling of parchment and paper, the soft scribbling of a quill nib making its way across the page. For a few minutes, that was the only sound, until suddenly Minerva stood up and opened up the floo. Hushed voices followed, then silence, and he finally sat up when he heard the distinct pop of a house elf apparating into the room. 

Dorset, one of the school elves most identifiable by his height, was balancing a tray on one hand and a heavy-looking box on the other. He placed both on the kitchen table, nodded at the two, and apparated away.

“What’s this?” Severus asked, his voice gravelly and tired, as he stood up and approached the table. 

The box was filled with an assortment of items - butter, eggs, icing sugar, flour, and the like. He could see a bag full of dirigible plums sitting right on top and he smiled despite himself. The tray was holding two ceramic mugs, their contents hidden by the mountain of whipped cream and cinnamon they were topped with. 

“Sit down with me.” Minerva said simply, picking up the tray and bringing it to the couch. She sat down at one end, placing the cups on the coffee table, and waited. When he sat down, facing her, she handed him a warm mug. “I asked for hot chocolate.” she told him, eyeing him carefully. “Specifically the gingerbread one we had last week.”

“I liked that one.” Severus mumbled, staring down at his cup.

“I know.”

They were quiet for a few minutes, sipping on their hot chocolate, and Severus could feel his anxiety slowly ebb away as it was replaced by warm comfort. 

“You look awful.” she finally spoke up.

He smiled ruefully, but it felt more like a grimace. “I appreciate the honesty.”

“Have you noticed, how every time you experience feelings of distress, someone always tends to interrupt before we can talk?” she asked, watching him. “I think we’ve been putting it off long enough, don’t you think?”

“No.”

“We never got to talk about Yaxley.”

“We didn’t need to.”

“We also never finished our conversation about how you ask for my company whenever you venture out of the castle.”

Severus gripped his mug tightly. “You said enough.”

“You still flinch when people touch you.”

“Can you blame me?”

Minerva paused, studying him in a way that left him feeling exposed. “They’re all connected.”

He kept silent.

Her next words were unexpected. “What about Lily?”

“What about her?” he growled out, anger taking hold and manifesting into shaking hands. He swallowed down the bile he could feel rising, the taste of milk and chocolate suddenly acrid on his tongue.

“You never talk about her.”

“That’s because I don’t have anything to say about her!” Severus finally yelled, nearly dropping his mug. He set it on the coffee table and balled his hands into fists, refusing to break eye contact with the professor before him. “Lily died four years ago, but she stopped being my friend long before that! Do you want to talk about the guilt I carry, knowing it was my fault she died? Because no amount of talking, nothing I do will ever be enough to make up for the fact that I killed my best friend! And I hate myself for that, but Merlin, do I hate her too.”

“Do you?”

“Yes!” he burst out, the words he could never dare himself to say aloud now slipping off his tongue without trouble. “She was my best friend and then she sided with them, with him, after what he did to me! And that’s when I knew she was never really my friend! She saw what he - what he did,” he was starting to gasp for air again, “and she still, she - he -” 

He focused on steadying his breathing, arms wrapped around his torso. 

“I don’t.” Severus finally amended, in such a soft voice he wasn’t sure it even carried. “I want to hate her so much - and I am so angry at her, angrier than I’ve ever been at anyone - but I don’t hate her. I can’t. Maybe I wasn’t her friend, in the end, but I know she was mine. I lost so many people in the war, but she’s the one who hurts the most, so no, I don’t want to talk about Lily.”

Minerva hummed. “You sort of already did.”

He scowled.

“Drink your hot chocolate before it gets cold.”

Some of his anger fizzled out as he finished the drink. When they were done, Minerva stood up and started pulling out the contents of the box, lining them up on the counter. He joined her, watching as she leafed through a cookbook he hadn’t noticed. 

“We’re going to do some holiday baking now.”

“Are we?”

“If you’re not going to talk to me about what led to all this,” she gestured in his general direction, “then we’re going to bake some things for the staff party tomorrow.”

He nodded, sighing. “Where do you want me?”

They spent a few minutes in stilted silence, as he washed the bag of dirigible plums and cooked them down into a sauce, stirring in ground cardamom and honey. Meanwhile, Minerva whisked double cream and cornstarch with vanilla sugar and salt, the pot resting over low flames. He added the plum sauce and smiled as it came together and turned into the warm orange color he remembered. 

“What next?” he inquired, after the thickened mix had been poured into a mold and tucked away in the cold cupboard. 

“Biscuits?”

The sugar dough came together easily enough, pale yellow and perfectly smooth, and as they sprinkled flour over the table to roll it out, Severus started fiddling with the holiday cutters. 

“I can hear you thinking.” Minerva spoke up a few minutes later, dusting her hands off on a clean towel. She reached for a tree-shaped cutter and started pressing it into the dough. “Are you ready to talk now?”

“I have nothing to say.”

“Sure you don’t.”

They finished cutting out all their shapes, moved their biscuits into the oven, and cleaned off the kitchen table. Minerva was opening small jars of sprinkles while Severus whisked together icing sugar and egg whites. He focused on dividing the royal icing into small bowls, adding droplets of colored dye and stirring carefully as if they were a temperamental potion, when he finally broached the earlier subject: “They are all connected.”

“Pardon?”

He didn’t look up, merely repeated himself. “They’re all connected.”

Minerva pulled the baking tray out of the oven and cast a cooling charm before bringing the perfectly baked biscuits to the table. Severus picked one up and absentmindedly broke it into pieces. He shared it with Min and picked up another biscuit, carefully dipping this one into the bowl of red icing and shaking off the excess. 

He reached for the star sprinkles. “I try not to think about any of it.”

“You’ll have to, eventually.”

He thought about the broom closet. “I know.”

Minerva dipped a star biscuit into the bowl of yellow icing and handed it over to Severus, who immediately covered it with three different colors of sprinkles. They worked in tandem for a few minutes, dipping and sprinkling all their biscuits, and eventually a spoon was introduced to their project and Severus found himself drizzling thin stripes across some of them.

“I’m giving this one a Dreadful.” Minerva decided, picking up what was supposed to be an ornament, originally dipped in white icing, but then covered with uneven globs of blue. 

“Fair enough.” Severus shrugged, levitating the dirty dishes and moving them to the wash basin, spelling the water on. He picked up a candy cane-shape that had been rolled in yellow and violet sprinkles and then drizzled with green. “This one, however, is deserving of a Troll.”

Minerva spelled the dishes to wash themselves and then raised an eyebrow at him. “Severus, you decorated that one.”

“I’m aware.”

The yule log cake was a little more time consuming to make. He sat down at the table and watched Minerva separate eggs and whisk the whites with sugar until it foamed.

“It would be faster if you spelled the whisk.” Severus offered.

“We tried that once.” Minerva laughed, not slowing down. “It worked great at first, but all of a sudden, the whisk was flinging meringue all over the room.”

“How delightful.”

Meringue was light and shiny and the brightest white he could imagine. Min filled a piping bag with the foam and showed him how to pipe little mushroom tops on the baking paper. When he took the bag from her, he was surprised to find it bore no weight.

“Do you not know how to hold a piping bag?”

“Evidently not.” he grumbled, looking at his hand and the fluff of meringue that had spilled out of the bag and over his hand. 

“You’re supposed to hold the end closed, you numpty.”

“Numpty?” Severus muttered under his breath.

“Elphinstone always did the same thing.” Minerva shook her head, fixing the bag and finishing the job. “No matter how many times I corrected him, that man couldn’t hold it right. Always went off about how he’s the ministry liaison for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Min, I don’t need piping meringue mushrooms in my skill set.” She took in a shaky breath and set down the bag. “See? Perfect.”

“Min-”

“Don’t just stand there, Severus.” she scolded, thrusting the cookbook in his hands. “Get to work measuring the dry ingredients. You can make the cake while I make the frostings.” 

He started sifting flour and cocoa powder. “It’s okay to miss him, you know.”

“Of course I know that.” she humphed, putting the tray in the oven and spelling the dishes clean. She unwrapped a stick of butter and stared at him. “Do you know that?”

“Minerva, I only met your husband twice.” he deadpanned.

She flicked a bit of icing sugar at him. “Don’t be smart with me. I’m not the one repressing all my emotions and pretending they don’t exist until I can’t stave off the impending panic attack and end up crashing in my colleague's quarters because of it.” 

“Fine, you win this one.” he muttered. “You are the pinnacle of mental health, professor.” 

“Excellent.” Minerva grinned, but her smile seemed a little bitter. “Does this mean you’re going to talk to me now?”

“No.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Numpty.” she repeated. 

---- a/n: i was in the mood for angst tm also the ending feels a little rushed but it is 3am rip. im not gonna finish this series by christmas but my goal is new years. time exists in a vacuum anyway and is not real. ps. let me know what you think pls!! it gives me all the seratonin

[cherryquitecontrary]

Elvira Casimiro

Decided to do a character bio for @arcana-echoes​ and because I haven’t made one since I first made this blog oops

Art by the talented @joeyhazell-art​​

Full Name — Elvira Casimiro

Meaning of name — Elvira: “foreign and true”; Casimiro: “peaceful”

Family — Ignacio Casimiro (Father; deceased), Camila Casimiro (Mother; deceased), Marina Valeriano (Aunt; deceased)

Nicknames — Evie, Starlight (by family & Asra)

Favourite meal — Pozole

Favourite drink — Honey lemon tea

Favourite flower — Marigold

Birthday — August 8

Age — 26

Height — 5′ 4″

Gender — Female; she/her pronouns

Romantic/Sexual orientation — Bisexual/ Biromantic

MBTI: ISFJ

Zodiac — 

Sun: Leo

Moon: Virgo

Patron Arcana — 

Major: Judgement

Upright: Judgement, rebirth, inner calling, absolution

Reversed:  Self-doubt, inner critic, ignoring the call

Minor:  Queen of Swords

Upright:  Independent, unbiased judgement, clear boundaries, direct communication

Reversed:  Overly-emotional, easily influenced, bitchy, cold-hearted

Familiar: Luna the Xoloitzcuintle

Appearance 

Plague-Era and Present Elvira (sans white hair) created via Artbreeder

Height: 5’ 4”

Hair: black, thick and wavy (2c hair type), white at temples post-resurrection, about mid-back length

Hair style: parted to the left, typically worn down

Eyes: emerald 

Build: slim, but wider at the hips, toned arms and legs (from climbing things)

Distinguishing features: strong nose, full eyebrows, full lips, birthmark under left eye

Skin tone: Honey Tan

Typical outfit: black dresses paired with a well-loved fringe shawl made of burgundy fabric, barefoot if she can help it

Languages spoken —  Venterran, Vesuvian, knows some Vesuvian sign language

Hobbies — reading novels and poetry, tending to her many exotic plants, playing the guitar. singing, dancing, telling stories

Love Interests — Asra, Nadia, & Julian

Background — UNDER THE CUT

Childhood —

Elvira was born to Ignacio and Camila Casimiro on a small farm in the Venterre countryside. The small family was not wealthy and did not have the help of immediate or extended family. Ignacio was orphaned young and Camila had no contact with her parents or her older sister Marina. However, they were a very close and loving family unit. Elvira’s parents worked their land and managed farm animals, selling the products of their labor to survive. Camila was also a seamstress, and would make and repair clothes for the people in the nearby village. When Elvira was young, her father was in an accident on his way to a village further away to sell produce. He died and left Camila and Elvira to fend for themselves. Camila grew depressed when her husband died, but she tried to hide it from her daughter and continue to manage the farm without him. It became difficult to manage a young child, a farm, and herself as she grew sick from an illness she didn’t know she had at the time. Slowly, her health grew fragile, and many of the farm chores that couldn’t be supplemented by young Elvira went undone. The crops went unplanted, the farm animals were slaughtered for food. Eventually, food became scarce and Elvira had to steal from the surrounding farms for survival. She spent much of those years tending to a bedridden Camila. At the end of her days, Camila wrote a letter to her estranged sister Marina, letting her know that she was dying and leaving her little girl behind, and sent it to the last known place she knew her sister to be: Vesuvia. When Elvira was 15, Camila passed away, not knowing what would happen to her daughter. 

A couple of days after Camila’s passing, a woman dressed in black came to what was left of the Casimiro farm. She was tall, with dark hair, dark eyes, and a striking resemblance to Camila. She told Elvira that her name was Marina, and that she was her mother’s sister. Showing her Camila’s letter, she informed the young girl that she was to come and live with her in Vesuvia, upon her mother’s request. Initially, Elvira refused. The years of struggling and watching her mother slowly die had hardened the girl. She didn’t trust her aunt, who was a stranger to her, nor did she want to leave behind everything she’d ever known. Eventually, she came around and left Venterre with Marina to live with her in Vesuvia. Initially, living with each other was not easy for the two women. Marina had spent her adult life living alone and she had no children, so she frankly didn’t know what to do with a teenager. Elvira was also wary of her estranged aunt, unsure of how to react to her and her new living arrangement. However, the two eventually grew close and changed each other for the better. They were both guarded people, traumatized by their pasts. But, they made each other open up. Marina became Elvira’s mentor and taught her everything she knew about magic- from potions, to spells, to fortune telling. Elvira adopted many things from Marina, like her fashion sense and her love of worldly topics- like romantic poetry and foreign languages. Eventually, Elvira befriended a young orphan named Asra that she had met a couple of times during the Masquerade and Marina took him in too. The three of them lived in happy bliss until the Plague came to Vesuvia.

The Plague —

At the start of the Plague, Marina dedicated herself to the research effort at the palace, leaving Asra and Elvira to run the shop. After months of working tirelessly to find a cure, Marina caught the Plague and died, never having the chance to say goodbye to her wards. After this devastating loss, Elvira and Asra started debating on whether or not they should stay in Vesuvia. Asra wanted to leave, but Elvira wanted to stay and finish the work that her aunt had started by any means necessary. After a huge fight tore the two of them apart, Asra left Vesuvia and Elvira offered her help to Doctor Julian Devorak as his assistant. The two worked closely together during the plague and managed to find comfort in each other while the Plague grew worse and worse (NOTE: this manifests as a romantic relationship only in Julian’s route). Eventually, Elvira, too, fell sick and died of the Plague. She passed away alone in her home, and was found with forget-me-nots tucked into the bodice of her dress and a book of poetry in her hand.

Resurrection —

When Elvira was resurrected by Asra, she had lost all memory, along with the ability to speak, read, and generally care for herself. She spent many tireless months with her former-friend-turned-mentor relearning how to perform essential tasks and how to perform magic again. While she regained some aspects of her former self- like remembering how to play certain songs on her guitar and how to care for her plants- she was no doubt different. There was only one physical difference: the hair at her temples grew out white as snow (Asra quietly remembers this as the way that Marina’s hair used to look). Personally, she had become a person Asra hardly recognized. She had guarded her heart, shut the world out like she did when she was a child and rarely ever ventured out of the shop alone. Elvira had also become fixated on regaining her memories. Even though Asra had to stop trying to help her access her memories through magic, she still had an aching in her heart to know who she was. 

When Asra left on his first trip without her, she had to learn how to tend to her own needs. Her first time venturing outside of the shop, she found a small dog shivering in the cool night air out behind the shop. The dog was still a puppy and was scrawny. She initially avoided the dog, not knowing what to do or how to take care of it. But, the dog stepped closer and seemed to be illuminated by a moonbeam. Elvira took this as a sign to bring the dog in. She named her Luna and decided to keep her as a pet after she felt a connection with her. When Asra came back, he told her that Luna was likely her familiar, and the two have been inseparable ever since.

Presently, Elvira still runs the shop and lives with Asra and Luna. She is now fiercely independent and has taken more of a partnership role when it came to running the household and the shop. She is still guarded and tends to keep other people at arm’s length by nature. But, she is learning to be more open to others and new experiences.  

[churchyarddirt]

Girl! You already knew I love your blog. Can i have Muzan x Reader where Reader is an uppermoon who Muzan like to mess around ( you know sexy time ) with but Muzan also messed around with other demons as he please. Thank u.

Tysm! I love your blog too ^w^ you didnt specify if you want headcanons or scenarios so I'll stick them up together, but mostly headcanons

Y/n was upper moon 5, not too strong but compared to other demons - much stronger

Y/n became upper moon 4 years ago, at first Muzan hadn't payed much attention to her.

But unlike our demon lord, Y/n was head over heels in love

From the first time he cupped her cheeks and said "Y/n...You've been doing a pleasant job, you deserve to be amongst the upper kizuki, dont you think so?" He asked her one delightful night, Y/n was just done eating her weekly meal, she devoured over 49 people. So we can way she was one bloody mess

Even though Muzan hadn't felt anything towards her, he knew he liked her by appearance, he found her attractive

"You will start off as upper moon 5, do not disappoint me..." Muzan's deep voice echoed trough the Minka, he brought up his hand towards her eyes, gently brushing the air between them. Y/n's eyes got certain kanji after all "Y-Yes...Muzan-sama"

Y/n did amazing job but hadn't interacted with Muzan much, since she was new she wasnt summoned to most meetings and even if she did Nakime was the one here, reporting information to Y/n

Of course due to Muzan's temper, Y/n had to get punished for a small misunderstandings.

Basicaly she met Tanjirou and Nezuko and just ignored them, when they were really big threat and were on hunting, Y/n just simply forgot that all demons were ordered to kill them, she proceeded to eat humans somewhere else. And of boy how angry Muzan was

Y/n was sure she would die but he didnt kill her, just called her useless and paethethic

Veins popped on Muzans forehead "You call yourself an upper moon and you made such a blind mistake" he scoffed, his expression was displeased but Nakime and Y/n knew this was just 5% of anger that he felt "I-Im so sorry Kibutsuji-sama, I just forgot and went on w-" Y/n bowed on the flood, Suddenly he appeared in front of her "Who allowed you to speak?" He questioned, making Y/n gulp, looking up at him and by this way automatically giving him good access to her neck. Muzan suddenly gripped onto the females neck and picked her whole weight up, to face him. They had quite noticeable height difference so her feet hanged in the air. Muzan frowned

"What will happen if you will make similar mistake in the future, will you...." he cut his sentence mid off, Y/n's thoughts were something different, defiantly not what he expected

'Yeez...Should I be scared or aroused', 'I honestly dont mind him choking me' 'I hope it wont end soon' at this point Muzan knew that what Y/n felt for him wasnt just strong admiration

If it was another demon he would be disgusted, but for some reason he was quite amused Y/n felt this way. His face was now not frowning, but blunt. He had zero emotions, but he was in deep thinking, he slowly and gently removed the force from her neck, now choking her lightly 'Yes...there much better...why isn't he speaking?' Muzan read thoughts, he observed her. A pleasant smirked formed. He released her from his grip turning around and leaving her alone "If you will make mistakes again...there would be more severe punishments" he commented before gesturing Nakime to teleport her away

Ever since then we could say they both shared similar feelings towards each other, just no one of them showed it correctly

As time passed Y/n developed her style, she always had a lot of cleavage, not like daki but still cleavage.

One day Y/n was teleported to upper meeting, there she officially meet every upper demon member, she hit it off well with Douma - He was so curious and friendly with her after all!

Not long after Muzan appeared, wearing his vest suit and white clothing, with black pants, the casual and glamourous outfit of his. Y/n noticed no one bowed but rather just greeted him "Good day Muzan-sama~" Douma shouted, Muzan probably had good relationship with them

My my how wrong you were

Trough out the meeting he removed the heads of several upper demons, and they all didnt bother. Woah

Muzan leaned onto the table "Tell me your Acomplishemnts" he commended, his expression was always blunt and hard to read, he didnt seem interested in their speech at all "Y/n..." Muzan interpreted Akaza's speech, making you focus all your attention on him, he slowly patted on the wooden pattern "come here" he ordered, his expression unchanged.

'DOOES HE WANT ME TO SIT ON THE TABLE NEXT TO HIM-HGHGJ?!'

Muzan grinned at your thoughts "Continue akaza" he said with more pleased tone, sucking in the stressful and negative tention away. All other moons were more at ease.

You did as he said, and of course your thoughts did their best job at amusing Muzan, all the scenarios of him claiming you over and over on this table really intrigued him, no demon had ever dared to think so boldly of him, and not to mention he liked the way you looked, Muzan didn't mind.

"Disccust and prepare teams for attack on hajimeri hill" Muzan ordered, the demons started separating into teams and making a plan, they often worked together. You assumed you had to join them so you jumped down from the table, ready to leave.

However as soon as you started to walk Muzan quickly forced you back with his hand. He forced you to go under him, you could feel your ass pressing into the table harshly, your eyebrows frowned out of confusion, Muzan had small grin before griping your throat again

This time he wasnt too harsh, justcright to your liking. His fingers gently massaged your neck, making you close your eyes.

Oh how you wished this lasted forever

"You do know one of mine abilities..." He asked, making you open your resting eyes "...is the ability to read minds of my demons?"

This sentence

THIS ONE SENTENCE

made you regret you were born 'He read all my fantasies, all my dirty thoughts-' your mind was one messy place now. You tried to look away but his finger that was gently massaging your neck suddenly was harshly pressed onto your chin, keeping you in place

You couldn't comprehend your emotions "I'm so sorry I will stop-" Muzan's nails imtefierd with your skin, making you gasp. He was filling you up with his blood again

Before you could speak again he connected your lips together. It wasnt a messy kiss, just a small peck. But of course this wasnt the way he wanted to kiss you, you would find out soon.

From that day on he teased you and touched you as he pleased

At first it was just a constant need to have you close to him, now he groped you and touched you all the time

Whenever there was another upper moons meeting he would have you on his lap, and you always knew you were leaving the last.

Your most memorable memory with him was when he invited you to his house

And hardcore fucked you in front of his sleeping pretend wife. It was amazing quite/silent sex

Once Muzan ripped your top clothing off and groped you for 2 hours straight while you sat on his lap, you were glad you two were alone.

Whenever he wanted for you to give him attention he would come to you from behind, push your hair down and press you closer

But one day, he stopped messing with you in front of other demons, he didnt touch your ass or ordered to sit on his lap anymore.

You thought it would bother you that much, but it honestly made you...sad?

That's how it was for a week. Another meeting was held. Like always your stayed the longest. You tippy toed your way to Muzan that didnt seem to notice your presence at all "Muzzn-sama" you muttered, he lazily turned around to face you "Take a sit..." he ordered with a long sigh

You took a seat on his table, you were about to ask him what was wrong but he hugged you before you could utter a word.

Sure you two cuddled after sex in bed but this type of affection wasn't in your life. He pressed his face in your chest as his hands wrapped around your waist.

"I want you all to myself" he said, not emebrased or too happy. All you could is was just to accept it and gently brush his head

He didnt grope you around others but he was effectionate other ways, like hugging your waist, his hand on your hip/waist/shoulder. You could see the connection

But one thing bothered Y/n

It was Daki

Muzan called her special demon and even cupped her cheeks. Y/n wasn't pleased with it!

One night she headed to the forest with Muzan, all he did was cup her cheeks "I can do as I please Y/n, You should just be quite about it. Green doesn't suit you" he mocked her, Y/n was displeased but there wasn't anything she could do

Muzan held her hand firmly in his, even though he liked teasing Y/n, he knew that if there was a demok women who would bear his kids - It would be Y/n

Bonus

Y/n took a seat at his office, she was summoned by him. It wasnt the first time she was here, making herself at home she ordered his maid to make her a tea "Its good to see you my Muzan-sama" she greeted him with a yawn "Y/n...didnt I told you my opinion about you wearing short skirts" Muzan questioned her, his eyes still carved into paper work, oops. After he made it clear that she belonged to him, muzan hated seeing her wearing too revealing clothes "I didnt punish you, and I wont" this sentence made Y/n smile. But she knew he will want to receive something from her later. "I've been so good to you lately, you've been walking around as you please" he said in mocking tone "Y/n dont you think you are too selfish?" Y/n giggled at his words "So what are our conclusions" he asked, taking another paper. When he aske it, the answer always was 'I will change Muzan-sama' or 'I understand that I failed and I will do as you please' but Y/n was too goofy that day. Like a tiger she made her way closer to him, she sat bare ass on his table in front of him. Her legs on his papers. This made Muzan look at her instantly "The conclusions..." she questioned before gently cupping Muzans cheeks "That you are the best thing in my life" Muzan was dumbfounded, her little joke resulting in brutal make out session on his lap

[internetremix]

In IR lore, what are the personalities of your personas? Basic likes and dislikes?

Kristen: Goggles is An Child and behaves as such. She's very cheerful, very curious, a bit mischievous and also 100% obsessed with making fanwork of her internet family... like a goddamn weirdo. She'll usually be hanging out with everyone, spot some sort of inspiration, squeak with joy and then rush off to write or draw. She's also the defacto leader of the Smol Squad, which is composed of herself, Shyner, Jojo and Chi-chi, and she's usually the one squeaking out ridiculous plans in muppet for dumb shit like stealing cookies and trying to trap people in fanfiction scenarios. She likes to help and can often be found doing such things as assisting Xander in his many schemes or just popping up to provide shit like charts or hold things for other people- basically whenever it would be funny to have some goddamn muppet backing something up.

She loves plush toys, particularly Crockernanner, and also loves sugar, star decorations, and cuddles. She likes being picked up and loves attention, and she's pretty consistently attached to at least one person, often her big brother Split if she's not with the Smol Squad. She is in eternal war with Phill since he bullies her constantly, and will occasionally try to set up elaborate traps for revenge only to fail miserably. Also she's a huge weeb. She does not like to sleep and will often go days without it before being dragged off by some bigger person to take a goddamn nap you ridiculous child.  She is also very afraid of thunderstorms, she doesn't like loud noises or the dark.

She also has... various flaws and problems. But those are spoilers and I have no idea when/if we’ll be doing story stuff with IRsonas so I don’t want to give too much away with that.

Sorry this is very long, I think about my child a lot.

Jojo: JoJo is also a very happy child... like, stupid happy all the time. Like, they don't really have a concept of being angry. they're either manic happy or a bit sad. They love to find any way to make anybody smile or laugh, whether it be a somber happy, or a crying fit of laughter. They thrive off of happiness. They're a bit mischievous as well, and will try to play pranks and swipe things to chew on. They'll just appear in random places you'd never expect. like, in the pantry, the vent, or in your drawer. They chew things all the time to keep their dragon teeth sharp! They do tend to come off as obnoxious and kind of useless sometimes? But that's ok.

They love happiness, rocks, swimming, sandwiches, Vanilla coke, coffee, pianos, stars, ghost stuff(horror genre), and laughter. JoJo is pretty similar to Goggles now that I think about it x_xJoJo is best friends with Phill, and will always be on him in some way. Like his leg, back, holding onto his scarf by their teeth, etc. They're also very close with Goggles and Shyner, and Scott (even though Shyner tries to chase JoJo off with knives, JoJo will take it as a game of tag or something)JoJo doesn't like being yelled at or being told to go away. They get spooked easily by loud noises. They always get paranoid when they think someone is mad at them and will go to ungodly lengths to make them not mad or slightly annoyed with them, which sometimes makes people more annoyed with them than they were before.

JoJo is just an exaggerated version of me XD

Atwas: Atwas is fairly easy going. They make light of things often, and often hide serious sentiments behind jokes. They’re the type to roll with goofy and silly situations, and are very “yes and” type that enjoys escalating things in the name of light-hearted fun. They enjoy playing pranks, especially ones that take advantage of their hologrammatic nature (being able to enter and ‘possess’ electronics is something that they take advantage of often). Being technically in the cloud and a part of the internet at all times, they will often chime in with fun (often unrelated or humorous) metrics about situations and people as they occur—and often forgets that having a HUD isn’t something everyone has access to.

Being ‘technically’ invulnerable, atwas isn’t phased by the more dangerous things that go on in the IR tower, but usually prefers being a spectator or commentator as opposed to being an active participant in general shenaniganry. They don’t have any particular animosity towards anyone, and will occasionally help manage technical parts and functions of the tower.

They enjoy things like tech, cold weather, tea, fun statistics, darkness; and aesthetics like Film Noir and Retrowave.

They dislike things like excessively hot weather, being interrupted, getting too personal, having to put in a lot of “effort”, and being out of the loop.

Shyner: Shyner can easily be summed up to a tsundere in denial, and is the definition of an agent of chaos. If something goes wrong, she’s the one pouring a trail of kerosene to let the fire spread. She's loud, impulsive, and really doesn't give two shits. While quirky and charismatic, she’s also sarcastic and witty, reveling in the amusement of making fun of others. She’s often stubborn and impatient, thinking highly of her own beliefs and angered by those who dare to challenge her ideals. She also lacks a filter, and enjoys garnishing her words with colorful profanities. Filled with gripes of past trauma, she’s engaged in a constant internal war of turmoil and grief. She’s incredibly cautious and closed off around those she doesn’t trust, and can be very selfish.  Despite this, she’s loyal to the few people she cares about, going out of her way to put them first if a dire situation were to arise. She’s also very sneaky and mischievous, often finding amusement in spying on others. Her MBTI is INTP-T.

Her hobbies include stargazing, ghost hunting, spying, and Satanic worship. She enjoys melancholy vibes, horror movies, animals, thunderstorms, and has an unhealthy obsession with sweets. Yes, this child will stab you without hesitancy if you take her cookies. She dislikes seafood, big crowds, kiddie leashes, and is afraid of experiencing intense emotion she doesn’t understand.I love my satanic smol bean very much. If I may be so bold as to dive into the nitty-gritty psychology, Shyner possesses many flaws, a lot of which I personally struggled with growing up. She is a reflection of my past self, some gripes with my current self, and the perception of how I could have turned out if I hadn’t met my family at IR. Hiding behind the exterior of being a merciless bully, she still has an intense internal desire to be a good person, but gets frustrated and often derails herself in the process of fighting her desire to act on impulse. She keeps most relationships with people at arm's length, fearing that if someone were to think highly of her, it would only be a matter of time before they’re disappointed. If we were to go full-fledged story mode, she would most definitely have an intense character redemption arc, making the revelation that being shitty to those who care about her isn’t the way to run from her problems and hide away from her own sense of self-insecurity/hatred.

Phill: Phill likes mischief, bad jokes, sexual undertones, Jojo, sexual overtones, bullying Kristen, and the colour pink. That's it xD

Jojo: :D yay

Alex: Alex don't give a shit but is for whatever reason the bossman and is also as powerful as silver age Superman, just don't try actual murder of the crew and he won't yeet you into the sun

Moon: 2019 Moon is an idiot. If we didn't know any better, we would assume he was born from nothing but an old head of lettuce in Satan's refrigerator. Think like Scott from Monster Prom, but different. He knows his right from his left, but the compass is still just "NESW" to him. Impulsive, lovable, and kinda loud, this muscley dumbass will do practically anything you tell him to if he finds it enjoyable. When paired with a few people, he works well as a second to many dynamic duos. Brodingles and Moon/Split and Moon are two really good ones, dangerous shenanigans ensue. Can and will rap like a beast, any challenge to a freestyle will result in a career ending and a death being sentenced. Extroverted people pleaser, definitely shooting high to perform and when adapting to a character, goes a little too hard. This man played Gander in Charlottes Web and didn't stop making goose sounds for months. Did I mention he's also a disney princess? Singing, animals, mortal enemy falling to their death? Everything

Dawn: ToonWolf/Dawn's personality falls within the confines of recklessly adventurous who doesn't think things through entirely. They like to try and rope others into going on various hikes, treasure hunts, mythic/cryptid searches, etc. Unapologetic sailor mouth. They will fight for friends and family. Various animals, trinkets, treasures, and cool but useless garbage are brought back to the tower often (oops theres a liiiiiiitle bit of hoarding). Sometimes those animals consist of dogs, cats, lizards, bears, wolves, The Great Noble One, horses, lions, elk, you get the idea (Can I keep them?Pleeeeeeeaaaaaaaaseeeeee??????????).

Overall they are most comfortable and relaxed in/around water and likes a whole lotta things including sailing, swimming, adventure, stargazing, animals, mythology/legends, friends, family, and drawing.

They dislike waking up early, limitations, being talked down to, boredom, desert/hot/humid/dry weather, coffee, and the movie "Cube"

Tex: Tex is an avid cryptid detective + has a surprisingly good intuition when creating conspiracy theories about them to follow. Mm lots of memes and disguises. Smart, but usually just off on their own thinking about other stuff.Totally has a wall in their room dedicated to figuring all the cryptids out with like, red string and everything.

[asterythm]

Born of the Same Impulse

Or; The Abolition of Man(a)

Pairing: Romantic LAMP Prompt: Written for Secret Sanders 2018 with the prompt “magic AUs (especially if someone doesn’t know about the others)” Word Count: 12.8k (oops.) Warnings: Very occasional caps lock, panic, negative thinking, food mention. (But don’t worry, the end is fluffy!!)

General Summary: When an experiment goes wrong, the wizard-slash-scientist Logan finds himself stranded in an alternate, magic-less dimension -- but the more he explores, the less anxious he is to find his way back home again.

A/N: @soft-transboy​ Surpriiise!! It’s me -- @secretsanders herself :D Hoo boy. I had so much fun writing this one, but... let's just say that I definitely bit off wayyyyy more than I could chew with this story (as you might be able to tell from the word count, which is well into the double digits). In fact, I spent so long planning this thing that I ended up being left with under a week to write it all. Meaning I finished this about ten minutes ago, and it’s completely unedited. Oops.  That said, I'm still super proud of how it came out, for the most part. Hopefully, you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!

AO3

xxx 

“The serious magical endeavour and the serious scientific endeavour are twins: one was sickly and died, the other strong and throve. But they were twins. They were born of the same impulse.” — C. S. Lewis, The Abolition of Man

xxx

Logan Sanders does not believe in magic.

This perhaps will seem to most people like an illogical sort of statement, once they’ve taken into consideration the fact that Logan Sanders is a wizard.

Illogical or not, Logan’s mind is made up. Unlike Most People, Logan never has believed in magic. And he never will, either. It’s one of those beliefs that transcend tenses, you see — does not, did not, will not. Past, present, or future, the fact remains that magic is impractical at best.

Magic is real, of course. Logan can hardly deny the presence of magic in his everyday life, seeing as it’s damn near impossible to do anything without it, in this day and age. He’s not saying that magic doesn’t exist. Logan only means that, the way he sees it, magic on its own is completely and utterly useless. In fact, he’s quite certain that he’d be perfectly capable of surviving without relying on any magic at all, given the opportunity.

Life would be so much easier if more people just believed in science.

This is the second of many (many, many, many) seemingly illogical statements — at least, to Most People. Science? Most People scoff. Impossible! A fully automatic life reliant on science is a nice thought, but that’s all it will ever be — a nice thought. Science simply isn’t capable enough to accomplish all that magic does. Whoever this Logan fellow is, he ought to get his head out of the clouds and do some actual thinking. Blah, blah, blah. On and on and on.

Logan, of course, hates hearing Most People saying these things, but frankly he’s come to expect responses like that. He hears the same kind of thing almost every day, after all. It’s quite normal for Most People to doubt that science could ever be useful. And why even bother, really? Magic is perfectly fine as is.

But of course, the first thing you will notice about Logan Sanders is that he is most certainly not Most People.

xxx

Weekends, reflects Logan in between sips of hot tea, are the only part of the week ever worth paying any attention to.

For Logan, Saturdays and Sundays are the busiest days of the week — but they’re also far and away the best. Because rather than spending his hours working a boring day job, he’s hard at work inventing things that he’s passionate about. On weekends, Logan is free to play around with the concept of using science to enhance day-to-day magic. (Or perhaps the magic is enhancing the science? One or the other. Logan isn’t completely sure.) It’s been his favourite hobby for years and years, creating these little devices that make simple daily tasks even simpler by relying on science, rather than on magic.

Take, for example, Logan’s kettle. The one that he’d put away only moments before, after pouring himself a cup of tea. On the outside, it appears to be quite unremarkable. But Logan can assure you that this kettle is anything but. It’s a one-of-a-kind design that Logan invented himself, many moons ago, and it is easily the most efficient kettle that he’s ever known.

Boiling water, as you surely already know, is a tedious and boring task that requires one to channel their mana into heat-energy, focus that heat-energy into a stream, and then direct that stream continuously towards the water until it finally begins to boil. It’s a time-consuming task that Logan’s tight schedule simply cannot afford.

Logan’s innovative kettle combines magic with science in order to significantly cut down the amount of time and energy one needs to boil water. There’s a metal coil inside of it that allows the kettle to heat up water almost all by itself, by converting electric energy into heat energy — meaning that Logan only needs to fire off a quick spark, and his kettle takes care of the rest.

Despite the simplicity of the design, it has always been one of Logan’s favourite pieces of work, if only because of how often he uses it. On the other hand, he’s got plenty of favourites to choose from. Logan’s cozy little apartment is nearly covered with his own gizmos and trinkets, some fully functional, some half-finished with pieces spilling out the sides, some completely abandoned. He doesn’t consider those latter ones “failures”, though. Logan prefers to call them “learning experiences”.

And he does learn. Logan enjoys his work, regardless of whether or not his creations work out the way he plans, because every experiment teaches him something new. Science is so (woefully) underexplored that Logan finds himself discovering new and exciting concepts left, right and centre. Indeed, it's not at all an uncommon occurrence for him to find something that he's never read of or even heard of before. The sense of accomplishment he gets from these not-so-rare occasions is just about enough to make up for the inconveniences of his lifestyle.

The keywords in that sentence being "just about".

Recently, he's been finding aforementioned inconveniences to be growing more and more, well, inconvenient. The impermanence of his living situation, for example. (Just thinking about this subject makes Logan's chest tighten involuntarily. Though he isn't all the way finished yet, he sets his teacup down.) Logan hasn't been able to hold onto a home for more than a matter of months ever since he first picked up this hobby of his.

For some completely unfathomable reason, the idea of having a mad scientist living in their building is apparently one that most landlords consider to be somewhat unsettling.

There are other difficulties, too, that prevent him from finding a permanent place to call home: noise complaints from neighbours, property damage from explosions and acid burns, that one time that he accidentally gave sentience to a small tin-can-and-soy-sauce-packet robot, leading to the creation of an army of small but hostile rodents. The usual.

(Now that Logan thinks about it, he's starting to see where the whole "unsettling" thing might come from.)

The first one or two or twelve times he was kicked out, Logan didn't mind terribly. Change doesn't bother him too much. But as his collection of knick-knacks and doo-dads continued to grow, it began to become a real nuisance to have to pack everything up and relocate so often.

Not to mention, the constant moving means that Logan has never had the time to make any sort of lasting social connections, either. That's not a huge issue, though, since Logan isn't exactly the most social of people anyway. Even when he was younger and by extension wasn't constantly being forced to move around, Logan had never had much luck with friendship. So although his life is a lonely one, Logan's grown quite accustomed to having things be this way. He doesn't mind. Not as much as he used to, at least.

Logan picks his teacup back up again. He swishes the cup around a few times, watching the half-disintegrated leaves swish with it. After a moment, the leaves settle down into a shape that almost resembles a dragon if Logan squints and turns his head a certain way. He takes a sip, notes with displeasure that the liquid inside has grown unpleasantly cold, but finishes it anyway. After his cup is empty, Logan takes a moment to gaze out the window and appreciate how nice of a day it is; both suns are happily shining, and there’s hardly a cloud in the sky. The perfect weather for a weekend, even if he is going to spend the whole day cooped up in his apartment.

Stretching, Logan rises from the comfortable armchair on which he had been sitting and crosses the room to where his latest invention awaits him. Today is going to be a good day, he thinks, allowing a rare smile to slip out as he approaches. He's been working hard on this one, and he thinks now that it may be finished at last; his tests last week, he had been amazed to find, had all gone off without a hitch.

That is, all but one. But that's only because he has yet to run the final test. Logan thought he would save that one for today, just to be on the safe side. But he’s got high hopes for the outcome of this final test. A good day, indeed.

In fact, the best, worst day of Logan's life has already begun — and it's all thanks to the pair of two little round creations sitting right in front of him.

xxx

THREE MONTHS AGO

"Okay, but… I still don't get it," grunts the landlord. "What are they supposed to do?"

Logan smiles wryly. "Permanently revolutionise the way that people get from place to place, that's what."

"Looks pretty typical for something that's supposed to be so 'revolutionary'. Honestly, it kind of looks like a regular TP-circle. Except, uh, portable."

"Yes? Well, I'm glad to hear that, since that's exactly what it is. A portable teleportation-circle. I've very nearly completed the design, and I can promise you that as soon as I've added the final touches, this is going to completely change life as we know it. Then I'll have more than enough money to pay rent. Just you wait, sir." The other man still doesn't look convinced. Logan is getting desperate — he doesn't know where else he can find a home if this doesn't work out. "At least allow me to explain to you how it works before you turn me away."

After a moment, the gruff older man relents. "Alright, fine," he sighs. "How does your portable TP-circle work?"

"Well, the general concept is more or less the same as a regular TP-circle. You step in, it collects a bit of your mana and converts it into a path between the circle you're standing in and whichever circle you want to TP to. The difference is that my design is, well, portable. I mean, TP-circle stations are all well and good, but sometimes they're just located in such inconvenient places. Add that to the fact that there's always such long line-ups for those stations, and... well, suffice it to say, I'm surprised that they've been in use for this long.

"With my portable TP-circles, you can go wherever you want, whenever you want, and you don't have to deal with those annoying line-ups anymore. You can just fold one of these up and use a simple object-TP to send it wherever you want. Anyone can do this. Object-TPs are one of the first spells they teach in school. So, portable TP-circles will make transportation easier and more accessible for everyone. Like I said before, I've already almost perfected the design. I only need to iron out a couple of kinks, then figure out how to make it more lightweight. Once I’ve done that, it’ll be completely ready. Ready for use, and ready to change the world, by extension. I only need a few months, half a year at most. I promise." He’s nearly begging by the time he finishes talking. This location is his last chance, after all. Logan holds his breath, watching the landlord's face change as he weighs Logan's words.

And then, after what feels like an eternity of waiting, Logan finally hears the words he's been hoping for.

"Okay. Four months. That's all you get. You'd better have your portable thingamajig finished by then. Otherwise, you're outta here. You hear me? Out. Of. Here. Don't let me down."

Logan sighs, a wave of relief washing over him. Four months... a quarter of a year. That's going to be tight, but Logan's sure that he'll be able to manage that deadline if he works hard enough.

If there's one thing that Logan has never had a problem with, it's working hard.

xxx

And work hard, he did. For three months straight, Logan’s devoted every second of his free time to perfecting his design. He’s long since lost count of how many tests he’s run, how many times he’s taken his invention apart and put it back together in a completely different way, how many times he’s had to entirely scrap an idea or component… yes, the journey has been anything but smooth. And yet, looking at his finished creation now, Logan realises that every single second spent has been completely worth it.

Technically, Logan shouldn’t be using the word “finished”, since his invention has yet passed its final and most important test. But last week’s testing was the farthest that any of his prototypes had ever come, so Logan can’t help but hope that today, it’ll go just one step farther.

Well. There’s only one way to find out, now isn’t there?

Logan quickly pulls his trusty notebook and pen out of the ether, where he keeps his most important items. He flips the book open to a fresh new page. At the top, he writes the date, then a title: TEST RUN # —

He hesitates.

TEST RUN #WHO EVEN KNOWS ANYMORE, HONESTLY.

There, perfect.

And so he begins. The first twenty or so tests, he completes without even thinking. Logan has done those ones so many times, to say that he could complete them in his sleep would be an under-exaggeration. He tests the prototype’s durability, folding ability, resistance to wind and cold and heat and water. Of course, he doesn’t run into any problems there.

Next comes the slightly more interesting tests. Logan places one of the two circles onto his apartment floor, then folds the second one up so that it’s smaller and therefore easier to transport. With a snap of his fingers, he sends it off to the location that he’s been using for testing: a vast and empty flower field that, as far as Logan knows, no one besides him has set foot in for a couple of years at least.

Next, Logan picks up a small six-sided dice and places it gently onto the circle that he’d laid on the table. He’s barely let go of the dice and pulled his hand back when a familiar flash of bright blue light fills the room. By the time the light is gone, the dice is, too.

Logan grabs a looking-glass off his bookshelf, the one that he’s enchanted to always show the flower field. It only takes him a second to spot his circle lying surrounded by tall blades of grass, and then only a second more to find the dice sitting right there in the center of the circle. Looks like the dice test was successful. Logan isn’t surprised. The dice test is another easy one.

His next few tests are all more or less the same as the dice test. The only difference is that he’s no longer transporting dice; for each test, Logan uses a slightly more difficult object. First, he picks up a —

Hold on.

If Logan were writing this story, he would surely go into incredible detail about each and every test, listing off every single object he tries, telling you which tests have stood in his way in the past and explaining what he did to get around them.

Luckily for you, dear reader, Logan is not writing this story. He's only living it.

Suffice it to say, his portable-teleportation-circles pass each and every test with flying colours, just like they did last week. With every test passed, Logan grows more and more excited. He had already known when he began test run number who-even-knows-anymore-honestly that it was going to be an overwhelming success, but of course there’s such a difference between knowing something is going to happen versus seeing it happen with your own two eyes. Last week felt like a fluke, you see. This week is proof that it was not.

xxx

By the time Logan completes his second-to-last test, he is so giddy with excitement and passion, he can hardly think straight (although to be fair, “straight” never really has been a strength of his). A rush of adrenaline courses through the young inventor as he jots down two familiar words: Trial successful.

And then suddenly, the time has come. “This is it. I am... about to perform the final test,” Logan says to himself, scarce able to believe that he’s actually made it until he says the words out loud. They come out no louder than an awed whisper.

He tucks his notebook and pen back into the ether, smoothes down the wrinkles on his button-up shirt, adjusts his necktie, combs through his hair with his fingers. Not because he thinks someone is watching him; it’s just that Logan can’t help but feel that he should look his best for a moment like this. It’s, he thinks, a moment deserving of trumpet fanfare, of multi-coloured confetti, of a loud and dramatic drumroll.

Alas, Logan has none of these. He’ll have to settle for the loud drumbeat of his heart thumping in his chest, instead.

Logan stares at the devices sitting in front of him. He gets to his feet. Dusts himself off. Starts to back away. As he walks backwards, something swells inside of him; something big and bright and demanding. Pride? Hope? Fear? Perhaps a mixture of the three? Whatever it is, it grows and grows until it threatens to engulf the normally-so-unemotional young man. It’s now or never, Logan suddenly realises. He’s got to move before this strange Feeling-Thing immobilises him.

So move, he does. Logan closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and then before he knows it he’s running forward, forward, forward and onward as fast as his legs can go.

Because it’s him, of course; Logan is the final test. Transporting around little objects is all well and good, but the purpose of his invention has always been to transport people, after all.

The tip of Logan’s toe lands in the transportation circle, the rest of him following close behind. As soon as he’s landed, a familiar tingling begins to spread through him; the circle is harnessing his mana and converting it into a teleportation path, exactly as it’s meant to do. For precisely two instants, Logan’s body is suspended in a strange little pocket between time and space. He’s surrounded on all sides by pure light, bright enough to blind even with his eyes closed.

Then, just like that, it’s over. Logan touches down on solid ground, somehow feeling at once like he’s drifted down gently as a feather and like his entire body has been slammed into the ground hard enough to rattle the teeth in his skull. Slowly, warily, Logan opens his eyes to see that… something’s different.

No, scratch that. Everything’s different.

Logan turns around cautiously. The new location he’s found himself in is dimly lit, but it doesn’t take too long for his eyes to adjust.

He takes in old and cracked wooden planks, stains marking leaky spots on the ceiling, and spiderwebs strewn all over the place. He’s standing in what appears to be the attic of an abandoned warehouse of sorts. Maybe not a warehouse — maybe a workshop, or an old storage unit. No matter. Whatever this place is, it’s very clearly not the empty flower field that Logan had been expecting to open his eyes in.

As disappointment shoots through him like an arrow to the heart, Logan realises that he can literally feel his hopes being ground to dust. How curious. It’s not a very pleasant sensation, to say the least. The young scientist had been trying his best not to let his hopes run away from him too much, but after all the success of the previous tests, you can hardly blame him for getting excited, now can you?

Logan sighs heavily. I suppose I have some work to do. He’s not looking forward to resigning himself to yet another month of tinkering and testing, especially now that he’s tasted success. Who knows how long it’ll take to identify and fix whatever problem caused him to end up here?

Speaking of, where is “here”, anyway? Logan, quite frankly, hasn’t the foggiest idea where he is. He probably should figure that out, before he begins worrying about repairs and re-runs. Stretching, Logan looks around for the exit.

Aha! There’s a staircase. Following these stairs down onto the next floor, Logan comes across a door, standing the slightest bit ajar. A warm glow surrounds the doorway; sunlight from the outside world. He smiles triumphantly, allowing himself a little bit of celebration for this small victory (he needs the validation to keep going, after the crushing failure — er — learning experience he’s just suffered).

After the darkness of the warehouse-slash-workshop-slash-storage unit, the sunlight’s sudden harshness startles Logan a little bit when he opens the door. That’s odd, he thinks. I could swear that the suns weren’t nearly that bright a moment ago. He’s still a little lightheaded from the brightness of the transportation spell, so suffice it to say, the abnormally bright sunlight isn’t doing him any favours. Logan blinks as he steps out the door into a forest thick with trees and shrubs. “You’d think that the foliage would block out the suns a little, now wouldn’t you,” he deadpans under his breath. Logan rubs his eyes. Then he rubs them again.

Goodness gracious, why is it so bright? Logan fights back an angry growl as the white spots in his field of vision persist, refusing to diminish even the slightest amount. Today was supposed to be a good day! Channeling his frustration towards the most immediate cause, Logan glares up through the leaves, at the sun —

Hold on.

The sun, singular?

That can’t be right. What happened to the other one? Logan looks away, then looks back, as if he might have somehow missed the presence of a massive star in the sky. Nothing. He stumbles around, straining to see if it’s somehow hidden behind one of the larger leaves. But no — there’s still nothing.

Suddenly, it looks like Logan might have a bigger problem on his hands than simply needing to do some minor repairs.

xxx

There’s a sort of throbbing pain coming somewhere from Logan’s left elbow.

He’s only vaguely aware of this, but vague is better than none-at-all, so he focuses in on that pain to try and ground himself. It works; after a moment, the fractured world begins coming back into focus.

Logan tries to inspect the wound, only to realise that he can’t turn his head, since it’s currently locked tight in an iron grip between his hands. His legs are curled up beneath him, too. He doesn’t remember assuming this bizarre fetal position. In fact, there’s a lot he doesn’t remember. How he got here, for example. From the darkness surrounding him and the hard wooden floor beneath him, Logan guesses that he’s somehow ended up back in the attic of the warehouse. His mind is still too scattered to grasp anything beyond that. But it’s a start.

Stiffly, Logan forces his fingers to relax and, stretching his neck, begins to massage the life back into them. How long did I spend, just… sitting there, waiting for nothing? he wonders, marvelling at how tense his arms still are. As he starts doing the same for his cramped legs, bits and pieces of memories start breaking away and swimming to the surface of his consciousness at last.

He remembers staring. He’d always been taught not to stare directly at the suns as a child; the ultraviolet light might burn his retinas, causing permanent damage or even blindness. But frankly, solar retinopathy had been the last of his concerns once he’d realised that there was an entire star missing from the great blue sky above.

He remembers shouting. Who can blame him for that, really? Something about knowing that you are completely lost and alone… it triggers something primal within the soul, awakening a beast that can only be pacified with a roar. “Lost? Of course not. I’m right here,” Logan wants to argue with himself, but he can’t. He doesn’t have any idea where ‘here’ is, you see.

He remembers sprinting. Illogical, perhaps, to think that by putting distance between himself and the ugly truth, he can make it go away. But we as humans do tend to fear that which we don’t understand, and to run from that which we fear. Logan had always considered himself fearless, and therefore powerful. To have that power taken away? That’s one more thing to run from.

He remembers stumbling. He took the stairs two at a time as he went, trying to go ever faster. At one point, when he wasn’t paying attention, he missed a step and went flailing downwards, landing hard on… his left elbow. The sudden fall didn’t bother him too much, though. In fact, it was almost reassuring, in a twisted way, to have his body’s state match his mind’s.

He remembers squeezing, squeezing his eyes shut as tightly as he could, telling himself again and again that he must be dreaming. Only dreaming. It’s all just a dream, and when he opens his eyes back up again he’ll be resting, safe and sound, in his cozy little apartment with his kettle and his teacup and his comfortable armchair and —

And…

He’s not dreaming, of course. This whole — what even is it that Logan’s gotten himself into, here? Is he in an entirely different world? A different dimension, even? — whatever it is, it’s here to stay. The realisation almost makes Logan want to retreat right back into fetal position.

But… no. No, no, no. Logan catches himself before he can slip back into the apathetic zone. He mustn’t panic; not a second time, at least. Hold it together, Logan tells himself. In through the nose. Hold. Out through the mouth.

What he wouldn’t give for a calming cup of tea right about now.

The deep breathing does the trick well enough, though; Logan’s head is now much clearer than it had been only moments before. He’s still afraid, of course (he’s just been dumped out all alone into an unfamiliar land; who wouldn’t be?), but for the most part, his logic and reason have returned; thank goodness for that.

There’s a lot about his current situation that Logan cannot control. Not least of all, the fact that his unsuccessful experiment has stranded him in what very well might be an alternate dimension. He can’t control what’s happened to him, or what will happen to him next, for that matter. All that Logan can control is how he reacts.

It’s not about what’s happened. It’s about what he’s going to do about it.

“Giving up” is a completely foreign concept to Logan. He is a scientist, for goodness’ sakes! Not only is he used to things not going exactly the way he plans them to, his hobby hinges entirely on staying determined and finding solutions. Logan does not simply “give up”. And he’s certainly not planning on starting now.

Instead, he approaches the problem like he’s analyzing the results of an experiment gone off the tracks and trying to figure out what went wrong. Step one: observe and gather data. He’ll only be able to figure out the “what comes next” after he’s got all the pieces of the puzzle.

The second time that Logan walks out of the empty warehouse, the immediate glare of the sunlight doesn’t affect him quite as much — possibly because this time, he’s expecting it. Now, this may be silly, but the fact that he copes with the sun so easily this time around gives him a bit of a confidence boost; it’s almost like he’s just managed to defeat an enemy that, the first time around, he couldn’t even bring himself to face. This might not be so bad after all, Logan allows, striding out the door with a newfound sureness in his stride.

And his good mood only gets better as he continues to explore the forest surrounding him, distancing himself with every step from the abandoned warehouse where he had shed his insecurities. He’s pleasantly surprised to find that, besides the singular sun (which he can almost forget about, provided he doesn’t look up), the forest appears to be… exceedingly normal. It’s one that he wouldn’t even take a second look at, back in his origin dimension.

(Goodness, Logan reflects absently, the phrase “origin dimension” sounds so strange, doesn’t it?)

But of course, the flora and fauna in this forest aren’t exactly the same. There’s just enough variation between the two dimensions to fascinate Logan without frightening him, in fact.

That fascination, as it turns out, leads perfectly into step two: record observations, preferably on paper, for reference. Logan quickly conjures back up his notebook and pen to scribble down notes and make rough sketches of the forest’s almost-but-not-entirely-familiar specimens.

The conjuring takes a little more effort than usual, making Logan realise that his mana supply is probably getting dangerously low. Of course — he must have used up quite a lot of it earlier, when he was casting all of those teleportation spells. I’ll have to be a bit more conservative with my mana, Logan decides, until I can find a place to sleep and replenish, that is. The prospect scares him a little. He doesn’t like the fact that people depend on magic so much, but disliking it doesn’t make it any less true, and he’s certainly not exempt from that dependance. What will he do if he runs out?

Just then, out of the corner of his eye, Logan’s attention is drawn a beautiful species of butterfly landing on an equally beautiful flower. Uncapping his pen, Logan smiles, grateful for the distraction. Mana can wait, can’t it? For now, he’s merely a scientist investigating an alien world — nothing more, nothing less.

xxx

He’s not sure how long he spends wandering through the forest, jotting down notes and observations, before his feet bring to a well-beaten path. This comes as quite a surprise to Logan, who had somehow been under the impression that he’s alone in the forest. The idea of finding another civilization both excites and unnerves him.

To journey or not to journey? Logan is conflicted on what he should do next. On one hand, if he doesn’t follow the path, he just knows that this decision will come back to haunt him. It’ll simply eat him up inside, the not knowing.

On the other hand… he has no idea what to expect, following this path. Where, or who, will the earth lead him to? How long will he spend walking? Does the path even end, or is this world nothing more than one big forest with a path circling all the way around? Does he want it to end? A path that leads to nowhere is better than a path that leads to danger, but in an unfamiliar land such as this one, the latter option seems a lot more likely.

Yes, it’s clear that the cons far outweigh the pros. Safety ought to be his priority here. The correct course of action, therefore, is to ignore the path and turn back to the forest. Just… just walk away. Walk... away.

Logan tucks his notebook into his back pocket and walks towards the path, cursing his incurable curiosity every step of the way.

xxx

Seconds stretch into minutes, then minutes into hours, as Logan follows the mysterious trail. There are times when he feels like he should stop, turn back before it’s too late, before the universe can throw anything else at him. But he’s too damned curious for his own good, and he can’t bring himself to.

Luckily for Logan, the universe seems to have had its fill of tormenting him today. The path does have an end, one that he reaches without encountering any hostile entities, and what he finds at the end is more than enough to make up for the hours of walking and waiting and worrying.

It’s a city. A city with people walking casually around, completely normal people just like Logan himself, which is exciting enough on its own — but what makes this discovery go from good to great is the city itself.

Simply put, the city looks like it’s been pulled straight out of one of Logan’s favourite science fantasy novels. He sees people riding around in elegant and futuristic vehicles with sleek metal bodies and four perfectly round, perfectly uniform wheels. He sees tall, towering buildings with bright yellow or white lights flickering in their windows rather than the dim, disappointing blue glow that he’s accustomed to. And everywhere he looks, he sees people tap-tap-tapping away on these tiny little handheld devices.

A gaggle of people pushes past him, every one of them fixated on their screens. When he catches a glimpse of what’s on these screens, he doesn’t blame them for being so tuned out to the rest of the world; if he had one, he’d be fixated, too.

On every screen is something different: digital calendars and checklists, looping pictures, games, perfectly uniform writing. Some people even have their devices held up to their ear and are talking into them, showing Logan that they’re able to pick up and store audio.

What kind of world must this be, for every single person to be able to own a piece of technology like this and not think twice about it?

The answer to his own question comes to him almost immediately. “A world where science is king, and magic comes second,” Logan realises out loud.

He knew it. He knew it! Science isn’t useless — it’s not, it’s not, it’s not! And it’s not hopeless to try and pursue a future of science. The proof that it’s possible is right here, in front of him!

His excitement fuels him forwards and into the city, where he begins flitting from building to building in a manner much like the butterfly he’d been sketching earlier; mostly arbitrary, based only on whichever locations catch his fancy. This results in him zig-zagging erratically from place to place, as there’s scarcely a single storefront or skyscraper that doesn’t catch his fancy. Everywhere he looks, he sees unthinkably advanced innovations being used in perfectly natural, casual fashions. Logan’s dreamed of places like this, but never imagined actually getting to see one someday!

What’s more — in all his exploring, he doesn’t once see anyone using magic. The life of these people is completely effortless. Completely automatic.

It’s the very life he’s been dreaming of for over twenty years now.

xxx

As the sun begins to go down, so too does Logan’s stamina. Panic had brought him out of the warehouse, concern had fueled him through the forest, curiosity had led him down the path, and finally intrigue had pulled him through the city — but though the intrigue is still fresh, the burst of energy he’d gained is wearing off, and now Logan finds himself at the unhappy tail end of an exhausting day.

All those emotions!  Goodness, Logan is in no way used to dealing with so many conflicting emotions in one day (indeed, he is in no way used to dealing with emotions, period). A long, long day of feeling has taken its toll on the young man.

He finds a city bench, which he trudges over to and parks himself down upon. Then, his thoughts finally settling down, Logan reflects and starts to develop some hypotheses on his current situation.

First of all, what went wrong with his invention? That seems as good a place to start as any. And he thinks that he might already have a vague idea:

As a general rule of thumb, small, inanimate objects are the easiest to transport from place to place; they’re much less demanding. Logan had tested large objects and they had gone through just fine. He’d tested small plants, with similar results. But his mistake was assuming that this was sufficient proof that his design was advanced enough to handle something as large and… well, “animate” as a human being. The fact is that his devices, despite how long he’d been working on them, were still primitive designs. Too primitive to safely teleport humans, at least. Add that to the fact that he must have already been running low on mana when he stepped in, and it’s not hard to see what went wrong. The teleportation pat created by the circles must have become unstable and broken somewhere between point A and point B, dumping Logan out and into this brave new world of his.

As to what this ‘brave new world’ actually is… now, that’s a little trickier. His best guess is that he’s ended up in some kind of sister dimension to his own. Centuries ago, Logan recalls learning, people had much more faith in the capabilities of science. Nowadays, everyone seems to assume that science was a much more ancient concept than magic, and it was then replaced when intellectuals started “proving” that magic was more reliable — but that’s not true in the slightest. In fact, the two of them started developing around the same time. One might say they were born of the same impulse, as it were: to control and shape the world to fit one’s own desires. That was what introduced science and magic into the world.

During that time, science was at its peak, whereas magic had only just begun to peek out. Over the years, the two battled for dominance. And in the end, magic came out on top and science unfortunately faded into obscurity.

Or at least, that’s what happened to Logan’s dimension. What if this world, then, had the same history up until that point, and then the two timelines… fractured? Magic was considered a foolish endeavour and was cast aside, while science stepped into the spotlight and thrived there.

So, then, it’s not only that people abstain from using magic because science is enough to sustain them. Rather, magic may have in fact been completely erased. But despite that… at its core, this dimension is remarkably similar to his own.

My own. It doesn’t feel exactly right, referring to the magical world as if it belongs to him. Logan suddenly realises that not once since getting here has he thought of that other dimension, or the things in it, as “home”.

A home ought to be a place where he feels comfortable, oughtn’t it? A place that he shares an intimate connection with. By that criteria, then, the ever-changing apartments he’s always cycling through are not his home. The dimension where everyone accepts magic and disregards science is not his home. Even his inventions — they’ve always been an attempt to make up for what he feels he lacks, and therefore artificially construct a home where there is none.

Logan gets back to his feet, leaving the bench behind, and looks around at the buildings surrounding him. At the sun still steadily dipping its way below the horizon, painting the heavens in all sorts of colour. The sight of it all fills him with a sort of serenity that he’s never known before.

Never once has Logan felt a sense of belonging, in the other dimension. Whereas here…

xxx

For some reason, much later, Logan is still walking. He is tired, yes, but his legs seem to have a mind of their own, growing restless whenever he sits still for too long. It’s as if they refuse to relax until he’s walked the length of this city, seen all that it has to offer him. So while the sky goes dark and more and more of those peculiar yellow lights appear in the windows, Logan keeps on keeping on.

Logan doesn’t know what he’s looking for until he’s already found it.

A small theatre, not at all unlike one Logan would expect to see near his old apartment(s), but for the glowing sign on the front.

EVEREST ETHEREUM, ENCHANTER EXTRAORDINAIRE, its large, bold letters loudly proclaim. Directly underneath, in text that’s a much smaller size: Today only — mind-muddling magical marvels for guys, gals, and non-binary pals of all ages!

A little tacky, perhaps, and whoever came up with the name and slogan could definitely stand to ease up on the alliteration, but the message grabs Logan’s attention all the same.

A magician, here! And one powerful enough to call themselves an enchanter to boot. Could Logan have been too quick in assuming that magic doesn’t play a role in this dimension? Perhaps it still exists, to a smaller degree. Perhaps only a select few people have magical capabilities. Perhaps Logan is jumping to conclusions again and really ought to stop doing that.

No, that last one isn’t much of a “perhaps”.

Rather than drive himself crazy with what-ifs, Logan decides to go inside and see this enchanter’s performance for himself. It’s not like he’s got anything better to do.

The inside of the theatre is… underwhelming. That’s not to say the few posters and decorations hung up aren’t nice ones — they’re just not very impressive, that’s all. There’s a very conspicuous lack of the colourful banners and red-carpetry that he’d been expecting. The only other person in the room sits behind a simple folding table, head resting on the surface of said table and the rest of his body completely swallowed up by a baggy black-and-purple hoodie. All the audience members must already be in the theatre. Still, Logan is a little put out by how empty the room is. Surely, someone as powerful as an enchanter deserves a much more handsome welcome than this.

The door swings shut behind him with a loud beep. Logan gives a start and scrambles further into the theatre. As he does, the hooded figure resting on the table looks up for the first time, revealing a young man’s tired-looking face.

Logan’s breath catches in his throat. Speaking of handsome.

The other man blinks blearily a few times before he notices Logan. His eyes (which are smudged with some kind of dark substance — at least, Logan hopes that it’s artificial and not natural bags from sleep deprivation) immediately widen as he scrambles to sit up straight, jostling a plate of cookies resting on the table. The shadows cast by the man’s large hood aren’t quite enough to hide a deep flush colouring his cheeks; Logan guesses that he must be embarrassed at having been caught asleep on the job. “Don’t worry.” Logan quickly tries to reassure the man, seeing as he already appears to have enough stress as is. “I won’t tell your boss.”

The man’s hard, jagged fear visibly softens. “I — Um — thanks.” His voice is gravelly, but not unpleasantly so. Logan thinks the quiet scratchiness is in fact strangely soothing. “I swear that’s not, like, an everyday thing, I’m just…”

Logan quirks a brow, amused. The man checks himself.

“I’m just going to stop talking now. Thanks. Sorry.” Rubbing sheepishly at the back of his neck, the man’s eyes dart away. “You’re here to see the show, right?”

Logan nods.

“Great. Tickets are twenty dollars.”

That makes Logan hesitate. “Twenty...?” What does dollars mean? It’s an unfamiliar word to Logan, who’s used to using precious stones or mana to make payments. Does the man perhaps mean sand dollars?

Then Logan notices the metal box that the man is pointing to. It’s filled with colourful pieces of paper and perfectly round metal pieces. Those must be dollars, then. Do they use paper and metal disks as payment here? That’s new.

The man in the hoodie apparently misinterprets Logan’s hesitation. “It’s actually not that expensive,” he reassures Logan. “Like, if you’ve ever tried to get tickets to, say, a Broadway show… well, heh. Let’s just say, twenty dollars is peanuts. Besides, these guys are really good magicians. You’ll never be the same once you’ve watched them perform.” He pauses. “And I’m not just saying that ‘cause they’re my boyfriends.”

If Logan wasn’t already convinced before, he certainly is now. Only problem is, he doesn’t have any dollars.

Then again…

Logan eyes the money box carefully. Many of the pieces of colourful paper are printed with a detailed design and a big number 20. That’s most likely worth twenty dollars, then. So he only needs one of those papers to get a ticket, right?

Or, alternatively, something that looks like one of those papers.

“Pardon me, but would you mind terribly if I...” As casually as he can, Logan reaches into the box and plucks out a paper.

“Hey,” protests the man, leaning forward. “What are you —”

“I promise you, I am not going to steal your dollars. I would merely like to take a good look at this for a moment, that’s all.” He turns it over in his hands, inspecting the detailed design on the front and the back, feeling its weight, even giving it a subtle sniff to confirm that it doesn’t smell of anything. He debates licking it, but something tells him that would be a bad idea.

Then he snaps his fingers, and where there was one piece of paper, there now lies two.

Creating a convincing Duplicate of an item is a difficult task in the magical world, but that’s only because people’s eyes are trained to spot little tells such as slight distortions when held up to the light, or corners and edges that are ever-so-slightly darker or lighter than the original object, or details that seem to blur when you look directly at them.

But people might be less used to spotting Dupes here, since they don’t seem to use magic as often. That’s what Logan is hoping for, at least. He’s just used up the last of his mana creating that Dupe, so it had better work.

Only one way to find out. Feigning calm, Logan hands both of the dollars back to the man with the hoodie.

Their hands briefly touch as he does so; the other man’s fingers are surprisingly soft, especially compared to Logan’s own calloused ones. As you might imagine, this doesn’t help his nerves any.

Then Logan steps back, feeling his heart rate speeding up (for more reasons than one). The man’s mouth has fallen open, and he seems dumbfounded… but he accepts the papers without question. Phew. Logan lets out a sigh of relief and feels himself relax. He’s safe. Nothing to fear.

“That’s a nifty little trick you’ve got there,” a new voice quite suddenly speaks directly into his ear, startling Logan so badly that he lets out a small scream and crashes directly into the folding table, very nearly knocking the dollar-box and plate of cookies over.

With both his tailbone and pride sorely bruised, Logan scrambles to his feet, automatically adjusting his necktie, trying to ignore the burning warmth spreading across his face and neck. So much for ‘nothing to fear’, he thinks, humiliated.

“I’m so sorry!” exclaims the newcomer, who Logan now sees is another young man. His eyes are wide behind the thin frames of his round glasses. “Oh gosh, I didn’t realise I would scare you like that. Did I sneak up on you? Are you hurt? Ah, darn. I should’ve given you some warning, or something, shouldn’t I? Are you okay?”

“I — no — well, yes, but — that is —” Unsure of which question to answer first, Logan fumbles with his words for some time before finally settling on a simple, “I am fine, thank you.”

The newcomer begins to say something else, but he is interrupted before he can get anything out. “Hang on, what do you think you’re doing?” At this, Logan turns to look at the first man, the one selling tickets, worried that he has discovered Logan’s Dupe, but he isn’t looking at Logan. Instead, his finger is pointed accusingly at the newcomer, whose bottom lip is now stuck out in a pout.

“I know, Virgil, I just missed you!” ‘Virgil?’ Ah, that must be the ticketmaster’s name. “Roman and I have been stuck all alone without you for, like, two years already!” Two years? This man has been in isolation for two years? That seems... cruel. “Plus I got hungry and wanted to come grab some cookies.”

“I thought you had cookies backstage, Patton!” the ticketmaster — Virgil — replies, sounding exasperated. (Oh. Backstage. He was exaggerating when he said two years, then, Logan corrects himself.)

Patton shuffles his feet. “Well, yeah, we did. But, uh, we… lost them?” he tries unconvincingly.

“Lost them in your stomach, huh,” deadpans Virgil.

“Hey! No!”

Virgil gives Patton a skeptical stare.

“...Maybe a little. Anyway, the cookies don’t matter!” insists Patton, quickly changing the subject. “Either way, I wanted to come see you again before the show starts. Maybe help you out here, give you less work to do. Um, but that might have backfired, I guess? You know, since I almost scared this poor fellow right out of his pants just now.” He turns to the poor fellow in question, who has been watching this exchange play out, unsure of whether he should be saying anything. “Sorry about that, by the way. I thought that trick you did was really terrific, that’s all, and I guess I got carried away.”

“Not a problem,” Logan replies briskly. “Why don’t we both… forget that whole thing ever happened, please.”

“Aw, but I was going to ask if you could teach me how to do that!” says Patton.

Logan isn’t sure how to answer that. I’m actually a magician from an alternate dimension, and that money is nothing more than an illegal illusion. No, thank you. Besides, from what he’s heard so far, Patton is going to be performing in the show he’s about to see. If that’s the case, shouldn’t he already know how to make a Duplicate? It’s a very simple spell, after all…

Luckily, he’s saved from having to come up with a response when Virgil breaks in once more. “Hey, I hate to cut this whole bonding moment short—”

“I cradled you in my arms,” giggles Patton; Virgil ignores him.

“— but I don’t think you’ve got time to learn an entirely new trick before the show starts. Seriously, you can’t be out here. You’re going onstage in fifteen minutes, tops.”

Patton sighs. “You’re right, you’re right, you’re right you’re right you’re right,” he says, though his voice is barely above a mumble.”

“What was that?” Virgil pointedly cups a hand around his ear.

“You’re right! You always are. Ever the level-headed one, aren’t you?” Patton walks around the table to embrace Virgil affectionately, pulling down the purple-and-black hood to give him a kiss on the cheek. Virgil shrugs out of the hug and shoos Patton away, babbling about showtimes and baked goods and tickets, and all the while trying to hide his wide smile behind dainty hands that aren’t nearly large enough to cover up his joy. Logan pretends not to notice.

“Enjoy the show!” is the last thing that Patton says, grinning with unabashed cheerfulness at Logan and — are his eyes deceiving him, or was that a wink? Before Logan can even process Patton’s words, the charmingly cheerful man has reached around Virgil, snagged a cookie or three, and strolled away. Logan watches him nibble at his newly acquired treat as he disappears through a large door marked BACKSTAGE.

“Don’t worry,” murmurs Logan, fighting a smile of his own. “I have no doubt that I will.”

xxx

As he watches the enchanter sweep grandly into center stage, Logan feels like he’s staring up into the sun’s glare all over again. Everest Ethereum’s regal red velvet robes are illuminated with all manner of golden sequins and sparkling trim, glittering so brilliantly in the dark theatre that Logan briefly has to lift a hand to shield his gaze for fear that he’ll go blind otherwise. His eyes adjust quickly, though, and once they do, Logan is able to look more carefully at the enchanter, Everest. Framing his face is a meticulously styled halo that’s just as red as his robes are, and he’s got a golden crown perched on his head to match the rest of his ensemble. He is, in a word, beautiful.

Moments later, Patton comes trippingly traipsing out from the other side of the stage with a large wooden box in tow. His outfit, a blue skirt-and-tuxedo combo, is significantly less flashy than Everest’s, allowing Logan to conclude that Patton must be the enchanter’s assistant.

Patton and Everest reach the center of the stage at almost exactly the same time — was that choreographed? A coincidence? Or are they just that in touch with each other? — as thunderous applause echoes through the theatre, where Logan is seated among many other eager audience members. Once the applause dies down, the performance begins. Logan leans forward in his seat, eager to catch his first glimpse of magic from this new dimension.

It only takes a few minutes for Logan to realise that there’s about as much actual magic in this so-called “magic show” as there are dolphins in the desert.

What he’s watching is decidedly not magic. There are no spells, no incantations, no nothing. It’s all simply misdirection, distracting audience attention towards one location on the stage while a sneaky sleight-of-hand takes place in another. Patton scurries around and fetches items and tells awful puns while Everest stands center stage and dramatically waves his hands around, but Logan knows that it’s nothing but an act.

He can’t decide whether he’s disappointed or impressed, or an odd mixture of the two.

Very disappointed, for obvious reasons. He’d come into the theatre hoping to find that he isn’t completely alone in his magical abilities. It’s one thing for him to say that he can survive without magic, but it’s another thing entirely to actually try it. He’ll be able to figure it out in time; that much, Logan is certain of. It just… would have been nice to have someone who could help guide him through this transition.

But then, at the same time, very impressed. Despite the letdown, Logan has to admire how clever all of the tricks are. He can’t even begin to guess how many of them work, and isn’t at all confident that he’d be able to recreate the same things with magic. The scientific dimension has yet again proven to be far more inventive and creative than the magical one, it seems.

Plus, he has to admit that though it’s not in the traditional sense, Everest is enchanting. He is nimble fingers and laughing eyes and flaming hair and words that sing as he speaks them, and he is downright bewitching, all of him.

xxx

“Alright, guys, gals, and non-binary pals!” Patton says, walking up to the front of the stage and squinting in the brightness of the stage lights. “Gosh, it is so great to see that we have such a full house today, and especially since we’re going to need to pull up an audience member for this next trick! I’m looking for one very brave soul to come on up here and lay all his cards on the table. Let’s see, how about… you there, in the front!” Patton finishes, pointing directly at Logan.

Directly at Logan.

Logan realises quite suddenly that his hand is stuck up in the air as high as it can go.

Huh.

“Come on up! Don’t be shy, now,” calls Patton merrily, undeniable kindness colouring his every word. Logan debates pretending not to hear him, but eventually decides that that would only do more harm than good, and has no choice but to get up and pick his way through the rows and rows of seats, then climb up onto the stage where the full force of the stage lights hits him so hard, it almost makes his ears ring. Logan watches recognition flicker across Patton’s face, but the blue-tuxedoed man doesn’t miss a beat. “What’s your name?”

Logan, he tries to say. The word gets caught in his throat. He coughs and tries again, awkwardly: “My name is Logan.”

Patton turns back to the audience. “Alright, everyone, give it up for Logan!” The words have scarcely left his mouth before the building starts shaking with applause and a few scattered whoops and whistles. Patton waits for the noise to die down before turning back to Logan. There’s a mischievous expression on his face that makes Logan very uneasy indeed. “You know, I didn’t quite catch you that first time. Guess your volume was too low…”

Logan blinks.

“...gan?”

Low… gan. Lo-gan.

I might scream.

It’s a tempting notion, but before Logan can act on it, Patton seems to read his expression and hurries to move on. “Alright, Logan, your job’s going to be a super simple one, okay? We’re going back to the basics with this trick. I think everyone’s seen this one performed before. All I need you to do is pick a card, any card!” So saying, Patton gestures towards Everest with a flourish; Logan watches on in amazement as Everest pulls playing card after playing card out from behind his ear, until he’s got a full deck in his hands.

The enchanter hands the deck to Patton. The audience applauds dutifully. Patton grins.

“Okay, okay, settle down now. That’s just the beginning,” he calls. Then, turning to Logan, Patton fans the cards out face-down. “Go ahead, pick one. Now look at it. Memorise what’s on there. Don’t show it to me, okay? You can show it to the audience if you’d like, but make sure that I can’t see it.”

Logan obliges, pulling out a 5 of Diamonds and showing it off. He gets the feeling that everyone knows where this trick is going except for him.

“Great. Okay, now just slide that back in here, anywhere you’d like” continues Patton, still holding the cards in the same fanned-out position. Once Logan has done so, Patton shuffles the deck thoroughly before handing it back to Everest. Logan watches as Everest performs a series of complicated hand movements, shuffling faster and faster until his hands and the cards are nothing more than a blur of colour and motion, and then all at once —

“Is this your card?”

Logan’s eyes widen. The enchanter is brandishing the same card that he pulled out! “I — yes, it is!” he announces, nodding. “How did you…”

The other half of his question is drowned out in the cacophony of clapping that follows. Both Patton and the enchanter shake Logan’s hand while Patton’s lips move. Logan can’t hear him, of course, but it’s not difficult to infer that Patton is dismissing him.

Shakily, Logan walks off the stage and returns to his seat, feeling one part alarm, one part confusion, and ninety-eight parts exhilaration.

xxx

Much too soon, the performance is over. Logan surges to his feet along with the rest of the audience as the lights go back up, applauding until the palms of his hands are red and stinging.

The crowd carries him out into the no-longer-empty lobby, where Logan leans uncomfortably against one of the red brick walls. Perhaps he’s supposed to leave the building now, but he hesitates.

He doesn’t know where he’ll go once he’s left. And there’s something else, too, Logan realises after a moment. For some reason, leaving the theatre feels like leaving behind the last trace of magic that Logan will encounter for a long time. Yes, the show was made up of clever illusion rather than actual mana, but something undeniably magical happened in there tonight and Logan doesn’t want to walk away from it just yet.

So, he doesn’t. He stands and he waits, and he watches people animatedly talking to one another as they stream out the door, cheeks flushed and eyes bright. He watches the cookies disappearing as they get snatched up into the fists of greedy toddlers and equally as greedy middle-aged men alike.

He is squinting at a young fellow’s t-shirt, trying to decide if the text on it reads Could or Couldn’t Be Gayer (he’s quite fond of the sentiment either way) when a sudden shout and the sounds of scattered applause catch his attention. Logan looks up to see the enchanter walking out the backstage door and into the lobby, Patton trailing close behind.

At the sight of the two of them, Logan is quite glad that he chose to wait around.

A group of small children run up to tug on Patton’s skirt. One of them holds up a black device larger than her own head. “Will you take a picture with us?” Logan hears her say. Patton smiles warmly.

Logan’s heart feels warm, too.

He’s about to move forward in the crowd to try and get a closer look at the pair of them when someone sidles up next to him. Logan glances over to see Virgil, still clad in his black-and-purple hoodie.

“So?”

Logan furrows his brow. “So, what?”

“What did you think of the show?” Virgil clarifies.

“Oh. Oh, it was...” Logan trails off. He’s not sure if mere words can express everything he’s feeling right now.

The silence drags on. Virgil winces. “Uh-oh. Does that mean it was bad?”

“No! Not at all. I just — argh.” Logan runs a hand through his hair, frustrated at his inability to adequately express himself.

“Take your time, buddy.”

“What I’m trying to say is, I guess… it wasn’t quite so bad.” Logan finally gets out. “In fact, it was the best time that I’ve ever had.”

The ghost of a smile flits across Virgil’s chapped lips. “That good, huh? I probably shouldn’t be surprised. Roman and Patton are just amazing, aren’t they?”

“Roman?”

“Yeah. Wait, shoot, I’m not supposed to say that.” Alarm briefly darkens Virgil’s expression, but in the next instant it’s disappeared again. Whatever mistake he just made, he appears to be too tired to care. “Ah, well, secret’s out. Yeah, that’s the enchanter’s real name.”

Logan doesn’t understand. “But the sign says —”

“Yeah, I know what the sign says, I designed it. You didn’t think he was actually named Everest Ethereum, did you?” Virgil makes an odd sound, a cross between a chuckle and a sigh. “Roman just wanted a really fancy stage name and wouldn’t leave me alone until I changed it. I mean, at least it’s not as ridiculous as ‘Sir Squiggles the Brave.’ Don’t laugh.”

Logan arches a brow. “You can’t be serious.”

“Yeah, that’s what I said when I first heard it, too.”

“Okay, I know that you aren’t insulting Sir Squiggles,” a familiar voice interrupts their discussion. Logan and Virgil look up to see Everest — no, Roman, Logan corrects himself — standing in front of them, velvet robes and all. “Especially because you named our hamster that very same thing barely a week after shooting it down for me.”

One of Roman’s arms is slung affectionately around a giggling Patton’s shoulder. He uses the other to gather Virgil up in a tight hug.

“Hey, gross, let go of me! You’re gonna get your sweat from the show all over my new hoodie, Prince Underarm-stink,” Virgil splutters, though Logan notes that he doesn’t make any actual effort to extricate himself from the embrace as he continues to complain loudly.

Roman lets go of Patton to plant a kiss directly into Virgil’s purple hair, who suddenly goes silent. “Good to see you too, My Chemically Imbalanced Romance.”

“Ugh, you are the literal worst,” Virgil tries, but the fact that he’s laughing takes away most of the insult’s sting.

Roman replies confidently, “Shut up, you love me.” And he proceeds to shut him up thoroughly with kiss after passionate kiss, until the man has been reduced to nothing more than a blushing puddle in Roman’s arms.

Logan shifts uncomfortably. He feels like he’s intruding on a very intimate moment. Apparently Patton notices, because a moment later, he grabs his shoulders and very deliberately turns Logan away from the awkward scene and towards him.

“It’s Logan, right?” Patton asks, dropping his arms. This catches Logan off-guard; he didn’t think that Patton would remember him. He nods. “Ever gone up on stage before?”

“No, never.”

“You were really brave to step up onto the stage tonight, you know. That takes guts. It’s always especially scary the first time.” Patton blows a wayward blonde curl out of his face, looking at Logan with interest. “You didn’t seem to be too worried, though.”

“Well, why would I be?” says Logan quizzically. “All I had to do was follow a few simple instructions. That’s hardly something to worry about.”

Patton looks surprised, but only for a moment. Then he starts to laugh.

Logan isn’t totally sure what he said or did that Patton finds so funny, but whatever it is, he doesn’t regret it at all. Frankly, he would be perfectly content to do nothing but listen to Patton’s bubbly laughter for the rest of his life.

“Wow. You know, it sounds so much simpler when you put it that way!” Patton tells Logan once he’s recovered enough to form words again. “Public speaking? Easy peasy, you’re just reading words off a teleprompter. Building a house? Just following the blueprints. Programming the next big social media app? Just writing a few lines of code. Painting the Mona Lisa? All you’ve gotta do is —” he’s starting to snicker again — “is — is put paint on a canvas!” And then he’s off again, laughing, laughing until he’s gasping for breath, laughing with so much joy and mirth that Logan wants to laugh too.

Because even though he doesn’t understand what the joke was or what a teleprompter or a social media app or a Mona Lisa is, he understands that Patton is carefree and smiling and it’s because of him.

How wonderful.

A minute passes, then two, before Patton is finally all laughed out. By this time, Virgil and Roman have separated and are staring at Logan so intently that Logan starts to wonder if there’s perhaps something on his face.

Fortunately, Roman speaks up then, and his words reassure Logan that nothing is wrong. “I’m impressed, specs. The necktie and button-up shirt had me thinking you were bound to be a pretty boring guy — no offense — but it looks like I misjudged you, hmm? Anyone who can make Patton laugh like that is definitely worth my time. And I don’t say that lightly.”

“Roman,” cautions Virgil. “You’re starting to sound like an entitled brat.”

“Excuse you, I am not!”

“Definitely entitled,” Logan mutters. The words come out louder than he meant them to.

Virgil’s face lights up as he pokes Roman playfully in the arm. “Ha! Hear that, Ro? Even he agrees!” He turns to Logan in approval. “You know, I like you.”

Roman huffs, putting a perfectly manicured hand to his chest. “You’re both just jealous of me.”

“Kiddos! Play nice!” It’s Patton this time, swooping in to play mediator before Virgil and Roman can take their play-fighting any further. Logan sends Patton a silent thank-you as Virgil rolls his eyes fondly.

“Okay, yep. That we are, Roman. You got us.” This seems to pacify Roman, who allows his hand to fall back down to his side. Logan is grateful for the comfortable silence that follows.

Said silence doesn’t last very long, though. After just a moment, Roman speaks up again. “Pardon me, Logan, I hope you don’t mind my asking. Where are you from?” Seeing Logan’s confusion, Roman adds, “I mean, did you move here from another country or something? Your accent, it’s one that I don’t recall ever hearing before. And trust me, I would remember if I had.”

“I… have an accent?” says Logan, unable to mask his surprise.

“It’s very subtle,” jumps in Patton reassuringly. “I didn’t even notice, actually. Roman just has a bit of a knack for these things.”

Hm. Well. Considering how Logan lived in a completely separate dimension only a few hours ago, he supposes that probably shouldn’t be that surprising to learn. He doesn’t say this out loud, of course — the three of them would definitely think him crazy if he claimed that he’d come from an alternate dimension where no one believes in science and magic is a regular, everyday kind of thing.

Instead, Logan vaguely replies, “Oh, you’ve probably never heard of the place where I come from. It’s pretty far away.” Which technically is not a lie, unless the space-time continuum works in a very different way from how he thinks it does. Before any of them can ask him for more details, Logan adds, “In fact, I’ve scarcely been in this city of yours for a full day.”

“Ooh! On vacation, are ya?” asks Patton.

“Actually… no. I’m looking to settle down somewhere here.” It’s not until the words have left his mouth that Logan realises how true they are. He doesn’t want to leave the city. “It’s been, well, challenging, adjusting to the knowledge that I’m living somewhere completely unfamiliar. Especially since it wasn’t exactly my decision. I —” He cuts himself off, unsure why he’s confiding in these near-strangers. “I’m sorry, this is probably too much information, isn’t it?”

Roman replies quickly. “No, no, don’t worry. You’re not TMI’ing.”

“I’m not… TMI’ing?”

“Yeah. Like, TMI, but used as a verb.” Roman clarifies, not very helpfully.

“What’s TMI?”

“You know, like… too much information? It’s an acronym.”

“Oh, I see.” That must be a new vocabulary word from this dimension, then. Logan grabs his notebook from out of his back pocket and scribbles that down.

Virgil squints. “Are you making a flashcard?”

“No. Yes.” Logan coughs. “Not important. Are you quite certain that I’m not, er… TMI’ing, as you say?”

“Yes, we are quite certain,” says Patton, straightening his spine and imitating Logan’s posture. He giggles. “Sorry. Go on.”

“Well, there isn’t much else to say. I wish I could tell you more, but that’s it, really. I haven’t done anything exciting yet; I haven’t yet figured out where I’m going to sleep tonight, even,” Logan admits, sliding his notebook back into his pocket. “But to be quite frank with you, sudden change is hardly a new concept for me, anyway. It’s been a while since I was able to hold onto living quarters for more than half a year at most. So you needn’t worry about me.”

The silence that follows is far from a comfortable one.

Eventually, Virgil is the first to speak. “Correct me if I’m wrong, Logan, but… from the way you just described your life in the past, it sounds like you never really felt like you fit in anywhere. And if that’s the case, then I’d honestly say that this change might be for the better. You can move on now, you know?”

“Virgil’s right,” Patton pipes up. “Why not try taking a look at what’s on the horizon, instead? Keep exploring! Don’t just tolerate change, embrace it! Get out there and meet some new people, ya know? In fact, I think you’ve already got that last one in the bag,” finishes Patton meaningfully, gesturing around at himself, Roman, and Virgil.

Roman nods, looking thoughtful. “Ah, it’s just like I always like to say: leave the past in the past, make a plan of attack. Start looking forward and stop looking back.”

“Roman, you’ve literally never said that.”

“Oh, hush, Northern Down-snore.”

Virgil sticks out his tongue.

“Ahem. Anyway. Logan, to welcome you to Florida, I’d like to offer you the best gift you could possibly get. A formality, of course, since I’m already certain that you will accept.” Roman pauses dramatically. “Would you like my phone number?”

Phone?

Logan sighs heavily. He’s getting sick and tired of hearing words he doesn’t understand.

“I beg your pardon, but I’m afraid I don’t own a… phone.”

Virgil’s mouth falls open. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” replies Logan crisply. “I’ve never made a joke in my entire life.”

“Oh. Oh, my sweet cheese pastries. In this day and age, you don’t have a phone? Seriously, where did you even come from?” Roman says, scandalised. Without waiting for an answer, he moves on. “This simply will not do. Logan, how in the name of a forest fairy’s hairy armpits do you expect to survive out here without a phone?”

“I’m… sorry?”

“No, no, don’t apologise to me.” Roman rubs his forehead. “Logan, this is unbelievable. Okay, tell you what. I always carry an extra phone around with me, just in case. I’ve decided that you will be taking that phone with you when you leave the theatre today.”

“What? Oh, no no, you don’t have to do that,” Logan protests.

“Don’t even try to argue with me, Logan. It’s an old model, but it’ll serve you well enough until you can buy a phone for yourself. And it’s already got all of our contact information in there and everything!” Roman suddenly stops. “Oh, but… I just remembered I left it at home today. Hmm. You don’t have any plans for the evening, do you?”

Logan shakes his head, dazed.

“Perfect! Everything’s coming up roses, you see? Stick around a little while, then; I just need to get out of this heavy bathrobe here and then the three of us will be heading back to our apartment. You can come with. I’ll give you my — your — phone, and then you’ll be free to go. Or,” Roman pauses and exchanges a look with Virgil and Patton, then continues, “if you don’t have anywhere else to go, you’re welcome to spend the night at our place. There’s a pullout bed in the couch. It’s not exactly a luxury mattress, but it’s comfortable enough.”

“Roman!” hisses Virgil. “You can’t just invite people into our house like that! Like, obviously I’m cool with Logan staying over, but… that’s a really creepy move, dude.” Virgil turns to Logan. “Sorry about him.”

“I don’t mind.”

“Yeah, Roman gets fired up a lot — hang on, what did you say?”

Logan shrugs. “I said, I don’t mind.” And it’s true; he doesn’t. In fact, Logan is absolutely blown away by the incredible kindness he’s just been shown. These three young men only learned about his situation moments ago, and now they’re offering him a place to stay and a ‘phone’, free of charge? It all seems almost too good to be true.

Logan opens his mouth to tell Roman something along the lines of thanks, but no thanks, but stops. His only other option, he realises, is to make the long trek back into the forest and along the path, then stumble around with no mana until he can find that abandoned warehouse again. Which sounds less than ideal. Who knows what might be hiding in the dark?

Fortunately, Patton’s voice breaks into Logan’s thoughts before his imagination can answer that question. “So?”

Logan pushes up his glasses. “You’d be willing to let me stay the night with you, just like that?”

“Absolutely,” replies Patton firmly.

“Well, if you’re certain, then…” Logan is aware that this is most likely exactly how most kidnappings begin. But then, there are far worse fates than getting kidnapped by three beautiful young men the same age as him. And he really doesn’t have much of a choice. Logan swallows his pride and nods. “Then, thank you. Thank you so much. I don’t know how I can ever repay you for this —”

“Don’t worry about it, Logan,” beams Patton. “I’m just glad you’re not going to spend your first night in Florida alone.” Virgil nods. “Seriously, it’s no sweat. You don’t need to repay us with anything.”

“We-ell…” Three sets of heads turn towards Roman as he makes a vague gesture, flourishing a long, crimson sleeve. “There is one thing.”

Logan feels his heart plummet into his shoes. Of course there’s a catch.

“Hey, don’t look at me like that!” protests Roman. “I’m not about to make you polish our bathroom with a toothbrush or anything; I’m no evil stepmother. All I ask is this: once you’ve found a place to live and gotten all settled in, you give us a call.”

As Patton gasps and Virgil’s eyes widen in understanding, Roman grins.

“Let us all take you out on a date sometime, yeah?”

[everybodyknows-everybodydies]

ALRIGHT I have apparently a lot of things I’ve been tagged in (recently or otherwise) so we are gonna do one big post of those things under the cut here to save your dash (sorry if you’re mobile and the app isn’t doing a read more D:) - stating it now I’m not gonna tag anybody bc I took so long to get around to it oops

10 favorite characters from 10 different fandoms things -Ami Mizuno (Sailor Moon) -Elizabeth Corday (ER) -River Song (DW) -Delilah (Firewatch) -Velma Dinkley (Scooby Doo) -Molly Grue (The Last Unicorn) -Lady Macbeth (Shakespeare) -Yang Xiao Long (RWBY) -Dana Scully (The X-Files) -Tuppence Beresford (Agatha Christie)

Writing Tag 1. How many works in progress do you currently have in progress? “Just” three - Princess and the Goblin AU, a personal project, and an original work about the world’s grumpiest immortal old lady 2. Do you/would you write fanfiction? Yes and yes :P 3. Do you prefer paper books or ebooks? Paper books to own, but for schoolwork I’d much rather use ebooks as they’re a lot easier to search through when writing a paper and needing that one quote. 4. When did you start writing? Age six! We still have the word document from 2003 where I wrote an epic tale about myself helping the Boxcar Children solve a mystery in which my mom was, for some reason, a police officer. 5. Do you have someone you trust that you share your work with? Knight! 6. Where is your favorite place to write? At home, sitting on my bed. That’s where I work best in general; I don’t do well with the distractions of public places. 7. Favorite childhood book? Oh gosh. I was a ridiculously avid reader all through childhood. I don’t know that I could pick a single one, but the Nancy Drew series had me from very early on. 8. Writing for fun or writing for publication? For fun! But in an ideal world there would also be publication in the future lol. 9. Pen and paper or computer? Computer! I used to do pencil and paper when I was in middle school/high school and filled up a few composition notebooks, but I get too easily sidetracked with pencil and paper and tend to end up doodling if I try to use it for writing nowadays. 10. Have you ever taken any writing classes? I have! I did a fiction/poetry combo the summer of 2014 which was very nice, a poetry class fall of 2015, and am currently in another poetry class. One day I’ll get to have my fiction workshopped again! :P 11. What inspires you to write? Lots of things - music, dreams, other people, daydreams...

Last sentence you wrote:

She’d thought maybe she was doing it wrong, and that was why, but she didn’t quite know how to ask.

Top 5-10 songs you listen to: 1. Fire Escape by Love, Robot 2. Cherry Tree by The National 3. I Wish I Was Your Cigarette by K.I.D. 4. Pretty Girl by Hayley Kiyoko 5. Beneath the Brine by The Family Crest

that one tag thing it didn’t have a title sorry Name: Mouse Star sign: Cancer Average hours of sleep: 5-8 depending on the day Lucky number: 7 or 27 based on numbers I like, but the OCD demands repetitions of 12 or 20 so take that as you will Last thing I googled: “panko crumbed turkey schnitzel” because I DIDN’T KNOW WHAT THAT WAS AND I WANTED TO KNOW IF I COULD EAT IT Favorite fictional character: Yes I Have Lots of Those What are you wearing right now: Batman pj pants and a soft green plaid buttonup When did you start this blog: May 2013 :’) please don’t go look at my first posts I was an embarrassing child What do I mostly post: Sailor Moon, Alex Kingston, helpful art things, and lately a lot of middle-of-the-night squawking about Scooby Doo Do I get a lot of asks: on the art blog! not here though lol Why did I choose this URL: River Song + memento mori

another one that doesn’t have a title I think sorry again O N E -name: Audrey || nickname: Mouse || zodiac sign: Cancer -height: 5′2″ || orientation: ace lesbian || ethnicity: white enough to make hiding in laser tag very difficult -favorite fruit: apple || favorite season: winter -favorite book: The Last Unicorn || favorite flower: carnation? -favorite scent: vanilla || favorite animal: cat -coffee, tea, or hot cocoa? no thank you -cats or dogs? cats -dream trip: I go to an abandoned, isolated castle in the middle of a wide-open field of green. no one is around. I am wearing a soft, billowy dress. I run through the halls of the castle to echoing sea shanties. in the tallest tower of the castle I sit and fill up an entire sketchbook and it doesn’t even matter if I mess up on a couple pages because I have brought sticky notes to try that cool thing where you just slap a sticky note over the mistake and keep going. -aesthetic: old empty buildings, soft blankets, girls holding hands, scuffed up knuckles and fingertips, the pages in a sketchbook where marker has bled through in just a few spots to make it look splattered, the smell of old books, antique brass pocketwatches, cold grey skies -favorite band/artist: Anberlin -fictional character I’d date: River Song, Elizabeth Corday, Makoto Kino -Hogwarts house: Ravenclaw T W O -countries I’ve lived in: US, UK I guess now? idk does it count -favorite fandom: uhh... if we’re talking about the fandom itself then Scooby Doo, there’s so little drama and everyone is just super into these goofy kids solving mysteries, it’s great -languages you speak: English, and I’m passable enough in Spanish that I could PROBABLY survive if I were dropped in a Spanish speaking country -favorite film of 2016: I have No Concept of Time and also don’t watch that many movies. did Wonder Woman come out in 2016? that’s like the only movie I’ve been to see in theatres recently. idk I apologize -last article you read: uhh something for class, so something about Gothic feminism -last thing you bought online: a maroon sweatshirt with Scooby’s face on it. I am the coolest adult and 12yo me would be proud. -how would your friends describe you: sweet but a huge dork, very little common sense, means well -how would your enemies describe you: I am always trying my best to not make enemies so?? I don’t know?

questions Nikki asked specifically 1. You spend an entire year in another time and place for the next three years of your life. When/where do you choose and why? THESE KINDS OF QUESTIONS STRESS ME OUT because on the one hand, access to everywhere and everywhen!! BUT ON THE OTHER HAND IF I GO TOO FAR BACK INTO THE PAST I LOSE ACCESS TO THINGS LIKE MEDICINE WHICH I NEED AND POSSIBLY CONTAMINATE THE POPULATION WITH MODERN-DAY GERMS WHILE IF I GO TOO FAR INTO THE FUTURE I GET EXPOSED TO BACTERIA/VIRUSES I HAVE NO IMMUNITY AGAINST. it’s a lose/lose. so... picking close enough to not do too much damage, I’ll spend one year following Agatha Christie around sometime in the 60s, mentor my younger self in 2010, and go through all of 2014 again just so I can go see the Armory production of Macbeth. 2. Okay, be honest: do you put your laundry away immediately, or does it sit somewhere in a pile for entirely too long? IT SITS AT THE END OF MY BED FOR WEEKS YOU DON’T HAVE TO CALL ME OUT LIKE THIS 3. Describe yourself as if you’re in a fic. (Scent, appearance, aura – everything & anything is game.) “She was small and mousy, in the sense that she was a bit skittish of everything and squeaked sometimes when she talked, always too quiet for the ‘real’ grownups. She stepped lightly, and tried to take up as little space as possible, and was almost a ghost for her efforts.” 4. What non-essential thing(s) do you blow the most money on? MARKERS AND BOOKS I am a simple woman with simple desires 5. Did you have extracurricular activities as a child? Any that you wish you’d done? I did ballet and cheer in elementary school for like two years, gymnastics for a bit; journalism in middle school (say hello to the editor-in-chief of the school newspaper y’all); drama in high school - I can’t say that I wish I’d done any more actually 6. You can time travel (or not) and have your portrait done by any artist. Who do you choose? I'm gonna go with El Greco simply because his “Penitent Magdalene” haunts me 7. You’re out in public. You see a cat. How do you react? point at it and say CAAAAAAAT and hope it doesn’t run away 8. What kind of weather do you thrive in, and what can you simply not do? A bit cloudy and 50-60 degrees F is ideal. I cannot abide heat. Anything above 80 degrees is repulsive. 9. Om nom nom, breakfast! What are your favorite breakfast foods? CEREAL AND WAFFLES 10. Do you like running up and/or rolling down hills? ...not particularly... I have a weird thing about heights, and inclines do not really help D:

[youngreaderswriters]

The Challenge of Sally Ride, the Astronaut by Audrey S.

Chapter One: Test Time

One tumultuous sunny evening in Washington D.C. at N.A.S.A headquarters, a courageous young woman named Sally faced an extreme case of injustice. She was competing in an intense competition that could change her life. Either in a extremely good way or a not so good way….

Well, that women was me, Sally Ride. I am blessed to meet you. How are you doing? Thanks for asking, I am just fabulous. Back to the story.

My head ached from thinking about math equations for 2 long hours but I persevered. With only 5 minutes left I had three more questions to answer. I gripped my pencil harder than ever which resulted to it getting snapped in half. The pencil looked like a stick with splinters sticking out of it. I gasped in trepidation as the audience burst into laughter.

“Boo! Sally stinks!” someone shouted.

“Make it so she is not allowed another pencil.”

“Yeah!”

Don’t think about those haters. Keep on going, I told myself. I pulled out a spare pen from my blue jean pocket and used that to write the answers down.

Meanwhile, my opponent Robert John King flexed his “muscles” for he knew a woman would NEVER in a million years out-wit a man in a test of smarts. In the year 1955,  women were treated unfairly and not as respected as men.

“Haha! I probably don’t even have to answer the last twelve questions. It would make no difference at all!” John boasted. As if on cue, the audience once again burst into a fit of giggles. John got up and did a weird dance which looked like a squid having a heart attack.

“You have two minutes left. To John, wrap up. Sally, take your time; you will only lose, so it won’t make a difference!” the un-humorous judge shouted. Surprisingly, nobody laughed.

Dad jokes! I thought.

“3,2,1! Pencils up!” the judge yelled. The arena was colosal. The stadium walls were arranged so every member f the audience could see the two competitors. “I will check your answers and tell you the results in five minutes,” the judge yelled, “which is a shame because everyone already knows the answer to my assumption.” He paused for laughter but none came again. The audience nibbled on their popcorn, chewed carrots, and did literally everything but laugh.

Five nervous minutes passed, and I continued glaring at a boastful man; John. The judge walked in with a grave look on his face. “Umm… the winner of this round is ...Sally Ride!”

Everyone gasped. One man in the audience threw a rotten tomato but missed horribly as it landed John’s desk.

“What?! How is that possible! She cheated! I know she did!” John yelled. He seemed as if he was going to explode.

I looked at him triumphantly. “What did you say about winning so easily?”

For some reason, John ran over to the large N.A.S.A building as we were in the N.A.S.A arena. He ran in the direction of an old man with white hair, a white beard, and emerald green eyes.

But that did not concern me. I had won!

Chapter 2: How it began.

Earlier, I was relaxing in the fancy lobby at N.A.S.A, celebrating my spot on The Challenger. A golden cocktail rested in my steady hands. I sipped the glass as the cool but glamorous drink traveled down my throat and into my belly. It had been a perfect, relaxing day so far, before the terrible news that was about to be reported to me.

John bursted through the elevator door with such force that could have broken a brick wall.

“What is the meaning of-” I started, but John yelled, “Yo, pipsqueak! You got a challenge for the spot on da Challenger. Me! I am your challenge. Ha!”

The effect was immediate. Sadly, the cocktail glass broke under my strong grip sending glass shards to fly everywhere. What was left of the cocktail soaked my spotted pants. I was furious.

“What!?” I stammered.

“Tomorrow. At 8:00am!” John told me. “Aww.. is the baby scared? It’s okay, baby! You will only lose a trip to space! It’s obvious.”

He began get on my nerves. “I will not only compete, I will win. I will earn this trip to the moon!” I yelled courageously. “Even if this is an extreme case of injustice, I must win! For the sake of me and my reputation!”

I stared at John, examining his reaction to my inspiring speech, but he was snoring. I groaned.

Chapter 3: A visit to the office.

Before all of that nonsense, John stormed into Jake Bill, (the president of N.A.S.A’s) office. Inside, it looked exactly like a party had occurred but nobody cleaned up. Planning a spaceship flight is hard work!

Papers scattered everywhere. A once nice leather chair now ripped to shreds. A pile of opened books. For some weird reason, socks sat on top of a lamp! Parts of a spaceship model scattered all over the floor. And,Jake, asleep on his tattered rug.

Jake was a 59 year old man with a white beard, green eyes, and flat white hair. He always wore a unique hat wherever he went. Ranging from a top hat to a gallon-hat - he had a never ending collection of hats.

Then,  John snuck over to the disastrous desk. He pulled off a soda-stained paper which had the names of the people going on The Challenger.

Sharon Christa McAuliffe

Gregory Jarvis

Judith A. Resnik

Francis R

Ronald E. McNair

AND Sally Ride

Hmm… Sally Ride is new! Let me erase her name! No one would EVER notice. And that is my spot on the ship! She took it in the first place. John thought. He was just about to erase it when-

“Who, what, where, when, why! I can do karate you know!” Jake yelled as he stood up. “Oh. it’s just you. Come in… oops you already are in. Lemme get you a bit o’ tea.”

His glasses flew off as he rushed to get some tea from the teamaker.

“Ugh! Who are you! Who drinks tea! Tea is sooooooo old school!” John yelled. After, he realized what he had yelled. “Umm… I mean.. yes please!” He took a blazing hot cup of tea. It tasted strongly of mocha.

“You see… I have a request. I am way more worthy to go on the ship than Sally Ride is! Let me go instead of her!” John claimed.

Jake cleared his throat. “Let’s see.” He thought for a few seconds, causing John to be hopeful.

“No!” Jake screeched.

“How bout’ now?” John held up $2,000 in cash.

At sight of the money, Jake reconsidered.

“Er… I guess you can have a competition with her to see if your more worthy….” Jake stuttered, his eyes not moving from the $2,000. “A three-round competition.”

John held up $2,000 more dollars. “Secure my win to get all this money. Deal?”

He had on a triumphant grin.“Deal!”

Then, they shook hands on it.

Chapter 4: The second task

Back in the hyped N.A.S.A headquarters, I was preparing for the second round by stretching.

This is it! This is the obstacle course of your life! Do not fail now. If you win, you will have a secured spot on the ship of your dreams. I thought.

Outside, the sun shined bright. Perfect weather. I bent down and touched my toes with ease. I did twenty jumping jacks. I was not nervous. I started to jog to the starting line. Dust surrounded John like a swarm of angry mosquitos.

“Eat my dust.” I teased. “Also, good luck. You will need it.”

John’s face turned a tomato red. I wore a huge grin on my face.

A suspicious referee walked up to the starting line. He wore a black and white referee hat. He had some white hair sticking out of his hat and a snow-white beard. His eyes shined green like a pickled-toad. That referee seemed oddly familiar… but I did not know from where.

“3, 2, 1, GO!” He yelled.

Immediately, I jogged at a light speed. John was well behind. First obstacle. Easy. I jumped over a puddle of icky mud. John was still behind me. Second obstacle was medium. I had to run on a balance beam which laid on top of a disgusting pool of mud. I was still in front. The third obstacle was hard. I had to carry an egg on my face and drop it into a basket. Completed after two cracked eggs. I was still in - front? The ting was,] John was three paces ahead of me.

I looked back and saw an exhausted referee, a ladder leaning against a fence, and an untouched carton of eggs.

“Aha! You cheated! You climbed the fence to skip all of the obstacles!” I screamed in rage. He completely ignored me. I noticed his huge body was in an odd angle as if he tried to block me from seeing something. I squinted.

I don’t care. I thought. Probably not important.

There was one obstacle left. I sprinted toward the last obstacle. It was a race between two mini space shuttles. Quickly, I hopped in the one labeled, “Sally Ride.”

John was already in his. Luckily, it took him a few seconds to figure out how to turn on the not complex engine. I started it earlier than he did and moved toward the end line.

Then I was leading! I was now two feet away from the finish line. Now all I had to do was jump out of my cart and - suddenly, I couldn’t budge.

What! I thought. I looked down to see a bit of superglue.

“Help! I am stuck. Help!” I desperately tried to get someone's attention].

A smug grin appeared on John’s face. “See ya later alligator.”

He leaped out of his shuttle and easily crossed the finish line. After,  I screamed in rage. I was sooo close! So, that was what was in the bucket. Superglue! He got there early, put superglue on my ship, and pretended to not know how to start the engine. That cheater.

The crowd roared and chanted, “John is the best! Sally cheated on the test! He is so clever! Him losing is never!”

I groaned and rolled my eyes.

Chapter 5: The race of my life

Soon enough, I took part in another round. This was the third and final round. The most exciting and important round, and it was a race! Winner of this would take the spot on The Challenger.

It must be me! I have to win! This is an extreme case of injustice. There is no way he could cheat now! I yelled in my mind.

I was stretched. I was pumped. I was READY!  

The same referee jumped into a formal stance that you could tell he practiced and announced, “On your marks, get set, gooooooo!”

Because I deemed] smart, I started out in a hefty, light jog. I was not surprised when John started by sprinting. He passed me and held up a “L” with his fingers, representing “loser.”

After seven minutes, my legs were yet not tired, and my breath not so shaky that I was soon right on John’s track.

Then, he looked as if he would faint. I grinned in triumph. The finish line was in my amazing sight. Now, I started to sprint with all my remaining energy. Yes, my muscles did get sore but I trudged on.

I was two steps away from the finish line. Now one! And I had - WON!

“Yipee!” I screamed with delight. The crowd sat in silence, shocked tha I had won. Three seconds after my crossing, an exhausted John passed the finish line. He wore a smug grin on his face. What was he smiling ab-

“Yeah Boiiiii! I won!” John announced.

I expected the crowd to laugh and maybe throw a few banana peels at him but instead, they applauded John and led a chant.

“John is the faster than Sally, all she does is dilly-dally, John gets to go on the ship, and Sally gets a busted lip!”

I was shocked. I had won! Rage blinded me. I ran to the camera room to pull evidence that I had won but the camera’s position was hijacked! No video evidence.

“That clever nobody!” my voice boomed.

Chapter 6: The tragedy (not really.)

In the end, I watched with envy as The Challenger got ready for takeoff. I had special privileges given to me by N.A.S.A to watch the takeoff happen in person, but… it would noot have been the same if I were on The Challenger.

I gazed up sadly with longing to yell, “He cheated! Let me on! Please! I swear, he cheated! Give me another chance!” I resisted the urge and stared at my feet.

That was my spot! My time to shine! Taken from me! My dream, crushed. All because of an arrogant boy.

Suddenly, an announcement was made. “Takeoff will begin in, 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1, TAKEOFF!”

I did not want to look, but my eyes fell on the now rising ship anyways.  

“That’s odd.” I murmured to myself. Thick black smoke was rising from the right side. “Eh… who cares! Just enjo-”

“-BANG!” The rocket came pummeling down like a meteor. It had been exactly 73 seconds since takeoff. A fiery piece of metal missed me by just a few inches.

I was speechless and petrified to the spot. Everyone was. Relief flooded me like a house in a flood. I was now glad that my enemy had cheated.

After a few tragic minutes, the announcer finally said, “Let us honor who died.”

The moral of my story is that nothing good comes out of cheating. If things are easy, they are not the right decision.

About the Author

Audrey is a 4th grader who attends Portola Springs Elementary School. Her favorite book is Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix by J.K Rowling because the book has a ton of unpredictable plot twists that entertain her.  

In Audrey’s free time, she likes to read, play basketball, and have playdates with her friends. When Audrey grows up, her dream job is to be a doctor.

Audrey wrote The Challenge of Sally Ride the Astronaut at Ardent Academy for Gifted Youth in Spring 2018. She would like to thanks to her parents for letting her take this class.