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curious-shadow-cat · 3 years

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GHOSTS PG1

It was raining outside. Princess Peach was sitting in her chair in front of a fireplace while drinking tea and eating cookies shaped like stars. She was reading a book about romance and adventure. She sighed dreamily and thought about the days where she used to have all the time in the world to go on adventures with Princess Daisy when they were younger. They were like sisters, Daisy seems busy now a days. But so is she. She frowned at the thought of not having much time to have fun with Daisy or the Mario brothers. What was Daisy so busy with? For Peach, it was Bowser and a few other creatures causing so much trouble in the Kingdom. She's asked if Daisy had any problems like this in her Kingdom but she always tells her not to worry about it.

Same for poor Luigi. He's told her that she see's him more as a friend. It's kind of a surprise to Peach since Daisy seemed to like him so much, but also she could understand why she left him. Not that he was bad or anything, he's great to her but he didn't exactly seem like her type. He's afraid of everything while Daisy wouldn't hesitate to go on a dangerous adventure if she was given the chance to. Peach knows about Luigi going on some dangerous adventures like fighting King Boo but he only does it when he has to save his friends or his brother Mario. She took another cookie off the plate and started eating it. Peach hoped that wouldn't happen to her and Mario. She loves spending time with him. She hoped one day she could get him and Bowser to stop fighting so much then maybe they'd have more time to spend with each other and have fun. Luigi can be there as well. She tapped her chin with the cookie as she pondered what she could do to have them spend time together. She's tried calling Daisy and see if she could get her to come over for games, she mostly comes around for tennis and other sports most of the time. Maybe she's going on her own dangerous adventures. Peach leaned back further in her chair and closed the book. If that was true, then lucky her. She must be having fun. She couldn't help but wonder why she never--She shook her head. Now hold on, she thought to herself, she's not sure whether or not that's true. She's probably just busy taking care of the kingdom. Why wouldn't she tell her all about her adventures if that was true? She used to always tell her amazing stories when she was off on her own. Peach put her book down next to the plate of cookies beside her and stood up. Perhaps tomorrow she could call the brothers and Daisy over to have fun. That would be--

The door flew open. "Princess! Princess Peach!" Toadsworth rushed in with a panicked look on his face. He stopped and tried to catch his breath.

Peach:"Toadsworth? What's wrong? What happened?" She rushed over to see if he was alright.

Toadsworth:"Mario, Luigi and King Boo are here!"

Peach:"W...what??" She took a step back. Why was he here? Especially now of all days. She was a little mad but more concerned about the brothers. Were they alright? Did he do something to them?? She rushed out into the hallway and made her way towards the entrance. Toadsworth called out to her but she didn't listen. She had to make sure they were alright. When she finally made it, she couldn't believe what she saw; Luigi looked hurt. Bad. Mario didn't seem too hurt, he was helping his brother carry King Boo on his back. Something was different about him. He looked...smaller. For a moment she thought he was close to death. But he was already a ghost, so that couldn't be possible....could it? She snapped out of her thoughts and rushed over to them. Luigi looked up at her.

Luigi:"Hi Princess...I know this looks bad but--"

Peach:"Here, let me help you." She said quickly. She took his crown off his head. When she did, that uneasy feeling in the air was gone and he looked less threatening. His eyes were no longer dark and he moved slightly. He was still weak and couldn't move on his own. She helped the brothers carry him to the guest room. He was laying in bed, the lights were off except the lamp next to him. It wasn't too bright. He moaned in pain and barely stayed awake. She turned to the brothers."What happened to you three?" She asked calmly. Luigi was sitting in a wooden chair next to the bed while Mario stood by Peach. Luigi spoke up first.

Luigi:"It's a long story. One I'm not sure how to explain..." He took his hat off and itched his head. They were soaking wet so Peach had the toads bring them towels and new clothes. Mario had a towel wrapped around his head to dry his hair.

Mario:"I'm just glad I was able to find you two in time." He looked at Peach."Sorry to bother ya so late, Princess. We didn't know where else to go." She shook her head.

Peach:"No, no, that's alright." She looked at Boo. He was shaking. She couldn't help but place her hand gently on his head. Mario gave her a warm smile. Sweet as a Peach, he thought. She's so caring to everyone it makes him love her even more. Peach gently took Boo's hand in hers and held it for a moment. "Boo? Can you hear me? You're safe now. It's just me...Peachy." He gently squeezed her hand. Luigi kept his eyes on him making sure he didn't try any tricks. She looked at Luigi."Can you tell me how he got hurt?" She asked in an almost serious tone."Any of you?" Almost as if she was a little mad. Luigi leaned back in the wooden chair.

Luigi:"Well, where do I start?" He itched his chin."I remember going in the forest, King Boo was there, we fought for a little bit until he got caught in someone's trap. I think that trap was meant for ghosts but I don't know who built the thing! There was another one that nearly took me out but luckily Mario was close by and saved us both!" Mario looked proud of himself.

Mario:"I was on my way to get some pizza for dinner when I heard these two screaming in the forest. I thought at first Boo here finally took him down until saw that they were both caught in the traps. I insisted we left Boo there but Luigi felt bad for him."

Luigi:"We could also see if he knows anything about these darn traps. They're too dangerous to leave carelessly around the place! I could've died!" Mario took the towel off his head.

Mario:"They were pretty close to your kingdom, Peach. Do you know who's been laying out these traps?" He asked with a worried look on his face. She shook her head.

Peach:"I had no idea about this. We need to find out whoever's been making such horrible traps and have them get rid of them at once before someone else get's hurt!" She looked at King Boo who was holding her hand to his head. He seemed to be half sleeping. She didn't want to push but she had to know if he knew anything about these traps. She looked back at the brothers and noticed they looked tired and hungry. She gently pulled her hand out of Boo's and walked past them."Why don't we get you three something to eat. I'm sure you're all very hungry." Mario licked his lips.

Mario:"You just made my night, Princess!" He smiled brightly. Luigi smiled a little.

Luigi:"Thank you very much, that would be nice." He glanced at King Boo who didn't move much. Mario followed Peach out the door. She looked back.

Peach:"Are you coming?" She asked.

Luigi:"Hm? Oh, um...sure." He took one last look at King Boo. He didn't move much still but at least he wasn't shaking so much anymore. He closed the door behind him. He wasn't sure if it was a good idea leaving Boo alone.

"Bark! Bark!" He jumped and yelped a little. He spun around and saw his good ol' pal Polterpup wagging his tail and panting. He smiled and gave him a hug.

Luigi:"Hey buddy! Boy, am I glad to see you." He itched the ghostly dog's head and he kicked his leg happily. He ran in a circle excitedly before sitting down in front of him."Listen, I need you to do me a big favor okay?" The dog cocked his head to the side."Can you stay with King Boo? I don't think he should be left alone in there." He leaned close and whispered."Just in case, you know, he's up to no good." The dog licked his face and he quickly stood up straight wiping the drool off his face. He chuckled and pat his head."Good boy, I'll bring you both dinner." The dog ran in a circle around Luigi happily before running through the door into the guest room. Luigi felt a little more at ease now and walked down the stairs to join Mario and Peach.

Mario and Peach spoke for a little while. Luigi spoke to some of the Toads for a little bit before they rushed off to hear what Mario and Peach were talking about. Luigi smiled at them. They looked like they were having fun. He frowned when Toadsworth rushed towards Princess Peach. He was saying something but Luigi couldn't hear him from where he was sitting. Peach sighed. She looked at Mario and frowned. He frowned and they looked at Luigi. He stood up and quickly made his way to them.

Luigi:"Something happen?" He asked with a worried look on his face.

Peach:"Well....it seems like Bowser wants to have a little talk with us..." She looked at Mario. He itched his head.

Mario:"....Right. Um, we need you to stay here and keep an eye on that ghost while we're gone...can you do that on your own, bro?" He swallowed.

Luigi:"Uhh...alright! Yeah! No problem...." He said with a smile but it went away when he looked down at his feet. He didn't want to stay by himself while they were out to meet Bowser. He really wanted to help them instead in case he tried anything. Peach gently touched his shoulder and he snapped out of his thoughts. He looked her in the eyes.

Peach:"Don't worry Luigi, if he gives you any trouble, you can borrow my vacuum, it's just as powerful as the one Professor E. Gadd uses." She said half jokingly. He chuckled and grinned at her.

Luigi:"I'll be fine. Really!" He said with a grin. She smiled brightly.

Peach:"We know you will. We believe in you." Mario smiled.

Mario:"Yeah! You can take care of that ghost no problem if he gives you any trouble!" He gently punched his brothers arm.

Luigi:"Haha, yeah I can." He picked up two plates, one with cake and cookies, and the other steak."You two becareful, alright? If you need me--"

Mario:"We'll be fine, don't worry about it!" He waved.

Peach:"I'll make sure Mario doesn't get hurt, Luigi." She winked. Mario laughed and held her hand as they walked out the door with Toadsworth. Luigi was left alone. He took in a deep breath and sighed.

Luigi:"Right then..."

Luigi walked up the stairs towards the guest room."Little buddy hasn't showed up yet, so I guess he's fine? I hope." He spoke quietly to himself. "I really hope I didn't make the wrong choice in bringing him here..." He swallowed. He made it to the door and gently knocked.

Luigi:"King Boo? You awake? Don't kill me or nothin' I...I uh, brought you dinner. Peach made it." He opened the door slowly and looked around the dark room. Everything was quiet. He looked towards the bed and gasped. He dropped the plates. King Boo was gone! And so was his ghostly dog friend!"OH-NO!" He yelled."W-where did they go?? Hello??" He ran around the room searching top to bottom for them."If this is a game of hide-and-seek, now's not the time!" He ran out of the room."Oh great!" He ran down the hallway and started searching the rooms for King Boo and his dog."King Boo? Little buddy? Where did you go??" He called out to them. He ran downstairs and tripped over his own foot. He hit the floor and moaned in pain. He was seeing stars. He quickly got up and started looking for the vacuum Peach was talking about in all the rooms. "I knew I shouldn't have left them alone!" He ran back up the stairs almost falling down again and searched through all the rooms until he finally found the vacuum in Peach's room in her closet."There it is!" It was pink with peaches on it. He left the room and started looking for them. Just then his dog appeared out from the ceiling and started barking. He wagged his tail when he stopped in front of Luigi. He smiled and sighed relieved to see his little buddy alright."Boy am I glad to see you." He said and itched his head. The dog barked and grabbed the vacuum. For some reason he tried to take it away from Luigi!"Hey! Drop it! Oh-no! Did he hypnotize you or something? Let go!" The dog did and he fell on his butt. He barked and flew away from him."Wait!" He started chasing after him. It seemed like the dog wanted him to follow though. He chased him to the roof. It wasn't raining much anymore. It was still wet so he was careful to climb up. He looked around and saw his ghostly dog wagging his tail and spinning around happily. He started jumping on the clouds and made it to the biggest one over the castle. He could see a familiar round shape sitting on top of the cloud with his dog. King Boo! He thought. He sighed and looked at the vacuum. He gasped and saw that the dog chewed it up. He swallowed."What now...?" He asked himself quietly. He took in a deep breath and sighed. He dropped the vacuum and started jumping from one cloud to another until he finally reached the top. King Boo wasn't looking at him. He was still small, almost as small as his Boo's. He still looked injured but not as bad as it looked before. Polterpup was sitting next him and wagging his tail. Boo reached his hand out and started gently petting the dog's head. Luigi blinked a dozen times before rubbing them. He wasn't sure if what he was seeing was real or if he was just seeing things. He slowly walked over to them and sat next to the dog.

King Boo:"....So....nice weather we're having, huh?" He chuckled a little. Luigi stared at him. He wasn't looking at him. His eyes were blue. Not what he was used to seeing. They were usually purple and black.

Luigi:"Uh....yeah. I guess you could....say that." He shrugged. The dog was wagging his tail still while looking back and forth at them. Everything was quiet and the dog stopped. He whined a little before taking off in the air and flying around playfully jumping from one cloud to another.

King Boo:"...So, uhm, Peachy and that plumber boy of hers left, huh?" He quickly looked at Boo and swallowed.

Luigi:"Uhh...." He tugged at his collar."I guess you could say that..." The ghost sighed now frustraited and looked at him.

King Boo:"Look, I'm not dumb, I heard them talking. I was invisible in the next room." Luigi flinched when he raised his voice. He growled a little and looked away. He wasn't too scared of Boo right now, seeing that he didn't have that gem on his head made him feel a little less worried. It was strange that he wasn't trying to attack him though. He didn't have the vacuum with him, this was his chance to take him out! So why wasn't he...? Luigi looked off into the distance to try and find what he was looking at. He saw Peach's ship sailing and they were heading off."Heh.....there she goes again." He said a little quietly. Luigi looked at him."So Peachy's got a new boyfriend I see. Right?" Luigi shrugged.

Luigi:"I honestly don't know. They seem like really good friends and do seem like a couple...but I'm not sure. He hasn't told me exactly." Why was he telling him this?? He should be trying to get him back to the guest room....but he seemed calm right now...? He saw the King Boo was slowly sinking into the cloud until he was lower than Luigi. He seemed to be upset about something. He mumbled something under his breath but he couldn't hear. They were quiet for a moment."...King Boo?" The ghost looked at him."Uhh...I don't mean to change the subject but do you know anything about those traps in the forest?" His eyes widened and he rose up a bit.

King Boo:"You mean you didn't know?? That can't be--surely you're just playing tricks on me!" He said a bit angrily. Luigi quickly sat back and started shaking his hands and his head.

Luigi:"NO! No, no, no, no! Really! I don't! Even Peach and Mario don't know about them! Honest! Why would I even get stuck in one myself if I knew about them??"

King Boo:"Because you're clumsy half the time." He said as if it was obvious. Luigi frowned.

Luigi:"Oh..." He said flatly. King Boo rolled his eyes and looked away again.

King Boo:"Anyways, I can only assume those traps belong to that stupid old man you work with....but that is a little strange he would just throw them around the place carelessly like that..." He touched his chin as he thought about it."I didn't get a good look at them, I just noticed some of my Boo's going missing." Luigi stood up."Those things are dangerous to ghosts! They hurt until we can't move anymore! I actually felt like I had a body! I'm not sure what that shock did but it's making it hard for me to heal faster." Luigi nodded when he looked at the marks on his body. Polterpup came back and sat next to Boo. He wagged his tail while panting. The ghost pat the little dog's head. Luigi couldn't help but smile a little. He was glad that he didn't hurt his little buddy while he was out. The ghost looked at him."I thought maybe you were helping that old man when I saw you wandering around the forest." Luigi frowned.

Luigi:"No, I actually haven't seen him in a while." He fixed his green shirt."If these are his traps why would he be placing them around like that? Especially without telling the Princess?" They thought about it for a little while. King Boo shrugged.

King Boo:"He's probably finally going out of his mind. Trying to make quick money off from selling ghosts trapped in paintings." He said with a disgusted look on his face. Luigi glared at him

Luigi:"You tried putting us in paintings!" He said with a bit of anger in his voice.

King Boo:"I didn't start this fight, HE did." He sneered."But I will end it if I have to. I'm sick and tired of that old man kidnapping my Boo's!" He growled. Luigi put his hands up. He didn't want to upset the ghost and end up stuck in a painting. He has to think about this. Luigi relaxed a little.

Luigi:"Well...how about we figure something out." King Boo narrowed his eyes."Let's find out who's been placing these traps all over the kingdom and make sure no one get's hurt. And make them clean up their mess so this doesn't happen again...and find your Boo's! How's that sound? Deal?" He held out his hand to the ghost's. He hesitated at first. He looked at the dog was smiling at him. He sighed.

King Boo:"Alright. I guess....but no tricks!" He took his hand. Yeah same to you pal, Luigi thought to himself. He looked back at the water and the ship was gone."....How long do you think they're gonna be gone?"

Luigi:"Huh? Oh, I dunno. They're meeting Bowser I think. Mario's with her though so I'm not too worried." King Boo gave him a look and raised a brow. Luigi blinked."What? It's Bowser! He won't be too hard for Mario to take care of. I'm sure of it!" He nodded while putting his hands on his hips.

King Boo:"Right..." He laid back down on the cloud. Polterpup did the same. Luigi sat down on the cloud."Well this'll be interesting won't it? Enemies working together until we figure out who's been causing trouble around Peachy's kingdom."

Luigi:"I guess so." He smiled a little."But I bet we'll get to be friends by the end of this!" The ghost went quiet. Then he laughed.

King Boo:"In your dreams nerd!" He grinned."When this is all over, we're going back to paintings and vacuums." Luigi frowned.

Luigi:"Ohh..." He didn't like the sound of that. Boo laughed again.

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Uhhh....might continue on this. I didn’t expect it to go like this but oh well! Would’ve felt too quick just to jump into it so will probably work on the next page! I’m having a bit of an art block for my own work at the moment. So here’s some King Boo/Luigi fanfic! I hope this page doesn’t look weird or anything. I tried fixing it before but I guess it messed it up.

#King Boo/Luigi #Luigi fanfic #Princess Peach #Princess Daisy #Mario #Luigi #King Boo #Polterpup #Professor E. Gadd #Toadsworth #Peach/Mario #long post

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onemilliongoldstars · 5 years

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a little piece of magic

For as long as she can remember, Clarke has used her magic to keep others away, but when her pretty neighbour comes knocking looking for a rare potion ingredient she can’t help herself.

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Clarke has always had exceptional wards. Ever since she was a teenager, and would use them to keep her mother from her room while she blasted witch pop from her speakers and skulked about in long black skirts – such a cliché – she has been able to easily keep people at a distance.

(Her therapist would say this is indicative of a deeper issue, but that’s by the by.)

When she moved into her new apartment she set up her standard wards by the door, along the windows, and across the corridor, and when her neighbours cross through their shared hallway at all times of the night she can usually ignore the slight tremors of sensation she feels. So when a knock comes to her door without any warning, she almost falls from her armchair, where’s she curled reading an old book of her father’s. Albus, her tetchy familiar, jumps from her lap and throws her an infuriated glance at being disturbed from his nap, his tabby fur bristling.

The knocking comes again, more impatiently, and Clarke stares at the door in amazement. She feels for her wards, but there is no disturbance, and a shiver runs through her as she realises that the person behind the door must have magic. The third bout of knocking is enough to rouse her from her chair and send Albus skittering across the floor into the bedroom.

Clarke braces herself and uncurls her fingers to reveal the blue magic of mage fire in the palm of her hand. She was never the best at defensive magic, but if the person on the other side of the door means her harm this will at least give her a fighting chance.

“Hello?” Comes a voice from behind the door, as she ducks under the herbs drying above the doorway. “I really need your help!”

It’s enough to give her pause, and her mouth drops open when she peers through her peephole to see her neighbour stood outside – her very pretty neighbour, who always seems to be bringing girls home who Clarke has to resist the urge to curse with boils - wringing her hands together anxiously.

She opens the door just a crack and demands, “You have magic?” Her neighbour startles at the sight of her,

“Oh! Hi, yes, yes I do.” Her eyes flicker nervously to the mage fire, “Um, I come in peace.”

“Oh, sorry,” Clarke closes her hand around the fire, extinguishing it with a puff of purple smoke. She opens the door, but doesn’t step back to welcome her neighbour inside. No matter how pretty the girl is, even now with her dark hair falling from her braid and a manic expression in her eyes, she knows not to welcome strangers over her threshold without good reason. “Are you alright?”

“Not really,” The girl cringes, “I really need some scorpion venom, have you got any?”

“Scorpion venom?” Clarke stares at her, eyes wide with disbelief. “Well yeah, I have a few vials, but-”

“Please, please could I borrow some?” Her neighbour cuts through her, eyes impeaching. “It’s an emergency.”

“Yeah, fine, I guess.” Clarke backs away over the threshold. “Come in, let me find it for you.”

“Thank you,” Her neighbours steps hesitantly inside, and stands politely in the hallway as Clarke crosses the room to dig through her cupboards. Albus appears from the bedroom to give her neighbour a suspicious glance and trots across the living room to curl up on his favourite chair, as if worried she’ll steal it.

“Don’t mind him,” Clarke says over her shoulder, “He was a warlock in a past life, so he thinks he knows best about everything.”

Albus gives a haughty sniff and her neighbour smiles.

“Your place is amazing,” She offers, and Clarke follows her gaze through the apartment.

The high, domed ceilings and roomy living room, with an open fire, fit impossibly into the studio apartment. Plants grow from every corner and when she peers into the ceiling above, the evening sky is just beginning to be filled with streaks of pink.

“Oh thanks,” She offers a shy smile, gathering a few bottles of venom into her arms. “My friend Raven is amazing at spatial enchantments, she helped me.”

“Do you know a lot about potions?” Her neighbour casts a glance at the rows of ingredients in her kitchen, and the cauldrons lining the china cabinet.

“I dabble,” She answers, modestly, “Will this be enough?”

“More than enough, thank you.” The girl accepts the vials gratefully, but hesitates,

“Actually, would you be able to help me? I could really use the help of an expert.”

“Oh, I’m no expert,” Clarke hastens to correct her.

“You’re much better than I am though,” Her neighbour pleads. “Just five minutes or so?”

She is helpless to the pleading in the girl’s pretty eyes, and gives in far more quickly than she would like to admit. “Fine.”

With one final glance at Albus, she summons her keys into her hands and follows her neighbour across the hallway and into her apartment.

“I’m Lexa, by the way,” Her neighbour says over her shoulder, casting a pretty smile aside like it’s nothing.

“H-hi, I’m Clarke,” She goes weak at the knees at the sight of that smile.

With an elegant flick of the wrist, Lexa lets her into her apartment. Far from the cluttered, eclectic taste of her own apartment, Lexa has turned her place from a small, shabby studio to a spacious, neat, warm apartment, filled with white accents and colour coded bookshelves. Wide windows, reminiscent of apartments uptown, let the golden evening sunshine in and candles are flickering neatly near the window seat in the living room. The only thing out of place is the weasel lounging on the back of her couch, glaring at them both as they enter the room.

“Sorry about her,” Lexa shuts the door behind them, hurrying to the kitchen with her vials in hand. “She’s really mad at me.”

“Is she your familiar?” Clarke has never seen a weasel for a familiar before, but then Finn had a toad named Yoda, so who is she to judge?

At her words the weasel hisses her protest and Lexa cringes delicately.

“No,” She nods to the snowy owl on the bookcase in the corner of her living room, and says. “That’s Astrid, she’s my familiar.” The bird pokes her head out from beneath her wing to fix Clarke with one yellow eye, before turning away again. “This,” Lexa glances back at the weasel, “is Anya, and she is why I need your help.”

Clarke can’t help the curious smile that crosses her lips. “You know her?”

“She’s my friend,” Lexa explains, as she begins to gather ingredients on the spotless work surface. “She bought a bad spell from some back alley dealer, thought it would turn her into a bird.” Lexa rolls her eyes when the weasel squeaks her indignation. “She needs me to change her back in time for a date she has tonight.”

Clarke can’t help but laugh, gazing down at the furious little creature in Lexa’s apartment. “This sounds exactly like something my friends would do.” Her eyes narrow as she watches Lexa pull out a clunky iron cauldron and settle it over her hob. “Are you really using that?” She cringes as Lexa starts to prepare her ingredients. “You definitely shouldn’t be chopping the berry root that finely.”

Lexa grimaces a little, stepping back to let Clarke peer over her shoulder. “Like I said, I’m no expert at potions.”

Clarke sighs, and turns away to hide her grin as she offers. “I suppose I could make it for you.”

Lexa’s eyes brighten with relief. “Really? That would be amazing Clarke, thank you.” She glances back at the weasel and prompts, “Anya, thank Clarke.” The weasel just flicks her tail impatiently, and Lexa sighs and gives Clarke an apologetic smile, “Sorry, she’s always mean, even when she’s human.”

The words draw laughter from between her lips, “It’s alright, I wouldn’t want to be a weasel either.” She looks back to the cauldron and rolls up her sleeves. “Let’s get started, can you be trusted with stirring?”

“I think so,” Lexa allows, returning her grin, and retrieves a ladle from one of her neatly stocked drawers.

As she begins to slice the berry root, Clarke asks, curiously. “So why didn’t you have any scorpion venom of your own?”

“Oh,” Lexa wrinkles her nose, “I got into a fight with my usual supplier.” When Clarke glances at her, intrigued, she continues a little reluctantly. “I saw him at the Hallowed Inn with Anya the other week, slipping something into some girl’s drink. I called him out on it and things got a little heated.”

Clarke pauses, her knife stilling, and she feels fury curl in the pit of her stomach. “That makes me sick, love potions should be illegal. Not everyone knows the charms to reveal it.”

“I know,” Lexa agrees quietly, and for a moment they are both silent as Clarke tips a healthy amount of slug juice into the cauldron. “At least you had some to hand,” The smile she offers is distinctly charming, and Clarke fumbles not to slice her fingers off.

“Always good to have some spare,” She finally offers, a little lamely, and then rushes to continue, flushing up to her ears. “How did you even know I had magic? I’m so careful.” The expression Lexa fixes her with is distinctly sceptical, and she bristles. “What?”

“I’m sorry it’s just,” Lexa half shrugs, “You really aren’t that careful. Last month when you had a house party? I swear a hundred people went through your door and I could hear your indoor fireworks.”

Clarke’s blush darkens again and she laughs sheepishly. “I guess you have a point.”

“But before that,” Lexa continues a little more quietly, and when Clarke steals a glance at her, she is gazing resolutely into the cauldron, pink tinging her cheeks. “You make toadstool soup… sometimes I can smell it through the walls.”

For a second Clarke thinks she may be able to magic herself away in a puff of smoke, so painful is her embarrassment. “Oh I-I’m really sorry, I didn’t…”

“No, don’t be,” Lexa hurries to correct her, looking up to meet her eyes. “I like it, reminds me of home.”

“Oh,” As Clarke gazes at her it is like something tender is blossoming between her ribs, something soft and warm. “I can always bring some over if you’d like. I normally have leftovers.”

“Really?” Lexa’s expression brightens, and Clarke has to resist the urge to reach out and take her hand.

They are disturbed by a raucous clatter from behind, and turn to see that Anya has jumped up onto the counter and pushed a metal tin filled with teabags to the ground. Lexa glares at her, “We’re going as fast as we can!” Her expression softens when she turns back to Clarke. “I’m really sorry about her.”

“My friends are worse,” Clarke assures her with a laugh, and scrapes the berry roots from the chopping board into the cauldron. “Stir that three times clockwise, three times anticlockwise, got it?”

��Got it,” Lexa nods, watching from the corner of her eye as Clarke begins finely chopping mandrake leaves. “So how did you get so good at potions?”

“I just think it’s like cooking,” Clarke shrugs, “You get a feel for what’s right.”

“You’re being modest,” Lexa smiles, “Is your line of work in potions?”

“Occasionally I sell them on the side,” Clarke smiles, “But I’m studying to be a Healer.”

“Wow,” Lexa’s eyes shine bright with admiration. “That’s amazing.”

Clarke can feel the blush returning to her cheeks, and has to look back to her slicing to stop herself from turning bright red. “What about you? What do you do?”

Lexa gazes bashfully down into the cauldron, “I’m a teacher, and I’m writing a book on transfiguration.”

“Really? You must be so good at it.”

Lexa shrugs, lifting the ladle aside to let Clarke slide in the mandrake leaf. “I suppose it’s like you and potions, it just feels like it comes naturally.”

“Will you show me?” Clarke can’t help but ask, and the warm evening light that shines in through the kitchen window dances across Lexa’s features as she smiles, shyly, and waves her hand.

The vase of flowers in the window twitches and then the flowers lift from their stems and turn into beautiful, white butterflies fluttering across the room to circle both of them playfully. Clarke lets out a delighted laugh, gazing upwards, and when a butterfly settles on her hand she gasps in amazement. Another bang comes from behind them, and Clarke flinches as Lexa gives her friend a glower so severe Clarke is sure she would turn to dust beneath it.

The butterflies turn to flowers, fluttering down to the floor, and Lexa sighs. “We should finish this,” She says, and Clarke nods her agreement.

“Final touch,” She reaches out and accepts the ladle from Lexa, tipping a few drops of the scorpion venom into the mixture. Murmuring a quiet incantation, she waves her hand over the cauldron and watches the liquid turn as green as summer grass. Lexa fetches a small saucer and they fill it with a spoonful and place it on the counter beside Anya. “If you have some Tupperware,” Clarke comments conversationally. “This can freeze and keep for up to six months.” Her gaze flickers to Anya, who is drinking feverishly. “In case this happens again.”

Lexa smiles and opens her mouth to respond, but with a sudden flash of light and the slight whiff of singed fur, the weasel on the counter transforms into a tall, furious looking blonde woman, who pushes herself off the counter with a curse.

“I am going to kill that bitch if I ever see her again,” She fumes, her voice rasping, and Clarke has to bite back her laughter as the woman shakes herself. “And you,” She turns on Lexa, “I was a weasel for almost eight hours because you couldn’t work up the courage to ask your crush for one final ingredient!”

Clarke’s eyes widen, her gaze landing on Lexa, who gapes at Anya’s words and stammers.

“I-I don’t…. that’s not what happened-”

“Oh please,” Anya huffs and with a click of her fingers her outfit disappears, replacing itself with a smart dress and patent heels which click against the tile of the kitchen floor as she flings open a cupboard door and says. “Look! She already has scorpion venom!”

With that, she turns on her heel and strides from the apartment, slamming the door so hard the hinges shake. A long silence follows her departure, and Clarke turns to fix her gaze on Lexa, who is staring down at her shoes as if they might vanish from her feet at any second.

“So,” She leans against the counter, fighting the urge to grin like a lunatic. “You already had some scorpion venom?”

Lexa grimaces, “I guess so.” She offers an innocent smile, “I must have missed it?”

“You know if you wanted to ask me out you could have just done it like a normal person.” She teases, but ever so gently because Lexa looks so painfully embarrassed she feels sorry for her.

“I couldn’t,” Lexa admits, a little pathetically, “I see you come and go all the time and I try to catch your eye in the corridor, but you never say anything more than hi. I thought you hated me.”

“Hated you?” Clarke’s heart drops, “I barely knew you! I mean sure, I was a little jealous of the parade of half-dressed girls coming in and out of your apartment-”

“It is not a parade,” Lexa rolls her eyes, and then hesitates, “Wait, you were jealous?”

“I was,” Clarke admits, freely, “You’re gorgeous, I wanted to curse them all with boils or a rash or something equally as gross.”

“Why were you jealous?” Lexa sounds a little awed, and Clarke laughs.

“Because they’d all been on a date with my gorgeous neighbour, who I’ve been secretly crushing on.” Lexa’s eyes widen and as a grin crosses her features she gathers herself enough to say.

“Well maybe we can do something about that, are you free tonight?”

Clarke glances at the cauldron and half shrugs, biting back her huge smile. “I suppose my work here is done, what were you thinking?”

“Pizza and a movie?” Lexa glances at her TV, “I have Netflix and Hulu.”

“What a charmer,” Clarke teases, trying to ignore the excited butterflies in her stomach. “Only if I get to pick the movie.”

Lexa’s smile widens. “Deal.”

#clextober19 #Clextober2019 #day 13 A pinch of magic #clextober #clexa #clarke griffin #commander lexa #sorry this is late!

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aidanchaser · 5 years

Text

Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets: Everyone Lives AU

Table of Contents beta’d by @ageofzero

Chapter Thirteen The Very Secret Diary

It was a gloomy Monday when Ron and Harry lugged all of Hermione’s notes and school books to the hospital wing. She was insistent on keeping up with her school work, even though Ron suggested that being in the hospital was a wonderful excuse to slack off. Hermione told him that was absurd, she’d only fall behind, and they wouldn’t be able to get her help with exams. Ron agreed that delivering her homework each day might be a good idea.

A couple weeks went by. Students whispered about Hermione’s disappearance, and so many of them snuck by the infirmary to see what had happened to her that Madam Pomfrey put a curtain around her bed. So when Ron and Harry went to visit her that afternoon, they didn’t see that Lily was already at Hermione’s bedside until they stepped through the curtain.

“Oh, hi Mum,” Harry said as he set a stack of History of Magic notes on Hermione’s bedside table.

Lily smiled pleasantly at Ron and Harry. “Hello. Isn’t it sweet of you two to be taking notes for Hermione and delivering her assignments for her? I hope you’re not doing it out of any sort of guilty consciences.”

“It really was all my fault,” Hermione said quickly. “I shouldn’t have borrowed Ron’s wand for a Transfiguration spell. It completely backfired.”

“Yes, Ron, you really ought to get your wand fixed,” Harry said quickly.

“I know,” Ron said glumly. “I’m afraid to tell Mum. It was Charlie’s. He said he wouldn’t need it with the dragons and so I could have it. I don’t want to tell her I broke Charlie’s wand.”

“I’m sure she’d understand,” Lily said. “I do believe it was Professor Lockhart’s fault your wand broke, right? That’s what Harry said in his letter. I suggest you have him buy you a new one.”

“I’ll think about it,” Ron mumbled.

“Well, I am glad you two are being good to Hermione. I heard Professor McGonagall say she’s been very pleased with how well the two of you have been focusing.”

“It is easier to have Hermione explain it to us, but we have to try to explain it first,” Harry said.

Lily laughed and squeezed Harry’s hand. “You really are so much like your father. He and his friends would be so well-behaved when Remus was in the hospital.”

Harry smiled and his ears went pink at the compliment.

“Why was Mr. Lupin in the hospital?” Hermione asked.

Lily stood up from her chair, still smiling. “Well, I’d better leave you three. You don’t need a grown-up hanging around, and Hermione should be ready to go over your lessons from my class.”

“Oh, yes,” Hermione said. “Professor Lockhart came by this morning as well and helped me with a little of it too.”

Lily’s smile pinched like she’d taken a bite of lemon peel flavored Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans. “I see. Did he go over my lesson and spells or did he merely read you the passage from his book and smile charmingly?”

Hermione blushed — or rather, her few remaining whiskers quivered, which Harry assumed was the cat version of blushing — and said, “He didn’t win Witch Weekly’s Most-Charming-Smile Award five times for nothing.”

Lily’s sour expression did not soften at the humor. “Yes, as he is so fond of reminding everyone. I hope one day you will learn that a charming smile doesn’t necessarily make anyone a decent wizard.” She turned to Harry and Ron and said, “And the same goes for witches with charming smiles. There are better qualities to be enchanted with.”

Ron nodded, and Harry said, with a small smirk of his own, “But Mum, don’t you think Dad’s smile is just a little bit charming?”

Finally, a smile cracked through Lily’s irritation. “Yes. But the things I love about your father are his bravery, loyalty, and humility. And his excellent self-made Cleaning Charms. Now, really, I should prepare for my class tomorrow. And grade some papers.” She kissed Harry’s forehead and patted Ron’s shoulder, then left quickly.

Harry and Ron stayed with Hermione, all three of them working on their homework, until Madam Pomfrey shooed them off to bed.

—————————— ✶✶✶——————————

Dear Sirius,

Remember how I mentioned Moaning Myrtle? Well she flooded the hallway last night because someone threw a book at her. It’s a diary from 1943, and it’s really interesting, except for the part where it’s blank.

Ron keeps telling me it could be cursed, but it seems fine. It’s just blank. I don’t know how to figure out what’s inside it, but I’m sure it’s important. The date is from fifty years ago, and Malfoy told us the Chamber of Secrets was opened fifty years ago, and the name on the diary is T. M. Riddle, who was a Prefect and Head Boy, but he also won an award for Special Services to the school fifty years ago. It’s got to have something about the Chamber of Secrets in it. Hermione couldn’t make anything appear in it, though. Do you have any ideas?

Love, Harry

—————————— ✶✶✶——————————

Dear Harry,

Try Aparecium? It’s a basic revealing spell, but if someone was trying to keep their diary secret, and they were smart, they’d have thought of something more complicated.

I’ve never heard of T.M. Riddle, and I’ve never heard of the Chamber of Secrets being opened before. Sure, I knew about it. Everyone I grew up with was in Slytherin and every few years someone would try to find the Chamber, just to see if it existed, but no one ever found it. I think Malfoy might be pulling your leg.

Let me know if the Aparecium spell works, though.

Love, Sirius

—————————— ✶✶✶——————————

Dear Snitch,

Why don’t you ever write to me now that your Mum’s at school? Are you afraid I’ll tell her about the trouble you’re getting into? I won’t, I promise. Sirius says you still write to him, which is unfair.

Love you, can’t wait for your next Quidditch match. Let’s not have any broken limbs, charmed broomsticks, or unexpected dives this time, alright?

Love, Dad

—————————— ✶✶✶——————————

Dear Dad,

I haven’t written mostly because I figure Mum was telling you all the interesting things. Hermione is out of the hospital now and back in class. Madam Pomfrey says the Mandrakes are almost done and she can make Colin and Justin better soon.

But that’s really it. It’s been super quiet ever since Christmas. Lockhart seems to think the monster gave up because it was scared of him, but I don’t know who believes him. But maybe it really is all over. Maybe the Chamber of Secrets is closed again.

I’ll write again soon. Promise.

Love, Harry

—————————— ✶✶✶——————————

May 1, 1979

Lucius Malfoy,

Thank you for everything you did while we were in Paris. I was sorry Narcissa couldn’t attend, but I found the conversations absolutely stimulating. And I appreciate your offer of a job after graduation. I couldn’t ask for a better opportunity.

However, I heard from Avery and Lestrange that the Dark Lord wanted young purebloods to aid his cause. I’m worried about a conflict of interest. I mean you no disrespect, but Bellatrix introduced me to him and I’m sure I don’t need to tell you how inspiring he is.

If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to wait to give you a formal response until I know what responsibilities the Dark Lord has for me. He seemed very impressed with my family lineage and the things I could provide for our cause. I do hope you understand.

Sincerely, Regulus Black

—————————— ✶✶✶——————————

Valentine’s Day was an absolute disaster. Lockhart had singing dwarves dressed as cupids running around giving Valentine’s performances and reading cards out loud. Harry thought the whole thing absurd enough as it was, and then on his way to Charms class, a dwarf grabbed his bag.

Malfoy, Fred, and George were all standing nearby, so Harry tried to run for it. He had no desire to have a dwarf sing him a valentine in front of three people who would mock him endlessly about it. But in his escape attempt, the bag ripped, his inkwell crashed on the floor and spilled all over his belongings. Then the dwarf grabbed his ankles and Harry tumbled right into his spilled ink. His books and parchment went flying. Everyone was already laughing so hard, he thought maybe they wouldn’t hear the valentine or care about it. But as the dwarf opened his mouth, Fred and George shushed everyone.

The dwarf, in a gravely voice, began to sing,

“His eyes are green as a fresh pickled toad, His hair is as dark as a blackboard. I wish he was mine, he’s really divine, The hero who conquered the Dark Lord.”

Percy Weasley, the only one not laughing, shouted at everyone to go to class. “Move along,” he said loudly. “You too Malfoy.”

But Malfoy didn’t seem to have any intention of leaving. He reached down and picked up the diary that had spilled from Harry’s bag.

“Give it back,” Harry said as he got to his feet.

“Oh,” Malfoy crooned. “Wonder what Harry Potter’s written in his diary.” He flipped it open to a page, blank like all the others, and began to read, “I’m so glad my Mum’s a professor. I get everything I want all the time, even though Malfoy’s such a better Seeker —”

Harry wasn’t about to listen to another minute of this. “Expelliarmus!” he said, and the diary shot out of Malfoy’s hand and into his own.

“Harry!” a voice shouted and Harry winced.

Lily pushed her way through the crowd of students. “No spells in the hallway! That’ll be five points from Gryffindor. All of you, go to class!”

Malfoy sniggered as he pushed past Ginny Weasley to get into his classroom. “By the way, Weasley, I don’t think Potter liked your Valentine much.”

Ginny froze in the hallway and turned bright red.

“Mr. Malfoy!” Lily shouted after him. “Respect your classmates, or I’ll be taking points on your behalf next!” She huffed in frustration and looked over Harry, as covered in ink as his parchment.

Percy immediately began to tell her how he dispersed the students, but she didn’t have the patience to hear it.

“Enough, Mr. Weasley. I believe you have a Transfiguration class to attend.”

As Percy left, Lily cast a quick cleaning spell on Harry’s school things and his robes. As she mended the tear in his bag, Harry noticed his diary was perfectly dry, and had been when Malfoy picked it up.

Lily handed him his bag, then looked over at Ginny, who was so still Harry would’ve believed she’d been petrified. “What class do you have, dear?” Lily asked.

“H-Herbology,” Ginny stammered. She sounded like she might cry.

“Let me walk you, alright? I think Harry can find his own way to class.”

Ginny still didn’t move, but kept staring at Harry as he put the diary into his mended bag and started up the stairs to Charms class. Finally, Lily put an arm around Ginny’s shoulders and gently led her away.

Harry thought about Ginny’s valentine for the better part of the day — it was hard not to, with Fred and George singing it every five minutes — but as soon as he could, he slipped away to his dorm to test out his new theory with the diary. He sat down on his bed, opened the diary to January first, and dropped a dot of ink onto the paper. It stayed on the page for a moment, then faded into the paper. Harry took a deep breath and wrote, “My name is Harry Potter.”

He waited, breath held, while the words shimmered on the page before finally sinking into the diary. Another moment passed, and then ink oozed out of the paper until the diary said,

Hello, Harry Potter. My name is Tom Riddle. How did you come by my diary?

—————————— ✶✶✶——————————

Dear Dad,

Valentine’s Day was a disaster. Lockhart had these singing dwarves sending everyone valentines. It was so obnoxious.

I got one from Ginny. I guess she likes me? I don’t really know why. Do I have to do anything? I don’t know about girls or valentines or anything.

Love, Harry

—————————— ✶✶✶——————————

Dear Harry,

It’s been pretty obvious for years that Ginny has a crush on you. I’m surprised it took a Valentine for you to figure it out.

And no, you don’t have to do anything. Unless you want to do anything. Dating takes two, and if you or her don’t want to date, you don’t do anything.

Also, you’re twelve. Don’t worry about girls for at least three more years, please. I don’t think Sirius could handle it.

Love, Dad

—————————— ✶✶✶——————————

Dear Uncle Remus,

I figured out the diary! I assume Sirius told you about it. He tells you everything.

I tried writing in the diary, and it was incredible. It read my words and it wrote back!

I asked it about the Chamber of Secrets and it showed me Tom Riddle catching the person who originally opened the Chamber of Secrets, but….

I don’t know if I’m happy to know it. And I don’t think I can do anything about it. I don’t know what to do at all.

Love, Harry

—————————— ✶✶✶——————————

Dear Harry,

Secrets you don’t know what to do with are hard, especially when they’re not yours to share.

You have to do what feels right. If you think someone is in danger, you should tell an adult. If no one is in danger, it’s not your secret to share. You can ask the person who is responsible to share it, but there isn’t much else you can do about it.

Best of luck. I know you’ll make the right call.

Love, Uncle Remus

#harry potter everyone lives au #harry potter and the chamber of secrets #hp fic #hp everyone lives #harry potter

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diamantinemind · 6 years

Text

Risky Business

Summary: The Frosts practice risky corporate strategies while visiting an old wartime ally and business rival at his secret research facility in Flushing, Queens. Several days later, Emma and Elias decide to insure a potentially auspicious business asset as they inspect the aftermath of Natalia's visit to the great city of New York.

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Mutant!OC (Enemies to Friends)

Word Count: 10,374

A/N: Thanks for reading! Feedback is always appreciated.

“I wonder what the homeowners insurance rates are like in the area?” Elias mused aloud to his mother as he drove his white Ferrari 275 GTS convertible northbound down Whitestone Expressway.

He glanced to where Emma sat in the leather passenger seat of his roadster. Her long ash blonde hair was piled atop the back of her head by a handful of hairpins and sheer willpower, and it was tucked behind a satiny white polka dotted headscarf that was baby blue on one side and canary yellow on the reverse. The sunlight glared off the reflective lenses of her 18 karat gold-plated Cartier sunglasses, danced down the sleek powder blue leather of her Tibetan lamb fur-trimmed coat, and reflected off her high-waisted dove-white palazzo pants. She idly thrummed her French manicured fingernails on the door panel as the clement mid-March breeze gently tugged at the fur of her coat and the ends of her hair.

“This munitions plant of Howard’s has not been officially operative since October of 1945, so I cannot believe it would be as exorbitant as you imagine it being,” she said as Elias steered onto Exit 14 and coasted along the off-ramp. Emma cast her attention down to Flushing Creek below them as they crossed it. “I remember when this place used to be beautiful. Marshes, water fit for swimming, greenery as far as the eye could see.”

“I only ever remember this part of New York, borrowing the language of Fitzgerald—damn the oleaginous toad and his puerile, psychologically vacant writing—being but a great valley of ashes,” Elias recalled, his pale eyes flickering along the industrial landscape. “I can still taste the bitterness of char on my tongue from when we used to go this way to visit clients and investors in Port Washington.”

“I should have had you a century sooner so that you could have seen this place before humanity ruined it, darling,” Emma sighed wistfully as she turned her focus back to the road upon the off-ramp’s termination on the other side of Flushing Creek. Elias merged onto a road that he drove along until he came to the turn lane for Linden Place. When the traffic light changed to green, he made a right onto Linden. “Did I ever tell you that, after we read it, I burned the signed copy of The Great Gatsby that Fitzgerald gave us?”

“What?” Elias snorted in delight, his gaze skimming over a bowling alley, an endless stream of brownstone apartments, a hotel painted one shade darker than his convertible, and aging townhouses as they traversed Linden Place. “Mother, you didn’t!”

“I did,” Emma grinned. Elias’s shoulders shook with laughter as he turned onto 32nd Avenue. “I packaged the ashes and had them shipped to his doorstep.”

Lined with rundown graffiti-littered red brick warehouses, grease-smudged automobile shops, and dirt-stained brownstone apartments, 32nd Avenue stretched on for several blocks before it culminated in the bustling intersection of 32nd and College Point Boulevard. Beyond the intersection lay a long strip of land along the eastern bank of Flushing Creek where the Queens-based Stark Industries munitions plant loomed like the carcass of an aged grey beast.

“Well,” Elias said after a beat of driving in silence. “That explains it.”

“Explains what, darling?”

“Why I could never find that bloody book when I tried to burn it myself.”

The sound of Emma’s laughter, so very much like the musical sound of frozen rain tapping on a windowpane or like the crystals of a ballroom chandelier tinkling above a grand ballroom, bubbled from her throat to rest upon her son’s ears. With a wry grin, Elias came to a stop at the intersection at the end of 32nd Avenue and flicked on his blinker. As he waited for the traffic light to change in his favor, Elias and Emma observed through a steady stream of traffic the seemingly abandoned Stark Industries plant where Howard’s people made munition, missiles, and napalm for the U.S. government during the Second World War. Unknown to virtually everyone, though, was the fact that life still teemed within what externally seemed but a carapace of a place that had seen far better days. Hell, Elias and his mother had only uncovered the hidden purpose of this low profile location of Howard’s through some good-natured corporate espionage.

“Can you feel the guards?” Emma leaned forward in her seat, tipping her sunglasses low and casting her icy eyes along the bank.

A long compound of connected buildings encircled in barbed wire and chain link fencing, the Stark Industries munitions plant stretched from 32nd Avenue to 34th Avenue under the shadow of Whitestone Expressway and alongside the brackish waters of Flushing Creek. Despite it being widely believed to have been left unused since the end of the war, as a neighbor, Elias personally felt that nothing would delight him more than to look out his window every morning as he listened to Don McNeill’s Breakfast Club on the radio and know that he was only a single deviant spark away from a conflagration of God knows what kind of explosive that could still be lying around in Howard’s old plant that would force all of Flushing to be evacuated and consequently send everyone’s property values plummeting.

Regardless, neither Elias nor his mother had to rely on their telepathic talents to grasp that if there was ever a reason for America’s middle-aged and infamously overt Mustachioed Casanova to operate with what scant subtlety he possessed and work out of what appeared for all intents and purposes to be a deserted factory instead of one of his more highbrow and cutting-edge locales around the world, it must have been a good one. Naturally, Elias and Emma could already confirm that what Howard was hiding behind the thick concrete walls of his plant did indeed necessitate a certain degree of… well, subtlety, especially considering the oft apocalyptic tensions between the United States and the U.S.S.R. that had only been exacerbated since Elias and his mother (and the rest of the Western World for that matter) had lost Kennedy to an assassin in Texas a year and four months ago. The last thing Howard would want the public hearing was that he had been working alongside a Soviet, let alone an authority on electromagnetism and fusion reaction that was formerly on the KGB’s payroll, since 1946.

“I can sense the guards,” Elias nodded as the light turned green and he made a left onto College Point Boulevard. “Twenty-five professionals hired from a private military company as well as a team of Stark Industries scientists.” Elias drifted into the lane closest to the razor-edged enclosure surrounding the munitions plant and eyed the locked gateway up ahead on the side of the road. “I do wonder why Howard chose to hire PMCs to serve as guards instead of capitalizing on his position as one of the directors of S.H.I.E.L.D. to staff this facility.”

“You can ask him soon enough, darling; he’s working alongside his boffins and the Soviet as we speak.”

“Splendid,” Elias’s irises silvered as they remained trained on the road before him.

He reached out with his mind and caressed the fragile psyches of every single one of Howard’s PMCs, his influence casting far and wide throughout the plant and shimmering in the atmosphere over the factory like a great steely net before ensnaring the pliant minds of the hired guards in his telepathic grasp. Twenty-five budlike brains burst into open-petaled blossoms for Elias, proffering to him all their knowledge and skills and secrets for his use. Twenty-five sets of eyes extended Elias’s sight to all reaches of the building, no dark corner left unseen, no act left unwitnessed. From the former warehouse-turned-state-of-the-art security and surveillance station to the long production lines remodeled into a number of high-tech laboratories, Elias saw it all. With hardly half a thought, he compelled two PMCs posted in the security and surveillance station to begin redirecting the incriminating gaze of any security camera onsite that even held a fraction of a chance of capturing Elias and his mother on film, and he urged another pair of guards to rush to the gate.

“Such a peculiar place for a weapons factory,” Elias said as he pulled off College Point Boulevard and drove up to the gateway just as the guards were so generously slipping loose the final lock and pushing the gate open. When Howard’s two PMCs were safely out of the way, Elias eased his Ferrari forward into the compound and parked it at one of the loading bays. “I suppose we cannot judge Howard too harshly, though; we do have that one electronics factory in the urban heart of Tehran.”

“Oh,” Emma sighed longingly while she slipped off her designer sunglasses and set them on the dash. “I miss Iran, darling—the cuisine is scrumptious.”

“Now that you mention it, Mother, I could go for some of the stew we had last time; you know, the one with poultry and pomegranate syrup that was served with white rice. Khoresh-e fesenjān?” A pair of guards jogged to Elias’s roadster, Heckler & Koch handguns holstered at their hips, and opened the driver’s and passenger’s side doors with all the grace of well-trained valets. Elias slid out his car, tossed his keys to the guard nearest him, and patted him on the chest. “Be a dear and make sure my baby does not get hurt while we are gone, sweetheart; I just waxed and detailed him all by hand this morning, and I swear that if someone so much as puts their oily finger on him, I will damn well but a bloody dent in them and you.”

“You and your cars,” Emma snorted at her son as the second guard offered her his hand. She took his help graciously and rose to her feet before eying the vacant loading dock. “I’ll give Howard this much: he’s committed to the act of making this facility appear too ignoble for use by one of America’s most illustrious billionaires since the likes of Rockefeller, Carnegie, or us.”

Elias’s mother was far from wrong. The concrete loading bay which had once been a continuous sheet of smooth grey was pocked with potholes and had been reduced to cracked rubble in spots, allowing weeds to grow up from the earth and color the dreary ground. Faded newspaper shreds were caught in the links of the fencing and waved like banners in the breeze, empty aluminum beer cans dotted the lot outside the munitions plant like curious metallic flowers, and shards of glass lay hidden in the dirt like jewels waiting to be polished. The metal loading dock doors were streaked with rust and decorated with the most sophisticated of urban artworks. Though he was being unfairly sarcastic, some of the graffiti actually impressed Elias, such as the hyperrealistic rendition of Rosa Parks and Dr. King standing hand-in-hand or the art-nouveau depiction of Erik Lehnsherr’s helmeted profile in shades of oxblood and aubergine with the phrase “No more hiding, no more suffering” arcing around the crown of his anti-telepathy headgear. Elias shook his head. To a degree, Erik was right, and Charles was no different, and yet… their philosophies were two vastly disparate kinds of extremism.

Turning away from the graffiti and walking to his mother, Elias nodded at a nondescript side door: “According to Howard’s watchdogs, that is one of the two entrances to the renovated laboratories. There is another around back. Both are heavily fortified, but I have guards ready to let us in on my command.”

Emma looped her arm through her son’s: “Shall we?”

With the minds of Howard’s PMCs at their disposal, Elias and his mother made quick work of navigating the plant, which was as slovenly and slipshod on the inside as it was on the outside for much of their trek through the mechanized wasteland that was the vast majority of Howard’s secret facility. Just when Elias had been beginning to feel like he was going to need at least three separate highly thorough showers to disinfect himself of the dirt and dust, he and Emma stumbled upon the portion of the plant which had been remodeled for scientific study. Hidden behind a set of biometrically locked blast-proof doors, stepping into Howard’s laboratories was like stepping into a different plane of reality where grey grittiness and squalor were but distant dreams of an epoch long lost to the sands of time. Elias actually had to squint against the fluorescent lighting reflecting off the blinding sterility and brilliant whiteness of the renovated assembly line-turned-research center.

“Bloody hell,” he cursed under his breath, uncertain himself of whether he was more stunned by the drastic change of scenery or the glaring lights.

Blinking as his eyes adjusted, Elias quickly scanned the former factory floor while his mother telepathically cloaked them from mortal sight, molding the multicolored psionic energy in the room into a frigid white dome of power that swirled and glittered about herself and her son like a localized snowstorm. Austere walls marked with windows of reinforced glass, diagram- and equation-littered chalkboards, and machinery of the highest caliber—well, in the United States and not owned by Frost International, anyway; Elias had seen better in some of his and his mother’s own facilities and in Wakanda, but that was another story. Men in lab coats buzzed and droned about like studious bees across the room, arguing and hypothesizing and collaborating. Some pointed fervently at schematics sketched upon the chalkboards. Elias followed their gaze to see repeated figures appearing at least once on each chalkboard in the room: an all too familiar crystalline, cube-shaped vessel of unimaginable power and limitless energy and some manner of largescale toric…thingamabob?

“Do you see this?” Elias telepathically queried his mother as he walked past several of Howard’s scientists to inspect an unmanned chalkboard. “These equations? The schematics? Howard’s finally using his research on the Tesseract.”

“A few of the finer details regarding the physics are off,” Emma paced after her son and narrowed her sapphire eyes in scrutiny at the chalkboard. “Are these people not supposed to be the best scientific minds Howard has to work with?”

“Well, yes,” Elias conceded. “But that wasn’t my point, Mum. This torus-shaped device, is this supposed to be a...” He examined the equations and chemical reactions plotted about the diagram, his mind processing the data far faster than any of Howard’s supercomputers. “God in Heaven, it’s a prototypical energy source based off the Tesseract.”

“Well, Howard did drunkenly confess at the international Hellfire Club soiree of 1953 in Los Angeles that he believed the Tesseract could be the key to indefinite sustainable energy,” Emma reminisced as she smudged out an incorrect coefficient, picked up a nearby piece of chalk, and corrected the error. “But this blueprint doesn’t make sense to me; if the core truly burns isotopes of palladium like it says, then he’s making a cold fusion reactor of some sort, one that depends upon a palladium-103 and palladium-107 radio-isotopic decay cell to produce an electrical current.” Emma traced the stream of chemical equations with the piece of chalk pinched between her fingers, and Elias did the same with his eyes. “But how is Howard reconciling the balancing of the protons between the isotopes? Palladium-107 releases an electron via beta decay when it turns into silver-107, therein causing a neutron to turn into a proton.”

“And palladium-103 produces rhodium-103 via electron capture, taking an inner electron into the nucleus, combining it with a proton, and creating a neutron,” Elias nodded eagerly, pointing to the reaction in question on the board. “The electrons would balance the resulting atomic nuclei. If he’s aiming to create energy, there would, in effect, be no net flow of electricity, which means—”

“Howard has found a way to utilize the beta decay of palladium-107 ions as an electron source for palladium-103—”

“Thereby producing an electric circuit between two different radioactive isotopes!” Elias pointed to the diagram of the torus-shaped reactor, taking note of the band-like segments sketched intermittently along the ring of the apparatus. “He must be using electromagnets in the actual reactor, then, to ionize, control the electron transfer, and manipulate the radioactive decay of the palladium-103.”

“I must admit that it’s an ingenious attempt to replicate the Tesseract without causing the kind of destruction that the Tesseract itself is capable of wreaking,” Emma canted her head in acknowledgement and set the chalk down after correcting another numerical error. “The use of palladium, of course, as Howard likely knows, is dreadfully subpar and causing most of the complications he’s running into. He may be limited by the technology of his time, but vibranium would do wonders had he the resources, although I suspect from this data that he has already crossed that bridge and considered it a fruitless path to follow. The poor man likely still thinks that he used the last of this world’s vibranium cache to build Captain Rogers’s shield.”

Turning his searching gaze to the laboratories once more, Elias spotted Howard across the room. Elias himself vaguely recalled being 47—the year was 1891, Benjamin Harrison was the President, the Gay Nineties were treating Frost International rather well, and the suffrage movement was picking up speed around the world—but unlike Howard, Elias’s 47 years had not looked so… timeworn. The nearly ebony hair on which Howard had prided himself in his youth had faded in color, having greyed at the temples, and had receded back from his creased forehead. Small lines likewise furrowed the once tight flesh at the corners of his eyes and mouth, and his tanned skin was beginning to show the telltale signs of a man who had spent his lengthy bachelor years lazing in the sun with a drink in hand and women queued up for his affections when he wasn’t tinkering in some lab or fleeing the United States on charges of selling weapons to Russians.

Some things had and would forever remain the same, however. He was still trim, wore his signature mustache, and refused to don a lab coat in his own facilities where he demanded everyone else be dressed to strict protocol. Despite his wife’s laboring to make an honest man of him, Howard Stark’s psyche also still reeked of lifelong duplicity and self-interest behind the showman-playboy persona he wore like a second skin and clung to like a lifeline.

Alas, the prices one must pay to climb the menacing American ladder as the son of immigrants, the son of Jews, in an increasingly xenophobic and intolerant country. Though Howard may not have been one of Elias’s favorite wartime allies or business rivals or people in general, he admired the man’s will to claw his way out of the oppression and baseness of his childhood and clamber to the acme of American society. For someone whose father had been a fruit vendor and whose mother had made shirtwaists in a factory, Howard had risen from rags to riches, a regular American Cinderella sans bespoke crystal footwear.

“Do we feel like extending an olive branch before we neglect to tell Howard that Natalia is on her way with another K.G.B. agent to snatch his ex-Soviet colleague?” Elias asked his mother.

“Personally?” Emma turned on her heel, wound her arm through her son’s again, and walked them back to the center of the room. “No. Do you feel the need to do so?”

“I’m indifferent.” Elias admitted, his eyes trained on the future abductee, a pale and dark-haired giant of a man—Anton Vanko, mid-forties, defected from the U.S.S.R. at the end of World War II and sought asylum in the United States thereafter—as he conversed with Howard. “Vanko is…” Elias narrowed his eyes and honed in on Vanko’s mind; the Russian was hiding something, something which had been weighing upon his psyche for years—“Vanko is—no, was a spy. He just went rogue on the U.S.S.R. a week ago.”

“That certainly explains why my better judgment barred me from trying to steal him from Stark Industries and employ him as a lead scientist at one of our labs the second he stepped foot on American soil.”

Elias nodded slowly: “That also explains why the K.G.B. is sending Natalia and another agent to abduct him, then; his original defection had been a ploy, but this time it was too authentic for their liking.”

“Fickle as cats, the K.G.B.,” Emma snorted, and with a dismissive flick of her wrist, the swirling psionic energy shrouding them from detection dissipated into the rafters high overhead.

As per custom to those who are unused to the tricks of telepaths or the talents of superpowered individuals in general, the sudden appearance of two natty blonds from seeming nothingness not only caught the attention of every single person in the room but also gave them each quite a start. One man flinched so hard that he tripped over his own feet and nearly fell upon a rather fragile and highly expensive apparatus beside him. A thunderous silence descended upon the factory floor for several fleeting moments as all eyes then turned from Elias and Emma to Howard, whose composure had slipped seconds prior and whose visage revealed an array of rapidly shifting emotions: astonishment melted into fury which chilled into leaden recognition that in turn grew buoyant and became a sort of curiosity tinged with tones of uneasy caution and an almost fond exasperation.

“How—?” Howard began, shattering the tense quiet.

“Your security team are gentlemen, Howard,” Emma offered the man a charming smile and little else. “They were only too happy to open any door we wanted.”

“They’re also getting fired,” Howard muttered before jamming his hands in his pockets and striding toward Elias and Emma. His scientists scrambled to return to their studies as he walked by. Vanko’s gaze lingered on the Frosts until Elias caught his eye and the alleged ex-Soviet turned his back to the unfolding scene in the center of the old assembly line. “This is private property, you know. It’s also a top-secret facility that I’ve gone to great lengths to secrete.”

“Truly?” Elias shifted his attention from Vanko to Howard, whose nostrils marginally flared as he came to a stop before the Frosts. “We had no idea, sweetheart, I assure you.”

“Glad to see you’ve still got your scintillating wit and suavity,” Howard sighed heavily through his nose. “Since I assume you have my security team firmly under your thumbs, there’s no point in throwing you both out, so how can I help you?”

“Oh, Howard, darling,” Emma unlinked her arm from her son’s and patted Howard’s cheek, “as if you could even think of tossing your two dearest corporate competitors and most valued S.H.I.E.L.D. consultants aside like they were nothing more to you than trifles.” A single fluting chuckle escaped her, and she shook her head, patting Howard’s cheek more sharply this time, the smack and suction of flesh audible with each strike. “Now, my dear, let us get down to the brass tacks; we have simply missed you and the wonderful brain housed in that skullcap of yours so dearly that we came on a social call. Indulge a pair of old friends, won’t you, Howard?”

“The day that Emma and Elias Frost swing by unannounced for a ‘social call’ without a hidden agenda or twenty is the day that I drop dead,” Howard snorted, shaking his head in amusement as Emma’s hand fell back to her side. “Why the hell not, though, I guess? We can gab—it’s bound to be more interesting than anything else I had planned for the day.”

~*~*~*~*~

“The bar is serving scotch on the rocks today, ladies and gents,” Howard cast a glance over his shoulder as he poured his drink into a crystal tumbler filled with ice chips. “Any takers?”

Elias examined the renovated foreman’s breakroom that Howard had made his personal office and all its ascetic décor: “More of a martini man, admittedly.”

“I too appreciate the offer, Howard dear, but I don’t drink that scotch,” Emma said as she idly inspected Howard’s cluttered desk before taking a seat in one of the man’s high-back leather chairs, conceivably the most extravagant furnishing in the room. Crossing one leg neatly over the other, she turned her wintery eyes then to Howard’s back.

“I think I recall you saying something like that at my first Hellfire Club party,” Howard hummed in thought as he capped his scotch decanter and set it aside on the bar behind his desk. He turned to face the Frosts as Elias moved to stand beside his mother, shifting his weight so that he leaned casually against the back of her chair. “Boston, spring of 1941, the New England branch’s annual gala. Sir John Braddock, Warren Worthington II, Sebastian Shaw, and I were there to be inducted. I was in the midst of speaking with a friend—”

“Hugh Jones, the head of Roxxon Oil Corporation and the man who you would later make a cuckold, you mean,” Elias reminded with a smirk. Without so much as a look in his mother’s direction, he accessed the psychic link between them and telepathically queried, “Are you ready?”

“I’m entering Vanko’s subconscious as we speak, darling.”

“Yes,” Howard cleared his throat, “thank you for jogging my memory, Frost.” Flicking his brown eyes between Elias and Emma, he continued: “And then all of a sudden, the real celebrities of the party show up—Club Royalty! Let’s see, Ned Buckman was the Black King at the time, and he introduced himself alongside you two and a pretty blonde piece of arm candy, his Black Queen. Paris Seville, I believe—”

“And then you revealed yourself to be highly intoxicated and a spoiled lothario riding into the Hellfire Club on a tide of entitlement if memory serves me correctly,” Emma smiled affably. Her glacial blue irises froze into a tundra white color defined from the off-white sclera of her eyes by a wire-thin ring of silver-cyan, and she telepathically said to her son, “The replication of Vanko’s knowledge on electromagnetism and fusion reaction has commenced.”

“Ah, yes, well…” Howard frowned, none the wiser to his sudden development of a case of something akin to acute induced visual agnosia thanks to Elias. With his parietal lobes temporarily impaired in such a way, Howard may have been able to see the piercing eyes of the two blonds visiting him, but he was ignorant to the fact that those eyes he beheld were no longer the jewel blue he was accustomed to observing; rather, they were psychically charged and colored in shades of white and silver. “Those were quite the days, weren’t they?” He took a long sip of his scotch and said, “Thank God people change.”

“People do change…” Emma said with a sigh, thrumming her manicured nails on the plush armrests of Howard’s chair in displeasure. Elias felt his mother sneer psychically before she said to him, “So, not only is Vanko an ex-spy, but he is also riding off of Howard’s coattails. For a so-called fusion reaction and electromagnetism genius, he certainly does not know much more than you or I, darling.”

“Does that then make us among the world’s foremost experts on fusion reaction and electromagnetism?” Elias asked his mother with a playful lilt. “I think it should.”

Emma offered her son a fond smirk before turning her attention back to Howard: “Despite the perhaps unwarranted verbal lashings, Howard, it is good to see you.”

“Yes,” Elias nodded his agreement even though it was not entirely the truth. Like Howard had earlier stated, the Frosts had possessed ulterior motives for their visit today prior to finding out Vanko was a largely hopeless resource for further scientific insights. Perhaps, though, he could still be of use; corporate intel and Stark secrets were just as desirable as knowledge of advanced physics and chemistry, after all. Of course, Elias and his mother could have mined it all direct from the source himself, but psionically parasitizing people who could be considered friends mayhap crossed the already tenuous and hazy ethical line all psychics perpetually toed due to the nature of their burdensome gift. “We missed you at the last three Hellfire Club annual galas.”

“Emma, Elias,” Howard’s eyes flickered to the drink in his hand, the ice clinking softly in his glass. “You know as well as I do that I’m trying to put my days of debauchery behind me. I’m not quite as young—or romantically available—as I used to be.” He chuckled, “And besides, the environment towards the end of my partying days with the Club was always so tense when I was sober enough to sense it.”

“In sooth?” Elias tilted his head as though ignorant to what Howard spoke of. It would be… beneficial to hear Howard’s perspective on the noted and dangerously authentic tensions within their Hellfire branch.

“Yes, in sooth, Shakespeare,” Howard scoffed. “I swore sometimes that you two were going to tear Shaw and his friends apart. Isn’t the Inner Circle supposed to get along? And also, what’s up with the Hellfire Club coordinating the Cuban Missile Crisis and trying to spark mutually assured destruction?”

“That was all Shaw’s sect,” Elias withheld a snarl. “Trust us; we had no idea the Black Court was going to do something so gauche and nihilistic behind our backs.”

“Moreover, Howard, don’t be daft,” Emma rolled her glittering snow-colored eyes. “From your time as a director of S.H.I.E.L.D. to your own experiences as creator and chief executive of Stark Industries, you know how it is to work alongside people just as headstrong as yourself. Also, when have you ever known the upper crust to ‘get along’?”

Though his mother was making generalizations to dissuade Howard from probing further into the dynamics of the New England Hellfire Club’s Inner Circle, the man was not inherently wrong in his assessment. There had been a time when the Inner Circle had run like a well-oiled machine (with a little bit of psychic policing as the lubricant, admittedly, though that was beside the point). However, that era of esprit de corps had come to an abrupt and bloody conclusion at the onset of the Second World War when Elias and his mother had been called to Europe to assist the Strategic Scientific Reserve in their mission to combat the forces of HYDRA ravaging the European, Mediterranean, and Middle Eastern theatres.

While Emma and Elias had been offering their services in whatever manner best helped the S.S.R.’s early war efforts—whether that be telepathically spying on, psychically lobotomizing, and/or brutally assassinating Nazis and fascists—Edward Buckman, the Black King at the time, had been charmed by Sebastian Hiram Shaw’s ambition and ruthlessness between the sporadic home visits Elias and Emma were able to make. Naturally, it was while they were across the pond that Buckman had idiotically decided to mentor Shaw for a leadership position in the Club. Buckman, the heedless oaf, may as well have signed his and his lover’s own death warrants.

In August of 1943, Shaw, a closeted mutant and the CEO and founder of a weapons manufacturing company slightly less impressive than Stark Industries, had betrayed Buckman. Shaw had the Black King executed alongside his Black Queen and lover Paris Seville at her coastal Rhode Island estate and had the murders pinned on one of Seville’s maids with whom Buckman engaged in highly inappropriate relations on the side. With Buckman and Seville six feet under and Elias’s and Emma’s North American presence growing scarcer the longer the war raged on, Shaw had secured almost complete control over the New England branch of the Hellfire Club. It did not require an overly active imagination to grasp how unfortunate such a situation and the innumerable unseemly alterations to the Club Shaw was able to churn out in Elias’s and Emma’s absence turned out to be for all parties involved, save perhaps Shaw himself and his closest allies. Their time would come, though; in fact, it was coming, burgeoning on the horizon like a radiant dawn.

“So,” Elias felt the gears turning in Howard’s mind, felt him prepare to again press the issue of the Inner Circle, and cut him off. “How is Maria?”

“Good, good.” Howard accepted the conversational redirection. To a point. “She more or less banned me from ever attending one of your Club parties again.”

“A pity,” Emma remarked without much conviction. Howard, bullheaded as he was, was blatantly not letting talk of the Hellfire Club drop so easily. Emma heaved a prolonged psychic sigh, “I suppose this is the price we must pay for making an unannounced visit and lying about why we truly came.”

“We might as well let him jabber on,” Elias returned. “It will give you more time to root around in Vanko’s skull and see what kind of intel he had been sending the K.G.B. before he decided to quit and practically ask for them to send Natalia after him.”

Out of some quasi-Pavlovian reflex Elias occasionally acted upon at the mention of Natalia, he unconsciously glanced to his right arm. Beneath the silk sleeve of his dress shirt, the young woman’s Parisian parting gift remained on the far side of his bicep—a surprisingly clean silver-pink line spanning the muscle, the remnant of a wound bone-deep. He could have healed the scar much in the same manner he had psionically regenerated the damaged tissue and lost blood, but he had decided to keep it on a whim. Elias could not quite explain it, but in the moment and even now, it had felt and still feels wrong somehow to will it away with no more than a bat of his eyes.

It could be a result of his growing… fondness of Natalia. Receiving a live stream of updates on her without cessation through the psychic tag he had anchored deep in her psyche had certainly warmed Elias to a strange partiality from his initially scientific curiosity and pragmatic mindset concerning how the U.S.S.R.’s premier Black Widow might best operate as a pawn for him and his mother’s far-reaching ambitions. Though it was difficult to describe what exactly Elias felt for Natalia after she had unknowingly been a constant fixture in his mind for well over a year, he did hold for her a great deal of sympathy—or maybe empathy since he vicariously felt her suffering? Irrespective of sentiment, due to the bond that Elias had psionically forged with Natalia, he had gained a wealth of superliminal and subliminal knowledge from the young woman and likely knew her and the Red Room just as intimately as she herself did at the current moment.

Formally recognized in the U.S.S.R. as an invitation-only and little-known girl’s boarding school and ballet conservatoire named the Red Room Academy for the Advanced Education of Exceptional Young Women, the Red Room was in reality a remote espionage training facility for vulnerable and easily-acquired orphan girls across the vast U.S.S.R. As for the historical particulars of the facility and the Black Widow Ops Program instituted there, Natalia was not exactly well-versed. With a little digging and conversing with old former S.S.R. associates who had infiltrated the Red Room Academy in 1946, Elias and his mother were able to piece together some of the information beyond Natalia’s grasp. The Red Room itself was the brainchild of Russia’s Department X, a covert deep science and espionage government agency created by Joseph Stalin after the Great War to ensure that the Soviet Union would become the world’s leading superpower by having better weapons than both its enemies and allies combined. Despite founding the Red Room sometime in the 1920s and crafting the Russian Assassin Program—the Black Widow Ops Program’s precursor—to train young girls as elite spies and assassins who would grow up to hopefully be some of the U.S.S.R.’s greatest operatives, Department X produced rather unimpressive results. It was not until the final years of World War II when Department X experienced some form of smashing success—likely the replication or development of a variant of Erskine’s Super Soldier Serum paired with advancements in the field of psychotechnics or the acquisition of psionicially gifted assets—that inspired an overhaul of the previously middling Russian Assassin Program, thus birthing the Black Widow Ops Program which would go on to garner additional victories for the Soviet Union.

What Natalia did know about the Red Room, though, was all in lived experience, which was without a doubt just as crucial as the more historiographical information Elias and Emma had managed to uncover. At any rate, Natalia’s intel was by far more likely to be of immediate practical use. Located among the pine woods and swamps of northwestern Byelorussia, the Red Room was hidden well enough from public sight that evidence of its crimes against humanity could be buried in the winter snow or tossed into the nearby marshy lowlands for the forest’s resident scavengers to consume and thereby conceal. The facility’s inhuman abuses were many, though brainwashing, torture, murder, forced human experimentation, and the training of child soldiers certainly topped the list.

While Natalia’s childhood had been spent mastering the art of killing and weaponizing her budding femininity and learning the manifold ways to destabilize governments, other girls her age had been able to be carefree and happy in the summer years of childhood. Laughing, singing, playing, things that Natalia had never known, that she may never know. Such youthful innocence should not be a privilege for those able to afford it, and the fact that it indeed was an honor rather than a God-given right on this depraved chunk of rock floating in an unforgiving universe made Elias’s blood boil in his veins and gave him rash notions to astrally project his consciousness halfway across the world and psychically assassinate the monsters responsible for ruining the lives of little girls like Natalia.

“You doing fine over there, Elias?” Howard’s voice cut through the fog of fury that clouded Elias’s mind and brought him rushing back to reality. Howard’s gaze was wary, his hands wrapped carefully around his now empty tumbler.

“Lost in thought, Howard,” Elias forced a laugh and a tight-lipped smile. “Forgive me for my preoccupation.”

“No need for apologies,” Howard said with a much more reassuring smile than Elias’s. He cleared his throat awkwardly, his upturned lips slipping in mild concern. “Is it Rogers and… Barnes?”

“Uh…” Elias blinked, thrown. Emma tensed in Howard’s chair.

"Howard—” Emma warned at the same moment that Howard set his tumbler aside and said, “This month marks the 20th anniversary of Rogers’s flying the Valkyrie into the Arctic and Barnes’s—”

“I may be a centenarian, Stark, but my memory has yet to fail me,” Elias lightly quipped. He swallowed, his throat growing thick with the melancholy that had been intermittently afflicting him for days, though, admittedly had receded since he and his mother had decided to investigate Howard’s secret research facility. “James—” Elias frowned. No one had ever referred to James by his first name other than Elias himself, James’s second-generation immigrant mother Winifred, and his headstrong Romanian grandmother, and that is how the man had liked it. “Buck would have been 48 years old on March 10.”

Emma reached up for Elias’s hand, holding onto it tightly: “Why don’t we talk about something else, darling? Something like Howard’s laughably short-lived career as a film director or when Peggy knocked him into the Thames on V-E Day for trying to kiss her and how he would have drowned had he not been fished out by a group of frogmen.”

Elias squeezed his mother’s hand, grateful, but sighed instead, “I have missed him every day since 1945. Steve too; he was a remarkable man and one of the best friends I have ever had.”

“I…” Howard scowled, shaking his head. “I hate this time of the year. Reminds me of all the ways we could have done things differently back then. Reminds me of how the world lost some of the greatest men and left profiteers like me behind.”

“Howard, you are hardly to blame for anything that happened during that odious chapter in the text of human existence.” Emma massaged the bridge of her nose wearily. She always got weary when speaking of the war.

“That doesn’t mean I don’t feel guilty for helping to produce weapons of mass destruction, Emma, for working on Project Manhattan and making that godforsaken atom bomb,” Howard admitted in a rare moment of incisive and brutal honesty. “You know, my greatest creation was Captain America; he was the only thing I made that genuinely saved lives, directly and indirectly, instead of outright claiming them.”

Elias, in an even rarer moment of empathy, pursed his brow: “Oh, Howard...”

“What do you think this Earth would be like had Barnes not fallen?” Howard asked, his gaze faraway. “Had Rogers found some way to save the day without sacrificing himself in the end?”

“Thinking like that will not bring them back,” Elias pushed himself upright from the back of the chair his mother sat in, feeling the need to put his body in motion to better occupy his mind and the darkness which eddied at its outskirts. “But if you want my God’s honest opinion, I would have dragged Buck home from the war after the Commandos came back from their mission to capture Zola and returned him to his family like he wanted the whole bloody time he was overseas. He would be safe, happy. Likely a mite more rotund and softer in spots, but still as handsome as ever.” Elias exhaled heavily through his nose as he felt his voice begin to falter. He paced across the room, examining the sparsely decorated walls to distract himself. “As for Steve, well, he and Peggy would have gone dancing. Courted. Maybe married and had a few kids as obstinate as both of them.”

Elias turned and saw that his mother’s eyes were on him. They were no longer glowing white with telepathic power. Instead, they were just their regular pretty blue and so profoundly sad. He averted his gaze.

Howard broke the silence: “You really loved Barnes, didn’t you?”

“With every aching fiber of my being.”

~*~*~*~*~

Shutting the passenger’s side door of his mother’s porcelain white Aston Martin DB5, Elias flipped up the wide collar of his Burberry peacoat against the frigid early morning drizzle sailing near-horizontal on the wind. The soft wool brushed the stubble of his jaw, reminding him that he needed to shave. Or maybe not—he could raise a neatly trimmed beard like he had in his twenties and thirties; full facial hair was slowly coming back into fashion since it had silently grown passé in the decades following the Civil War. He adjusted the brim of his beaver-fur fedora as a gust of wind tried to snag it from atop his head. He shoved his leather-gloved hands in his coat pockets, pushing all thoughts of grooming and haircare aside for the time being, and glanced around the lot surrounding Howard’s Queens-based research facility which had officially lost its top-secret status as of Natalia’s visit to it less than twelve hours ago.

Although he had remotely kept tabs on Natalia and her activities from the previous night via the psychic tag embedded in her psyche, Elias had to give his favorite Slavic spider a hand upon observing the physical aftermath of said nighttime activities. She had indubitably left a message. Grey plumes of smoke yet curled up into the cold rainy sky from the half-melted and warped remains of the warehouse where Howard’s security and surveillance station had once been located as well as from the ragged hole which had been blown in the graffiti-laden exterior wall outside the part of the factory where Howard’s laboratories had been. The smell of ash still hung heavy in the air, and a vaguely chemical odor slithered beneath the burnt scent, only detectable when the breeze happened to propel it in the right direction from the assembly line laboratories. Half-singed papers, broken lab equipment, and strips of metal rested upon the cracking concrete like fallen corpses before the plant’s newfound sharp-edged maw while literal blackened corpses littered the hard earth near the burnt warehouse. Picking through all the detritus as they slipped into and tramped out of the hole in the factory wall and the warehouse’s writhen skeleton was a team from Damage Control, S.H.I.E.L.D.’s official cleanup crew that assessed and controlled messes like the one the K.G.B. had left behind for Howard to find.

“What happened here?” Emma, in a dark trench tied loosely about her waist, a matching bucket hat, and white André Courrèges go-go boots, walked around her British grand tourer after locking it to stand beside her son.

“What you see before you is the result of the foolishness of another of the field chaperones the K.G.B. seems so insistent upon pairing Natalia with following the events which transpired in West Berlin and Paris.” Elias swept his gaze around the wrecked compound and inspected the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents as they went about their work with antlike efficiency. “While Natalia cleared the way for her K.G.B. babysitter, a veteran agent named Boris Turgenov, and then permanently took down the surveillance system by setting off high-grade explosives in the warehouse, Turgenov made his way to the labs. Howard was not onsite during the attack, but what PMCs remained from Natalia’s initial strike evacuated the other scientists and got them to safety by the time Turgenov broke through the lab doors—”

“And found Vanko still there?”

“Precisely,” Elias nodded. “Vanko refused to let Turgenov haul him back to the U.S.S.R. where he would be exterminated, tossed into the Siberian wilderness to fend for himself, or brainwashed into servitude, no doubt.”

“And the gaping hole in the factory wall comes in where?”

“Vanko and Tergenov scuffled. Vanko pulled out a highly unstable and untested ray gun of some sort that he and Howard had recently designed, fired it, and blew up not only Turgenov but also part of the factory wall and himself.”

“So Vanko is dead?”

The sound of wet concrete chips and glass crunching underfoot filled the silent compound as Elias and Emma impassively watched the Damage Control team clear the area, rolling charred corpses into body bags, sorting through seared and water-damaged classified research notes, and lugging damaged laboratory gear into S.H.I.E.L.D. cargo vans pulled up in the loading bay near where Emma had parked the GT she had fallen in love with after having seen it being driven by Sean Connery as James Bond in Goldfinger last year.

“Vanko was admitted into the ICU at Queens Hospital Center when first responders found him pinned under a massive slab of the collapsed wall,” Elias said. “He’s in critical condition and is suffering from… a lot.”

Taking a moment to parse through the colorful threadlike psionic signatures and layers of psychic imprints left along the bank of Flushing Creek, Elias found a trace of Natalia’s psyche almost immediately. Claret red as the blood she spilled or the hair framing her pale face and redolent of new leather, spring lilacs in full bloom, and scouring soap, it was a thing to which he had become accustomed over the years. He knew it like the back of his hand, and it was because of this that Elias had to suppress a troubled sigh.

It was changing, displaying telltale signs that Natalia’s Black Widow conditioning was deteriorating and had been doing so in an insidious manner for some time now. As best as Elias could tell, the only perceptible effects of the conditional degradation were still relatively minor: implanted Red Room memories and obedience were grudgingly shifting like once-settled tectonic plates encrusting the slumbering superdense core that was all that the Soviets had attempted to repress within Natalia as it turned fitfully in its dwindling sleep. The vague sense of wrongness that she had experienced intermittently a month after Elias had first planted the anchor had now become something akin to her new understanding of personal normalcy, and the corrective switches wired into her programming which set Tchaikovsky to thundering in her skull whenever her psyche deviated from the preset Soviet standard held for Widows before righting the abnormality were so eroded that they only flipped once every week or two.

This provided Elias with only an infinitesimal amount of comfort despite the fact that these results were the slow-growing fruit of his psychic anchor and his mother’s further splintering of Natalia’s conditioning in the middle of Paris’s leading military museum as he had kept the Black Widow preoccupied with his testing of her potential as an asset to be added to the Frost’s arsenal. Verily, the Frosts had wanted this to happen, had caused this to happen, and yet… Elias could not shake the niggling concern that wormed in the pit of his stomach at the thought of how his and his mother’s manipulations might impact Natalia should the K.G.B.’s psy-ops agents or her brutal handlers finally discover that the U.S.S.R.’s best Widow was compromised in perhaps the most compromising of ways. It was a reality that would precipitately come about if Natalia’s conditioning continued to flag at the rate at which it had been and the Frosts did nothing to either stop it or further secrete it. Given the circumstances, though, secreting it was going to prove to be an increasingly difficult option that would call for a drastic decision should Elias and his mother wish to circumvent future resource-draining complications.

Emma reached out and touched her son’s arm, shaking him from his thoughts: “Where is she now?”

“Preparing to land in Moscow from a nine hour flight aboard a small Soviet jet,” Elias honed in on his psychic connection to Natalia, and he saw her piloting the private aircraft through the heavy steely clouds of the Russian countryside. “When she lands, she will refuel and rest for a few hours before returning to the K.G.B. outpost in Novosibirsk where the Widows are all stationed.”

“We’re not letting the K.G.B. realize what kind of state Natalia’s conditioning is in and losing nearly two years of work and a potential asset,” Emma reassuringly squeezed Elias’s arm through his thick peacoat with her gloved hand as the concealed front entrance of Howard’s facility opened and Howard himself stepped out into the gloomy morning weather. “What would you like to do?”

“Go over the specifics later,” Elias said as Howard’s eyes turned to the Frosts, his countenance inscrutable. He was in his shirtsleeves, the cuffs rolled up to his elbows, and his tie was thrown about his neck more like a lariat than a necktie. “Summarily, to remove the Soviet psychics from the chessboard; they’re nothing but a nuisance at this point and present little reason to keep around any longer.”

Innocuous as it may seem when thusly phrased, that was the drastic decision: ridding the playing field and the K.G.B. of its psionically gifted agents. With them out of the picture, the risk of Natalia’s psychic developments and waning mental programming being discovered would be diminished by a factor of fifty. Bloody hell, maybe a hundred. However, what it really meant was the lobotomy or extermination of each and every agent under employ by the Soviet government who was in possession of a telepathic or empathic talent. To think that lobotomy would be the more merciful of the two practices was the misconception of a fool, though; the K.G.B. would kill the lobotomized psychics the instant the agency had no use for them.

As Howard approached Elias and Emma with a stack of crinkled schematics in his hands, Elias felt his mother give him an assenting telepathic nod. She understood quite well what he had meant. Neither of them were exactly strangers to dirtying their hands when the situation called for such direct action to be taken to protect their interests. Truthfully, they had dirtied their hands for much less. To do what Elias had in mind was not a delight nor would it be taken lightly, but it was going to occur regardless.

“You came,” Howard said as he paused before them.

“You called,” Emma replied. “Before I would typically even commence my morning toilette.”

“My apologies, Ems.”

Elias and Emma frowned in unison: “I beg your pardon?”

“Can we walk and talk?” Howard checked as he squinted up at the dreary sky, his upturned face collecting raindrops. Before either Emma or Elias could give their affirmation, Howard was on the move, brushing by them to hop into the back of a nearby black S.H.I.E.L.D. van. Emma and Elias shared a look before trailing after Howard, coming to stand outside the cargo van as his voice echoed out to them: “Were either of you responsible for exploding my warehouse, blasting my labs to bits, or hospitalizing my lead researcher by dealing him life-threatening injuries?”

“Howard,” Elias responded with equal parts cautionary deliberateness and affected woundedness. “You think so lowly of us.”

“Not at all,” came the man’s muffled reply and the sound of papers being shuffled from within the van. “I’ve always admired the both of you for your self-serving and scheming natures, really.” Elias blinked, uncertain how to interpret that comment, while Emma stared impassively at the vehicle. “I just want to know if this is some sort of corporate rivalry thing spurred by the sight of what my team was working on three days ago when you two stopped by for a visit.”

“As much as we would love to live up to your oh-so flattering expectations of us, Howard,” Emma rested her hands upon her hips as her stare crystallized into incisive ice, “it is with great regret that we must inform you that we are not the bombardiers for which you are looking.”

Howard was silent for a long moment, the only sound escaping the nondescript cargo van being that of the man’s sorting through salvaged materials and paperwork. The upturned collar of Elias’s coat tickled his cheek as a strong burst of wind whipped across the lot, carrying with it a storm of ashes. The knotted belt of his mother’s trench slipped loose and the long panels of fabric billowed around her in a most dramatic fashion, revealing the pleated white velvet mini dress she wore underneath. Arms still akimbo, Emma made no move to reclose her long coat.

Finally, footfalls. Howard stepped out of the back of the van and down to the concrete lot to eye the Frosts critically. Elias’s left eyebrow arced high on his forehead of its own volition, questioning and challenging and drolly entertained all at once.

“So,” Howard nodded tightly before crossing his arms over his chest, “the miscellaneous charred body parts scattered about Vanko’s lab don’t belong to an agent you hired to infiltrate my factory?”

“No, Howard,” Emma said coolly. “They do not.”

Silence. Rivulets of cold water trickled down Howard’s face. His pressed white button-up clung to his slender frame, dangerously close to being translucent if not transparent in some places.

Elias cleared his throat: “The man’s name was Boris Turgenov.”

“What?” Howard’s bushy eyebrows furrowed.

“The owner of the miscellaneous charred body parts,” Elias said. “His name was Boris Turgenov, a veteran agent of the K.G.B.”

“He was on a mission to procure his former Comrade—id est your ex-Soviet friend Dr. Anton Vanko,” Emma added. “Turgenov was to drag Vanko back to Rodina for cognitive recalibration.”

“How did you—?”

“We read the psychic imprints Turgenov left on this place in the short time he was here,” Elias explained, slipping a gloved hand out of his pocket to gesture to what Howard would perceive to be empty air. Of course, it was far from vacant; vibrant wisps of psionic energy drifted about, threadlike psychic signatures unspooled in the rain, and thoughts lapped like waves out from the ocean-deep or puddle-shallow minds of every sentient being surrounding them from Howard to the ant scurrying by his polished leather shoes. Sensing Howard’s confusion, Elias elaborated, “Yes, Turgenov may be dead, but he was not always. If you would like to cut straight to the pith, anything with a neuron produces psionic energy and leaves a nearly permanent residual trace of that energy wherever it goes. It is but a matter of tuning in to the proper frequency, I suppose, to be able to interact with it.”

“Huh,” Howard scratched his chin thoughtfully. “I always thought psychic mumbo-jumbo was more… well, mumbo-jumbo.”

“Yes, well, you would be wrong,” Emma said with a tap of her foot that suggested she was growing tired of the conversation. “Can we help you, Howard, or did you request our presence just to accuse us of arson and murder face-to-face?”

“That was actually about it,” Howard shrugged. “I appreciate the K.G.B. lead you two gave me, though.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets and looked between the two blonds before him before asking, “While you’re both here, can I pick your brains?”

“It is much more likely for us to pick your brain, Howard,” Elias’s lips curled into a small smirk. “Ask whatever you would like.”

“Why do you two think the K.G.B. wants Vanko?”

“Why would they not?” Emma responded flatly. “Not only is he an expert in his scientific fields of study, but he has also worked alongside the famous Howard Stark, one of America’s brightest technological luminaries.”

“That must have tasted bitter on your tongue, Emma,” Howard chuckled without much enthusiasm.

“I did say ‘one of,’ my dear,” Emma flashed a feline grin.

Howard hummed in response, his forehead creased from the ponderous weight of his ponderings: “There’s not a snowflake’s chance in Hell that a single K.G.B. agent, no matter how much action he’s seen, could pull this op off. No human could have.”

Elias’s jaw clenched almost imperceptibly. Emma tilted her head slightly, her long hair spilling over her shoulder.

“Turgenov must have been some kind of metahuman,” Howard theorized. “A mutant or enhanced individual.”

“He got himself blown up, Howard,” Elias laughed dismissively. “He must not have been that good.”

“Fair enough,” Howard conceded. “I just thought… I don’t know. The Soviets have a history of metahumans.”

“I think that you mean they oppress and systematically murder mutants who fail to offer themselves up as tools and weapons to the government,” Emma said pointedly. “If that is indeed the Soviet history you are referencing.”

“That,” Howard nodded, “and Soviet attempts to make the perfect espionage agents and assassins. Black Widows, they call them now, but I thought they were an exclusively female force.”

“Your dream, I imagine,” Elias jabbed good-naturedly to keep Howard talking. As one of the three co-directors of S.H.I.E.L.D., it was possible that Howard may know something about the Widows that the Frosts had not yet picked up from the anchor in Natalia’s psyche.

“At one time, yes,” Howard snorted, shaking his head. “Now, not so much.” He paused, eying the Frosts briefly. “I admittedly don’t know much about these Widows. Intelligence gathering, spycraft, and espionage is more of Peggy’s area, but I do know that they’re out there and that they’ve got some kind of alternative Super Soldier Serum coursing through their veins.”

“Has S.H.I.E.L.D. managed to capture one of these Widows?” Emma asked. “Studied them to see how the U.S.S.R. miraculously created a strain of Erskine’s serum?”

“Unfortunately, no.” Howard’s shoulders fell as he sighed. “Widows are slippery and typically too dangerous for most of our agents to even attempt to tackle head-on, but Peggy and the Howling Commandos—” He paused, looking quickly between Emma and Elias before amending himself, “Dum Dum’s post-war Howling Commandos, that is, encountered a Black Widow in training back in 1946 in some Byelorussian boarding school-military base-mad scientist’s lair called the Krasnaya Komnata—”

“The Red Room,” Emma said under her breath.

“You know of it?” Howard was not surprised.

“Only in hushed whispers,” Elias lied. “We never knew what or where it was.”

“They apparently indoctrinate and desensitize girls from an early age to train them to be elite operatives,” Howard accepted Elias’s dishonesty and spoke on. “Peggy and the Howlies saw some disturbing stuff there despite it appearing to be abandoned. They found a girl, nine or so, supposedly left behind in the Soviets’ rush to save their skins from being discovered. Looked real sweet with her pigtails and alligator tears until she stabbed Dum Dum, snatched his revolver, and shot and killed one of the Commandos recruited after the war before she clambered into the ventilation ducts and got away. She popped out of the vents later in the mission, killed an S.S.R. agent, shot one of the other new Commandos in the leg, and still disappeared in the end.”

“Bloody hell,” Elias muttered in disbelief. Dum Dum had not exactly elaborated upon that information when the Frosts had inquired about the 1946 Red Room raid he had co-led with Peggy.

Elias wondered if the girl the S.S.R. and the Commandos had encountered could have been Natalia. No, the ages were wrong; Natalia would have only been four at the time of the S.S.R.’s storming of the Red Room. That fact, however, did not divorce the image of a young Natalia with her red hair twisted into pigtails hacking apart and shooting men over thrice her size and age from the mental picture of another orphaned Russian girl met during the S.S.R.’s 1946 Soviet raid doing just the same.

“Peggy and I ran into a proto-Widow on numerous occasions back in the late-40s who was trained in the Red Room before they developed their variant of the serum,” Howard confessed. “She was in her early twenties and absolutely stunning. Also extremely lethal. I can hardly imagine what she would have been capable of had she been hopped up on some knock-off Erskine biochemical treatments.”

“Anything,” Emma wrapped her coat about herself and knotted the dangling belt about her waist before looking over to her son. “She would have been capable of anything.”

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wilderdragon334 · 7 years

Text

Quills quest

Quill laid down in his small bed, smiling at Saryn.

“Goodnight” Quill sayed as he yawned laying his head on his pillow.

“Goodnight Quill, happy dreams” Saryn whispered as she blew the light out and closed the door.

The silent night was broken when all of a sudden….

*CRASH*

Throughout the house Saryn called out"Quill help!“

Quill jumped up from his bed confused, “What was that noise” he thought.

Scurrying the out of the room and down the hall he saw someone drag Saryn away. Quickly he grabbed the back of their shirt attempting to divert their attention, but was harshly thrown to the side and slowly he lost consenciness.

Quill woke up, the day just dawning, he frantically begun to search around the home to no avail. “Where could she be?!” He thought.

He left the house and ran as fast as he could to the nearest village.

He attempted to speak to the people, but he was just ignored like some stray cat. He paced back and forth worried sick for his companion.’’What am i gonna do?’’ He said aloud.

Then From behind one of the buildings approached a toad, the toad had a little doll bag on its back and seemed to have noticed him. Looking up quill noticed the toad, approaching him the toad said ”Hey i noticed you seemed to be troubled?”

“Yes my companion was kidnapped last night by someone!!”.

“That doesn’t sound good at all. Did you get an eye of what they looked like?” asked the toad

“No not at all.”looking down in a disappointed gaze.

“Well i can never turn down helping someone out so how bout i tag along?”

“Hey i may be helpful ya know!”

“Well sure, but wait what about your companion won’t they noticed your gone?”

“Nah he stays occupied most of the time’’ *glances at the playground full of young children*

“Trust me he won’t notice.”

“Well ok then. By the way, what’s your name?”

“Geralds the name.” replied the toad

“Well then lets go.”

Quill and gerald set off to quills home to prepare for their adventure.

“So whats her name? said Gerald”

“Her name is saryn, she heals people with plants and herbs, i always see her helping people, but some call her a witch, whatever that is.”

Gerald exclaimed, “Well from what i’ve heard people don’t like witches”

“They don’t?” quill asked

“Nope, people think its black magic and bad and they do bad things to them”

“But she’s just helping people why would they do something like that,.. that,..that’s outrageous” Quill said aloud in anger

“yea i know,…..wait i saw a poster exclaiming about people who hunt witches!”Gerald remarked

“ you did!! Well she must of been taken by them!”Quill said in excitement

“welp i guess we better prepare and make our way there.”Gerald pronounced

Quickly they pack some things, quill grabs his little messenger bag and fills it with some essentials and a little book.

Down the road They talk to all the nearest merchants who all point in one direction. North. Both Quill and Gerald set out to find Saryn.

After hours of walking through forest quill says “ we should find a village nearby some people may know were these hunters are”.

“Well from what i heard their base was miles this way, but they couldn’t of got that far” exclaimes gerald.

“Yeah your right’’ ,agrees quill.

Through the midst of their conversation gerald begins to hear a growling noise from the bushes surrounding them. Then suddenly quill is attacked by a wolf three times bigger than the both of them. The wolf chomps down on quills wing causing a great amount of pain, but quill scratches the wolf with his claws creating a gash in his neck. The wolf hurt, drops him and backs away until his pack surrounds the two. Terrified gerald croaks at them telling them to stay back or something bad might happen.The leader of the pack emerges, laughing.

“Ha what might two little pesk do to me,a toad and a dragon who looks like a mut, why should i be afraid?”

.standing in front of his friend stuttering gerald shouts

“stay aw-away!!”

“Huh maybe we should eat this one first guys, says the pack leader.”

Quill clutching his wing walks in front of gerald and stares the wolf in the eyes. You can eat us if you want but its not gonna be easy catching us first. The wolf grins then charges toward them then a flash of light stops him and finds they had vanished in thin air.

“What were did they go, where are those varmint!!”

The leader howls and commands the stronger ones to find them and bring them back to him. “They challenged me and i do not back away from challenges!” he mutters to himself.

In a tree quite a distance away quill slumped against the tree, his wing bleeding from the bite.

Quill sighs,“we are never gonna find her especially if we’re being chased by wolves!!”

Gerald trying to comfort quill ”hey don’t give up we’ll find her i promise, but first you have to get that wing fixed fast.”

“I don’t know where to go and i haven’t seen a village near us in miles exclaims quill what am i gonna do?!”

“Leave it to me says gerald”

Gerald whistles and a few squirrels appear. Speaking fast the squirrels greet gerald,

“hello, hi, what is you need from us old friend,”.

“Well you see i need to know where the nearest village is and fast.” says gerald

The squirrels whisper to each other and finally say “just past this forest in the meadow there is a small village we can take you there if you like.”

“yes please, my friend needs help.”

“Ok.” exclaimes the squirrels

The squirrels scurry around to quill and pick him up and carry him down the tree. Leading gerald they all head toward the meadow village staying hidden in the bushes.

Once at the village, quill was taken in by a herbalist and his wing wrapped up. after the both of them sat outside staring up at the sky, it was already night and the stars had emerged glowing just so brightly in the sky. The clouds swirling about covering half of the moon in the sky as its shine lit up the village and the lake nearby. Fireflies could be seen dancing about on top of the water giving light to fish below. Everything was calm. The wind a slight breeze leaving a chill down quills back, he pulled a blanket out of his bag and and threw it over himself. Gerald being an amphibian didn’t mind the wind. Slowly the two fell asleep to the hymn of the night.

With a thundering crack both woke up to a downpour of rain. Startled quill threw his blanket over his head and ran to one of the merchant stands cover.

Gerald hopping over,”hey quill what are we gonna do know?

“well maybe i can borrow something to keep us dry.”

“ahem well i heard of your problem and i may have a solution here’s something.”

From behind the stand he pulls out an item that unfolds with a stick attached to the center.

“i call this an umbrella, he hands it to quill with a proud look.”

Quill observing it,“what does

“well it keeps off the rain of course,”he opens it and sticks it in the rain, and it pours right off.

“woah that’s awesome, but um how much is it?”

“well seeing your situation, i would never want to see my familiar without me, im giving it to you for free.”

“really thank you so much kind sir, really thank you!!”

“ you’re welcome, and good luck and don’t give up.”

Quill and gerald finally get back on the road. the rain begins to slow as they walk for awhile then come across a carriage. The carriage was turned over and seemed to of been pillaged, everything gone except for a note. The note read “ we are expecting you soon, follow the hidden path given to you,and hurry for we do not like waiting” excited for finding evidence they set off again to look for the hidden road. Staying in the bushes, fearful of the wolves that might be watching they treaded lightly. Soon they came across an intersection with a sign, quill attempted to read the sign but it had been marked over so the names were unreadable. Quill and Gerald sat pondering on where to go, then down the one of the paths they heard a gruff voice speaking of a cave hidden from others. Excited quill whispered to gerald

“This is our chance to find her, to find Saryn!”

They proceed to follow the suspicious man until he disappears into a waterfall. Quill warns gerald to be careful and they sneak into the waterfall to find a door. Beyond the door they see a cavern dully lit by torches leading down most of the walls, from as far they could see people in robes and some in commoner clothes stood gathered around, chatting about something,below the. Quill curious of their conversation begun to scurry down a path leading to the bottom of the cavern, hiding in all the nearest shadows. When he got close enough he begun to listen to their conversation.

“Sir we got the witch from merrilane village.”

“one of our men was attacked by some creature we suspect it to be her familiar.”

“ ah, i see.” exclaimed a tall figure shrouded in a dark purple robe.

“Well hopefully you took care of it.”

“Yes sir we did.”replied the henchmen

The tall man spoke again asking to bring forth the witch found from the village.

From a distance hallway farther through the cavern a lady appeared with her hands tied behind her back.

Quill gasped “Saryin!!”

As the henchmen guided her toward the table, the tall robed figure approached examining her.

With a disdainful look the man asked“So your the witch i’ve been told about?”

“ I am not a witch! Let me go!”she argued

“Hmph like that would happen, you could lying, all this talk of magic and ugh…miracles, do you really think we would believe you!!” he replied in sarcastic anger.

“ and don’t say anything else or the consequences may affect more than just you.”

Saryn sighed and looked down with a hopeless look.

Finally catching up, Gerald could feel the anger surrounding Quill,

“Not yet Quill, now is not the time to attack.”

“Then when?” he grumbled

“ you’ll know when, just not now”

Quill sighed and nodded in agreement even though he was disappointed in geralds answer.

After waiting and observing the groups actions Quill devised a plan, which they carried out next.

Quietly Quill scurried across the floor of the cavern and found Saryn, he grabbed a plate and threw a good distance from where he was standing distracting the guard. Then he rushed over untying saryn freeing her of the bonds. Surprised she thanked Quill hugging him, though he told her they must escape quickly, then suddenly the guard saw them, so they begun to run through the cavern toward the exit. Halfway to the exit henchmen appeared from all sides.

“ come her little mut, let us take care of your master” one of the henchmen teased

Quill growled baring his teeth.

“Hand me the book Quill” Saryn motioned toward his bag

Quickly he reached into his bag and tossed her the book.

With a smokey light surrounding it the book grew in size and opened to page with a spell cast on it.

“What is she doing?” muttered the henchmen

“I don’t know and i don’t wanna find out!”

The henchmen charged toward her, but was slowly put sleep. All of the people around them

Begun to slowly fall asleep. Stepping over them Quill grabbed Gerald and them and Saryn left the cavern. Finally walking under the waterfall and outside, someone emerged from the shadow.

“ HA, you thought you could outsmart everyone with your witchcraft!?”

“ i am not a witch.” Saryn replied in frustration

“Oh well if your not a witch then fight me”

“ i will then”

Saryn cast a few spells toward him none doing any effect. The tall man smiled with an egotistical smile as the shadows around him rose higher and higher, through the shadows growling could be heard from every turn fangs were seen in every shadow. Terrified Saryn, Quill, and Gerald backed away, but being stopped but the shadows behind them.

“There is now were to run, give up now”

“ never” shouted Quill

They charged toward the man, but Saryn was thrown back and grabbed by one of the shadows.

“Saryn, NO!”

Quill jumped at the man, biting at him, but was thrown back by the man. He then cast a spell slowing Quill down, Quill did not give in. He stood up and bolted into the sky his wing still hurt and he dived toward the man talons ready to strike, but again Quill was deflected by what seemed like an invisible barrier. Panting Quill got up again, but this time he was attacked by the tall man. Left and right he was hit by thorns and vines, finally throwing him at the grown, he just lay there motionless.

He looked around surrounded by a room of white light “What am i doing?”, he thought.”Im probably dead”. Why did i think i could save her,?”he sat pondering for a moment.

With a disappointed gaze he looked down, when out of nowhere a voice spoke

“ do not give up, you have more power than you can think, this is not the end only the beginning of what you and only you can learn! Reflect on your priorities and decide!!”the booming voice spoke with a gentle but decisive tone.

“ he’s right” proclaimed Quill

“ saryn has always been there for me,she never turned me down even if i was different than others, it’s my turn!!,

Then suddenly everything begun to fade and saryn’s voice could be heard

“ get up Quill, please don’t die; Get up!”

Quill could see everything around him again except this time the time the man was standing over saryn. with all the strength in his body and the anger in his mind Quill grabbed the book he had and begun to read over it, slowly he began to glow and grow in size. To a fully sized dragon. He spread his wings blocking the sunlight from the man’s view. Terrified the man turned around gazing up at Quill.

“ H-how did you-”

“Dont underestimate a mage’s abilities” replied Quill with a grin.

Then suddenly Quill dived toward the man, breaking the barrier he picked up the man and threw him into the waterfall, the man falling, yelling, slowly oh so slowly his voice grew faint,

“this is not the end, witch!” was the last words heard from him.

Picking up Gerald and Saryn, they both looked starstruck.

“Woah Quill that was amazing” Gerald remarked

“Yes that was, thank you so much for looking for me Quill, it means so much to me.” Saryn said while hugging Quill.

“Oh no i couldn’t leave you, your the most important person to me!you’ve never let me down and i will never ever abandon you!” Quill smiles.

“Well it’s time to go home, people must be missing us” Gerald chimes in

“Yeah” replies Quill

“It’s time to go home”

#writer #story #dragon #familiar #mage #witch #magic #wolves #evil #beginner writer #plz help #agh its so bad and it was written in two days #Btw autocorrect sucks

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utopianparadoxist · 7 years

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[4. Gnostic Myth - Literally fucking everything. A Non-Exhaustive review.]

It’s honestly kind of weird to me how skeptical people are on this point, so before we dive deeper, let’s recap the sheer breadth of references to Gnosticism in Homestuck.

For starters, no less than three--up to potentially five--of the human kid’s chumhandles reference Gnosticism. You’ve got the stunningly obvious ones, Jade and Roxy: gardenGnostic & tipsyGnostalgic are as direct as it gets.

Then there’s Dirk’s chumhandle, timaeusTestified, references Timaeus, a philosophical dialogue by Plato that named and described the Demiurge, the architect God who shaped the material world. The Gnostics would later adopt this idea for Yaldabaoth, the evil ruler of physicality.

And given the number of references to Gnosticism seen here, Occam's razor suggests two others are likely specifically Gnostic references, too:

Dave’s turntechGodhead references, well, the Godhead. Seemingly a general name used for the “Unknowable, Unseen” nature of a variety of Gods across different traditions, Godhead is one of many terms used for Abraxas in Gnostic myth.

And Jake’s golgothasTerror, commonly understood to be a reference to Christian myth, also easily reads Gnostic. Golgotha is the hill Jesus died on, but Jesus is as prominent a figure in Gnosticism as he is in Christianity.

Moving away from the simple chumhandles, Jake himself suggests quite a bit of Gnostic influence--particularly through his reflection of the mythological image of Abraxas, much as Lord English reflects the mythology behind Yaldabaoth.

There’s a pretty direct link in the ABRACADABRA reference from Jake’s BARK book (for which Abraxas is already considered a potential root word), but it's also worth considering the way Carl Jung’s 7 Sermons to the Dead describe Abraxas. Two references are of particular interest to us.

It is the monster of the under-world, a thousand-armed polyp, coiled knot of winged serpents, frenzy.

The first is this, due to the similarity of language. Jake’s Angel-emanating Hope bubble could certainly be described as a coiled knot of winged serpents, for one thing. But more interestingly...

It is the lord of the toads and frogs, which live in the water and go up on the land, whose chorus ascendeth at noon and at midnight.

Abraxas is described as the Lord of frogs, specifically for their amphibious qualities. This puts new shades of meaning on Jake’s establishment of The Consort Kingdom, as it makes him literally lord of the amphibians.

The Aspects in general already closely resemble the Gnostic concept of Aeons--being Idea-Gods bound to “Pairs” that are meant to create reality in harmony. But in particular, some esoteric elements of Aspect relationships make way more sense when parsed through a Gnostic lens, too--just as Ying-Yang philosophy can help us make sense of the Class system. Light and Void’s status as complementary Aspects is more obvious once you consider Gnosticism’s dualistic divide between the World of Light/Ideas and the World of Darkness/Matter.

And Equius’ Void powers manifesting as super strength makes a lot more sense when you consider that in Gnosticism, the Physical realm was synonymous with the unimportant, the deceitful, and especially with Darkness.

On top of that, I’d argue that the Christian “biting of the fruit” imagery involved with the Alchemy tutorial also leans towards a Gnostic interpretation, as opposed to a more typically Christian one.

After all, biting the fruit doesn’t damn John to penance and suffering, as the Christian myth of Adam and Eve does to its protagonists. Instead, it begins an endless climb towards Enlightenment, as Sophia’s descent to physical reality does in the Gnostic myth.

And speaking of that Gnostic myth, Homestuck re-enacts it not once, but twice. Two different characters play out the role of ‘Sophia’, the Gnostic Aeon of Wisdom who attempts to interact with ‘the Unknowable’, and accidentally creates the evil God with absolute power over the physical world--Yaldabaoth.

In their acts of transgression against the boundaries of reality, these characters also create figures identifiable as “Yaldabaoths”--Gods who have complete mastery over the physical world, but cannot engage with the world of ideas.

The first of these characters is Dirk, who happens to have Yaldabaoth for a Denizen...although he never meets him, and in fact, loses his Denizen along with his planet in Collide.

Dirk’s act of creation without a partner results in AR/Lil Hal, who attains cyber-omniscience and orchestrates the events of Unite Synchronize. Just as Caliborn is linked to Jigsaw, AR is linked to Hal 9000, from 2001: A Space Odyssey, also a mastermind figure with complete control over the surroundings of his victims.

Also like Caliborn, AR is set apart in the narrative by his inability to grow up instead of by an outright blindness to abstract thought. Eternal immaturity seems to be the mark of a Yaldabaoth figure in Homestuck, rather than a complete inability to perceive ideas.

Consider that Equius and Gamzee are similarly stunted--Equius through his existence as a ghost, and Gamzee through being just That Big A Douche I Guess. Or, if we want to be specific, religious idolatry so intense it stagnates his growth as a person.

The common denominator between all components of Lord English IS that stagnation. The same stagnation Bastian falls victim to under AURYN’s power. The same stagnation that drives Giygas to madness, and Pokey to the exploitation of the Nowhere Islands, countless other worlds, and ultimately, to The Absolutely Safe Capsule.

Which brings us back to Lord English. Calliope is the second Sophia-figure to play out the Gnostic Creation myth--with Caliborn as the Yaldabaoth she produces, also marked by a link to Yaldabaoth as his Denizen.

In her case, the “Unknowable” element she attempts to breach is the playing of Sburb itself--which she identifies as a foolish act that allowed Caliborn access to the power to become Lord English in the first place. Aranea even describes Sburb as a game Cherubs were never meant to play.

And now that we’re here, let's unpack Lord English as Yaldabaoth a bit more. Along this series, we’ve seen a number of archetypal Lord figures that Caliborn seems to be drawn from: Bastian, Giygas, Pokey...

But there’s one that we haven’t discussed yet.

“I am the Lord thy God, which have brought thee out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of bondage. Thou shalt have no other gods before me. Thou shalt not make unto thee any graven image, or any likeness of any thing that is in heaven above, or that is in the earth beneath, or that is in the water under the earth. Thou shalt not bow down thyself to them, nor serve them: for I the Lord thy God am a jealous God,”

-Exodus 20:2-6, King James Bible

YHWH, Yahweh, The Tetragammatron: The Lord God of Christian tradition. Yaldabaoth as originally envisioned by the Gnostics was not just a random evil God, but explicitly a criticism of the spiritual movement that would eventually consolidate into mainstream Christianity as we understand it.

As such, Lord English borrows quite a bit from the Abrahamic God of Christian tradition. Down to his very name, in fact. After all, the Bible’s first introduction to God is...

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.

-John 1, King James Bible

And words factor strongly into our own Lord’s construction of artifice and suffering. Doc Scratch’s precise lies of omission, The Condesce’s indoctrination of the masses through subliminal messages, movies and fiction informing the biases and self-loathing of Dave, Karkat, Jake, Dirk and almost every other character...

Culture is one of the antagonists’ most powerful tools, and that culture is transmitted through language. Indeed, you could say a common Language--a common Word--is the only thing truly binding all our protagonists together, across timelines and universes and bloodlines and species.

Lord English indeed.

And even Lord English’s very existence mirrors the Abrahamic All-Father, distributed as it is in a structure reminiscent of a Holy Trinity.

You have Lord English as Father....

Caliborn as Messianic, Dark-Enlightenment Bound Son....

And Lil Cal as ever-present, indecipherable but suggestive Holy Ghost.

Moving back towards Lord English’s Yaldabaoth influences with this new context, I think it’s worthwhile to revisit the Realistic Red-Yellow Sun I’ve previously argued acts as a stand-in for his influence.

The sun is the mark of the nature of a Universe, and the Sun Dave sees when traumatized by his physical surroundings is the same as the one Terezi sees when being blinded by Vriska, and which all Trolls except Kanaya are noted to suffer the light of. It is bright red-orange, angry and hot and suffocating, a spiral of red in the sky that--

Wait. Wait a minute. A red spiral?

Yep, a red spiral. Pretty much the exact red spiral on Caliborn’s cheek before predominating, in fact. Caliborn even depicts the sun in that exact way in his rendition of Dave’s rooftop Ascent, marking the reality of Homosuck with his personal symbol.

He even does it on the exact same page as John bemoaning the mangling of their own story. And let’s not forget that John’s primary conflict during this whole section is the simple, astonishing shittiness of the reality that Caliborn has constructed.

Caliborn’s main form of aggression towards the characters isn’t any particularly hostile overture towards any one of them, but rather the construction of the inherently flawed and horrible reality they are all striving to escape from. Just as with Yaldabaoth’s subjugation of humanity.

And the nature of their escape is, fittingly, best exemplified with the sequence in which John finally masters his powers. Typheus floods the chamber in Oil, encasing John in the raw, physical reality of his own imminent drowning. Suddenly, John’s existence is focused entirely on the material plane...and simultaneously, John is drowned in darkness.

Jade tells us that the only way for John to truly free himself was to imagine a third option, outside the binary--Die or Escape--presented to him. Her language is specific: John needed not to “find” or to “notice” a third option, but to “Conceive” it: To Create, or bring into being.

And the moment he comes to that realization and begins thinking in terms of the World of Ideas, he is suddenly encased not in Darkness, but in overwhelming Light. John reaches Enlightenment over his world, and so masters his physical circumstances. Jade even references John achieving mastery over an explicitly “Confining” reality!

And the duality of that wording--The “Confining” reality and the “Conception” of Ideas--brings us to a final Gnostic symbol, and to the nature of our Protagonists’ final victory over Lord English.

And that is the symbol of the Cosmic Egg.

A motif that recurs in many of Homestuck’s influences.

The Childlike Empress enters a Cosmic Egg in order to force Bastian into saying her name, thus ending the old iteration of Fantastica and giving birth to the one Bastian will give form and texture to in the second half of the book. In The Neverending Story, the Egg is both the jail cell of the world, and it’s origin.

Mother 3 features not one, but two Cosmic Eggs. You have the Egg of Light, an Egg containing all manner of true secrets about the world--including memories of the apocalypse scenario that led to the creation of the Nowhere Islands. But it can be said that the Nowhere Islands themselves are an Egg, trapping the Dark Dragon within. To awaken the Dark Dragon is to destroy the Islands--the shot featured above of it’s back rising from within them is, after all, the final shot of the game. And yet, to do so is necessary for a free world to be born.

Now, Cosmic Eggs are by no means explicitly Gnostic symbols (though I could easily argue both The Neverending Story and Mother 3 are pretty Gnostic works in and of themselves). But there’s a particular concept in Gnostic literature relevant to understanding Homestuck’s relationship to the image.

A concept quoted to excellent effect in the following clip, which I highly suggest you watch:

youtube

But here’s the original quote anyway, since I trust you’ll find it relevant:

The bird fights its way out of the egg. The egg is the world. Who would be born must first destroy a world. The bird flies to God. That God's name is Abraxas.

— Max Demian, from Demian by Herman Hesse

The birth of a bird requires the destruction of its own world--and such an act is apocalyptic, no matter how confining the bird’s reality.

And this sentiment certainly pervades Homestuck. Dave has an egg as his Cruxite item. Calliope and Caliborn are born from a literal Cosmic egg. Trolls and Humans alike must destroy the eggs of their home worlds to be born into Sburb, and Ascend to Godhood. But we can go further than that, right? Surely there’s a symbolic egg in this story worthy of all my pretentious as hell build up? Of course there is. In fact, there’s likely two, though, in the end, they are one and the same.

The first of these is the Cueball, which has it’s origins in Caliborn’s God Tier clock. It seems to be a sort of ticking pendulum item, but by breaking off the timer it’s linked to and destroying his clock, Caliborn gains a permanent, unconditonal immortality, and invulnerability to all things except Cueball-infused weaponry.

Such as the weaponry Jade has Dave make in the Pre-Retcon timeline. She claims to get her intel from the Condesce and identifies the Cueball as an item Lord English is somehow vulnerable to. Dave, however, has a different idea:

And as it turns out, Dave’s impulse is also pretty on the money!

After all, the nature of Lord English’s indestructibility is tied to a certainty that he will never, ever change. Lord English will not grow or have any ideas other than what he had already decided on in his youth--befitting his status of Childlike Emperor and Yaldabaoth.

The egg, by contrast, is a symbol of inescapable change. The Cosmic Egg is the promise of apocalypse--that nothing is eternal, and that eventually, every world ends so another can be born. Seeing as that is a premise Caliborn so strongly rejects for himself, it is a reasonable element to counter him with.

Turns out Dave is right in identifying it as an egg! The Cueball that is Doc Scratch’s head does, after all, get used as a Literal Egg again and again-- Lord English asserting his dominance over both the Cueball and Calliope in his hatching from Doc Scratch.

But in the end, the Cueball reaches Lord English in a different way. He turns out to be able to stop the physical reality of the Cueball, but not the fundamental idea of it. In fact, in his attempts to do so, he ends up creating it.

Because the true Cueball turns out to be the Ultimate Juju--in other words, the Story of Homestuck itself!

Tex Talks has already made this case for Act 7′s language, but it’s worth repeating because the visual language is so clear and simple. Before the Juju manifests as the House shape, it materializes as a simple white orb--indistinguishable from the Cueball.

And Vriska, standing straight and rigid like a Cue Stick, uses it like one--the Juju slamming down a shockwave and unleashing--something--at Lord English, something that will presumably pocket the 8-balls in the Black Hole that has just been created behind him, and thus ending Lord English’s Game of Billiards.

And all the while, the domain of Paradox Space that all of our characters have been trapped inside? The game space that Lord English spent countless strange eons creating? All of that falls apart around us-- Lord English’s world meeting its Apocalypse right as his being is finally hit with the symbol destruction and rebirth he strove to avoid for eternities.

And the Beta kids trapped inside the Juju shine and buzz within, the metaphorical Bird fighting its way out of its shell. It’s not just them, either. The Dreaming Dead in the Void, in need of a savior? The Alphas, Waiting once again at the end of the Masterpiece?

The Betas may have been physically trapped in the Juju, but the entire cast has been trapped in the egg known as Homestuck from moment one--fighting to be free of the tyranny of Lord English’s constructed narrative. Struggling to be born.

Until now. All that’s left to find out is whatever the Epilogue has to show us. The nature of the world about to be born. Will we see a black End Screen, as Mother 3 gave us? Will we chart the new forms of Fantastica, as Bastian once did? Or are we in for something entirely different?

I honestly don’t have a fucking clue. But I’m excited to find out.

That’s all for now. I love you.

Keep rising.

Thanks to @betweengenesisfrogs for pointing out the link between Lord English and Cosmic Eggs! I would not have figured this shit out without you.

Also thanks to banditAffiliate for writing about Lord English’s obsessive displays of dominance over his two weaknesses--Calliope and the Cueball. Fantastic stuff!

[Master Post]

[Patreon] [Hiveswap Discord]

Keep rising.

#Homestuck #Mother 3 #The Neverending Story #Lord English #Betas #Alphas #Trolls #Cosmic Eggs #Revolutionary Girl Utena #Gnosticism #Damien #My MSPA Analysis

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tashaleway · 5 years

Text

KVAAFCRS: Chapter Three: As A Friend Was Made

Karkat had waited for this moment for so long that he almost couldn’t believe what he saw in front of him. His acceptance letter from Hogwarts! If he was like every other eleven year old, he would most likely jump around the house and maybe worse; giggling. He shuddered. Or maybe he would be confused like all the muggleborns, those with non-magical parents; they would paddle around in the sea of confusion, until the Deputy Headmistress or Headmaster got their ass home to the children and finally explain the magical world to them. Think how many years these kids would have waddled around, thinking themselves to be freaks…

No matter his dark thoughts, Karkat smiled brightly. That was all he allowed himself. Float around in happiness for a few minutes, and then back to business. Oh, right. Business. He looked down at the still concealed envelope. He hadn’t even opened it yet. Feeling silly, he broke the seal, without any more hesitation and pulled out the letter. It read; HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore (Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc. Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards) Dear Mr. Vantas, We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July. Yours sincerely, Calliope Uranian Umbra. Deputy Headmistress. Ignoring Kankri, who was fawning over his own letter with the list of the year’s book and talking loudly about how he had to write his friends about the new books and which subjects they were likely to cover, Karkat took a look at his own list of supplies. HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY Uniform: First-year students will require: 1. Three sets of plain work robes (black). 2. One plain painted hat (black) for day wear. 3. One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar). 4. One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings). Please note that all pupils’ clothes should carry name tags. Set books: All students should have a copy of each of the following: The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) by Miranda Goshawk. A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot. Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling. A Beginner’s Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch. One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore. Magical Drafts and Potions by Arseniust Jigger. Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander. The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble. Other Equipment 1 wand 1 cauldron (pewter standard size 2) 1 set of glass or crystal phials 1 telescope 1 set brass scales Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad. PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS. Awww… no broomsticks? How… unfortunate… Karkat thought sarcastically with a smirk that was soon gone. He couldn’t wait to hear some of those spoiled kids, whine about the lack of their broom, afterwards he read the supply list again and began counting how much it would cost, since they would need a set of everything, except for the books, where Karkat would just loan (read: steal) Kankri’s. That was at least one plus. And the rest they would just shop in secondhand stores, like they used to. Not that Karkat really cared. The clothes didn’t make the man, or something bullshit like that. It wasn’t like listened and remembered everything he said. Karkat knew that the other students would most likely pick on him for his already used stuff, but Karkat could care less about what they thought. They had a bigger pouch. Karkat had a bigger brain. Logic for the win. ~naknaknak~ With his acceptance letter already send away with the awaiting school own (and no curse word! Amazing, right?), Karkat couldn’t wait to get his hands on the books for classes, and actually be permitted. Keyword: Permitted. Since Kankri had arrived home from his first year at Hogwarts and in no need for most of the books, Karkat had “borrowed” them to read up on (mostly because he was bored) the subjects, but it would be nice nonetheless to just be able to sit and review the books now, when he would actually need it soon. And (another thought came to mind) he could finally discuss the theories with fellow classmates! He almost couldn’t contain a smile of the thought that he might even get friends. That would be great! He knew that he wasn’t the greatest people-person, but even he would be able to at least make one friend, right? Right? ~naknaknak~ “Welcome… to Diagon Alley!” Diamond Droog held his arm out dramatically after tapping the bricks on the gateway to the alley. Witches and wizards turned and look at the other wizard with a disgusted look for his antics. Karkat had pretty much the same urge, instead he sighed, in hopes to calm himself down somewhat. “Cut the crap, Droog. Both Kankri and I have already seen this before so keep your crappy presentation for somebody who hasn’t, instead of driving off your words off to their suicide mission in the land of total disgust and strangulation, got it?!” Yet again, Karkat failed to control his (in)famous temper. After this speech, Droog pouted mockingly before he broke into a face-splitting grin. “All right, all right! Come along kiddoes, we have a lot to do! Follow me!” Droog said, the grin still in place, before he waddled into the street, right into an old hag with a big, goo-dripping nose. She yelled at his careless with a shrieking voice, before sniffing the goo back into her nose and continued her path with the offending nose (if you could even call the thing that) in the air. The three males shuddered and vowed to themselves that they would avoid hags of all costs from now on. Trying to forget anything about that last sight, Karkat tried to focus on the Alley instead. The first shops were very expensive, so the bigoted, wealthy witches and wizards wouldn’t have to walk that far from the Cauldron and the Floo in there. “That nitwit do fucking realize that we actually only needed him to get through the brick wall, right? That we can handle this on our bloody own? And even that shitty brickwall, we don’t need him a fuck for! We could just as well get the help from Timmy the owner of the Leaky Cauldron!” Karkat said to his brother in a hushed tone. No need to anger said nitwit more than necessary. Kankri nodded, but didn’t look like he listened to a word, his brother said, having his mind a whole different place, staring Droog down. Hell, Kankri didn’t even correct Karkat, who liberate “forgot” that the owner wasn’t named “Timmy”, but “Tom”. Karkat frowned. What the heck was that shitstains on about now? The way, Kankri looked at Droog, reminded Karkat the way Kankri had looked at Karkat earlier this week. Didn’t he trust Droog? As long as Karkat could remember, Kankri had kept himself as far away from the man as possible, but from avoiding the man to actually glare him down, there was a long distance. What had happened? This was something the red-eyed would ponder about later, for now he needed to get his brother back to Planet Earth. “Hey, Kankri? Did you see that burning shop over there? It looks like the whole world is going to burn to burn to ashes. We are probably all going to die. Oh, and look! Heat-seeking killer bees! This is defiantly going to be the end for us!” Karkat said with a deadpan to Kankri, who nodded back, just as serious. Maybe a punch would bring his brother back? It was worth a try. “Ow! What was that for?” Kankri asked all innocently, while rubbing his now hurting arm. Karkat scoffed. “Kankri, you bloody excuse for a thinking being! I just told you, that we were going to die, because of the burning buildings around us, and you just nodded away like a mindless sheep!” he was most likely overreacting, but in this very moment, he didn’t gave a running shit about that. Kankri looked horrified that he hadn’t listened to a word his brother had said, and was just a bloody hypocrite with all his lectures about not ignoring the people around you and remember to be nice. It actually made the situation a bit funny, but also the more worrying. Kankri never ignored anyone. And especially not his brother. Or teachers. Or Crabdad. Or other authorities. Or his classmates. Let’s just say, he doesn’t ignore anyone. At all. “Oh, forget it, you plump of an asswhipe! It is human to fail, so we finally proved that you were human, and not a robot, alright?!” Karkat grabbed his brother’s sleeve and dragged him along with quick steps until they finally reached Droog that had won good twenty meters, while the brothers were occupied. The man hadn’t noticed a thing, he just kept babbling about Quidditch. Kankri and Karkat were afraid of heights and not the smallest bit interested in the violent sport. Just the thought about being high up in the air on a broom, made them uneasy. The thought about zooming after either the Quaffle or Snitch made them sick. The thought about the Bludgers… let’s not finish that thought, shall we? We don’t want to find out if fictional characters can vomit on readers, or worse; the author! Urgh. Normally a trip to Diagonal Alley would start with a visit to Gringotts, the wizarding bank, but since Crabdad was a creature, or being after whom you asked, he was not allowed to have an account at the bank. The wizards were even considered generous of letting him have a job, but only because he had two children to care for. Thank the prejudices. Therefore, their first stop would be Madam Maryam’s Robes and Clothes for Every Taste and Fashion. They were getting their robes. Joy. Karkat was getting Kankri’s old ones that Kankri had outgrown, while Kankri would have new sets. So now, Karkat was in for about half an hour of boredom. Fucking piece of shit. He felt himself ready to almost hit his head repeatedly against a wall, when Kankri’s crush walked into the shop from the backdoor. Porrim Maryam, Kankri had whispered to him. She was pretty. Hell, even Karkat could see that, but he had to admit that all the tattoos and piercings didn’t speak to him. She had long, smooth black hair and got a teasing glint in the green eyes, when she spotted Kankri in the middle in the shop, who was almost drooling. Smooth Kankri, really smooth. Porrim took Kankri by the arm, which made him blush feverously, while another girl came into the shop by the call of Porrim. Her name was Kanaya, she said. She looked to be around eleven or twelve, but the way she hold herself and let her jade green eyes sweep over the shop and the customers, made her look even older. She was without a doubt way more mature than Karkat with his decreasing anger tantrums. Like her older sister, Kanaya had black hair, but instead of being long it was just below her chin. Her choice of clothes was a long-sleeved, black shirt of fine material and a red skirt with buttons running diagonally from her waist and down to her feet. The colorful outfit clashed with Karkat’s gray jeans and black turtleneck. Karkat noted that she kept out of the sunrays from the windows, which made her appear mysterious. She was perhaps a follower of Dark Magic? Karkat discarded the idea as soon, it appeared. That was just plain stupid. The moment, Kanaya laid her eyes on the shorter boy, her lips quirked in a pleasant smile and lead him over to a section of shelves with Hogwarts robes in his seize, about four feet away from the other two. Kanaya didn’t talk that much, which Karkat appreciated, and she didn’t try to small talk, perhaps she could feel how unwilling Karkat was about strangers. The best part about Kanaya was most likely that she didn’t stare at his freakish eyes, but noticed them and let her eyes glide over the rest of his body to guess his size. “Are you a first year as well?” she asked. Karkat nodded and at her encouraging raised eyebrow, he told her his name. She froze a second, but quickly got her bearings together, and Karkat swept the incident away. It was most likely nothing. “It is nice to meet you, Karkat” after repeating the greeting, no more words were said for a time. It was only after Karkat’s clothes were paid for and he was waiting for his older brother, Kanaya dared ask him another question. “What house do you hope for?” ah, the awkward first year question, everybody was asked on the Hogwarts Express, when they had no idea, what to talk about. Sounded a bit dull, and from the looks of it, Kanaya thought the same thing, but she seemed somewhat obsessive with being a nice and polite person. Karkat was most likely the exact opposite. “Mr. I-shit-so-much-out-of-my-mouth-that-I-can-cover-whole-Britain-with-it over there is in Gryffindor and I guess it would be nice enough to be in the same house, but I have never really felt any bravery. Like at all. I think I am more of a run-and-survive-person. And after all the times I have stolen my brother’s textbooks, I guess that my honor level is so low that it is kissing Satan’s butt. Which house do you hope for?” he answered, while not really answering the question. During his little tirade, Kanaya’s eyebrows raised at every swearword, but she looked more amused than disturbed. And now, when he thought it through, what house would he actually land in? Well, as he just said, Gryffindor was pretty much out of the picture and if he should say so himself, so was Hufflepuff. Yes, he was somewhat loyal and hardworking, but it wasn’t his most visible traits. And by the way, Hufflepuffs was all seen as wimps and he would go to fucking hell and back, before he would subject himself to become one of them. He could perhaps end in Ravenclaw with all the books he read. And to be honest, he would have nothing against this. He didn’t even dare to think about the possibility that he would fit really good in Slytherin. Slytherin was for the bad guys after all. Right? And what would Kankri day, if he ended up there? Would he hate him? Would he be disgusted to call him his brother? Nope, not going there thoughts. Abscond! Abscond the shit out of there, you self-harming, unthinking, thinkable muscle. With this deep thinking, Karkat almost missed Kanaya’s response. “I believe I would fit nicely in Ravenclaw. I must admit that I enjoy reading and favor knowledge. Gryffindor has always been a respected House, but a lot of them was killed during the war against Jack Noir, as most of them ended as Aurors. And to be honest, I really cannot see myself in the House of the brave either. Perhaps, we will both land in Ravenclaw. Then, I would at least have one friend?” she made the last sound like a question, she obviously tried to hide her hope of a friend and Karkat was not in for crushing that hope. It would be nice to have a friend. And a friend that had not seemed disturbed in the last by his freaky red eyes or his choice of words. She was so far pretty cool. He nodded and Kanaya beamed at him, before asking, what his favorite subject was. “So far, I really like Defense Against the Dark Arts. The whole dueling thing sounds exciting and I look forward to learn about dark creatures! Even though, I cannot understand, why they are labeled as such. Yes, they can be dangerous, but most of them are still humans and still able to think somewhat intelligent thoughts and not just raging murder, and if you take your precautions, I can see no trouble with them having a job. Just see the werewolves. They only transform one night a month, on the full moon. The rest of the month, they are as harmful as the rest of us. Grindylows , on the other hand, are fucking terrifying. I think I once had an encounter with one. I swear! I wrapped its fingers around my leg and I almost shitted myself, I got loose, of course, but Kankri says that it was just seaweed. I don’t fucking believe him, but whatever. Even such a creature doesn’t deserve to die. “ Realizing his rambling, Karkat quickly shut his mouth. “And what about you? What is your favorite subject?” Karkat asked somewhat lamely. He was such an idiot. He was asked a polite question, and he just rambled on like a freaking lunatic about his ‘free the werewolves’-campaign as Kankri always called it. Which was stupid. It was more like ‘free-all-creatures-there-is-labeled-as-dark-as-most-of-them-are-nice’. Also known as F.A.C.T.I.L.A.D.A.M.O.T.A.N. Also called F.A.C. He would soon find a cooler name. even though it was just a joke running around the family. “And here I thought that you were just really quiet. It would be a pleasure to discuss subjects even more as soon, we meet again. Like you, I also borrowed (and yes, I mean borrowed, not stealed) my older sibling’s course books and so far, I really enjoy Charms. The spells really do have their charm.” Kanaya winked at him at the last word and Karkat tried to withhold a snort of laughter, but failed miserably. Alright, this chick had a lame sense of humor, but in its own way, it was charming. Oh god! Just kill him now! Kanaya had infected him! Suddenly, he was blinded by a flash of light and a little cloud of smoke erupted from the light source. He turned completely around and was face to face with Kankri and Droog, the latter holding the still smoking camera, apparently having taken a picture. Now, that he thought about it, their other babysitter had done the same, when Kankri had been a first year, about to have his first set of supplies. Had Crabdad set them up to this? Wouldn’t fucking surprise him… After he had said goodbye to Kanaya Maryam, they ventured further down the alley, getting a cauldron, potions kit and brass scales for Karkat, before moving on to the books. The bookstore was named Flourish and Blotts and there were books everywhere! Karkat did indeed love books, but he was not like a lot of other die-hard bookworms. Yes, he enjoyed the smell of parchment, old books and ink, but it was not like, he loved all books and bought them because they were simply books or had stories to tell, but mostly for learning. The more he learned, the better he would fare in the world. No hard feelings. This didn’t mean he didn’t like the bookshop. He loved the bookshop, or loved was perhaps a strong word. Karkat was after all known for hating everything. Maybe not-hating the bookshop would be more accurate. He really not-hated this bookshop. After all, the shop was filled with knowledge, and not only, what Hogwarts would teach him, but so much more. There were books about advanced charms, advanced transfiguration, broom-caring, the dark arts, defense against the dark arts, house caring and spells, cookbooks, muggle books, you name it. Whatever subject, you could think of, was there. Too bad, Karkat was not allowed to buy any books other, than those Kankri had to keep for himself for this year, so Karkat would need another example. He was browsing through some of the other books, looking for something he would like to read when he came to Hogwarts (he had heard tales and myths about the library there. According to Kankri, it was so big, and so filled with books that even if, you did nothing, but read, you would not even be halfway done with the library before the end of your seventh and last year. A myth, but still. With this many books, there might be just a little chance of finding a copy of the books there, he could borrow). For future use, he scribbled down the names and name of author for those that perked his interest. He almost stumbled over a section labeled the Dark Arts. They didn’t fill more than a single shelve, which didn’t really surprise anyone, when you thought about how much magic theory and spells, the Ministry had banned as Dark and made illegal to read and sell. These books were most likely about, why the Dark Arts were so bad, why you should avoid them, what horrible things could happen to you, if you used them, what had happened to others, who had used them and afterward ended in Azkaban for ‘their own good’ and for harming others. Despite this, Karkat almost took another step towards the section, trying to read just some of the titles, when something made him stop. He had this thought… that the Dark Arts were really wrong. Not like the way the Ministry painted tit, but… wrong for him… it would be wrong of Karkat to read them, use them, even just glance at them. Not Kanaya, not Kankri, not Crabdad, not Droog, but him. Karkat. Shaking himself out of these thoughts, he stepped away from the section. He could always come back. Maybe. Instead, he searched for something else. And something else, he found, indeed. Or should he say someone? “Oh! This book looks cool! Can I have this one, Dad? Please? Look! It even has a white dog on it! It looks exactly like Bec! Please, please, please, pleeeeeease!” a girl’s voice sounded, begging her father to buy a book about something that looked like animal transfiguration. From his distance, Karkat couldn’t read the title, even if the girl could hold the book still, instead of jumping up and down, making huge puppy eyes to her father. Fucking maniac. Instead, he could see that like her father, the girl had licorice black hair. Hers was long and reached the middle of her back. Big, jade green eyes were enlarged behind big, round glasses. When she spoke, Karkat could see her buckteeth and braces, which didn’t seem to do much good. She wore an army green skirt and a white t-shirt with a blue atom on it, which looked to freak some of the purebloods out, those who saw it. What is this? Is that a new rune? What does it stand for? Or is she a Muggle? How dare she wear such hideousness in public?! Okay maybe not, but it was funny, fantasizing about such a scenario. “No, Jadey. You can’t get that book, just because it has a picture on it that looks like Bec. The book is too advanced for you yet. Come on, we only need Hogwarts books for you, John, Jane and Jake.” Her father replied with a fond smile, tugging his lips. What the actual fuck? Jadey? John? Jane? Jake? You can see the problem, right? Alright, Karkat and Kankri both started with ‘K’, but he was pretty sure, that if he had other siblings, they wouldn’t be named something with K. Their parents had more style than that. He hoped. “But Daaad!” she whined. Somehow she made it sound like a dog. She had perhaps spend too much time with that dog of hers? “I said ‘no’ Jade. And I know that your mother will agree.” After this the girl began to pout, making Karkat obvious about her buckteeth. IMPORTANT!!!! A/N: Hey, I just want to clear something up here: I have nothing; I repeat NOTHING against any of the other Houses. Even as a ‘slimy little Slytherin’ myself, I hold no dislike against them. I just thought that since little KitKat here was brought up in a (somewhat) wizarding home, he has been subject to a lot of prejudice, which here includes the always classical “Slytherin’s are always evil and they harbor Dark magic”, the sad “Hufflepuffs are weaklings and cries, seeing their own shadow”, the idiotic “Ravenclaws only care about their grades, school and books. Let their friend burn in front of them and they will wonder, if they will inheritance their books” and the one that always make me sigh; “Gryffindor is the best house, house for the brave and noble”. We all know that this is exaggerated, but you get the point: Houses are not people. People (and especially children) are not Houses. Don’t let anyone judge you for what House you belong to (or family for this matter), you are your own person.

#homestuck #homestuck fanfiction #karkat vantas #kvaafcrs #chapter three #fanfiction #chapter 3

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canvaswolfdoll · 8 years

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CanvasReads: Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince

PS | CoS | PoA | GoF | OoP | HBP | DH

Don’t worry, I’m still reading the Harry Potter books! I didn’t suddenly stop for the second time in my life!

Half Blood Prince also happens to be the last Harry Potter film I watched. I… didn’t really understand what was going on, as I recall it being pretty choppily written (though it’s been many years since I’ve watched the movies[1]).

That has been my interesting trivia and context before we actually get into the review.

For the first time, we open a book outside Harry’s perspective. In fact, as far as I can recall, this is the first time we’re given material that Harry’s not privy to. Even in Goblet of Fire, which opened in the Riddle House[2], was revealed in the next chapter to be a dream vision by Harry tapping into Voldemort’s mind, if a bit loose with camera angles.

Book 6, however, that goes out the window, as instead we see part of the life of the British Prime Minister! As in, the actual Muggle one, not the bizarre Wizard one.

I actually know very little about the mechanics of the British Government, so I have no way to guess which Prime Minister this is supposed to be, or his exact functions within the government besides… being the highest authority, I guess?

Look, rest of the world, we shove the mess that is our government down your throats. You’re welcome to return the favor.

Point is, the chapter establishes that the muggle and wizard governments are so thoroughly divorced the muggle Prime Minister didn’t even know about wizards until the night of his… inauguration? The very night he officially takes office. So, yes, Muggles and Wizards have no political power over one another, and that sounds like it’d be the biggest possible mess.[3] Like… come on guys, you losers share an island, it’d probably work much better if you jawbreakers would at least have monthly meetings.

Anyways, the actual chapter tells how Fudge goes from greeting the Prime Minister on that first night, saying “Don’t worry, you’ll probably never see me again,” to popping in on a yearly basis to give a very rough summary of the escalating chaos from Harry and Voldemort’s shenanigans. It serves both as a ‘previously on Buffy the Vampire Slayer’ and world building!

But Fudge got… impeached? Kicked out of Office?

Fudge isn’t the boss anymore, what with the utter incompetence he displayed during Order of the Phoenix.

So he’s being kept on as the official liaison to the Prime Minister, so new Minister of Magic Rufus Scrimgeour can keep focus on dealing with the return of the Dark Lord.

Also, we get a brief overview of how Voldemort’s been causing damage to Muggles (despite how even Voldemort prefers to leave muggles alone).

Then we go to follow a different character: Draco Malfoy’s mom!

I… okay? I mean, it’s a very important chapter that establishes some details, but Mrs. Malfoy hasn’t really played a role until now.

Actually, considering the nature of previous books, it’s actually a little against the typical narrative for Rowling to tell us about the unbreakable vow and that Draco’s been selected by Voldemort to do something malicious this year, instead of letting that mystery grow as per usual, and the following chapters seem to be written in that usual way.

Then again, maybe it’s just reassurance that Snape and Malfoy, both red herrings in the past, are actually up to something this time.

Also, Wormtail lives with Snape. And literally everyone calls him Wormtail. I feel there’s something to be inferred from everyone using Pettigrew’s schoolboy nickname, shared with three men he betrayed so utterly.

You know what? I really want to hear Pettigrew’s story. What happened there? Was he always a toady, without much of a spine? Except he was in Gryffindor, which implies some characteristics he doesn’t display, and he had the tenacity to become an Animagus with James and Sirius, which isn’t supposed to be easy. He was close enough to know about Lupin’s lycanthropy. All details about Pettigrew indicates a very complex and competent individual, considered trustworthy by the other Marauders and an actual friend, not just a sad gopher they kept about for convenience. Yet the glimpses of the era he’d be at Hogwarts, whether by Lupin’s words, or Snape’s memories, rarely (if ever) mention Pettigrew. And he currently acts like such a weak-spined minion, loyal to the biggest bully.

Who is Peter Pettigrew?

We will not know at this juncture.

Instead, in chapter 3, we finally see Harry Potter himself, asleep against his bedroom window, waiting for Dumbledore to come and take him away.

Dumbledore arrives, takes Vernon’s usual bluster with ease, then forces the Dursleys to sit down and be quiet as he and Harry settle some matters, chiefly Sirius Black’s will. Good news, Sirius left everything to Harry! Bad news, Number 12 Grimmauld Place is compromised and the Order of the Pheonix needs a new Headquarters.

Also, Harry owns Kreacher, the Black family house elf. Harry just tells the ungrateful thing to go work at Hogwarts.

Dumbledore then chastises the Durselys for treating Harry unkindly, and informs them Harry must be allowed to return once more the next summer to finish the last leg of the ill-defined spell allowing the Dursleys protection from Voldemort.

Then the two wizards leave, and presumably the Dursley’s are relieved to finish a wizard encounter without damage to body or home.

Slightly tangent, this book has shown Dumbledore apparating booze pretty frequently. I… don’t know if I’m supposed to read anything into that, but it’s a noticeable pattern.

Dumbledore, meanwhile, has one more errand before taking Harry to the Burrow;[4] time to enlist a new faculty member.

Not a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, of course. Snape finally gets that job, presumably because he was the only Order member willing, and Dumbledore needs to obey the pattern (Death Eater, third party, Order member), and Snape’s history with the Death Eaters may translate into making him an inexplicably good teacher for the post.

But then again, he is Snape.

Slughorn, meanwhile, is a serviceable Potions Master, and a Slytherin of the hob-knobbing sort, gaining privileges as a sideline manipulator.

Slughorn doesn’t really want to come back to Hogwarts, but Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One, is far too tempting a morsel to ignore, so Slughorn gives in. Also, Hogwarts is mostly safe.

I mean, the only teacher to die was Quirrel, who was working for Voldemort. Or so Harry explains to Slughorn.

This is omitting the teacher that oblivated himself; the second Death Eater that snuck in, and was instrumental in Voldemort’s resurrection; the power-hungry toad that took over the school, and was taken away by centaurs; having Dementors hanging about for a year; the giant spider in the local forest; all of Hagrid’s other oddities; the casual defiling of space-time; the basilisk that was living in the plumbing; an evil diary; Crouch Sr. also dying on school grounds; Harry’s many Quidditch injuries; the Triwizard Tournament in general; Hagrid’s full-giant half-brother hanging about; and Dumbledore's re-emerging alcoholism.

Hogwarts isn’t a very safe place.

Still, Slughorn agrees, and Dumbledore takes Harry at last to the Burrow. Whereupon he takes Harry into a broomshed and tells Harry he’s going to give the boy private lessons over the school year, and he’s free to tell Ron and Hermione stuff, because just because Dumbledore is a bumbling secret-keeping fool, doesn’t mean Harry should be.

Besides, he’ll need both Hermione’s smarts and Ron’s bullheadedness to cope.

And, by the way, Harry’s the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain now. Why not.

At the Burrow, we learn Hermione’s been staying for the summer, too, and Bill Weasley is engaged to Fleur Delacour, who was also a Triwizard champion. No one but Bill and Ron like having her around, and Molly is trying to turn Bill’s head toward Tonks instead.

Also, with Voldemort now making a spectacle of himself, security’s been heightened. Just… just in general. Wizards are scared. So that’s fancy pants fun.

Fred and George have their joke shop up and running, including a backroom of items designed to fight against dark magic. They seem to be doing well for themselves.

Oh, and Harry catches Draco Malfoy doing something sneaky. It’s all very suspicious, but no one’s got Harry’s back on the matter, even though we, the audience, know something's up.

On the train, Hermione and Ron again must do prefect duties, so Harry goes to sit with Neville and Luna. Luna hopes for the Dumbledore’s Army meetings to continue, because it’s almost like she has friends.[5]

Slughorn, not wanting to waste time, tries to befriend prospective celebrities, which Harry finds a bit off putting.

After getting away from the gathering, Harry sneaks off to eavesdrop on Draco, where the idiot’s bragging to his friends about the evil he’s about to get up to.

However, Draco, being actually perceptive, discovers Harry, beats him up, and intends to leave him on the train to miss Hogwarts.

Because Harry just can’t keep his streak of catching the House Sorting. Always have to have some difficulty.

Tonks finds Harry anyways, and together the two head towards the school.

In short order, the actual faculty changes are addressed, and Harry is able to advance with potions classes, pursuing his dream of being an Auror.

But he also doesn’t have potion supplies, so Slughorn lets him and Ron borrow class supplies as needed, until they can order their own.

Harry ends up with a used book, annotated and written in by some jerk former students.

What monster writes in books? Whoever this ‘Half Blood Prince’ guy is, he’s clearly without morals.[6]

After two books of the subtitle not having a heavy importance to the plot, The Half-Blood Prince brings the relevance slope upwards, as the book brings both good and ill to Harry’s life, and Snape’s actions ultimately have the greatest effect on the plot moving forward.

While we’re on Snape, let’s take time to assess his DADA skills.

Information is inconclusive. We only truly get the first day of the class, where Snape, like every previous teacher, has commented on how behind the shenanigans of the previous teachers have put them. Though, to be honest, only Lockhart and Umbridge have actually caused any set back, and during Umbridge’s tenure, there was the DA to keep a portion of the class moving forward.

Which means the damage Lockhart left in his wake was that detrimental. Literal villains did a better job, you pompous fool.

Anyways, we don’t get much material on how well Snape teaches the subject, putting him about equal Quirrel’s ‘Must’ve been average enough to warrant no comment’.

Which means the DADA teachers are symmetrical. It went unnotable, bad job, great job, best job, worst job, unremarkable.

Huh.

I look forward to see how the final one compares.

So the potions book helps jump Harry forward in the art of potions. Which means if he spent less time glaring at Snape and more time listening and taking notes, he’d probably been pretty strong in the subject.

This allows Harry to win a Luck Potion from Slughorn during the first day of class. Which, of course, will be used against the man later.

Dumbledore also begins his private lessons with Harry, the subject: Tom Riddle!

Junior!

He’s catching Harry up on Voldemort’s backstory so Harry can keep the great work going in case something happens to Dumbledore.

Yet,despite this, Dumbledore keeps vital and reassuring knowledge from Harry!

Like, Dumbledore’s great sin is honestly Pride. The man, whose dark past and brilliance has left him a Hero’s Complex greater than Harry, seems to have a problem trusting anyone with the whole game table he’s operating with. Even as Dumbledore enters this final stage, where he must relinquish the throne of control to Harry and move himself to the expendable camp, Dumbledore still cannot conceive that trusting his subordinates with what he’s up to might help things along.

For all his talk of how important Love is; for his instance that Harry keep Hermione and Ron up to date; even as he derides Tom Riddle for forming no friendships and using his Death Eaters only as tools, Dumbledore is of the same ilk, just happened to be on the other end of the game table.

This is not just about Dumbledore not telling Harry the full story behind Snape, which, after six years of Harry receiving nothing but reasons to mistrust Snape, would’ve been a good thing to pass on before his death; or that he knows Draco is up to something, that Harry’s concerns are warranted and being addressed; or that, possibly, Dumbledore will die either hunting the Horcruxes or by other machinations by the Dark Lord, and Harry must be prepared for what that means.

He doesn’t even tell McGonagall the deal with Snape. Like, I get it, McGonagall isn’t a member of the Order of the Phoenix, but… She’s next in line to head Hogwarts. She’s the one to be left with the fallout. McGonagall needs to have been made aware of what Dumbledore and Snape were planning, and what should be done with Hogwarts.

Dumbledore probably views his actions as a necessary evil, yet lacks the wisdom of literature’s greatest Necessary Evil: Havelock Vetinari.

Because Vetinari knew to give authority and partial control to others, and build a self-maintaining city while keeping himself irreplaceable to his allies and, most importantly, to his enemies.

Ankh-Morpork without Vetinari risks another Snapcase.[7]

Dumbledore did a good job of making himself nonexpendable by the arms of good, so that when the enemy, to whom he is very expendable, gets a lucky shot in, Dumbledore leaves a fractured force in his wake.

With only a lone boy (and his two friends) with a clear goal, and an Order of the Phoenix and a school staff facing the unknowable darkness without context.

Like… don’t keep secrets. If there is no greater lesson to be learned from media, it’s that keeping secrets never works out.

Have a confidant. Have someone to call you on your missteps. Have a back-up!

The descent of Dumbledore from mystical guide to fallible mortal, while a potentially strong arc, is still scarred by the worst trope.

I… just stop serving me this trope, Media. It’s the fastest way to kill my trust in a character and strength of the plot.

If your plot only works because someone is keeping vital information from someone else, with zero repercussions with its revelation, rewrite it. Or make sure the one keeping the secret is both the stupidest cast member and actual scum of the Earth.

I haven’t even seen the fallout from this choice, I just know narratives well enough to know the ramifications could’ve been easily avoided.[9]

Right, we were talking about the infodump of Voldemort’s back story.

It has some worrisome elements? I mean, I prefer redemption stories, or at least some optimism that the bad guy can be saved, which I know isn’t this story, and that’s fair, but… Dumbledore offers no sympathy to Tom Riddle along the way.

Yes, Voldemort was a right jerk from the start, terrorizing the other orphans and being a sociopath but… dude was orphaned, with no knowledge of his mother, only his father’s name to go on, and inexplicable powers with no explanation for the first decade of his life.

It’s easily a very tragic tale about a boy incapable of forming actual connections with anyone, nor having a firm place in the world. Even from the start, Dumbledore is suspicious of the boy.

Yes, I’m forcible dragging out sympathy. Fight me.

Also, there’s Dumbledore’s theory that Tom Riddle is the way he is because he was conceived while under the influence of a love potion, which… really, Rowling? Like…

Actually, no, the implications of that is obvious, I won’t address it.[10]

I mean, I get the Dark Mirror of Harry aspect Rowling was going for, but it does kind of jumbles the message; that great evil and great good can only come from extraordinary circumstances. That a being like Voldemort is the result of inbreeding, abuse of his mother, a loveless conception, and a lonely childhood. I think it might’ve been a tad more interesting if Voldemort actually came from an unremarkable background.

But then you’d still need to clean up the loose ends of Voldemort having a family.

The Horcruxes/Phylacteries are a good element to introduce. A tangible list of challenges to conquer before we can get our final showdown.

And the book does explain why Voldemort didn’t just make one of his horcruxes a grain of sand, guys! The man is literally too melodramatic. His soul jars have to have some emotional connection, and he can’t conceive of anyone capable of matching his intellect and power to destroy the things, so why does it matter. Why do you have to judge Voldy?

There must’ve been a boar somewhere in the Gaunt family line, because Tom Riddle is a thick slice of Ham.

So that’s what Dumbledore tells Harry, but he does need Harry to get an unaltered memory from Slughorn to prove that Voldemort knows about Horcruxes because… due process or something?

Dumbledore has the ring Horcrux during the first meeting, and presumably destroys it, so shouldn’t it be obviously the nature of the beast?

I don’t understand what Dumbledore thinks he’s doing in this book. Albus is a mess.

But Harry has other concerns! Like captaining the Quidditch team! It goes… alright? The graduation of Lee Jordon left the announcer’s box open, allow some fun guest announcers, the best being Luna.

But Quidditch is still the least interesting and low stakes part of the narrative, and as nice as it is that Harry has Hobbies, I don’t care.

Gryffindor wins at the end, as always.

Let’s see, other significant plot lines…

Well, Draco Malfoy is a Death Eater now. Harry figures it quick, because he eavesdropped on the right conversations. Harry tries to figure out what Malfoy’s scheme is, and while some progress does get made from time to time, Harry never gets in a position to solve the mystery, because Malfoy does ultimately need to succeed, but it does mean a lot of pages spent on Harry trying to get into the room of requirement and failing.

Also, I love how there’s a version of the room that’s just a massive warehouse to hide junk. Even Trelawney knows the room well enough to dump her sherry bottles in there.

There’s suddenly a lot of alcohol use. Is it because Harry could legally drink beer now? What is the deal.

I’d actually enjoy a breakdown of what characters know what Hogwarts secrets. That’d be neat.

Other ongoing plots…

Ooh! Fenrir Greyback!

We’ve got another werewolf! There’s another werewolf!

He’s a bad guy. And cannibalistic. And a total monster.

Yaaay?

We don’t get much information about Greyback. Is he also a wizard? If so, did he forsake magic to instead savage people? Why does he think teaming up with blood-purist Tom Riddle will further his cause? Because I do like the subtle thread of both he and Lupin trying to find equality for werewolves, but approaching from massively different angles.

Was Greyback a muggle? If so, what was it like to suddenly get pulled into the wizard world, but as a very low caste?

When do I get that story? Does… does anyone else want that Harry Potter-verse story?

Maybe Fantastic Beasts 2?

What other plotlines? There’s got to be something else.

Fine.

I’ve ran out of delaying tactics.

Harry and Ginny…

Look, it’s not well written. I know it, you know it, and yet… we’re told to just accept it? That Harry and Ginny are truly compatible and…

They never talk! Like… okay, you want to write a good romantic subplot for the main character, wherein it’s not the main focus of the narrative? Here’s the Canvas Method:

First, make both characters independently compelling. Since Harry’s the main character, he’s good. Enough material, we’ve followed him for 5 or 6 books now, so he is compelling. Ginny, meanwhile, isn’t. The last time we saw Ginny be really important was Chamber of Secrets. Since then, she’s just been part of crowd scenes, to fill a seat, either as a Weasley or as a DA member. She’s just there, at best a checklist of traits, if that.

I need to be interested in both involved parties for me to become invested in the relationship. Remember, 50% is a failing grade.

So if the character is defined only by their relationships to others, then you’ve written a Romantic MacGuffin. A Horcrux of Love. A nonentity character.[11]

Second, the two characters must talk to each other about something besides how much they like one another, and leading up to the relationship. And I mean there needs to be dialogue written out. No ‘They played quidditch at the Burrow’ and ‘They had talked’, Rowling. If you want to convince me this is the match, actually write Harry and Ginny, sitting on the Hogwarts Express, casually discussing Quidditch, their school experiences, whatever. Place Ginny, constantly, with the golden trio. Mix her into the dynamic.

If the audience doesn’t see it, it doesn’t happen. Build the romance the same as any other part of the story.

Even Harry and Cho had more build up, and that was written to fail, even though that also was mostly ‘Harry felt this way,’ we saw a lot more of Harry stumbling about with his crush, and small conflicts.

Two point five, the two characters should also be interesting as a unit.[12]

We haven’t seen much of Harry and Ginny on page for me to analyze this further.

Three, the relationship needs to have a narrative purpose and make compelling stories from the union, before leading up to it and during the relationship.

So, yes, Rowling, we lose Ginny making out with other boys in the background, but literally no one cares about Dean Thomas.

Rowling doesn’t even care about Dean Thomas.

I don’t even know if Dean Thomas has any defining characteristics besides ‘named Dean Thomas’ and ‘Isn’t Seamus’!

Cho had Cedric Diggory, who was a Triwizard Champion, and died, so him being in the love triangle worked.

This is why people ship Harry and Hermione, by the way. Not just because the whole ‘Lead Boy and Lead Girl’ angle, but because Hermione is literally the only age appropriate female Harry ever interacts with for extended periods on various topics.

And you know what? Hermione and Ron is done well. They’ve been orbiting the relationship and alternating jealousy since Goblet of Fire, and more or less both parties are well aware, but are too stubborn to bow first. And it’s only gently implied at the end of this book that Hermione and Ron are now together. I’m not even sure if Dumbledore’s funeral is the canon starting point.

But that doesn’t matter! We’ve seen both grow as unique characters, their relationship build and move in arcs. Rowling put the work in, and it worked.

Well, okay, I’m not a fan of Ron and Hermione, but that’s because I’m not a shipper in general, and I am very pessimistic about high school romances, and I’d prefer the main three to be friends over romances, but that’s personal taste.

So I’m throwing Ginny into the ‘dull love interests’ bucket under my desk.[13]

And, because I probably should address it: Lupin and Tonks.

Ew. Like… no! Lupin’s 13 years her senior! Harry’s obliviousness and Dumbledore keeping him away from meetings means this has less build up than Harry and Ginny. And… massive age differences really creeps me out. A lot. No. No to Lupin and Tonks. Stop it. Ugh. Or, at least, make Tonks older. It would’ve been so easy! Just add 10 more years. It would change so little.

Why do you do this to me, Rowling. I like Lupin, why’d such a creepy relationship for him?

Well, how does the rest of the story go?

Well, I like how the Locket Horcrux was kept in a Zelda dungeon. Have to swim to the entrance, spill blood to get past the entryway, navigate around a giant pond to find a boat to take you to the island, and presumably keep your hand at the level of your eyes.[14]

Then there’s a torturous potion to drink to get to the locket at the bottom, which Dumbledore just drinks down… If Dumbledore split duties on that with Harry, maybe they’d only be half sad apiece, and things would’ve gone better.

Stop martyring yourself, Dumbledore! It’s dumb.

Oh, and redeads. Have to fight off the glomps of redeads.

With fire!

Seriously, why is this one horcrux given this level of protection, and meanwhile the Journal was handed off to Lucius Malfoy, and more just sort of litter the Hogwarts School ground.

Did Voldemort put in the work on this one dungeon, step back, exhausted, and think ‘Screw it, I’m not doing this five more times. Malfoy! It’s Milkshake time!’

“Why do I have to pay, Dark Lord?”

‘Shut up, Malfoy.’

“I just don’t feel like you appreciate me.”

‘Look, just… listen, I hereby entrust you with my diary. Don’t do anything stupid with it, like secret into the hands of an eleven-year old in some sort of petty revenge scheme.’

“That’s oddly specific.”

‘Shut up, Malfoy.’

I’m a little sad Voldemort screen time was limited to flashbacks. Sure, dude was being suave to all kinds of people, but he was rather subdued this time. Didn’t even do any extravagant actions to curse the DADA post. Just kind of flipped off Dumbledore on his way out the door.

After drinking an unknown potion he found lying in a cave, Dumbledore gets dragged home by Harry, where they see the Dark Mark hovering over Hogwarts.

Oops.

So they grab broomsticks, flyover, and then Dumbledore petrifies Harry so the boy can’t do anything dumb like save lives while Dumbledore Dumbles on with Draco, spelling out what the boy was doing during the year. Which is nice exposition.

Other Death Eaters storm up to peer pressure Draco into straight murderin’ a dude, eventually Snape wakes up, comes up in an irritated grog, Avada Kedavra’s Dumbledore off the tower, then heads home.

Harry makes chase, ignoring the tiny scuffle between Death Eaters and Order of the Pheonix, chases Snape and Draco across the lawn, Snape sets Hagrid’s house on fire, gets sick of Harry yelling at him, so he pauses his escape for a moment to be like ‘Listen, you idiot, I’m the Half-Blood Prince, stop using my jinxes on me. Also, stop calling me a coward. Your dad did that, and that loser needed back-up when he bullied me.’

Which actually a well cloaked compliment.

Snape essentially tells Harry he’s braver than his Dad was.

Snape is such a sweetie.

Who murdered Dumbledore.

Exit, Snape! Only DADA Teacher to leave on his own terms. Good for him.

Harry helps Hagrid put out the fire, stumbles back to the school, helps spread the news of Dumbledore’s death, then goes to McGonagall's sweet new office to decide the fate of Hogwarts.

They’re probably going to try and keep it open. Also, Dumbledore’s getting entombed at Hogwarts. So let’s have a funeral.

They have a Funeral, Harry does the lame ‘Sorry, Ginny, but my life is too dangerous, being with you is too dangerous. We need to break up. I’m Spiderman.”

I mean, sure, Ginny’s a member of a blood-traitor house, both her parents are currently members of the Order of the Phoenix, she is aligned with the DA, was involved with one of Voldemort’s horcruxes getting stabbed, but yes, her relationship with Harry alone would make her a target for Death Eaters.

You idiot. Stop emulating Dumbledore. Look where that got him!

Harry walks off to do the edgy lone wolf hero thing, but Hermione and Ron catch up and are like ‘Nope, we’re coming with you. Let’s kill a Lich.’

Which, to his credit, Harry accept with very little fight.

They leave with two final loose ends to sever before the final leg:

Have to visit the Dursley’s one last time, because Harry did promise.

He shouldn’t give a chocolate frog about them at this point, but Harry did promise Dumbledore.

Also, Bill and Fleur are getting married.

Bill’s a near werewolf, too, by the by. Lucky dude.

Fawkes the Phoenix also flies away, probably to find a place far away from this madness.[15]

The book was… good. It’s not really a stand out story, as it’s mostly set up for the end, closing some things while preparing the final segments. There was almost no Wizard World building, Luna had an even smaller role, and all the romance subplots were… not great. The Half-Blood Prince mystery, while filled with interesting details, also wasn’t really that big of a deal. It’s a breather episode, and feels like a de-escalation in the series. Even Dumbledore’s death (admittedly, marred by being the biggest spoiler) wasn’t really that epic.

I may go so far as to say it’s my least favorite, but that has more to do with having Chamber of Secrets level of excitement in the middle of the plot intense end of the story.

One more book to go. Until then, feel free to interact with me, check out my other projects, and consider backing me on Patreon. Thank you.

Kataal kataal.

[1] Excepting when I watched Sorcerer's Stone with Rifftrax a couple months ago. [2] Riddle House sounds like a puzzle-heavy bonus dungeon, where the player can collect the party’s joke weapons. [3] And we’re doing the same thing with Magical Congress. The magic world is dumb, the longer you look at it. [4] Which, at this point, should have, and deserves to have, Harry’s love shield protecting it. Maybe it does but… eh? [5] Ha ha! I completely empathize! [6] Yes, none of Snape’s crimes are greater than this. [7] Readers who have not read the Discworld books must be so lost.[8] [8] Please read the Discworld books. [9] I… can I even conceive of a way to justify this trope? I… like to experiment with making weird and bad tropes work, but… how. [10] Though I am really concerned that Love Potions are openly sellable at the Weasley Twins’ shop. That… is not a good thing to not have any government oversight on. [11] I’m looking at you, Asami! Too busy being defined by her ex-boyfriend, her father, and Korra to actually be interesting! [12] Or ‘This is why I ship Zuko and Ty Lee’! Zuko and Mai is too much of the same. Ty Lee adds contrast. [13] With Asami, Mai, Asuna and... let’s say Mikiru. And Lagoon Boy? I don’t actually maintain a list. Also Tom. [14] Well, technically you’re pretending to hold a pistol, ready to fire, or I guess a wand in this case… I’m referencing Phantom of the Opera. [15] Maybe Princess Celestia will adopt him.

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