#i want to use my dip pens to take notes and fill books of magic theory and classwork | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

maddiviner · 4 years

Text

Could studyblogging jumpstart your personal grimoire?

A witch should be a lifelong learner. To practice effective magic, you must grow in new directions at a constant pace. A witch should approach magic with a sense of devotion to their own growth.

I’ve practiced magic and divination for two decades now. The most solid advice I can give? Start journaling. Start keeping a notebook. Start studying.

Witches who keep a notebook record their research and ideas about the Craft. This helps them build a wide repository of knowledge, right there when they need it.

The format and content of my notebooks changed a lot over the years. But they all helped me become the witch I am today. I devoted the bulk of these notebooks to my journey in magic, techniques to try, and lessons learned.

There are few people who haven’t studied. In school, we pore over geometry and classic literature in hot pursuit of elusive high marks. We spent time learning about our interests. Whether that’s witchcraft, philosophy, or astronomy, notes are helpful.

Everyone learns in a different fashion. Still, studying and learning about the world remains with us from our first breath, to the last. My Craft took leaps forward when this dawned on me. I’d always enjoyed school. I realized that I could apply the same study techniques to witchcraft and the occult.

What’s studyblogging?!

As a regular user of both Tumblr and Instagram, I soon came across the studyblogging trend.

Caitlyn Tiffany of The Verge describes the studyblogging phenomenon as “a beautiful, stressful wonderland.” An apt description! But what is a studyblog?

Studyblogging hashtags like #studyblr and #studygram are popular (on Tumblr and Instagram, respectively).

For someone just coming across the phenomenon, though? It can be difficult to penetrate this strange world. Expect calligraphic chaos, a plethora of highlighters, and fine-tuned aesthetics.

Studyblogging focuses on the quest for knowledge. In practice, studyblogs share tips and handwritten notes on various subjects. Studybloggers encourage each other to be the best learners they can be.

The photos of notes, assignments, and other tasks make up the bulk of the phenomenon. Studyblogs often feature photos of elaborate calligraphy and heavy illustration in note form.

Expect to see self-made diagrams of mitochondria. Essay outlines on postcolonial theory with nigh-perfect bubble lettering. Vast, illustrated mind-maps of Shakespearean themes. It's a big community, and there's room for a lot. Room for witches? I think so!

Studyblogging for Witches

In witchcraft, our grimoires function much like a non-magical student's study notes. The content, and some of the form, may differ, but the principles are the same.

The quest for an aesthetically-pleasing grimoire stymies many a beginner (and not-so-beginner) witch. The wise remind us that our grimoires needn’t be complex. Functionality is more important than aesthetics in most cases.

That said, there is something worthwhile about keeping a grimoire that suits you. A grimoire can speak to your soul, both by way of aesthetic appeal and your own abilities. For some of us, this might mean a lavishly-illustrated tome. Others might find minimalist styles more resonating. It varies.

The truth is that yes, your grimoire needn’t look a certain way or be perfect. Still, a level of aesthetic appeal can help with information retention. It can also boost your magical productivity. Humans respond in an intuitive fashion to that which they consider beautiful.

Aesthetics can help to put you into a liminal state. Liminality can be a powerful tool in self-improvement. This, in turn, is useful not only for normal studying, but also for the Craft itself.

If you see art as part of your life path, you might find that approaching your grimoire as a work of art helpful. Part of this means realizing that it won’t be perfect, but also always striving to learn and grow.

Studyblogging, as a community, showcases a lot of excellent notebook and journal-keeping techniques. Studybloggers often provide tutorials and guides to effective learning methods.

This is, of course, all while celebrating the joy of learning itself. Traditional studying methods can apply to magical topics. I have found that the techniques of the studyblogger can help with keeping a useful grimoire.

Ask your intuition if studyblogging is right for you!

Will studyblogging help you? For some students, lurking or keeping a studyblog inspires and motivates them. It also increases accountability. By posting their goals and progress, studybloggers have an impetus to progress.

In a way, it’s a bit like livestreaming a video game - it makes the experience more challenging, and also more exciting. The difference, of course, is that, in this case, your game is learning!

And the notes? Many find the calligraphy, fancy scripts, and illustration soothing. It can be a way of making otherwise impenetrable subjects more captivating.

Without a doubt, aesthetic presentation improves information retention for some people. Humans have a positive response to beautiful imagery.

Some folks find the gorgeous landscape of studygram and studyblr overwhelming and anxiety-inducing. Gorgeous calligraphy notes, after all, aren't easy for most people.

For some, posting about your studies on a blog might only increase worry. We're all different, and studyblog techniques are hardly universal in form.

You should use your intuition to decide whether to dip into this community. Ask yourself whether an audience will help your quest for deeper knowledge.

Will you feel empowered, or nervous about it? If you struggle with comparing yourself to others, you might find studyblogging discouraging.

I myself am somewhat of a perfectionist. For me, though, the artistic aspects of note taking and information illustration soothe me. Studyblogging suits me, but will it help you?

You should tailor your learning experience to your own strengths. If that means studyblogging won’t help you, be honest with yourself and don’t chase the anxiety of it all. Find another method of learning.

Browse some existing studyblogs - I recommend EmmaStudies and StudyQuill. Ask yourself how it makes you feel. Do the images and writing seems inspirational?

Would you enjoy sharing your work with the world? Studyblogging might become an ally on your magical path!

Taking the Plunge

So, how do you start a studyblog? How do you get involved in the community?

The most popular studyblogging platforms are Instagram and Tumblr. Instagram lends itself to posting tons of pictures and very short-form posts. Tumblr favors longer prose.

When I started studyblogging, I created both a studyblr and a studygram. I recommend starting a new account on the site of your preference for studyblogging.

Follow some existing studybloggers as a way of introducing yourself to the community! Also, follow the hashtags #studyblr and #studygram, to start.

What to study?

Studyblogging features students focused on all kinds of topics. I’ve been studyblogging for over a year. In case you’re wondering, it's rare for someone to complain about my witchy take on studyblogging.

You’ll find the studyblogging community very welcoming in most cases. But what will you study? I always recommend witches focus on only one or two things they’d most like to learn at a time.

Studyblogging lends itself well to in-depth topical research. This can mean learning the signs and language of astrology or the basics of gemstone magic.

Topics like shadow work or personal Tarot readings might be a bit too personal to blog about. Those might be better suited to normal, private journaling rather than a blog. My own studyblogging tends to focus on my writing preparation, astrology, and Tarot.

Though I’ve been reading for over twenty years, there is always something new to learn about Tarot. Astrology, like Tarot, is a lifelong discipline. Though I’ve only recently made my first steps into it, there is much to learn. My writing, especially the book I’m working on, has its own notebook.

Possible topics include, but are in no way limited to:

Crystals and gemstones

Astrology

Spellcraft

Mythology and legends

Magical history

Energy work techniques

Seasonal and Lunar cycles

Herbology

Tarot, Lenormand, or oracle deck divination!

It is important to choose topics that interest you in a personal way. At the same time, try not to get distracted. Witchcraft includes many paths of study. Try not to jump from topic to topic - finish what you start!

Supplies

If you’re in school, you may already have a lot of the tools necessary for studying. If not, you can get them for an affordable price in most cases.

Paper matters! You'll want a notebook or loose leaf binder paper. For hardbound notebooks, you can’t go wrong with a Leuchtturm 1917. That popular notebook boasts dot grid paper, includes page numbers and a place for an index.

Seeking something more aesthetic? Check out the Paperblanks series from Peter Pauper Press. You might also like the notebooks you can order from Citrus Bookbindery. For me, a binder (I use A5 size) works best, because I can add and remove pages as necessary.

You can find some great guides out there about organizing grimoires. Much of that advice applies here. Your notebooks will soon fill the role of a grimoire. They will contain your notes, research, and more.

It is usually best to have one notebook (or binder) for each subject you’re studying. As you move forward, you’ll have a collection of grimoire notebooks on different topics.

You’ll also need pens or pencils. Really, you only need one. If you feel like getting fancy, you can get multicolored fineliners. I prefer Sakura Micron pens. They use waterproof micropigments that don't bleed when you highlight over your writing.

Highlighters are fun! These add color to your notes and help emphasize the important things. If you want nice highlighters, I recommend Mildliners. Any highlighters will do, though - choose colors that appeal to you. I recommend several different colors, because that allows you to color-code your notes.

Plan!

Plan out, at least in a rough fashion, how you’d like to organize your notes. This can be rather freeform, or complex, depending on your preference.

When I began my astrology journey, I knew what sections I would include in my stars grimoire. I also created a rough map of the path I’d take in my research.

I began with the simple Zodiac signs. I then moved forward through the planets, houses, aspects and transits. My organization, loose though it was, benefited from my use of a binder which allowed me to add and remove pages.

No matter the notebook, it is important to have, somewhere, a rough idea of where you’re going.

You will also find it important to set attainable, realistic, and measurable goals. For me, this was things like memorizing the astrological house system. I set the goal of reading my astrology textbooks completely and summarizing them. This kind of goal leads to personal accountability.

I also created a set of astrological flashcards for my Tarot-related work. It can be motivational to post your goals on your studyblog in some form. Then, you can provide your followers with regular updates on your progress.

Start posting!

Once you feel ready, go ahead and introduce yourself to the studyblogging community! An introductory post, explaining who you are, your goals, and methods, will help others get to know you.

I recommend tagging your posts with studyblogging hashtags (mentioned above). Also include some witchcraft-related tags! This will help you connect with other witches who might be helpful on your journey.

Don’t be shy when it comes to posting photographs (taken with a phone or other camera) of your notes! You might not feel that your notes are as neat or pretty as other bloggers. Regardless, they’re unique and might resonate with others!

If you’re taking notes about a very personal topic, like shadow work, you might want to forgo the pictures. Some bloggers obfuscate or blur potentially sensitive parts of their notes. You’ll likely find nothing but encouragement for sharing your research topics, though!

Some studybloggers will also photograph their study space. Some of us even use photos of fun things like their breakfast or pets to illustrate their updates. If pictures don’t suit you, post regular bits about your life and your progress towards your goals.

Get to know other bloggers! This is important, whether they’re witches or from the studyblogging community. Both can be helpful!

Watch or read some of the tutorials you’ll find in the studyblogging community. These focus on things like calligraphy, organization, and memory techniques.

While your notes needn’t have fancy headings, calligraphy can be fun to learn. I don’t currently use calligraphy in my notes, but am learning it on the side, so to speak.

I find it relaxing, and you might enjoy it too. If not, don't feel bad - not everyone uses fancy handwriting, and that's okay!

Moving Forward

If, after a few weeks, you find yourself really vibing with studyblogging, stick with it! Most witches would agree that there’s no real wrong way to be a witch. To me, though, there are wrong (and right) ways for you yourself to learn and grow in your craft.

You need to find what works for you, what adheres to your soul and keeps you connected. If studyblogging ends up helping you, and I hope it will, keep going!

After a while you might find yourself ready to move onto another topic. We all end up “graduating” forward onto other subjects. You’ll quickly find that your grimoires will be an invaluable record.

They will contain not just your gathered information, but also your intuition, insight, and more. Cherish your notebooks - they will come to reflect your essence!

#magic #witchcraft #witchblr #witch #studyblr #occult #pagan #journal #book of shadows #grimoire #eliza.txt #eliza reads

962 notes · View notes

the-chick-of-the-air · 3 years

Text

Ink On My Skin

Written for Jurdannet Roulette. Thank you to @jurdannet and @jurdannetrevels for hosting. Written in league with my revel/romantics anonymous group @acciomanorian @the-chick-of-the-air @ironicallyanemic

We used the prompts Soulmates, "I know you", and our own take on empath to come up with our own franken-prompt. It's a soulmate AU where whatever character A writes on their skin will appear on character B's skin and vice versa.

Beautiful Edit by @ironicallyanemic

Series: Part 1 of Ink On My Skin

Chapter 3

Cardan. Here?

I itch to grab a pen nub, a quill. Anything I can write with and start drawing on my skin, only to watch it vanish.

I think it might be foolish that it has become a sort of habit.

Rather, I grab the tray out of the servant’s hands and storm my way into the study. Cardan may be here, he may be in part a ruler of these lands but this is my house. I have the power- however little- to get him tossed out.

I barge into the study only to stop short.

A Greenbriar, but not Cardan.

Dain.

I have made a mistake.

He remarks on my actions, how I must be in a rush. Fear is pricking at my senses and I have to hold back from grabbing the quill off the desk.

Foolish, foolish habit.

I sink into a low bow, hoping he finds me clumsy only. My thoughts race. Could his being here be Cardan’s doing?

My skin burns. I want it covered in ink.

I swallow my fear and stumble through an introduction, offering him the wine I’d taken from the servant. We exchange a few words. Conversation. He wants conversation. I want to scribble on my skin, watch it fade away like my body absorbs it. I can’t wonder about where it goes right now.

I rub at the missing tip of my finger instead.

When I tell Dain that, no, none of his brothers are causing me trouble, he finds me fascinating. Mortals can lie. He says. He’s never seen it up close, he says. He wants me to be his little liar. He doesn’t say.

But it’s what he wants.

When I ask him why he’s made an appearance, what he wants here, he answers my question with a question.

What do I want? Something I have always wanted, never dared speak.

I want to say “make me immortal” before I feel myself cringing. I don’t want to want that.

It occurs to me I could ask that whenever I write on my skin, it stays on my skin. For my words to finally be mine and mine alone. But then that would lead him to question who receives the runaway ink. I’m not stupid. Oriana told us what it was like to have a soulmate. I just don’t know who lurks on the other side.

I try to keep from recoiling when I ponder the fact that they might be dead. I’ve never received anything from them.

It might be worse if they’ve been ignoring me all this time.

Before I can let my thoughts spiral, before I lose control and throw myself at that quill, I say, “I want to be able to resist enchantment.”

It feels like it shouldn’t be this easy. A Prince has waltzed into my home and offered me my greatest desires and for what?

Ah. He wants a spy. My heart can sink through the floorboards but I won't let it show. He explains there will be room for growth, for freedom, for power once he is crowned High King.

Foolish habits. I clench my fists to keep from tracing letters on my skin.

I accept. What more could I want at the moment? At least now I’ll be going somewhere.

He grants me a Geas, awesome. With the catch that he can still enscroll me. Less awesome.

Dinner is a quiet and proper affair without Vivi there and by the time I am done arguing with Taryn on our way up to bed, I am ready to pour my feelings out onto my skin.

I remember the first time it happened. How I thought it was the potion in the bottle that made the marks disappear. I know better now. The day I revealed what the “magic ink” could do… I think that’s the closest I’ve ever seen Oriana come to happiness for me.

I throw myself down into the chair at my vanity. I pick up a quill and dip it in ink.

I doubt anyone is actually getting these notes, these messages. That is why I am so comfortable with bleeding my feelings out onto my skin as though I am a living diary to be filled. It makes me feel better, writing out my thoughts. And maybe the thought that there might be someone out there, sharing in my troubles, well…

I shake my head and put ink to skin.

~.~

I am now a spy for Prince Dain.

Knighthood was my dream, my future, my solidified place in this forsaken land. Losing it would have broken a lesser mind, and I could hardly stand the thought of having no clear path before me, but this…this power. This station within the court is the next best thing.

I cannot say what will come of this, and I cannot imagine what my first task will be, but it is a start to something.

I have sworn to be the greatest. So even in the shadows, I will outshine them all.

I can barely transcribe the letters fast enough. They are excited, nervous maybe, whoever they are.

“I have sworn to be the greatest” I know exactly who that sounds like but I dare not let myself even consider the possibility. It’s already too much. My every thought, action, dream and nightmare. They are already filled with her.

It’s nearly enough to make even me sick. I pride myself- secretly- on the fact that I am no infidel. Not when I have committed myself to someone.

When I was with Nicasia, I was hers alone, even though some part of me knew I… that there was…is someone on the other side of this soulmate bond.

Being with Nicasia had been a prize I had won. Somehow she had seen me and seen something in me she wanted for herself.

Her infidelity came as such a strong blow, I almost wondered if there was in fact a method to this soulmate madness. If Nicasia wasn’t mine to keep, if whoever was on the other side of these inked messages was the one I was supposed to be with…

I suppose, in a sense, I did feel like I was cheating someone, somehow, even if I was sure for the longest time that whoever had written that first message was long gone. Dead, most likely. But then the constant scribbling upon my arms and sometimes thighs would only serve as a striking reminder that whatever I’d had with the fish princess was never going to last.

I don’t know how I ended up deciding to make a habit of recording everything they wrote, but I can hardly stop now. It’s a daily routine, an addiction. Not unlike my taste for faerie wine and a certain pair of angry auburn eyes.

I want to rub the stress out of my eyes but then I might miss something being written. It’s the same everyday now. Whoever is on the other side ends their day with writing about it.

One would think I’d have enough information at this point to figure out who it is that’s writing all this, all so suddenly. But they have never given their name, their place, nothing.

Or perhaps they have and whatever cruel magic that drives these bonds has decided it would be funny to withhold such information from me.

They have stopped writing for the night. The ink fades away as quickly as it appeared and I am left with the copy I have made, drying in a thick parchment heavy book that I have used to record every sentence, every word for weeks now. I sigh as I shove it back into its place on my bookshelf next to my copy of Alice in Wonderland. I try not to think of the piece of parchment I have hidden in there, of what name is scratched out over and over again on it.

Madness. All of it.

Perhaps one day I will find who it is that lurks on the other side of our bond. Perhaps I might even come to like them. For now, I climb into bed and try not to grieve the fact that they are nothing more than ink on my skin.

48 notes · View notes

we-dragons · 3 years

Text

I'm from a different dimension actually Chapter 4 Damian x reader

Pulled away to another world, Y/N uses magic science and a Little bird to help her get back home and possibly be rid of an apocalyptic event. "So, will you succumb to your doubts completely or step into the sun of this new world?"

We didn't stay in the library very long, in fact as soon as I stepped foot in the space I was dragged back out by the back of my collar by my science partner. And despite showing my protest was thrown into the back of a black car with a surprised boy on the other side of it. Other than the look of shock on his face, his black hair was styled to part down the middle and wide tired-looking blue eyes. He regained his composure and displays a nervous grin on his face his eyes twitching as Damian slid in beside me.

"Damian who's our guest, and why is she here?" There was a hit of displeasure in his voice but not necessarily aimed at me.

"This is my project partner since father made it very clear I was grounded," Damian replies coldly, glaring at the male in front of him. The air was deathly still and I could feel a cold chill travel between them.

"Master Damian, Master Tim are we ready to leave?" an old man peers back at us from the driver's seat, his eyes land on me and he smiles slightly. "You must be Ms. (y/n), master Damian said you we coming over to work on a school assignment on scientific devices."

"Y-yes, sir!" He nods turning back to the wheel, we leave the parking lot, and out the window, I spot Molly waving in my direction as the school pulls out of view.

The ride was short, to say the least, and filled with air so thick you could make egg drop soup with it. Tension only seemed to rise as Tim tried to talk to me he was immediately shut down by Damian growling or glaring at him. For me this ride felt like an eternity in reality it was about ten minutes, and my stomach dropped when we pulled up to the building. The building fits perfectly to the name of the city towering behind spiked gates that creaked as it opened, the odd feeling of the place increased recalling the last time I was in a similar place, and I swallow the feeling pushing it back. The car pulled to the doors letting me leave the confined space of the car, being pulled out of it of course by Damian who marches on faster than I can keep up and he doesn't stop till he gets inside the door where he is tackled by a Great Dane. I pull my wrist to my chest rubbing the now sensitive skin, a laugh erupts from beside me, Tim stares down at Damian as if he won something.

"You should be more careful about your pets Damian, it seems this one got the better of you." He says attempting not to smile too widely, the boy on the floor however was not impressed pushing the dog off of him.

"Screw you, Drake." He grumbles getting up and points the dog out the door, the Dane happily obliged leaping out just as Alfred move out of the way.

"Master Richard must be home, shall I call him for you?" The boys both winced at the name, the looked over at me then back at Alfred.

"No!" they said in unison then peered at each other in disgust.

"Umm" I start gathering their attention. "listen I need to get home by 6 so I can feed my cat It's already 3:10 so.." I clap my hands together tilting my head slightly. "are we ready to get this show on the road?"

_____________________________________________________________

Even after we had gotten upstairs to their enormous library we found nothing about the Astrolabe anywhere not even in Islamic art or Greek sciences. So I used my knowledge on the subject there was plenty on the subject so I pull out my notebook and start writing.

"What are you doing?" a gruff voice says. I look up and see Damian glaring down at my notebook.

"Writing down what I know starting from Greece," I pull my finger down the outline I made, " to Mariam Al-Astrolabiya, and sailors. Ending with mathematic importance and finishing with overall importance." He looks at me a little surprised but his face pulls back into his regular scowl.

"How do you know any of that already?"

"Well from many sources really, I had books on the Islamic golden era and Greece's people of importance, the Minnesota renaissance festival, and my mom," I said quite proudly reminiscing the times my family would spend there, well my dad was only in it for chain mail, we would learn about the past, see the fire shows, we would always have so much fun, especially when we were with mom.

"Was your mother a historian?" He moved over and took my notebook to read over what I had.

"Not really she was an archeologist by trade, but I guess, she did teach Islamic golden age and Mid-evil centuries of Europe."

"Was your mother professor Astrid Hopperfeild?" My heart didn't beat, I stare at him, disbelief filling my core as that pit built up some more.

I smile in hopes that I cover up any nervousness, "Yes that's my mother, did you know her at all." He gives me another off look and gets up. He goes to a chest on the far left of the library and opens it he taking out a large file box and sets it in front of me. "I don't know her personally but," he takes out a book from the box and hands it to me. "she left very detailed journals about her findings." The book was a light purple and leather-bound with an old fashioned clasp in the front, I didn't believe it at first, then open the book examining the ink and I smell the pages.

"These are differently her's only, my mother was the only one I know who would write with Lilac scented ink and a classic dip pen." My eyes start to water and I close the book so I don't get any of the pages wet. "How did you get this by grandma said they were stolen." He scoffs.

"They were sold two years ago at an auction in South Dakota, my father bought every last copy"

"I knew it.....they were too greedy to look past the fortune they would bring." I look up at Damian. "How did you know? Why show me these? I could have gone my whole life without needing to know they were still around."

"Your handwriting is very similar and It was convenient," he shifts putting the box on the floor so he could see me better, "I was going to ask you myself later but being paired with you on this project was just perfect. I wanted to know the disappearance of the (L/N) family and Astrid Hopperfeild, along with the last three of her books."

I push myself out of my chair making it leave a loud clattering noise, I quickly gather my things and put my mother's book in his hands. " Thank you for your hospitality and your time, I will be leaving now. I will finish this report at my house and we can decide on a project later at school." I run as fast as I can to the door taking my jacket from the coat rack and rush out, running as fast as I could from this place. I hear a thunderclap and before I feel the rain, I pull my hood up and hide my skin the best I could. I run for ten minutes before I reach my apartment, my body soaking wet and my skin burning. I rip the wet clothing from my skin and rush to the mirror to see the damage. I wasn't going to school tomorrow or even the next, my body was covered in scales that are going to need to be removed I was going to be ill when I wake up the next morning, I knew that this wasn't the first time anyway. I just needed to call the school tomorrow. I sigh giving Nightmare his food and heading once again to my closet pulling out three books bound together by brown twine that are dear to me. A note was attached to it, Lilac ink wafting the air as I reread my favorite line from it, over and over again.

It was 8 when I decided I needed to go to bed the weight of today's experiences sinking into me. People here still know about the books, they aren't safe, and neither am I. My mother's last note to me played to me in my mind and I feel the tears run down my cheeks.

Just remember I love you my little one, and this secret is only ours.

32 notes · View notes

fyrewrites · 4 years

Text

The Magus’s Apprentice

Unfinished Ars Magica drabble

The small village on the outskirts of the faerie forest was, more or less, a peaceful place. The echoes of past large-scale cosmic wars resonated throughout the place, and to the Gifted ones, these echoes were harmful.

So it was that a child of eight, previously thought to be as UnGifted as any other, awoke screaming, crying out to the world to make it stop.

This young girl’s name was Amande, and she was in great pain.

Her parents, a farmer and his wife, had no idea how to help their daughter, so, against everyone’s best judgement, they called upon the old wizard in the tower. The tower was in the faerie forest, however the feeling of a new Gifted one was powerful enough to cut through even the worst of the faerie magic.

So the wizard came swiftly.

The fate of the girl was debated at length; the wizard wished to take the girl and teach her how to use her Gift, but the parents were afraid of that. What if she destroyed the village? The wizard let their fears vanish as he spoke a while about the dangers of an untrained maga, which would surely end in the village being destroyed sooner or later, whereas if she went with the wizard, no harm would be done, save for her absence.

In the end, the family conceded to the wizard’s wish, and Amande was no longer Amande, but an apprentice.

Amande cried out in pain, a pain which lessened as the wizard led her away from her home. She soon realized that she didn't even know the name of her new master, nor anything else about him, save that he was a wizard. As she opened her mouth to ask one of the questions she wanted answered, the wizard said, “Don't speak.”

They continued on in silence. When they reached the tower, Amande gasped. It was better than she had thought! She had thought it was a crumbling structure constantly under siege by the faeries, when in fact it was a sturdy, if worn structure, built of stone. Carved into the blue arched door was a strange symbol, which looked like two keys crossed. Amande had never seen that design before.

The wizard tapped on the door with his fist, as if he were knocking. The door unlocked itself and opened, much to the amazement of Amande. Did all wizards have the power to do that?

She walked inside. The door closed behind her, and as the wizard looked at them, the candles lit themselves.

“Welcome to my tower,” the wizard said. “My name is Elanirvidius, and I am your master now. May I know your name?”

“Amande,” the girl said immediately. “Are you really going to teach me magic? Am I going to be a wizard?” Her face was lit with childlike wonder.

“I am not a wizard, and neither will you be,” Elanirvidius said. “I am a magus, and you will also be one. And, yes, I will teach you magic.”

Amande let out an excited shriek. “When can I learn? Can I start now? How long do I have to wait?”

“First, I must Open your magic,” Elanirvidius said, sitting down in a chair. A little table immediately walked to him, bearing a glass filled with water and a well-thumbed book that had many bookmarks stuck in it. “That, I am afraid, takes some time.”

“So I won't learn magic now?” Amande’s bright expression faded.

“You will learn soon,” the magus said, then sipped the glass of water. “Please sit; you cannot be comfortable standing while I am not.”

Obediently, Amande sat on the softest chair she had ever sat on. It was better than standing, just as Elanirvidius had said. She asked, “How long do I wait?”

“It is late summer now,” Elanirvidius said quietly. “When autumn leaves turn red, you will be able to learn magic.”

“So…” she thought. “When the harvest comes?”

“Yes, I believe that is the time. Would you like me to show you the tower? An apprentice who does not know her and her master’s house is not much of an apprentice, after all.”

The tower possessed four floors. The first was the library and entry. The second was the laboratory, which was filled with all manner of strange projects that Elanirvidius kept Amande well away from. The third housed Elanirvidius’s room, a guest room, and the restroom, which appeared very magical indeed, as there was a basin there that filled itself with water, warm or cold, upon request, as well as a chamberpot that emptied itself. The fourth floor housed an observatory, as well as a smaller library that contained Elanirvidius’s personal notes and observations on many things, mostly the sky.

It was this magical tower that Amande now called home.

For the first season of her apprenticeship, Elanirvidius taught her how to read and write the language of magic. By the time her magic was Opened, she could read an entire spellbook, and could write a scroll.

On the day the autumn leaves turned red, Elanirvidius brought Amande up to the observatory, and asked her to look through the nearest of the three telescopes, and tell him what she saw.

She looked, and gasped. “It's magic!”

“It is time,” Elanirvidius said, “for you to learn magic.”

Amande studied the page Elanirvidius was showing her. It was written in the magic writing, which Amande knew fluently now. She read the words, then tried to understand them.

Search deep within yourself. It is there, waiting. It is your Gift. Welcome it, ask it to become part of you. Then, use it. Use The Gift to create light. If at first you don't succeed, try until you do. There is a light that shines in the darkness, and that light is you, Gifted one.

Amande followed the words’ instructions, and with the guidance of her master Elanirvidius, she created a floating orb of light that rested in her hands. She flung it up, and it rose, then fell down again, slowly and gently, to rest in her hands once more.

“Well done,” Elanirvidius said. “And your sigil is apparent also: gravity.”

That night, while Amande lay awake in bed conjuring lights, Elanirvidius dipped his pen, an emerald feather, into some black ink and wrote. He made special note of his apprentice’s sigil. Very few magi possessed a sigil that involved gravity, and those that had were known as great magi. Almost all of them had become archmagi, if that was a term that was applicable.

He finished writing, then rolled up the paper into a scroll and sealed it with purple wax inscribed with the mark of his House, two keys crossed.

He sent out the scroll, which was an official request for apprenticeship, then read Sigils: G to L, searching for gravity. He desired to know what exactly that sigil meant.

Dawn had just graced the village with its light, and the parents of Amande were woken by a loud tapping on their window. The cause was a bird carrying a letter in its talons.

They opened the window, read the letter, and rejoiced. Amande was well into her first year with the wizard, who she termed Magus Elanirvidius, and she had already learned very much. She had requested that the “magus” allow her parents to visit his tower so that they could check in with their daughter. He allowed this and welcomed them at any time.

So, the parents were quick to make their way to the tower of Elanirvidius.

“You came!” Amande said excitedly. “Do you like it? Do you? It's really nice here! And I can do magic now!” She conjured an orb of light, now second nature to her, and bounced it around as if it were a ball.

Her parents nodded. They were still quite shocked by how the door had opened as if by… magic. Now, too, their daughter was doing magic, and Elanirvidius had not shown himself yet. Where was he?

Amande created more orbs of light, throwing them around haphazardly. They all came back to her, no matter how far she tossed them. She aimed one, threw, then gasped as an ink vial spilled all over a paper. Oh no!

She rushed over and tried to fix it, but ended getting herself covered in ink. There was only one thing to do: tell her master.

She'd never been in her master's room since he'd given her the tour months ago. No room was forbidden to her, of course, but she had never felt the need to enter this room. Now she was.

Amande opened the door and called, “Elanirvidius, I spilled ink on a paper.”

Elanirvidius was not there.

Where in the world could he have gone?

Amande checked everywhere in the tower, finding no trace of her elusive master. She returned to the library, then decided she would show her parents around. She did so with enthusiasm, but they were not so enthusiastic. She hoped that would change once Elanirvidius cane back.

Elanirvidius returned to the tower. He had met with one of the officials of his House, and they had dealt with the matter of Amande’s apprenticeship. It was decided that she was his apprentice, and so he would instruct her for fifteen years and take her to matters of importance, among other things.

He entered his tower to find two UnGifted people within—Amande had let her parents come. He observed the scene, his eyes coming to rest on the spilled ink vial, which had ruined a spell, One Key To Open Them All. Luckily, he had composed that just yesterday, so he recalled its formula very well. However, it was still ruined.

“Amande,” Elanirvidius said, “I believe I forbid throwing lights after last week’s incident.”

Last week, Amande had accidentally thrown a light orb through the ajar door to the laboratory, interrupting the ritual Elanirvidius was conducting. He had punished her accordingly, giving her a tricky reading assignment. Hidden within the pages of her book had been a quiz on formulaic magic, specifically pertaining to the orbs of light.

Clearly, she had not learned her lesson.

Amande apologized, but the matter of the spilled ink could not be resolved with words. Nor would a punishment work. So, Elanirvidius said, “Your actions have ruined my latest spell.”

He took the offending parchment and burned it in his hands. The ashes were swept away by a broom that sat in the corner.

“Leave,” he told Amande’s parents. They did so. With them gone, Elanirvidius continued. “Now, follow me. I have an important task for you.”

Her task was to assist in sorting the laboratory—the non dangerous part.

#my writing #fantasy #original #ars magica #wizards #magic

8 notes · View notes

nataliedanovelist · 4 years

Text

GF + OH - Fallen Owls pt.2

Summary: What happens when the milf of The Owl House meets the dilf of Gravity Falls? Find out in this multi-chapter crossover fic.

pt.1

~~~~~~~~~~

Episode Placement: GF = after finale (S3?) OH = between S1E7 and E8 Mabel giggled at a funny meme Luz had texted her. Who doesn’t love pics of an angry-looking kitty and a toad sipping coffee? She texted Luz a bunch of laughing emojis and scratched Waddles. Luz, meanwhile, was sitting on the couch in the living room with King sleeping by his side. Or at least trying to. He was in the perfect spot, but Luz’s giggling was disturbing his slumber. Luz texted back: It’s so good to have someone appreciate these! Eda thinks their stupid and King never gets them. M: Memes are a rare language only teenagers and creepy forty-year-olds understand.

Luz texted a gif of a guy pointing and saying “you got me there” and she scratched King’s back. He rolled over in his sleep and Luz scratched his tummy. L: So whatcha doin’ today? M: Dipper wants to go investigate some new anomaly. L: Cool! What is it? M: … You know, why don’t I get him to tell you? Are you up for visitors today? L: YES! Yes, yes, YES! I’ll ask Eda! Luz hurried off the couch and ran up outside to find Eda drinking out of her 30 & Flirty mug in the warm sun. “Eda! Can Mabel come over and bring her brother Dipper?” “That human girl you met last week?” Eda asked and shrugged. “Sure, okay. Just make sure her uncle won’t be after my blood.” “Thanks Eda, you’re the best!” And Luz hurriedly texted Mabel back. ~~~~~~~~~~ Mabel’s phone made a dazzling noise, like sparkles, meaning she got a text. She squealed and Dipper then entered the bedroom, having been blackmailed into a shower by his own twin. He was shaking his hair dry, fully dressed, when Mabel said, “Dip-Dip, cancel your plans for today!” “What, but we were gonna investigate the graveyard for loose zombies, remember?” “Not anymore! You’re gonna see the Boiling Isles!” Dipper gasped and dropped his towel. “Are you serious?! The Boiling Isles! I’ve been wanting a chance to see it for myself and record it in my journal!” “Well, now you've got one.” Mabel hopped off the bed and said, “We just gotta make sure it’s okay with Grunkle Stan first.” Dipper slammed on his pinetree hat and hurried with Mabel downstairs. They found both of their great-uncles in front of the TV, Stan trying to explain some new show to Ford, but the old-school scientist just couldn’t see the appeal in a show about a bird and a raccoon terrorizing an amusement park. “Can we go see Luz at the Boiling Isles today, please please please?!” Mabel begged, using her cuteness as a weapon against her temporary-guardians. ‘You expect me to allow my kids into a dangerous world full of monsters and demons and some creepy witch?” Stan asked with a raised eyebrow, but then smiled. “Sounds like fun! Have at it.” Mabel and Dipper cheered and high-fived, then the hyperactive girl gave her Grunkle Stan a quick hug before running off into the kitchen with the sweaty teenage boy to text Luz. “Are you sure that is a good idea, Stanley?” Ford asked. The younger twin shrugged. “I trust her.” “Who? Mabel or Eda?” “Yes.” Ford snorted and gave his brother a sly look. Stan narrowed his eyes at him and grunted, “What?” “You like her, don’t you?” Ford asked. “Who? My niece or some creepy owl lady?” “Yes.” Stan laughed and punched Ford’s shoulder. “Yeah, right. Eda’s just a fun story to tell and a cool chick. She’s not my type.” “Right, because your type is gigantic man-eating spiders and deadly sirens.” Ford said sarcastically. “I saw the way you looked at her. I haven’t seen you smile quite like that since Carla McCorkle.” “That’s ancient history.” Stan said dryly. “I’m way over her. Besides, Eda and I’ve got our own lives. Sure, what we had was great back in the day, and yeah I’ll admit it, it was love at first sight, but love dies off, you know.” He didn’t at all sound a little bit bitter or hurt. Ford shrugged and stood up for another cup of coffee. “Maybe whatever you two had will come back. Look, I may have twelve PhDs, but I know next to nothing about girls and dating or whatever, but I do know my own brother, and I saw a side of you I haven’t seen in a long time: you looked truly, genuinely happy.” Stan stood so he could punch his twin’s shoulder softly. “I am happy, Sixer. I’ve got you and the kids. I don’t need anything else.” Ford smiled. “I can understand that logic. Still, try to keep an open mind, Knucklehead.” And he walked off to the kitchen for some more caffeine. ~~~~~~~~~~ Eda unlocked the door and soon a pair of Caucasian twins with brown hair and matching eyes ran through. The girl grinned at the sight of Luz and the boy smiled politely. Mabel ran up to Luz and the girls hugged and squealed in delight. “This’ll be so much fun!” Luz cheered. “I have so many things to show you! Tons of books filled with monsters, a real-life demon, I can even show you my light spell!” “Thanks for having us!” Mabel said to both Luz and Eda. “This is my brother, Dipper.” “Nice to meet you, kid.” Eda said with a wink. “The pleasure is all mine, Ms. Eda.” Dipper admired and immediately pulled out his notebook from his vest and was ready to take notes. “Do you mind if I ask you a couple of questions about your kind and what it means to be a witch?” “Maybe later, kid.” Eda said casually. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m off to take a nap.” She walked behind her dresser and snapped her fingers, magically changing into her pajamas. She yawned into her hand and made her way up the stairs. “Stay as long as you want and just don’t make a mess and don’t wake me up unless you wanna die a slow and painful death. Oh. Luz.” Eda tossed her the key from the top of the stairs and the human caught it. “So you don’t have to wake me up to send the other humans home.” “Thanks, Eda.” Luz called and the door closed. “So, Dipper, Mabel says you two do a lot of exploring?” She asked. “Oh yeah,” Dipper acknowledged. “Gravity Falls is filled with tons of anomalies and weird stuff. We’ve faced eyebats, gremloblins, zombies, ghosts, an army of angry gnomes…” “Wow! That’s so cool!” Luz said and opened the front door. “You’ll definitely like it here! I’ll give you guys a quick tour.” “YES!” The twins cheered and hurried out the door, but were frozen with shock when the door spoke. “Finally! Company! I’ve been waiting for someone to hear my stories! Okay, so one time a bug crawled into my eye and… OW!” Hooty was interrupted by Dipper using his journal to smack the talking owl head on the - well, on the head. “Geez! Ow! Hoot!” “Sorry,” Dipper winced. “Aw!” Mabel squealed and reached up to scratch the top of her head. “He’s so cute! Who’s a good door, who’s a good door?” “I dunno, is it me?” Hooty cooed, putty in Mabel’s hands as she scratched him lovingly. “Alright, come on guys. Hooty’s gotta guard the house while Eda and King are napping.” Luz said and led the way into town. Dipper and Mabel grinned as one walked beside Luz to talk and the other wrote in his journal diligently. ~~~~~~~~~~ Gus was squealing where he stood with Willow by his side. She smiled and rolled her eyes affectionately at her close friend and said, “Gus, if you don’t calm down you’re going to faint again.” “I haven’t fainted in two years.” Gus defended. “I’m fine. I just wanna know what Luz’s surprise is!” “I wonder if it’s a new spell she learned, Or a gift from the human world.” Gus gasped loudly and shouted, “What if it’s a tiny clock for your wrist?! What if it’s a ball that can float on it’s own?! WHAT IF IT’S A SMALL ENTERTAINMENT RECTANGLE?!” “Look, there she is!” Willow pointed the human out and waved. Meanwhile, Luz was talking to the twins as she walked with them. “Now remember that it’s rude to stare, never trust a man in sandals, and always measure twice, cut once.” “Measure… twice… cut… once…” Dipper muttered as he wrote Luz’s tips in his journal. “Got it.” “Now, I want you two to meet… oh hey! There they are! Willow! Gus!” Luz called and approached her friends quickly with her visitors. Gus gasped loudly and was then speechless, completely stone-still with his mouth hanging open. Luz smiled at his reaction while Willow grinned happily. “Hey guys! This is Dipper and Mabel, humans from the human realm! Guys, this is Willow and Gus, they’re my best friends.” “Wow! Elves!” Mabel squealed, at once catching the pointy ears and holding out a hand to shake. “Hi! I’m Mabel! It’s so nice to meet you.” Willow giggled and shook her hand. “It’s nice to meet you too, but we’re not elves; we’re witches. See,” And Willow made a circle at the dirt, making a pretty pink flower sprout and bloom. She plucked it and held it out to Mabel and said, “Welcome to the Boiling Isles.” “Oh, wowie zowie.” The human breathed and pinned the flower by her ear. “Thank you!” “Are you two really humans?” Willow asked. Dipper smiled as he pocketed his journal and pen in his vest; he knew these witches were probably just as excited to meet humans as these humans were excited to meet witches. “Yup. I gotta admit, I’ve seen lots of weird stuff but this place is even more weird and mysterious than anything I’ve ever saw.” “I’m glad you like it here.” Willow then noticed how little Gus was speaking and gently elbowed him. “Gus, say something.” She whispered softly. “Ack… ah…” The young witch gasped, the nerd in him overtaking his logic, his brain slower than a snail on a turtle’s back to the overwhelming fantasy coming true. “Ears... wire… teeth… round…” “Uh, is he okay?” Mabel asked. “He’s fine.” Luz said calmly. “He’s the president of the Human Appreciation Society at school.” “Oh, cool.” Dipper said. “So this would be like me meeting the author for him.” He added to his sister, who giggled, and then she asked, “So, what do you guys like to do for fun?” Luz, Willow, and Gus all grinned excitedly as they exchanged looks and they happily grabbed the twins’ hands and took them on an adventure into the unknown. ~~~~~~~~~~ Vexing off some frustrations and hoping to forget her worries for a moment with a successful evening of winning bets and making money, Eda counted her bills one more time. It was enough to slap a man like it was a glove. With her flaming orange hair everywhere, her shiny gold tooth sparkling alongside her excited eyes, and comfortable in casual human attire, it felt good to leave behind the Boiling Isles for a while and be somewhere new. Not that she intended to stay; she didn’t quite belong here. Eda reached for a slot machine handle and pulled. One strawberry, two strawberries, and a banana. The hidden witch frowned and growled in her throat, determined to outwit this thing. She decided to give it one more try before incorporating some magic. She reached for the handle only to have her hand touch someone else’s hand. Her golden eyes landed on a buff man around her age. He wore a red Hawaiian shirt, his buttons a little low to showcase a gold chain and a bit of chest hair. Scars littered his knuckles and he had a five o’clock shadow on his square chin, his shaggy brown hair nearly long enough to be a mullet. His brown eyes sparked with excitement and he immediately put on a sly grin that made Eda smirk in return. Instantly she knew this guy was going to give her a good time. He let go of the slot machine, shrugged and gestured to the machine, and said, “Good luck.” Eda smiled, pulled the lever, and decided to perform a small spell behind her back with her free hand. One strawberry, two strawberries, three strawberries. Blinking lights and spitting money clarified Eda’s victory and she punched the air several times. “Yes yes yes yes yes!” She scooped up her loot into her bag and challenged, “Let’s see if you can do any better, Muscles.” The guy smiled cockily and gave it a shot, rubbing his hands together and popping his knuckles. To Eda’s pleasant surprise, the guy got three bananas, earning four times the amount the witch won, and he gave a barking laugh that Eda found pleasant and full-hearted. “Eat it, toots!” Stan bragged as he pocketed the winnings and pulled out a big stack of cash to flaunt. “Sorry to break it to you, sweetheart, but looks like Lady Luck’s on my side tonight.” “You wish,” Eda snorted. “Tell you what, buster, let’s make this night even more interesting.” The guy raised an eyebrow at her. “Oh?” “You and I play against each other for the rest of the evening. Whoever wins the most from this point forward… I don’t know, the winner lives in glory and the loser wallows in eternal shame.” The guy leaned across the machine, still as cocky as ever with a smile as sly as a fox. “How about loser treats winner out to breakfast?” Eda crackled a laugh and held out a hand to shake. “You've got a deal.” The guy took her hand, shook it, and said, “Name’s Stan by the way.” Eda said the first back-up name that came to mind. “Marilyn.” She would be an idiot to give away her real name in a dodgy place like Las Vegas. And so the competitive game of betting at the club began. From poker to blackjack to straight-up dice rolling and slot machines, the two spirited and care-free adults roamed the casino with one goal: to kick the other’s butt. All the while they talked like they were old friends. It was crazy ridiculous how easy their talks were. Everything just worked. Between cocktails and anything with a buzz, the two were foul cheaters, one brilliantly street-smart and the other crafty and gifted with a certain set of skills. One time Stan tried to leave a table and fell on his face to find his shoelaces tied, even though he could have sworn Eda never had a chance to prank him. Eda quickly liked this guy a lot; he was fun! She could poke fun at him without worrying about hurting his wittle feewings, rather he would poke back and make her laugh. Even as she threw dice at his head once in order to swipe his winnings, he grabbed her wrist, tickled her ribs, and swiped some of her gold; Eda retaliated by pouncing on him like a bird after her prey and they wrestled for a moment before Stan threw her down and laughed. Eda grinned, impressed he could fight, and they high-fived before moving on. It was a close call, but by three in the morning Stan was richer by five bucks, so Eda shrugged and said she was only passing through and wondered if he knew a place with edible food. Stan, who had been living in town for about a month, took her in the Stanmobile and drove her to a cheap 24-hour diner by the interstate. The whole time they chatted pleasantly, making fun of the other and telling stories and generally having a good time. As Stan drove and his hair became a wild mess, Eda smiled at him; she had never felt this way about anyone. No one challenged her or made her feel this important. And so Eda found herself eating pancakes with tons of strawberries and strawberry syrup, sipping a mug of black coffee. Stan was telling another story in between bites of pancake with eggs and plenty of bacon, his coffee also as black as the night. Eda listened, entertained, and held her mug with both of her pale hands to keep them warm. “... so I said to the bouncer, ‘where’s your idea, ugly?’ And that’s how I got this scar.” And Stan rolled back his sleeve to show off the proof of his story. Eda laughed and tilted her head up to show a tiny scar under her chin. “I got this one from playing with my sister. She tricked me and I ran after her and tripped over a tree root and landed on a rock. Blood was everywhere, Mother was furious at her, which was all the payback I needed; she almost never got into trouble.” “Ah, got a goody-two-shoes sibling, huh?” Stan asked, leaned back in his booth as he ate another piece of bacon. “Can you relate?” Stan laughed. “Yeah, my older brother Shermie’s a total square. He’s an okay guy, though. Made me an uncle.” “That’s nice.” Eda said. “Lily will never make me an aunt; she’s already married to the law.” She groaned, adding a gagging noise for comedic effect, and she sipped her coffee. “Ugh, are you related to a cop?” Stan groaned and held his forehead as he smiled. “More like a detective.” “Hey, I had an uncle who was a detective.” Stan remembered. “Cool guy; smoked a pack a day, but he had this bachelor's apartment in New York City and cracked tons of cases. He wasn’t afraid to get his hands dirty, good ole Uncle Jack. So, do you still talk to your sister, or…” Eda shrugged. “Not really. She decided I wasn’t good enough for her and I decided she wasn’t worth it, so we kinda went our separate ways.” Stan nodded solemnly, his eyes elsewhere. “It happens. I don’t really talk to my family anymore.” “Sorry.” She said sympathetically, her eyes anywhere but her date. “Meh. I’m not.” Stan lied easily. “If the guy wants to go to some smarty-pants school and live a boring life, always knowing what’s gonna happen, that’s his mistake.” Eda smiled and chuckled under her throat. “My thoughts exactly. Life isn’t proper; it’s wild and unpredictable, but that’s what makes it so beautiful.” Stan smiled and pointed at her. “I like your philosophy, babe.” “Your’s isn’t so bad, handsome.” Eda replied in her mug. “Could use some polishing, but hey what do I know?” Stan smiled and the conversation shifted. That drunken state a lack of sleep will give you, but neither were willing to turn in just yet. Eda still had a goal she wanted to reach before leaving town; if she wanted to more than double her winnings, she would have to be slippery, but she couldn’t help but have an amazing time and actually feel something beyond an excitement for trouble. About an hour later, now only snacking on coffee and water and probably pissing off their waiter, Eda asked, “Hey Stan, wanna marry me?” Stan stared at her, breathing in water, and needing a minute to clear his windpipes before answering. “I don’t think you wanna do that, Marilyn. You hardly know me.” He said darkly, leaning forward and looking down. Eda took the hand that was lying on the table and squeezed it gently. “I know enough.” She stood, leaned over the table, and kissed Stan. It was actually really nice. Like, really nice. Sure she could do without the taste of coffee and the sticky syrup on his lips, but when he kissed back and had a hand in her wild hair Eda’s heart was pounding faster, excitement and adrenaline being the witch’s favorite drug. When they parted and Eda had a knee on the table, Stan nodded. “Okay. I’ll marry you.” Half an hour later, they both stood in front of Cupid with brush hair and teeth and Eda had a bundle of roses Stan had shoplifted for her. After a quick exchange of “I do”s and speeding back to Stan’s motel room, they both quickly undressed and reaped from the benefits of being a couple. ~~~~~~~~~~ Hungover and tired from an all-nighter, Eda slept in Stan’s arms nearly all day, finally waking up around three in the afternoon with Stan still asleep. She laid there and smiled, eyes closed and enjoying having such warm and strong arms wrapped around her. After spending so many years alone, it was nice to sleep with someone she loved. Heck, she may love him but he didn’t need a witch criminal in her life. And Eda’s life was too unpredictable to risk being tied down. So she went over her plan and was confident it would work. It might hurt for a minute, but soon Stan would look back on this and laugh. He was just that kind of guy. After coffee and some bananas to help with the headaches, Stan got in the shower, leaving Eda alone. Perfect. Even all of their winnings from last night were on the table. Quickly re-dressing with a snap of her fingers, the cunning witch quietly scooped up the cash into her bag and hung it over her shoulder. She looked around the room and considered taking a souvenir, a human artifact to sell, but while Stan had many things she liked (many things others saw as garbage), Eda decided to go easy on her husband; she owed him that. In her neon pink shirt, blue-jean skirt, and heeled boots, Eda quietly opened the door and tip-toed out of the room. But then she suddenly heard the sounds of the shower being turned off and the curtains being drawn back. Right, males took shorter showers. Eda quickly left and let the door make a loud-ish click noise. Let’s give Stan a warning. Let him fight for it, maybe. The red Diablo was right in front of her, giving her an idea. Rather than running away to then later duck through a door, Eda changed her plan; she was going to give Stan one hell of an adventure. She made circles on the door and it unlocked, then used circles on the engine and the cluttered car roared to life. She grinned, her golden tooth sparkling and her eyes ablaze like her hair, and just as Stan stood at the motel’s door in a maroon bathrobe and a towel held by his wet hair, Eda stepped on the gas and happily let the tires screech her farewell. “HEY!” Eda cackled and snorted all the way out of the motel’s parking lot and down the street. She relaxed and even rolled down the window to lean out and enjoy some fresh air. Not the same as flying, but close enough. Eda was going over her escape plan in her head when she noticed something behind her. She even turned her head back surprisingly far and saw Stan - still in his bathrobe - chasing after her in a stolen motorcycle. Eda grinned. “I knew I married that guy for more than one reason.” She sped up and happily dodged traffic and pedestrians. In fact, one or two things in her way may or may not have floated above her and then safely come back down, but who knows? First the lights, then the sirens. The witch knew what that meant: the guards of the human realm. She glanced back at her mirror and saw Stan being followed by three cop-cars. One cop even called to her on the radio, but she ignored it and headed for the interstate out of Las Vegas. Time to make history. Just as she merged, Stan did the same, but the cops were forced to wait for an opening. Stan somehow managed to speed up next to Eda. “What the hell, Marilyn?!” He yelled. “Sorry, handsome, gotta keep you on your toes.” Eda said coolly, leaning on her elbow on the window. “Gotta keep life unpredictable, y’know?” She added with a wink and sped up, leaving Stan behind. He sped up a bit, slowly catching up, and Eda could see that the cops were on the interstate. Time for the grand escape. The Stanmobile was brought off the busy road and down into the sandy desert. Down into the mouth of a canyon Eda sped, with the bike still closely behind her. Eda grinned, swerved behind a sharp rock, and jumped out with her bag on her shoulder. She dug through the pocket of her skirt for her key and pressed the eye. Just as Stan swerved around the sharp rock, she blew him a kiss with a foxy wink and disappeared. Stan stared, red-faced and still in his bathrobe, as the doorway disappeared. The cops finally caught up as Stan tried to wrap his head around whatever happened, and the one in charge asked him, ”Where did she go?!” The conman quickly collected his thoughts. “Dunno, car was like this when I caught up. She’s probably somewhere in this canyon.” While the police searched the canyon for a runaway newlywed, Stan smiled, impressed with her work, and checked his still-running car. It looked like she had hot-wired his baby and hadn’t taken any of his junk, but what was really weird was there was a feather in the driver’s seat. Huh. ~~~~~~~~~~ Episode Placement: GF = after finale (S3?) OH = between S1E9 and E10 After finally being accepted into Hexside, not only did Luz become more invested in learning about the historical wizarding school, she became even more invested in learning about her mentor. Those permanent records giving tid-bits of Eda’s childhood really made Luz more curious about her, and she figured a good place to keep on searching was the old boxes in a storage closet. Luz had come across it when she had put away the not-witchy broom after completing a chore. Her eyes landed on a box on a top shelf and she grinned, wondering if old photos were in it. She grabbed it and sat in on the floor, on her knees as she rubbed her hands together and took off the lid to reveal a mix-match of assorted items. There were some pictures and photographs, but it was mostly filled with old clothes. Luz picked up an old “Over 30 and Very Flirty” t-shirt and giggled at it. Something fell out from the folds of the shirt and Luz picked it up. She squinted at the old picture and gasped loudly when she realized what she was looking at. “Is that…?”

#GF #OH #Owl House #gravity falls #crossover #fanfiction #fallen owls #shipping #damn it I ship it #eda the owl lady #luz noceda #stan pines #mabel pines #dipper pines #willow and gus #las vegas #my ex wife still misses me... but her aim is betting better!!!#and hell yes I'm leaving it on a cliffhanger #see y'all in two months!

17 notes · View notes

the-house-of-the-nine · 5 years

Text

In Mind of Misery: Reflections, Part 3

[Forward: Since the end of “In Depths Below” the Nine have been busy trying to reclaim Lazarius’ family fortune, rebuilding, and forging new allies. We are current in the WoW Timeline with this entry, NZoth has risen, the world is in chaos, and now, the Council of Nine are at a disadvantage. New Readers, please note each of the roleplayers as the following...

[ L.K ] - Lazarius Kashebahl, Algus Kross, Doctor Whistletorque, Marseille

[ V.D ] Verzatea Duskflame , Pame

[ S.K ] Siida-Ray Kashebahl

[ K.A ] Koltun Ancientveil

[ J ] Jursol (AND JIMBA!)

And as always, thank you so much for continued support, posting, reblogs, likes and friendly messages! Please enjoy! ]

[ V.D ] Verza fought to hide her minor spike of amusement, her eyes swiftly narrowing as she coaxes the writing utensil away. The enchanted pen lifts from her delicate palm to return to hovering its ink dipped tip above the open journal.

"A one way mirror?" She offers a simplistic explanation for the abomination growth upon his figure, her eyes narrowing in further suspicion.

"An enemy from beyond the realm of living... Do you think she can see our world from whatever planes she haunts?" With a soft shake of her head Tea wagers.

"You've read every book about these markings, yes? Maybe we could reverse the magic and manipulate the powers to see what watches," her expression fills with concern whilst a hand lowers to linger an inch above Lazariuss skin, motioning with her hand in a manner to trace the runes.

Mostly she was feeling for any kinds of energies that could link them to the identity of whatever charged and connected to the eye; Just to see if there was a presence hosted by this one way looking glass of a spell.

"So long as its active, our safety is in jeopardy. Unless one of you challenge the idea to not fear the unknown?"

[ J ] Jursol was listening as her eyes gazed again at the strange eye. Her thought were going a mile a minute over this. Why did she do this to him? Is she a true follower of the Old God? Does she want to use this man for her advantage even now? So many things to think about.

“Dis be a bad juju magic. However it’s still not clear if dis be a danger to us all, or ta him alone. Either way we must do something.” Jursol looked to the others to see what they had to say as well.

[ V.D ] Verzateas appreciative gaze would cast itself onto Jur, thankful atleast one person (so far) felt the gravity of the situation.

[ L.K ] “You my dear huntress are not wrong....everything Raelyndia did; she did to accelerate her own motives. There was nothing she did that benefited anyone other than herself.”. By this point Lazarius had clothed his upper body again to hide the grotesque mutation. His attention on the group still here.

“I have already taken the liberty of returning to the remains of the Kashebahl estate; which of course belonged to her prior to my conscription into her service. My efforts were unsuccessful at best.”

Kross knew Raelyndia well; probably better than any of them here. Once wed to her; killed in her madness to prolong his mortality, cursing him to remain a specter so she could always have him. And ironically herself being beheaded by the same man who set off the events of the Dawnseeker and Magistrate ordeal. Kross got his ultimate revenge when he decapitated Kelkiros sparring himself and Verzatea the misery of knowing the Hound still lives. The withered face of the old man frowned; he knew Lazarius was right.

“I know of one place yet to look but the ordeal will be...dangerous getting there...”. Lazarius looked to his trusted council; or what remained of it since some had not been heard from in many months, their duties always taking them far from home but never truly gone.

[ V.D ] A titter of laughter stirred in thr Confessor, amusement plain upon her slender features whilst she adopted an incredulous expression. Her tone carried her mirth true as she meanders toward her floating book to now take the book up into her arms; The soft sizzle of her manipulative magic would announce the cease of the spell, her quil now poised in her hand to jot notes personally.

"After all we've endured, Lazarius, you still have to wonder if we'd go the extra length for one another?"

She'd flash their leader a reassuring smile before glancing among the group who currently gathered, her tone encouraging.

"We are not a weak people. We have more heart and sense when together, family will always protect family--," her eyes linger on the fresher face of Pame whom held the Confessors stare, "No matter the length of your servitude."

With a clearing of her throat, the kaldorei bows her head toward Lazarius, a fist pushed against her chest whilst affirming, "My efforts are devoted to this cause, however you see me useful I will perform at my best. I will not fail you."

It was short, simple and filled with honesty; While Pame had her reservations, she still felt a sense of duty to serve the individuals present. While she didn't have the courage to befriend them all, it was enough for Pame that they even tolerated her presence here and now. That had to mean soemthing postive, right? Well... Regardless, she'd finally stride closer to the gathered party, lingering beside a smiling Verzatea whom only affectionately regailed toward the nervous kaldorei, "Well look whos finally warmed up," she pokes fun, earning a small strangled smile from Pame.

[ J ] Jursol turned to smile and nod to Pame before returning her focus to Laz.

“Da magic seems to be deeply imbedded into him. It has been by a very skilled user. Her magic still be strong with dis. Dis have been on him for too long. Something must be done. Da damage to him we can only guess. If there be a way to remove dis, we must not waste more time then needed.”

Knowing this woman was clearly known around here, Jursol then turned them.

“We be needing anything you all know about her that could help. I be sure together we can help our friend here.”

[ L.K ] "All that is known about Raelyndia. . .even in your extended years and ageless lifespan I could not begin to explain all that my former Mistress had accomplished Jursol." Lazarius remained somewhat direct in that affirmation.

"She conscripted Doctor Whistletorque to construct this structure and shield us from the outside world. She single handedly manipulated and conscripted nearly every dark magic user within the Quel'dorei nobility. She was an unstoppable force. . .one that has attempted to return several times in the past already. Once through a woman named Morynth who claimed she was her reincarnation. . .and again through a corrupted text within our Library...even the taint of her misfortunes. . .the Hound; Kelkiros who had slain her. . .returned to haunt us."

No Lazarius was not trying to be crass her, just direct. Jursol needed to know.

"Whatever she has done here is not simply for effect, it is an omen. NZoth has risen from the tides and plans to retake Azeroth for the Black Empire. This was Raelyndias hour of Twilight. I am willing to wager she would have done this to coincide."

Lazarius peered to Verza who he'd need not remark to. She was present since the rebirth of the Order. His nod was all that was needed. Pame was another story.

Lazarius peered at the Kaldorei for some time. It was Marseille who stepped beside her and made a similar salute which seemed to calm the dark eyed lord. He appreciated both of their contributions.

[ V.D ] The notion of an Old God risen was enough to sour Teas mood. She had devoted her lust for power into this order, before their fall and during their rebuild phase; All for their worship to their Gods to be cast aside and focused on the order itself... Just in time for what would have been the prime of their servitude to come forth in the form of an Old God riled from their cage and unleashed to cause havoc upon the world.

Though that irritation quietly fizzled and died down in her belly as she settled, content with the notion that the Nine were above chaos for the sake of chaos. They had genuine goals in mind, intentions to make a comfortable living for their dark, twisted hearts. Something which Raelyndias and Nzoth threatened strictly with their existence.

Pame roused to attention at the sensation of a looming figure finding place beside her. Out of instinct she'd fail her disicpline to sneak a peek, the sight instantly provoking a smirk to collect on her lips. It was becoming increasingly strange to find a friend in someone once deemed her nemesis, alas she'd quickly come to relax... Her arms moving to fold over her torso and over her bosom, silver eyes soaking in the scene of a weary looking Tea trying to preserve her strength to come forth as simply stressed.

The exhaustion in her eyes expressed a different sort of ailment, but of course Pame remained silent on that issue.

"So this is mostly a tactic for her to get into people's heads?" She questions Lazarius, willingly engaging in direct conversation, "If its meant to coincide with the rise of Nzoth, is this Raelyndias's intentions to provoke chaos, or was she more strategic and thoughtful than that?"

Quite suddenly would the nimble woman flinch at a building pang in the back of her mind, a migraine slowly taking effect. One which made Teas tone of voice come forth snippier and less warm as she regards,

"And it best to consider... With the rise of Nzoth, how prepared are we to repel such a haunt?" Golden eyes fixate on the location of the eye on Laz's torso, Teas nostrils flaring as she inhales deeply, beginning to jot down notes whilst wearing a scowl,

"Haunts refering to both issues at hand... Nzoth, and Raelyndias. Shall I configure a list of all our remaining followers to compile a decent team, or have you a group in mind already to deal with your pending idea for Raelyn? And among the others yet to be utilized, I must ask... Will we have any part in this world's war against Nzoth?"

Her eyes flicker from her notes to Lazarius, watching the gentleman patiently as she notes, "For if Nzoth breaches Azeroth, surely they'll come for the Nine. Everyone will be at the Black Empires mercy."

At this notion, Pame shuffles in discomfort, her long ears twitching briefly before glancing around the council.

"Few in number," Pame remarks, earning Teas glance in surprise at the sheer amount of confidence in her tone, "But not lacking in power. While the odds are against us I'd say we have a fighting chance.

“That does not mean we are by any means invincible and sure to come out champions in this impending doom. The sensible to do is plan for every scenario," Tea tuts, waggling her quill at Pame-- alas, the length of her quill feather was miscalculated by Tea as the tip would tickle across Pames cheek.

And might the faintest snicker be heard from the scornful Kaldorei who swiftly batted at the feather in a shooing motion. And then a cheekily smiling Tea would endure the halfhearted glare she'd receive from Pame gladly.

[ L.K ] “To answer all of your questions...my plans have not changed for us. I was certain that keeping the Nine free from the wars would ensure our survival. But nobody could have foreseen Sylvannis and the depths of her treacherous nature. She bested us all again.”. Lazarius would find a seat near the good gnomish doctor and relax for a moment. “...as you all know...”

He would pause and glance between his sister, Pame, Verza Marseille and Jursol.

His words were slow and calculated but weighted.

“With the rise of Nzoth multiple cells of cultists attacked. Our order remains in jeopardy IF. . . if Raelyndia has returned as well. I do not see this happening in a physical manifestation though. Kross and I recovered her skull, she is very much dead. But, that does not mean we are free from threats. Every day the Black Empire threatens our world; our lives and the lives of our flock remain in grave danger...”

Lazarius glances at his hands as he took a moment to breathe.

“With most of our council missing or out of commission; I issued and emergency edict to allow all soldiers and magic users freedom to leave. Temporary leave. To return under their former races banners to fight for Horde or Alliance...and help end N’Zoth.

We do not currently have any force to withstand a direct attack. And with our Blade Warden and Harbinger having most of our active military in Silithus, we remain at a loss. Those who chose to remain here do so to protect the students and their families. I won’t risk open war and put anyone here in harms way. The Bastille will continue to stand and be a bastion for those who are here; and any who come from the wake of this onslaught.”

He would yet again wonder if his actions were truly guided by the right decision but knew that without the people here he would not be able to say he was strong. These were his most trusted and dear friends in this room; and he would lean on them for support.

“The eye is a very unforeseen presence. And without a true start or destination; I don’t know how to proceed. As I said, my visit to my old estate yielded some hope but we must be careful how we move about.

If we start a hunt to find answers, exposing ourselves to the outside world, it will draw attention. Anytime we use our powers and magic outside of the Bastille, it is like lighting a beacon to our exact location. Cultists will swarm us....so a strike force...we will need to be extremely self sustaining without need for magic.”

[ J ] Jursol listened closely knowing full well the risk they were all at. She knew many were returning to battle once more, even here they were not free of this war.

“So der be some missing? Dat never be good.”

She knew the magic most used here could be a problem. Lucky for her she knew magic many don’t. After all what troll don’t know Voodoo!

“Voodoo be a different kinda magic. Da Loa even be different and can help. Perhaps dey be of use in protecting dis place.” Jursol looked to Laz to see if her peoples ways could be of use. After all Voodoo was not the same as others magic, so perhaps it would not draw attention to them.

[ L.K ] “I don’t doubt that the Loa are powerful in their own right, but I think we are fine here. The void forge is operating at maximum capacity.”. Lazarius said as his ears twitched. The man peered up from the table and slowly put his mummified hands against the table. Who else heard that?

“In fact Missth Jursthol, the Basthtilles defensthes are better than ever now. Nothing outsthide an enormousth meteor crashing through the earth these hundred milesth into us will hurt us....”.

Whistletorque answered to reassure them that his construction was sound.

[ K. A ] Koltun; with his usual manners, simply heaved open the library doors, striding in like he owned the place and leaving a trail of sand and dust in his wake. Unlike usual however, the Demon Hunters normally bare chest was wrapped in bandaging with a thick cotton shemagh wrapped about his shoulders, neck and covering his mouth. Wraps covered his hands and feet and dust, caked along the leather of his wings, flaked off freely, displaying heavy weathering from months in the dessert heat.

Exhausted, he immediately bee-lined for the jug of water to the side, glad to see formalities had remained enough through the recent chaos to allow for refreshments. Koltun guzzled the water down in heavy, desperate gulps, unashamed that a good portion splashed down his chest to the floor.

It wasn't until the jug was empty and a belch had announced his thirst was sated; for now, that he finally turned to face what remained of his motley family crew.

"So... what I miss?" He grunted, tipping the jug up to his tongue just in case he missed a drop.

[ L.K ] The moment Koltun walked in Lazarius braced himself against the table. The sun baked god walked directly into the room like a bronzed beacon of hope; ruining the rug and the floor and the another rug, and that jug and water yup, water all over another ruined rug.

“So....what I miss?”.

Lazarius heard those words and damn near leapt over the fucking table. He fell into the large arms of the demon and wrapped his own carefully beneath the wings on his back. He placed his head against the sun baked chest of his brother in law. Dark pools of black began to form as Lazarius allowed the bleeding tears of viscous ichor to fall from his face and stain Koltuns chest.

“Youre safe....” Lazarius whispered softly.

This would be a rare sight for all of them who witnessed their often brooding and dark leader showing such kindness. Lazarius did not cry. He did not grieve, nor did he show affection. Perhaps some would have witnessed a tender moment in their time with him but for the most part; this was a mysterious part of his character. But Koltun was his brother; in every meaning of the word.

“...and you...you...ruined another rug...” he said laughing through his tears and gripping bother sides of the demons face. Lazarius peered into where his eyes were with his own black pools; he knew they were looking right back. There was a smile of happiness, part of the flock had returned.

[ K.A ] "Oof!"

The hunter chuffed, nearly dropping the jug at the sudden, and rather surprising, impact of Laz's hug. In fact Koltun barely caught Laz as much as the jug, gripping hold of the man as a face was pressed into his chest and the jug dangled from a desperate pinky claw to the side.

"I hope I'm alive. If not at least I look better than Kross. Besides, I told you before. You cant get rid of me that easily." He gave a toothy grin and glanced towards the others, just as surprised at the display of unusual affection.

Neither man was prone to such displays and for both to wind up in a hug was nearly mind-blowing. Coughing, Koltun set the jug down and fumbled back a return hold, offering a gentle, reassuring pat to Laz's back. Even he could see the odd, viscous tears soaking through the bandaging covering his scaled flesh, the odd warmth of it drawing a sigh. Tilting his horned head as Laz looked up at him, he flashed his usual grin and shrugged.

"Consider it getting your money's worth. Honestly it didn't match the drapes." Said the creature who couldn't see true color anymore. "Sorry it took me so long to get back. The world has turned to shit."

[ J ] Jursol’s eyes went right to the sound of the man entering the room, Jimba seemed to make a strange sound in her arms. Remaining silent and watchful as the Hunter burst into the room making a mess. She was about to say something when she saw Laz rush the man, embracing him as family. Her laughter was not controlled as she watched the two men.

“Dis be a mess I not be cleaning up.” Her smile was gentle as she watched them still.

“Da world be going crazy right now. Good to see some are returning safely.”

[ L.K ] Lazarius had pulled away enough that he was able to look over the scars and damages of his brother. He frowned at the comment about how long it took.

“*Why didn’t you summon us? Or contact Kross through the pit? ... or even use your talisman to get back here?”.

He stopped and shook his head, realizing he was overloading the demon with questions.

“What happened to you?”

Lazarius peered at Koltun his face went pure stone. Something was missing. He immediately disregarded the question and moved straight to the largest gap missing here.

“Where is Pyravari...Koltun.”.

Lazarius gripped his shoulders and met him face to face .

“Where is our sister.”.

He was of course speaking for himself and Siida who was more than likely on edge too waiting to know at the back of the room.

To Be Continued: In Mind of Misery: Reflections, Part 4

24 notes · View notes

hovercraft79 · 4 years

Text

School’s Out

Chapters: 1

Word Count: 4, 103

Fandom: The Worst Witch (TV 2017)

Rating: Teen

Warnings: mentions of smoking cravings, alcohol, difficult mother-daughter relationships

Summary: Somehow, Ada Cackle managed to survive her first year back at the Academy in almost twenty years. She wished she could say it had been a success, but she doesn’t like to lie to herself. Her mother didn’t hesitate to mention she hadn’t even managed to make any friends. Feeling adrift, she turns to the mysterious woman residing in Darkwood Cottage – the only person even more tied to Cackle’s than she is.

Notes: This continues the story I began during last year’s challenge. If you haven’t read ‘Hello’, this one might not make as much sense to you.

In my head, this should be a trilogy of trilogies when it’s done, hopefully filling in a lot of Ada and Hecate’s backstory. Above all, it’s the story of two witches who meet, grow, and learn together; deal with crises large and small; and maybe even fall in love.

I’ve kept everything within canon (though I did keep the 13-year age difference between Ada and Hecate, there’s certainly room for Ada to be older than that). If you notice anything that I missed feel free to let me know. This is using the ‘Last Day of School’ prompt.

I started this fic on my last day of school this year, so of course, the title is ‘School’s Out’ by Alice Cooper.

As always, I owe Sparky my thanks for her editing skills – especially after dealing with the monster of ‘An Uncertain Spring.’ I can’t believe she’s still doing this for me, either.

Hecate stood at the edge of the woods, watching another class of graduates fly away for the last time. Bile rose in her throat and she swallowed. Hard. Five years, over and done with. Somehow, they managed to both fly and crawl at the same time. As the girls disappeared from view, Hecate realized they were the last of the girls who would have been students with her. Next term, none who knew her would be left. She told herself she was glad of it, but it rang hollow, even to her. With a curl of her fingers, Hecate transferred back to Darkwood Cottage.

-----

Ada waved as the last girls took to the skies. Summer had finally arrived, bringing an end to her first year back at Cackle’s. Her fingers itched for a cigarette, but her mother had insisted she quit. Thirty-five years old or no, sometimes it was easier to just give in. She wished her jangling nerves would get on with it, though. Feeling too edgy to transfer, Ada trudged back to her mother’s office.

Alma peered at Ada over the top of her glasses. “That’s the last of them, then?”

“The Feverfew twins were the last to depart. I don’t know how two girls can possibly accumulate so many things. It will be a wonder if they manage to make it home with everything.”

“Two of everything,” Alma said, nodding. “They’ve never had to share.”

“Lucky girls.” Ada gave her mother a knowing look. She and Agatha had regularly been forced to share: clothes, toys, books. Why have two of anything when one will do?

“Spoiled, if you ask me.” Alma signed the last form with a flourish and put her pen away. “Is everything ready for the end-of-term staff party? Will we have a full complement?”

“We have a room booked at The Red Cauldron down in the village at seven. I believe they’ve included karaoke as part of the package.” She could only imagine the size of the bar tab that would be needed to get her up on the stage.

“I’ll pray Miss Gullet doesn’t get into her cups again this year. I don’t think I can take another performance of I Touch Myself.” She shuddered at the memory. “I’ve invited Mrs. Drill to join us as well.”

“As far as I know, everyone is planning to attend,” Ada said, trying to change the subject. “I didn’t know whether I should invite Miss Hardbroom. I did.”

Alma paused for a moment before shrugging a shoulder and carrying on with tidying her desk. “I doubt she’ll attend, but it was kind of you to invite her.”

Ada frowned. “Isn’t she usually included? She’s sort of like staff, isn’t she?”

“I’ve never thought so. More like an independent contractor, or a local farmer, I suppose.”

Pouring a cup of tea, Ada watched as her mother focused intently on organizing her desk drawer. Ada recognized the sign that Alma didn’t really want to discuss it. “What does she do all summer? Miss Hardbroom?” She schooled her voice into an artificial casualness. “How does she fill the days?”

“I’m sure I don’t know,” Alma replied, just as casually. “How she spends her days is her business, not mine.”

“Out of sight, out of mind… is that it?” Ada said, allowing her voice to fill with Tone.

“Hardly,” Alma fired back. Ada bristled, but Alma pinned her in place with a pointed finger. “Before you get your broomstick bent out of shape, tell me, daughter, what are Geraldine’s plans for summer? Or Gwen’s? No?” She leaned back in her chair, steepling her fingers in front of her chin. “Go on then, I’ll make it easy for you. Choose any kitchen witch you please and tell me her summer plans.”

A shame-faced Ada opened and closed her mouth several times before throwing her hands up in defeat. “I don’t know.”

“Why not? They’re your coworkers. You all live together in the castle. You should be friendly, if not friends. What on earth do you talk about at meals, then?”

“I don’t know,” Ada repeated. She fought the urge to fidget. How was it possible that her mother could still make her feel like she was eight years old and sitting on the naughty step?

Alma sent a thin stream of magic into her teacup, warming it back up. “Well, maybe you’ll know this, daughter: how do you feel when I ask you about your summer plans? After all, I’m your mother as well as your Headmistress. Certainly, I’ve cause to know your general plans at least, but you’re still cagey about them, nonetheless. So how do you feel?”

Ada gave the question some consideration before she answered. “Like you’re dipping your spoon in my cauldron. It’s not your business.”

“Aye – except sometimes it is. That girl, Hecate, that you’re so worried about, has nothing she can truly call her own save for her time, a few personal possessions, and her privacy. I’ve no care to take any of those things away from her.”

Remembering the hundreds of bottles and jars in Darkwood Cottage, Ada wondered what her mother’s definition of ‘a few’ possessions was. Speaking of the cottage… “Couldn’t you give her Darkwood? Sign it over to her? Then she’d have something of her own, a home, at least. It’s not like the Aca—”

“I can’t.”

“Of course, we can. We don’t even need it. It wouldn’t cost us a thing.”

Alma shook her head. “I can’t. It may not cost the Academy anything, but Hecate? She would lose everything. She can’t leave the grounds.” Ada stared blankly at her mother. “Och, use your head, child. If I give her the cottage, it’s no longer a part of Cackle’s Academy.”

“Oh…” Ada said, deflating. “I didn’t think of that.”

“Neither did we when we tried it.” Alma took her glasses off, letting them dangle from the cord around her neck. “Look, Ada, I know that you don’t trust me, because of… well, because of how I dealt with your sister. You don’t think I’m willing or able to do right by this girl. But Hecate is not Agatha. Her mistakes were born of loneliness, not malice.” She sipped her tea. “I’d also like to think I’ve learned from my own mistakes. But if you need to make me the wicked witch, so be it. I’ve resigned myself to the part.”

“I’m sure you’ve done your best.” Ada shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She wasn’t used to this much introspection from her mother. It didn’t sit well. “I just can’t help but think that she has to be so lonely.”

Smiling sadly, Alma nodded. “I’m sure she is.”

“There must be something we can do…”

“Try making friends with her, Ada. Frankly, it sounds like you could both use one.” With that, Alma put her glasses back on and returned to tidying her drawer. Ada knew the conversation was over.

-----

She was trying, truly she was. Loathe as she was to admit it, Ada knew her mother was right. She didn’t really have any friends here. After her conversation with her mother, Ada had been ashamed to say she couldn’t even name all the kitchen witches with certainty – she never knew if she was speaking to Maria Tapioca or Maisie Tapenade. Trying to ‘make friends,’ Ada was now into her second hour of listening to Mrs. Coriander and Miss Bat gossiping about the latest scandal in the Magic Council. Surely, Ada thought, I deserve a cigarette after this.

Just when Ada thought she couldn’t take any more, Hecate Hardbroom materialized right inside the kitchen door. She took a slight step back when she realized Mrs. Coriander wasn’t alone.

“Forgive my interruption,” she said, placing the back of her hand against her forehead and bowing slightly. “I simply wanted to…” She waved a thin hand and a gallon of milky liquid appeared on the table. “I’ve finished the supplements for the familiars. I expect the litters will be due soon.”

“At the full moon,” Mrs. Coriander said. She carried the jug into the walk-in cooler. “The usual teaspoon mixed with their food?”

“Yes.” Hecate looked uncomfortably at Ada and Miss Bat. “I didn’t expect to run into you, Miss Bat. I would have thought you would be out enjoying your summer break.” No one mentioned that everyone knew Miss Bat spent her summers searching for Mr. Rowan-Webb.

“Soon, dear, soon.”

Ada stepped closer, smiling brightly. “We thought we might enjoy a picnic supper down by the lake this evening. Would you care to join us?”

Hecate blanched. “That’s kind of you to offer, but… I don’t wish to intrude.” Her mouth moved into a tight line that she probably meant to be a smile. “I really shouldn’t leave my work.”

“Ah, well. Perhaps another time.” Ada pushed away from the table. “Speaking of work… I’d best get back to it.” She bid the rest of them good afternoon. Mrs. Coriander made her excuses a moment later.

“How about you, Miss Hardbroom?” Gwen blinked up at Hecate, waiting. At the edge of her vision she could see Hecate’s fingers nervously rubbing against her thumbs. When she didn’t get an answer, she waved a hand and pulled a stool up to the table, gesturing for Hecate to sit. Once Hecate had settled on the stool, Gwen leaned forward. “Do you know what the best thing is about getting old?” she whispered conspiratorially. Hecate shook her head. “You get to give people advice, whether they’ve asked for it or not.” She leaned back and waved her hands in the air. “And you youngsters just have to listen! It’s wonderful!”

Hecate bristled a bit on her stool. “I’m hardly a child, Miss Bat.”

“Certainly not. In fact, you’ve grown into a brilliant witch and a lovely young woman. And I’m going to give you some advice anyway.” She reached out and took Hecate’s hand in her own. “Whatever happens, you have your whole life ahead of you. Perhaps you’ll find a way to release Miss Moon soon. Perhaps not. Either way, it’s a foolish witch that turns down an offer of friendship.”

“I don’t want Miss Cackle’s pity,” Hecate said, pulling her hand away.

Gwen tutted her disagreement. “Pity? What pity? All I saw was another young witch inviting you to join us for dinner. If anything, you should be the one to take pity on Ada.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Look around, dear,” she watched Hecate looking at the kitchen in confusion. “Not here, the Academy. Ada may be a bit older than you, but she’s decades younger than anyone else. Would you really leave Ada to the likes of her mother? Or Miss Inkwell in the library? Or me, for Merlin’s sake?”

“Surely Miss Gullet would make a more appropriate companion.”

Gwen clutched at her chest and gasped. Hecate rolled her eyes at the dramatics. “Hecate Hardbroom! I’ve never known you to be a cruel girl. I wouldn’t believe you capable of such cruelty!”

“W-what?” Hecate stood, eyes wide.

Leaning forward, Gwen motioned for Hecate to lean in as well. “Miss Gullet may be younger,” Gwen whispered, “but we all know she’s bloody awful company. I can’t believe you’d abandon Ada to that.”

Hecate leaned back, irritated and a bit guilty – she didn’t like Geraldine Gullet in the least. Still, to risk opening herself up to another person, even Ada Cackle who’d been nothing but nice…

“Think on it, dear. We witches live a long time; don’t spend all that time alone.” With a pat on Hecate’s knee, Miss Bat ambled out of the kitchen. Hecate stayed on her stool for a long time, thinking.

-----

Astragalus… eyebright… neem… Ada needed to restock those ingredients first and foremost. As much as her mother had gone on about the high standards of Cackle’s potions program, Ada had been shocked at the state of the potions cupboard. Disorganized, untidy, and poorly stocked, it had taken Miss Gullet only a year to create utter chaos. Ada had managed to muddle through her first year with it in this state but feared she would spend all summer sorting it.

An itch of magic let her know someone had entered the lab.

“Ada?” Alma called from the doorway.

“In here,” Ada called back, hastily exiting. She didn’t want her mother to see the state of the storeroom.

“What is this?” Ada’s mother held up an over-sized leather tome. “This arrived in today’s post. I’ve not ordered a new copy of Thornapple’s.”

“Perhaps that would explain why it wasn’t addressed to you,” Ada said sweetly. She took the book from her mother, admiring the tooled leather cover. “It arrived sooner than I expected. Splendid! I feared it would take half the summer to get here.”

“You ordered that? Without checking?” Alma pursed her lips and shook her head. “It’s not in the Academy budget. You’ll have to return it.”

Grinning smugly, Ada held the book close. “Good thing I didn’t use Academy funds then, isn’t it? Be happy, Mother, I’m taking your advice.”

Alma’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “What advice?”

“I’m making friends.” Ada hefted the book in her hands. “Let’s hope I haven’t forgotten how.” While Hecate Hardbroom certainly intrigued Ada, she also recognized how valuable it would be to have someone she could talk to who didn’t work for Cackle’s Academy.

-----

Darkwood Cottage appeared below Ada. She turned her broom to land a respectable distance away. The last time she’d been to the cottage it wasn’t even spring, really, but the gardens had already been in bloom. Now, in early summer, the gardens thrummed with life. Tidy rows of vegetables lined the back of the cottage while flowers and herbs rambled across the front. She could see Hecate working at the side of the cottage. The scent of roses wafted up to meet her before she even touched the ground.

As Ada dismounted her broom, Hecate hastened over, removing her gardening gloves and wiping her hands on her work apron. “Well met, Miss Cackle. How may I help you today?”

“Please, call me Ada,” she said, returning the greeting. She closed her eyes, breathing in the rich scent of warm earth and sun-kissed herbs – and the roses! The floral, slightly spicy smell was even stronger on the ground. “I’d love a tour of your gardens. It’s all so magnificent!”

Hecate blushed and looked down at her worn leather gloves. “If you’d like.” She led Ada around the cottage, pointing out the different microclimates she’d created and discussing the various spells involved. Ada had been impressed with the spell Hecate created to increase the amount of sunshine her plants could receive so deeply in the woods. She also enjoyed watching as the reticent woman grew ever more animated as she talked about her plants.

“I just can’t get over it – combining a basic weather spell with a moving spell! How marvelously clever!” She couldn’t get over the number of varietals Hecate managed to grow, from aloe vera to zedoary. While she examined the delicate leaves of a common wormwood, a sudden thought popped into Ada’s head. “Why don’t we purchase our potions ingredients from you?” It hadn’t occurred to her when Hecate had helped her replace the nettles for the spring Imbolc luncheon, but she’d paid regular bills to Goodcharm’s Apothecary Supplies. A cloud passed across Hecate’s face, blink-and-you-miss-it fast. Luckily, Ada hadn’t blinked. “It makes no sense for us to use Goodcharm’s.”

“Miss Gullet prefers it that way.” Hecate’s voice and face had both been schooled into a careful neutrality.

Ada stood, hands on her hips and frowning. “That makes no sense. The ingredients would be fresher, shipping costs would be eliminated,” she waved a hand over the garden. “Quality is indisputably higher.”

“I believe the issue is me,” Hecate said, coloring again. “Miss Gullet does not care for me.”

“Well that’s something we have in common.” Ada moved into the shade of the cottage. The magically enhanced sunshine blazing down on her black t-shirt and jeans was getting uncomfortable. “I offended her when I declined her offer to mentor me.”

Hecate winced. “Oh dear.” The corner of her mouth twitched upward. “I corrected her about a potions ingredient. She wanted to grate burdock root when the instructions clearly recommended crushing.”

Ada let out a long, low whistle. “You win.” She wiped away a bead of perspiration that trickled down her temple.

Hecate’s easy posture jerked into rigidness. “Forgive me, Miss Cackle, I’ve forgotten my manners completely. Would you care to come in and cool off? It’s a bit warm for tea, but I’ve made a pitcher of strawberry-basil lemonade.”

“I’d love to!” Ada smiled brightly and followed her inside. “And I do believe it was me who showed up unannounced – again – and requested a tour. I should apologize for my own lack of manners – and for throwing off your plans for the day.”

Hecate ushered her into the sitting area, a small space in the living room filled with what Ada recognized as cast-off furniture from the Academy. Ada made herself comfortable while Hecate disappeared into the kitchen. She scanned the room, still marveling at the impressive collection of ingredients. Impossible as it seemed, the room looked to contain even more jars and bottles than it had during her last visit. Perhaps that was due to two extra tables being squeezed in under the windows.

Hecate returned, floating a tray holding a pitcher of pink lemonade, two glasses and a plate of biscuits in front of her. Once they’d settled in with their refreshments, silence fell. It only took a few minutes before it started to feel uncomfortable.

Ada nodded towards the tables. “I see you’re preparing to brew some new potions. May I ask what you’re planning?” She took another sip of her lemonade. Sweet and sour balanced one another perfectly while the basil added an earthy note that was simply delicious. A splash of vodka wouldn’t hurt it, either, she thought. “This is wonderful – it really hits the spot.”

“Thank you,” Hecate said, smiling shyly. Normally, she enjoyed it at the end of her time outside. She turned to look at the tables before answering Ada’s question. “I’m about to start on the inoculations for the kittens. They’ll need to be ready by the time the kittens are six weeks old.”

“I didn’t know you made those.”

“I try to be of service.” Hecate set her biscuit back on the plate. “I do what I can to… lessen the burden of my confinement.”

“You aren’t a burden,” Ada insisted. “In fact, that reminds me of why I came today.” She summoned a wrapped package and placed it on the coffee table in front of Hecate. “I wanted to thank you properly for saving my skin at Imbolc.” Hecate looked at the package as though it would scald her if she touched it.

“I can’t… This really isn’t necessary…” Even as she protested, a slender finger traced the edge of the blue ribbon.

Ada couldn’t help but notice the reverence in Hecate’s touch. She wondered when Hecate had last been given a simple gift. “You can, and it was. Go on then.”

Curiosity finally won out and Hecate picked up the package. If Ada expected her to be the type that meticulously opened gifts, she was wrong. Hecate ripped the paper off with abandon, dropping the scraps to the floor. She didn’t even bother to untie the ribbon, she just sliced it away with a thin stream of magic. Once the box had been revealed, Hecate slowed down, carefully removing the lid and unfolding the tissue paper inside.

Her head snapped up, eyes wide with surprise. “Thornapple’s Advanced Potionry? Miss Cackle… it’s very thoughtful… and – not that I’m not grateful! But… it’s too much.” Despite her words, Hecate’s eyes roamed over the cover with anticipation. Lifting the book reverently out of the box, she breathed in the scent of leather and inked pages. “It is beautiful.”

“Indeed. And it’s yours.” She leaned over and opened the cover of the book, revealing an inscription thanking Hecate for saving the day last spring and for everything else she does for the Academy. “As the girls say, ‘no backsies.’ The book is yours. I thought we didn’t need to be going back and forth with the one copy in the library. Plus, since it belongs to you, you can make whatever notes you like in it.”

“I don’t know what to say,” Hecate whispered. She looked at Ada with shining eyes. “Thank you.”

The silence descended again as Hecate read through the first pages of her new book. This time it sat a bit more comfortably around them.

Mission accomplished, Ada finished her lemonade, wondering where they would go next. She still doubted that Hecate would be inviting her over for tea – or that she’d accept an invitation from Ada. Her eyes kept wandering over the potions stores, finally coming to rest on the tables. Hecate hadn’t started on the kitten potions yet, but a slight metallic tang in the air told Ada that another potion was brewing somewhere. She remembered the lab behind one of the bedroom doors that she’d seen the last time she’d been here. An idea began to form.

“I wonder, Miss Hardbroom, if you’d could use a laboratory assistant to help prepare the potions for the kittens? Many hands make lighter work, as they say.”

Hecate tore her eyes away from the book, slightly alarmed. “That’s kind, but I couldn’t ask Mrs. Cackle to cover the expense, and… I’m not an appropriate mentor for a student.”

“I disagree with you on your second part. I think any student would be lucky to have you as a mentor. As for the first, it’s not an issue. I’m offering up myself. I’d be honored if you’d allow me to assist you this summer.”

Hecate’s eyebrows practically disappeared into her hairline. “B-But… you’re the Potions Mistress! You’re going to be the Headmistress in a few years!”

“True enough. And I am a good potions teacher, as well as a good potioneer in general. Very good. But I’m not so full of myself that I can’t tell when I’m in the presence of a great potioneer. I’m offering a trade, Miss Hardbroom: my labor for the chance to learn from you. Who knows? Having someone else to bounce ideas off might even help you with your own projects.” Ada leaned back on the sofa, willing Hecate to say yes. “What do you say, Miss Hardbroom?”

For her part, Hecate had every intention of saying no, and was about to do so when she remembered what Miss Bat had said. Ada truly did represent a chance for a friendship with someone who wouldn’t disappear in a few years. Plus, not once in a single interaction had Hecate looked into her eyes and seen pity. “I… I… I say you should call me Hecate.” In a single motion, Hecate set the book on the sofa and rose to her feet. “I usually run four cauldrons at once,” she said, moving to the tables.

Ada tried to tamp down her enthusiasm as she scrambled to her feet to follow Hecate. “That’s impressive.”

“It’s necessary to get everything finished on time.” Hecate folded her arms across her chest, her brow furrowed as she tried to work out what she wanted to say. Finally, she nodded, more to herself than to Ada. “I start early in the morning. I don’t care for chatter, and I expect things to be done in a certain way.” Closing her eyes, Hecate took a deep breath before continuing. “I’m not an easy person to be around, Miss Cackle. You may regret your offer.”

“I understand, but regret and I have long been acquainted. I can’t live my life worried about the next time our paths might cross. When shall we begin?”

Hecate studied her a moment, weighing the sincerity of Ada’s offer. “Very well. Give me a few days to finish up with my own project and get things gathered. Monday morning? Just after sunrise?”

Ada swallowed. She’d thought early meant eight o’clock, not sunrise. Nonetheless, she’d asked for the opportunity. She held her hand out, holding it until Hecate grasped it with her own. “Monday morning, then,” she said, shaking Hecate’s hand. “I’ll see you then.”

Hecate stood in her doorway long after Ada had disappeared over the trees. She hoped she hadn’t made a terrible mistake. Again.

#hackle summer trope challenge #Hackle #getting to know you #tww17

8 notes · View notes

timelordthirteen · 5 years

Text

In All Things 6/?

Mr. Gold/BelleFrench, Explicit (eventually)

Summary: A Rumbelle arranged marriage AU.

Chapter Summary: Astrid arrives, Belle gets a tour of the house, and spends some more time with Bae.

Notes: Ugh this chapter sucks, I'm sorry. It didn't go where I wanted it to. For the 31 Days prompt #4: dress. t.

[AO3]

Previous: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5]

Astrid arrived the next day, just before afternoon tea.

Belle momentarily forgot what had been troubling her in the midst of her delight at seeing her maid and friend again. It felt as if part of the world had righted itself for a while, and she busied herself helping Astrid get settled in a room on the east wing. Ms. Potts seemed equally pleased by the new arrival, and wasted no time in showing Astrid around the house, including the kitchen and back stairs the servants used to slip in and out of where they were needed.

Astrid, for her part, was a nervous wreck, nearly knocking over a vase on the way passed the music room, and slipping on the steps down to the root cellar. Belle couldn’t stop smiling as she finally got a full tour of Thornhill, though she doubted she’d be able to remember her way from the gallery to the formal dining room any time soon. The library, however, was already permanently etched in her mind.

The sound she made when Ms. Potts opened the double doors made Astrid giggle, and Ms. Potts looked over her shoulder knowingly.

“This is the main library,” she explained to Astrid, marching across the room to open a row of curtains and let in some light.

The walls of the library were floor to ceiling shelves with ladders set on rails as was the custom in most estates and manors, but these were larger and wider than Belle had seen before. They seemed more like a full set of stairs than a ladder, and she caught herself imagining how easy it would be to climb all the way up and fetch the books on the highest levels. The windows Ms. Potts revealed looked out onto the side yard where a large willow tree loomed over a pond. The windows themselves were wide and set in a semi-circle which created large ledge that was covered with cushions.

Belle’s eyes went wide and she immediately went over to it and brushed her hands over the plush, soft pillows. It was the perfect place to sit and read when it was too cold or wet to be outside in the garden.

“You said this was the main library?” Astrid asked. “Are there...others?”

“There’s a small book room upstairs near Lady Belle’s chambers,” Ms. Potts replied, fussing with the candles on the fireplace mantle because they weren’t lined up properly. “It used to be a bedroom, but m’Lord had the shelves added shortly before m’Lady arrived.”

Belle startled a bit at that and felt her face flush. Somehow knowing that Gold had put the shelves in so close to their wedding made her think that he had done it specifically for her, and she wondered how he knew she liked to read so much. Had he spoken with her father or one of her acquaintances? He had seemed curious about her reading habits when they’d run into each other in the library at Avonlea, but not entirely surprised. The thought that he’d done it because she might like it, because it would make her feel more at home, only made his behavior yesterday more confusing. Someone who would be that thoughtful towards a woman he had never met before the moment they married, couldn’t possibly be the same person who would yell at a friend so harshly.

Astrid grinned at Belle. “Your own book room?”

She shook of her thoughts and nodded to Astrid. “I haven’t begun to fill it yet. All the books I brought with me are in my bedroom.”

“I doubt that’ll ever change,” Astrid said playfully. “But one of the trunks I brought with me is full of even more books.”

Belle squealed in pleasure and pulled Astrid into a hug, twirling her around on the rug in the middle of the room. Ms. Potts rolled her eyes, but she was smiling all the same as she lead them out of the room.

Belle left Astrid to unpack her things, and retreated to her bedroom.

Two trunks had been delivered while she was traipsing around Thornhill, following Ms. Potts. The smaller of the two was the one Astrid spoke of, and was filled with four stacks of books from the library at Avonlea. She sorted through them briefly, and saw that Astrid had brought most of her favorites as well as a few mythology and history books. Though the library here seemed more than well stocked, she wondered if Bae might like to use them in his lessons or perhaps read through them with her. She liked the stories about the old gods, about the magic that they say used to bind the world together and the creatures that time had forgotten.

The second trunk was more of her clothes, but as she laid her things out on her bed, she began to frown. She hadn’t purchased new things in a while, not since she learned of the financial troubles her father was in, and as a result a lot of her dresses and skirts had started to tatter and fade. The colors weren’t as bold as they once were and the hems were tinged from dragging through the dirt and grass as she walked the gardens. She was a bit afraid to ask, but she thought perhaps Gold would allow her to buy a few new things soon. The solstice was coming and if they were going to attend any celebrations or have one of their own, a new gown would be in order. She remembered his letter mentioning that Bae’s birthday was just before that as well.

Perhaps there would be other occasions as well, there was a ballroom downstairs after all, and a large formal dining room. It had been ages since she’d been at an event or a ball. The last was Ariel’s wedding, and that was nearly two years ago now. She couldn’t picture Gold as the type to want to socialize, but then again he was often at the king’s court, or so she had heard. It would be something to broach with him later, after she’d settled her mind a bit more.

It was at least an hour until supper, so Belle decided to try out the desk in the lounge across the hall from her bedroom and write her father a letter. He would want to know that she was alright, that she was safe and settled, and that Astrid had arrived as well. The light from the southwest facing windows was wonderful at this time of day, and she found herself feeling a bit more content as she pulled out a fresh sheet of paper and uncapped the inkwell.

The light scrape of the pen was soothing as was the familiar motions of her hand as she wrote out Papa in large, scrolling letters are the top. She paused and smiled, pleased to recall that Bae had called Gold the same thing when he’d come into the drawing room during breakfast. It was a small thing, but still something they had in common, that made her feel just a little bit of a connection to the boy.

She wrote that she was well, that Astrid was well, and that they were both getting settled. She told him of the lovely gardens and urged him not to worry, that she would write more soon. Her hand paused on its way to dip the pen again, and she worried her bottom lip. Instinct told her to add that she would come to visit, but she didn’t know for sure that she would.

Leaving Avonlea had seemed so final that the thought of going back left her uncertain. If she did would she ever want to leave again? Would it be harder the second time? What about the third or fourth? Would Gold want to come with her? Sighing, she quickly added her name at the bottom with the perfunctory ‘your loving daughter’ closing. There would be time to discuss visiting Avonlea later.

Just as Belle was folding the letter to seal, there was a knock against the open door. She turned and saw Bae standing there, a book in his hand, and smiled.

“Hello there.”

He stepped into the room cautiously, as if he wasn’t sure he was invited.

“It’s okay, you can come in,” she said, slipping the letter into the drawer of the desk. “If I wanted to keep people out, I would shut the door.”

He gave her a small smile and came closer. “I thought maybe you’d want to read another chapter with me? Jefferson says I should try to finish it by the end of the week because Grace is already done.”

He huffed a little at the end, and Belle thought he seemed a little sad. “Grace?”

“Jefferson’s daughter,” Bae explained, shuffling over to the small sofa. “He gives us both lessons, but she’s smarter than I am and always getting ahead of me.”

“I’d be happy to read some more with you,” Belle said, moving to join him on the lounge. “And don’t worry about being slower than someone else. Everyone goes at their own pace. What matters is that you take your time and learn.”

Bae seemed to think on that for a moment, and then nodded as he opened the book.

Gold limped down the corridor, leaning more heavily on his cane than usual.

His leg was killing him today, as it often did after too much travel. Though his carriage was fairly large, sitting in one place for too long and not moving made the muscles tight, and it would take another day or so of hot baths and Jefferson’s special tea to get back to normal. The sound of laughter made him smile in spite of his aches, and he moved towards it.

The door to Belle’s drawing room was open, and he knocked on the door frame as he stepped into the space. Bae was sitting at the writing desk and Belle was bent over him, watching whatever it was that he was doing. She looked up, smiling, and he couldn’t help but smile back. Her eyes seemed to sparkle, and with the glow of the setting sun beaming in through the windows at her back, it looked like she was light itself, pushing into all the dark corners.

“You didn’t tell me you were the father of a master artist,” she said. Bae glanced up at her, his smile soft and crooked.

Gold came over to the desk and looked down from the other side. Bae had drawn the head of a horse in the middle of the page in black ink, presumably from Belle’s pen. It was quite good for a ten year old, with the mane flowing out behind it as if the beast was in a full gallop.

“It’s supposed to be my horse, Cassidy,” the boy explained. “But the nose isn’t right.”

He frowned, and Belle tsked. “It looks just fine to me.”

“Indeed,” agreed Gold, exchanging a small look with Belle over his son’s head. “I think it looks just like him.”

Bae didn’t seem convinced and shrugged. “It’s not, but thanks.” He moved to crumple up the paper, but Belle stopped him.

“Oh, please don’t do that, it’s lovely!” She slid the paper off the desk and held it in her fingertips. “Would you allow me to keep it? There’s a couple of empty books in my little library, we could start a portfolio.”

Bae scrunched up his face. “What’s a port - portfolio?”

“It’s what all good artists keep their work in so they can show other people.”

He seemed very pleased with that and smiled. “Sure! Can I help you put it in?”

She put a hand on his shoulder and gave it a small squeeze. “Of course. Come it’s just across the hall.”

Gold felt the same feeling as he had the night before as he watched them walk together to Belle’s book room. Seeing them getting along and even bonding was more than he could have hoped for so soon. Bae hadn’t been very accepting of his plans to marry, and he’d been afraid that the inevitable strife of the early days might harm their future relationship. Of course, he shouldn’t have worried. Belle was a dear, sweet woman that one couldn’t help but find charming. And it certainly didn’t hurt that she was alarmingly pretty, especially when she was so close that he could see the little flecks of gold in the center of her eyes.

He swallowed and straightened, rather abruptly, and tightened his fingers around the handle of his cane as the sudden shifting of his weight made his calf cramp.

Belle turned, frowning. “Are you alright?”

Gold forced a tight smile and nodded. “Yes, I was just, uh, just going to get something in my room.”

He made to leave, but stopped just outside in the hallway. “Would you, um, would you want to join us for dinner this evening?”

“Oh, I think I -”

“Yes, please, Belle?” Bae interrupted. “We could read more of my book after.”

She smiled at Bae, and then looked up to meet Gold’s eyes. Her expression was strange, and Gold got the sense that she wanted to decline, but didn’t want to hurt his son’s feelings. He mentally kicked himself, and was about to come up with an excuse to help her out of it, when she turned to Bae and smiled.

“Of course I would.”

Gold blinked and then nodded. “Yes, um, yes good. We usually eat at six.”

Belle met his gaze again, and he could see her shoulders shifting, tensing, and the bob of her throat as she swallowed. “Good.”

#rumbelle #rumbelle fic #belle x mr. gold #in all things #fic #my rumbelle fic #31 days of fandomas #fandomas 2019

35 notes · View notes

barberwitch · 6 years

Text

Witch Tip Wednesday 7.18.18

The Pen is Mightier Than the Sword: Enchanted Inks

So, you made a book of magic, you gilded the edges, and you’re ready to fill it. While the variety of pens and pencils and colors they come in has been a boon for witches, if you want to take your magical book to the next level, then magical inks are the way to go.

Not only are they an awesome project to work with and to add depth and make a statement in your book; magical and handmade inks are a simple way of adding a huge magical boost to a working.

Now, a lot of modern witch craft if it even specified to use a certain color, it doesn’t specify the ink. Again, I’m down for ease of use and witching on the go, but if you’ve got the time and really want to tip the scales, use a corresponding ink.

Used for sealing pacts, written spells, or adding gravitas to a petition, enchanted inks are generally a blend of sacred resins and herbs blended together. They can be used simply with only a few words, or adding another magical level to sigils or ritual. Some people even use these inks to draw on themselves as the ink can stain for a day or more to carry more witchcraft through the day.

Just as people choose specific candles or oils for their workings, there’s a history of putting as much care in choosing which ink to use as these modern witchcraft practices.

A note on “blood”: There isn’t actual blood required for these recipes. Due to secret codes and lost references, some may assume bat’s blood or dove’s blood ink require actual animal sacrifice, but much like the animal misnomers covered in my Shakespearean Herb name post, this is just a code for blood resins.

Dragon’s Blood Ink

Dragon’s blood ink is a wonderful place to start, because honestly, the other blood inks can be easily tinkered and altered off the base of this type. Used for general magical need, workings dealing with courage, strength, power, and luck.

Dragons blood resin is used as a general magical booster. Something that increases spiritual resonance similar to how some people use asafoetida to add an extra boost or how others will use crystals to add extra power.

🐉Dragon’s blood resin

🐉Gum arabica (acacia gum)

🐉Alcohol*

🐉Optional: cinnamon essential oil

Grind the resins as finely as possible (equal parts is a good place to start) and once it’s ground as finely as possible, start to add alcohol drop by drop until it reaches proper consistency to use with a fountain or dip pen.

Bottle and label this and give a shake before use!

Dove’s Blood Ink

Used for love magic, blessings, friendship and relationships in general.

🕊Dragon’s blood resin

🕊Gum arabica**

🕊Alcohol

🕊Cinnamon essential oil***

🕊Rose essential oil/tincture***

🕊Bay Laurel essential oil***

Bat’s Blood Ink

Used for baneful magic. Hexes, curses, bad luck, domination, and commanding, or for lifting hexes curses and other baneful workings.

Just as a note, as this is adding yet another component to baneful work, just take caution when using because it’s yet another moving part to something you already should be cautious about. Last thing you want is your own working splintering off and affecting you or others inadvertently.

🦇Dragon’s Blood Resin

🦇Gum Arabica

🦇Alcohol

🦇Cinnamon Essential Oil

🦇Myrrh Resin

Label this one especially, because you don’t want to try and protect someone and accidentally hex them by mixing up your inks.

Additional Inks

There are other enchanted inks like Butterfly Blood Ink which can get rather pricey as saffron is a key ingredient. Or natural dyes that can be mixed to create different colored inks like color changing butterfly pea flower.

Lampblack ink made with candle soot, oak iron ink made with oak galls and iron infused liquid was the original black ink used in illuminated texts and grimiores. You can experiment and look up recipes, but find what works for you!

🦇Cheers, Barberwitch

Like the blog? Show support! Buy me a Ko-fi or donate to PayPal. It truly helps.

Original content of this blog is licensed under a Creative Commins Attributution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International license

Additional notes ⬇️

After a time, alcohol may dissolve and thicken the ink. Add additional alcohol until it reaches the proper consistency.

*If you are using a high percentage alcohol like I mention in my tinctures post, you can let this sit for a few days to allow the alcohol to dissolve as much resin as possible. If not using a high proof, then strain it through a coffee filter or fine piece of cloth to remove debris.

**Gum Arabica, also known as acacia gum or resin from the acacia tree is added as a thickening agent which helps the consistency of the ink be usable. Without a thickening agent, it will be hard to write with and more or less like painting with water colors.

***If essential oils aren’t a viable option, I suggest making a concentrated tincture with the herbs required, and feel free to add additional herbs you connect with your purposes to this. Use the tincture instead of plain alcohol to make the ink. (See the above mentioned tincture post for details.)

4K notes · View notes

welcometophu · 5 years

Text

Into the Split: Arrival 3

Twinned Book 3: Into the Split

Arrival 3

[ Previous | First | Next ]

“The Split isn’t something that can be healed,” Seth says.

“Alaric.”

“We’re here for Nikolai!”

“We have to deal with the Shadows.”

“Right, like we’re a blight.”

Nikolai puts his hands up. He doesn’t care who said what, because at this point he can’t tell. It’s all a blur, the voices merging as he hears them. “Look, we need to start a little further back than this. I know you think you’re here to help me, but how did you get here? Who are you? Because I’m feeling just a little off-kilter and any minute now Seth is going to start worrying that I catapulted us into a dream and we’re getting lost there.”

Nikita glances at Pawel, who looks back at her. “I mean,” she says slowly. “That could be possible. If our Talents interact like Dreamwalkers do.”

“They won’t, if a Dreamwalker is properly bonded.” Seth gestures at the girl with glasses that Nikolai doesn’t have a name for yet. “You’ve got your Empath. Nikolai’s got me.”

“Wait.” Pawel digs around in his pockets, brings out a device, frowns at it before putting it away. “That’s going to be useless. I should have brought paper.”

“I did. I’ll make notes later.”

“Thanks, Carolyn.”

“Stop it.” Nikolai presses his hands to his head, the pain building quickly. He pushes in, as if he can hold it all inside. “Just stop talking for five minutes, and answer questions. One at a time. Like—” He looks to Seth, then where Seth is staring at the other Empath. “Introduce yourselves. Starting with you.”

“I’m Heather.” She pulls a scrunchy from her hair, tangles it around her fingers. She reaches up as she talks, starts combing her fingers through thick curls to pull them back from her round face and put the scrunchy back in place. “I think I’m my world’s version of your Seth. Sort of.” Her smile is fleeting. “Nikita’s told me about her dreams of you both. She’s my girlfriend. We’re not bonded, or however you meant that. We only met a few months ago, actually, when she started school.”

Their world’s version of Seth. He can see that; she’d reminded him of Seth when she let loose with her Talent before. Now that he looks more closely, he can catalog the physical similarities. The round face shape. Wiry, curly hair, although Heather’s is long and Seth tries to keep his relatively short. Glasses, soft and short build. It makes it a little easier for Nikolai to place her name with her face, anyway, and to remember that she’s their Empath.

“I’m Pawel.” He steps forward as he introduces himself, offers a hand and shakes Nikolai’s hand briskly. “I’m a professor in Magical Studies at Pine Hills University—”

“There is no—”

“In our world,” Pawel finishes, as if Seth hadn’t interrupted him. “I’m aware that your world appears to be intensely different from ours. For one, the Shadows aren’t nearly as bold where we come from. For another, Talents and non-Talented people live in peace and interact regularly. Yes, there are some difficulties, but overall, no more than for any other differences among humans. Aside from Mattie, these are my students. Mattie is—”

“A Shadowwalker.” She shrugs one shoulder. Nikolai stares at her, trying to see the darkness, imagining that he can see it flickering around her like an outline. “But I’m not soulless,” she says, “which makes a difference. You could say I’m the missing link to understanding my Talent.”

Mac is the dark-skinned girl who grabbed him earlier, a Teleporter who carries herself like a fighter. Alaric is Clan, although Nikolai has never heard of Clan turning into a dragon, and Carolyn claims to be Predictive as well as having some kind of illusion based traveling Talent.

“We were with Del,” Nikita says, as if Nikolai will know who that is. “We were trying to talk through ways that we could reach you, and we were brainstorming. There were a bunch of us at Pawel’s house—this isn’t even all of us. Del did… something… while Carolyn had an illusion open, and then suddenly we were just here. In the middle of your woods with Shadows swarming after us.”

“You set a beacon for them; what did you think would happen?” Mattie asks.

“There are more of you?” Seth asks.

“They aren’t here.” Carolyn has papers in her hand, and she looks up from them then. “I’m sure of it. I tried to reach out to Serina and Kit, and I can’t get through. It’s like there’s a wall there, like when I tried to get directly here before, without going through the Dreaming.”

Pawel seems to relax slightly at that. “Good. We can hope the influence didn’t spread any further than those of us who are here.” He shifts his attention. “Seth, Nikolai. Do you have a notebook and pen?”

“Because everyone takes their notes on the run with them?” Seth snarks, quieting as soon as Nikolai gets a hand on his shoulder.

“Yes, but you can’t have them,” Nikolai tells him. “I’ve kept a journal on and off since I was a kid, and like Seth said, what we carry is pretty much all we have. I don’t want to give up my resources.” Not that he has much; he has one notebook filled with cramped writing from the last two years. Everything else went up in smoke. Literally.

Alaric makes a grumbling noise and sits on one of the two chairs at the old wooden table. It creaks under his weight, and he glares down at it. Mac glances at him, but appears in a blink next to Pawel, who is standing there, one hand out, frowning like he expected a different answer somehow.

“This isn’t home,” she says gently. “And we need to take stock, yes. We need to start understanding this world and how to interact with it, and we eventually need to figure out how to get home. For the moment, this is a lot more like a military op than a field trip.”

“I have a point of data,” Mattie offers. She looks over at Mac, and Nikolai thinks that maybe she acknowledges that Mac is in charge for all that Pawel acts like he is. Mac may be small, but she has that air about her, like she knows how things work.

It’s strange that she feels safe, because Nikolai hasn’t trusted anyone at first sight in a while. But at the least, Mac seems practical, which helps.

“The Shadows here aren’t like your world,” she says, as if she isn’t from the same place as them. “If you think those are feral, they have nothing on this. It’s as if the souls were ripped apart eons ago, and there is nothing left but the starvation instinct. They don’t care that I’m with you. They would happily fight me for your soul, and they will consume me as well. I can’t protect you here.”

“Are you an Empath?” Seth asks, and Mattie shakes her head.

“Like I said, I’m a Shadowwalker.” She keeps near the wall, as if she likes to be closer to the shadows than the light. When she finds a spot, she leans there, her body wreathed in darkness. “I Emerged a long time ago, and I was just like your Shadows, only not nearly as hungry. We need souls to stay alive. It’s not really something we think about; we follow whatever smells best, whatever seems like it will taste best. I didn’t think about whether what I ate was alive; I just wanted it to fill me. And it never did.” She glances at Alaric. “Sorry.”

Alaric grunts and doesn’t answer.

“When I Emerged, it pulled my soul out and shoved it into the Dreamscape,” Mattie continues. “Carolyn got it back, put me back together.” Her smile is tiny and tight, her arms crossed so hard that she seems to squeeze herself. “I’m the only sane Shadowwalker I know. The only one with a soul. And I am a clue, apparently. I try to help. No one really trusts me.”

“Except Rory,” Alaric mutters.

“Like I said, I like Rory,” Mattie replies.

Seth takes off his glasses, rubs futilely at the lenses with his dirty t-shirt. “So what you’re saying is that the Shadows can be fixed.”

“Potentially, yes.” Pawel makes a motion, and Seth cautiously hands over his glasses. Pawel works as he speaks, stroking his fingers along the plastic of the frames, sparks dancing from his fingertips. “The question is, how do we do it on a global scale? And is our own guess correct, or was that a one time thing? Your own attack seemed more effective as a deterrent, although I doubt it either truly injured them or fixed them. It seemed geared toward scaring them away.” He holds out the glasses to Seth, the frames melted back into one smooth piece, the tape removed. “Here.”

Seth takes them, staring at them before he puts them back on his face. “I said don’t use your Talent,” he snaps. “We don’t want to attract the Shadows.”

Nikolai sinks to sit next to Seth on the cot, feeling it dip beneath their weight. He reaches out, tangles hands with Seth, feeling the calm that always comes with them touching. “What he’s saying is thank you, but we really do need to be careful. You seem to come from somewhere where you’re free.” He gives them a moment to see where he’s going before he quietly drops the words into the silence. “We’re not.”

Pawel gestures, which Nikolai takes to mean that he should go on. The others are silent, all watching Pawel as if this is somehow normal, or expected.

“Things were—” Nikolai cuts off, not sure how to put this. Normal isn’t the right word, because this is normal now. Normal just refers to what’s expected at any point in time. “Things were different,” he says slowly. “Very different. Talented people had communities, and while we knew about each other, most humans didn’t know about us.”

“We’re human, too,” Nikita protests quietly, quieting as soon as Heather touches her shoulder.

Nikolai looks at Seth, who shrugs. “If I say human, I mean them,” Nikolai tries to clarify. “It wasn’t like that before. But it’s a very clear Before and After… we were growing up, and everything was fine. I had Seth, I had two older brothers, our parents were all friends, there were a lot of Mages. Then the Shadows came and everything changed.”

“They do that,” Alaric mutters. Mattie makes a small noise of assent.

Pawel leans against the table, his arms crossed. When the table slides roughly across the floor, he straightens up, glancing at it like it offended him. “When you say the Shadows came, what, exactly, do you mean?”

“They attacked,” Seth says flatly. “I’d heard about them—we all did. There are stories, and there are reasons why we do what we do. Empaths and Dreamwalkers are bonded so that no one opens the ways to Shadowwalkers. But they got through. And I know it wasn’t Nikolai who called them.”

Nikolai’s hand clenches around Seth’s, because the way Seth says it makes Nikolai think that Seth’s thought about this. That he’s worked through this, made a decision, and that at some point the idea that Nikolai was the reason behind everything falling apart did occur to him.

He wonders when. And what changed his mind.

Nikolai swallows hard.

Pawel’s gaze narrows. “Go back to the idea that Empaths and Dreamwalkers are bonded.”

“Everyone knows that,” Seth counters.

Mac snorts softly. She puts a hand on Pawel’s shoulder, and Pawel’s mouth snaps shut before he says anything. “He didn’t call you an idiot,” Mac murmurs, and Pawel looks vaguely embarrassed to have been chastised.

Seth raises his eyebrows.

“Dreamwalkers can be dangerous,” Nikolai says.

“No shit,” Alaric mumbles, and Nikita swats his shoulder.

“So when we’re kids, and we first Emerge, our parents seek out an Empath that we’re comfortable with. Someone that we can bond with instinctively, who helps shut down our Talent when needed. Who helps us control our dreams so that we don’t open gateways for Shadows. As soon as my parents realized I was a Dreamwalker, not a Weather Witch, they reached out to every Mage they knew to find Seth’s family,” Nikolai explains.

“Lemons,” Alaric says, nodding to himself as if that makes sense. Carolyn gives him a look, and Alaric gestures at where Nikolai and Seth sit. “We already talked about the Clan legends about lemon trees protecting from Shadowwalkers. Nothing smells more like citrus than an Empath. Nothing. All stories have seeds of truth.”

“Sometimes they just get distorted,” Pawel muses. “Yes, I can see it. But what happened when the Shadows arrived?” He is not going to be deterred, his gaze still locked on Nikolai, who feels the weight of it keenly.

“They started killing people,” Nikolai replies slowly. “Talented people. Who just dropped dead in the darkness, and sometimes it was witnessed. It took time for people to figure out what was going on; it wasn’t instantaneous. I figure the Shadows were here for a while before they really got noticed, but then some very influential people died. Publicly drowning in darkness. And while humanity can ignore a lot of things, sometimes they see something they can’t ignore, and that was it. They realized that magic existed, and worse, that being magical was dangerous. And worse, humans realized that being around magical people could be dangerous. So we became outlaws, and humanity and Talents split apart.

“You didn’t fight back?” Pawel asks mildly.

“Some did,” Seth says, his tone flat. “They died. So think about this—because I do, and I was only ten years old when it got really bad. There were Shadows killing Talented people. There were humans killing us. And there was a government fighting against us. Everything was stacked against us. Hiding was our best option. Running was our only real option.”

Pawel huffs, exhaling slowly. He uncrosses his arms, shakes out his hands. When he lifts them again, there are sparks dancing across his fingertips.

Shit.

Mac reaches out, grips Pawel’s hand tightly. “You need to stop,” she murmurs, and Pawel follows her gaze to where their fingers interlock. The sparks fade and Nikolai draws in a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

“You are going to get us killed,” Seth mutters.

“No, we’re here to help you.” Nikita crouches down in front of them. “I swear, Seth, we’re here because I was worried about you both.”

“You dreamed about this and you didn’t think about what your arrival could mean?” Seth counters.

“To be fair, I didn’t plan on arriving quite like this,” she says softly.

“I need to take a walk,” Pawel says abruptly. He twists from Mac’s grip, heads for the door and out. She follows, and a moment later Alaric moves as well.

“I’ll make sure they’re safe,” he grumbles.

The room seems a little larger now that three of them have left. Still, it’s a lot to deal with, even with only four strangers left in the room. Nikolai pushes to his feet roughly, needing to move, to excise the itch under his skin. He hates how Seth just lets him go.

“You’re angry,” Nikolai says quietly.

“Furious,” Seth agrees. He stays where Nikolai left him, his body stiff and tense, voice tight. “But there doesn’t seem to be much I can do about it. We need to get some rest at some point, and we need to hope that we aren’t eaten by Shadows when we do.”

“I’ll keep watch,” Mattie offers. “I sleep, but it’s not the same.”

“We’ll switch off,” Heather says. “I’m not sure Nikita sleeping is a good idea right now, at least not without me watching over her.”

“She’s untethered.” It’s not a question from Seth, just a defeated statement of fact.

Nikita still crouches, her gaze cast down as they talk over her. She stands slowly, almost as tall as Nikolai after she rises. “Is it safe to go outside?” she asks.

“No worse than being inside as long as we don’t use our Talent,” Nikolai says.

“Since we’re not exploding on contact, I think we can manage that,” Nikita agrees. She gives Heather a hug and a kiss, whispering, “Trust me,” before letting go. “I think maybe Nikolai and I should talk about what we know and don’t know, and then we can help each other better. Because everyone’s overwhelmed, and Heather’s probably about ready to explode from wanting to soothe people. So maybe we can go out and talk?”

That’s all they’ve been doing, ever since these people exploded into their lives. But Nikolai nods like maybe this time it’ll make a difference, maybe it’ll change something. He opens the door and gestures into the cold. “Sure. Let’s go.”

[ Previous | First | Next ]

#welcome to phu #welcometophu #into the split #phu twinned #twinned #its arrival

3 notes · View notes

tsunnychan · 6 years

Text

Time Pieced: Again?

as I chip away at this outline... med school chips away at my sanity :’).

anyhoo, here’s ch 2 of Time Pieced, the fic that was meant for @petalsandfishes birthday and turned into a much bigger monster as my outline both simultaneously got away from me and went according to plan.

enjoy!

ao3

ii. Again?

4 September 1975

The first thing James noticed was the steady rhythm of rain hitting the window, an occasional rumble of thunder shaking the room. Lightning flashed behind his closed lids and he inhaled deeply. Groaning at the movement of his ribcage, James flipped onto his side and buried his face into the pillow. He was sore, and not the good Quidditch-owns-my-arse kind of sore. Not only did his muscles ache, but there was a sort of heaviness in his bones he couldn’t remember having before.

Merlin, what happened yesterday?

Frustrated, James kicked one leg out of his blankets and huffed. His memory wasn’t the best, but it’d never been foggy before. It was either a clear recollection, or it was a blank slate. Not the vague half-formed ideas that filled his mind now.

The last things he could really recall… He and Sirius just got back to Hogwarts after a rough summer.

Sirius had shown up on his doorstep in the middle of the night, fists clenched and jaw tight. He stood shivering in the brisk summer night with new bruises blossoming along his back, keeping his face hidden with his hair. Before he could say a word, James pulled him inside and steered him into the kitchen, wrapping him in a blanket on the way. James had been rummaging around the cabinets for Pepper Up potion when his mother shuffled in. He tried to ignore the reflexive wince from Sirius when his mother’s hand brushed the hair away from his face. James’ father appeared behind him and soundlessly summoned the ingredients for Pepper Up. As his father began brewing in the corner, the knot in his chest loosened when his mother quietly declared that Sirius was going to stay in the Potter Manor from now on.

The first few days with Sirius were tough. Sirius had both simultaneously accepted and resisted his newfound residence. The Potters had welcomed Sirius into their family without hesitation, having been a brother to James in everything but blood. In reality, Euphemia Potter had already been keeping the room next to James’ prepared ever since they met Sirius on the platform after first year when they went to pick up James. He had been willingly dragged by her own son and gave her the stiffest bow she’d ever seen from a Pureblood. She’d pinched his cheeks and told him to visit soon. And he did, almost every other week since then, his eyes sparking with more life and mischief with each subsequent visit.

This summer, Sirius stayed mostly to himself. He wouldn’t leave his room for days at a time, opening the door occasionally for James. Mostly for Fleamont for Wizard’s Chess. Always for Euphemia.

Often, James would hear low muttering on the other side of the door, quickly followed by rapid cursing and eventually, a muffled slam. He suspected Sirius still tried to reach Regulus, but the two had strayed farther and farther with the growing blood supremacy climate. James had tried asking about it in the past, but he was met with deflection and ire. Instead, he left it alone. Sirius would talk when he wanted to.

James had also gotten notice he was made Quidditch captain over the summer. He tried coaxing Sirius out again to visit Diagon Alley, but to no avail. So, he went alone.

September had crept up faster than anticipated and Sirius’s mood stayed low, albeit improved from when he first showed up at the Potter’s. They journey to the castle was, thankfully, uneventful. Remus and Peter had raised their eyebrows at the sullen mood surrounding Sirius, but James shook his head.

Then they saw Regulus with the wrong crowd at the welcoming feast.

James remembered hastily whispering for Remus and Peter to hold down the fort before chasing after Sirius as he stormed out of the Great Hall. When he finally caught up right outside the Gryffindor Tower, James also remembered suggesting they go for a run outside. Just the two of them.

Soon enough, Prongs and Padfoot sat in companionable silence in one of the Forbidden Forest clearings until midnight.

James and Sirius stumbled back under the Invisibility cloak into the dormitories, narrowly missing a run-in with Filch.

After collapsing in bed, muscles tingling from the adrenaline, James remembered having the strangest dream.

He was… a girl? With the palest skin and scattered freckles. He had deep red hair that fell around the shoulders and piercing green eyes. He was shamelessly studying her— er, his?— reflection in the mirror when someone busted down his door. He stared blankly at her and asked who she was, and then promptly received the scolding of his life.

He was never going to forget the name Petunia, not to mention the voice that accompanied it.

There was apparently so much to do in the morning, and he was already running late? James was frazzled before he even made it to breakfast. He had to do his hair (which he was already shite at with his own hair, how was he supposed to manage a girl’s hair? What was that thing his mother used to make… a braid?), he had to go through the mortifying experience of figuring out the bathroom, and on top of all of that? He didn’t even have a wand to cheat his way through the morning.

Petunia had shrieked at him from downstairs, something about school and James had no idea what was going on. He literally just got to school in his real life. Now he had another one to go to in his dreams?

The walk there was dreadful. The town was gray, dusty, and all around a bit depressing. All the buildings looked the same, there was hardly any greenery, and the sun was beating down on them the entire time. Petunia had been nagging him constantly about the state of his hair, telling him to braid it.

To keep his hearing intact, James nodded and allowed Petunia to pull his red hair into a tight plait. When she split off to her own school, James immediately pulled it out. Better a sweaty neck than the intense headache he was going to get with a hairstyle like that. Besides, wild hair wasn’t so out of the ordinary for him.

He saw another building in the distance with students milling about. He figured that was where he was supposed to go.

His friends—Mary and Benjy, Mary and Benjy—had greeted him at the entrance, greeted Lily, apologizing for not waiting this morning. He’d gotten a few raised eyebrows at his wild hair, but that was routine for him. He was more concerned about the classes he was supposed to be getting to, especially when he didn’t have access to magic. He asked Mary and Benjy about the schedule… listing off his usual courses: Transfiguration, Charms, Arithmancy… he trailed off after seeing the looks on their faces.

They had quickly herded him to a classroom, throwing furtive glances at the other students in the hall. The two of them seemed sufficiently concerned, so much so, they walked him into his classroom and pulled out a bound book and some thin tubes. They flipped to a blank page and looked at him expectantly. He looked at the two of them and hesitantly picked up a tube. Was this their version of a wand?

No sooner than picking it up, Mary snatched it out of his hands, and corrected his grip.

“A pen, Lily. This is a pen. Alright? You take notes with it. Start here.”

He could hear Benjy stifling his snickers behind him and bit back his own smirk when Mary swatted him.

Eventually, they shuffled out of the room quietly, giving him a few more worried looks. James waved them off. This was just a dream, a very realistic one…

James sat through the entire day of classes, haphazardly taking notes in the book Mary pulled out for him. He started off interested in each class. This was nothing like what they taught at Hogwarts, but his mind began to wander. He jotted down the names he’d learned this morning. He made notes on what he saw in the town. He was also incredibly fascinated with this pen. It was smaller and lighter than quill. He didn’t have to constantly dip it into an inkwell. The grip was a little strange, but he got the hang of it.

Mary and Benjy reappeared and, thankfully, escorted him back to his house. Lily’s house. They lingered by him. “Are you sure you’re going to be okay? You didn’t hit your head anywhere, did you?”

James smiled fondly. “You really are stand-up people, aren’t you? It’s nice to know that I’ll have the best of friends, even in my dreams.”

“Lily—”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m just going to sleep, and I’m going to wake up in my own bed soon enough. Cheers.”

James shut the door in their astonished faces and started up the stairs. A full day without magic wasn’t so bad. It’s really just a bit of an itch. He let the bookbag slump onto the desk in his room and he shrugged off the sweater he pulled on that morning.

As he settled back in the bed he woke up in, James determined that this was a very long, realistic dream.

Sure enough, the next day, he woke up in the Gryffindor dormitories with Sirius and Remus snoring in unison, and Peter’s snores joining in on the offbeat. Later, during breakfast, he found it strange that his friends were suddenly all addressing each other with eerily familiar flower names…

“What, no Lily today? After all that work I put in as Saffron? Unbelievable, Prongs.”

“Lay off Sirius, Rose needed a break. As a matter of fact, I need a break.”

“You needed a break? Apparently, I wasn’t a good enough Petunia. How am I supposed to assume the role of a sister that I didn’t even know I had?”

That, and the fact he couldn’t remember yesterday…

James sprang up from his pillow. He couldn’t remember yesterday.

He looked down at his pillow. This was not his pillow.

His head snapped up and surveyed his surroundings. This was not his room.

He scrambled out of bed and ran over to the mirror, freezing at the sight. This was most definitely not his body.

Again.

“Fuck!”

His door banged open, but there was no one on the other side. James furrowed his brow and glanced at his hands. Was that accidental magic?

Moments later, he heard rapid footsteps coming up the stairs and a red-faced Petunia appeared in the doorway. She hissed at him, “What are you doing up here, Lily? We have company over!”

He smiled sheepishly at her. “Sorry, Petunia. Got startled by, uh, a bug on the ceiling.”

Petunia narrowed her eyes suspiciously at him and sniffed. “Get cleaned up. It’s noon.”

She glanced at him up and down and muttered, “You’d think you’d check the time more often since you started wearing dad’s watch.”

She shut the door behind her with a huff and James turned back to the mirror. He was either having recurrent, lucid dreams… or he was the subject of a very complex switching spell.

Sighing, James slumped to the floor, studying Lily’s features. She really was quite pretty, despite some of the exhaustion across her face. Never in his wildest dreams would he be able to dream up someone like Lily… right? She had to be real, right?

As James scanned across the reflection, he noticed the puffiness in his eyes—er, Lily’s eyes. Grimacing, he reached up to touch his cheeks. Had she cried herself to sleep?

He looked around his room and found the watch Petunia mentioned. James got up from the floor and picked up the watch. It was a golden face with a matching golden strap. The face looked like it’d been fitted with a new relatively new glass covering. Come to think of it, it looked a lot like the one he has—

The watch gleamed suddenly, and James stared at it dumbfounded.

Did the watch… just wink at him? Or was that more accidental magic?

James blew out a long breath and shook his head. If this really wasn’t a dream… he was going to have a long talk with Professor McGonagall about switching spells…

Idly, he rifled through the bookbag and pulled out the notebook he used last time. He flipped to the last page and found new notes.

Lily’s notes.

He found her regular class notes, but he also found her scribbles in the margins of the notes he took. He smiled at the crosses and circles that littered his poor handwriting, along with her own translation of some of the more illegible bits. A few more flips later, Lily’s notes ended and he reached a blank page. James paused, biting his lip.

Before he could regret it, he grabbed a pen off Lily’s desk and began writing.

Dear Evans,

I’m James Potter, which I’m sure you’ve found out by now.

Pleasantries aside, I have a few questions for you…

#my writing #jily #james potter #lily evans #lily evans potter #im alive i swear #for now #harry potter #hp #jily fic #kimi no na wa au #jily au

7 notes · View notes

seouldsoul2kpop · 7 years

Text

In Secret

7 Days of Christmas: Day 6- Jungkook

Day 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7

Warning(s): A swear word & Smut

A/N: Only one day left because Day 6 of 7 Days of Christmas is complete!! I’m happy to give you another Jungkook fanfic! This might be my most scandalous one yet...for Jungkook at least. I hope you enjoy a whole lot of Kook, and as always, please let me know what you think!

You hated dinner parties, after all, they were only for appearances—showcasing what you had over all the people surrounding your dinner table. You thought you’d get accustomed to them, enjoy the company of the person on either side of your chair, but the more you threw them, the more you hated seeing the people you were supposed to cherish, your partners—the reason you could show off your lavish abode. You were sick of it; you were sick of all of it.

You turned the page of your book, calculating all the numbers you’d spent countless hours already checking, but you needed a reason to slip away from the party—business being the number one excuse, and the number one way to hide without question. You marked the pages, fixing minor details, scribbling new business plans as they came to you, missing the tall figure that soundlessly slipped through the door, closing it gently behind him, his eyes watching you carefully, assuming you were unaware of his looming presence.

You sighed, waiting for him to speak, listening to the clock in the corner ticking away at the hours you still had left to entertain your guests. You could feel his eyes observing you, taking in every action, every curve of your face, every miniscule detail most people would miss if they looked too quickly. You pressed your tongue against the inside of your cheek, lifting your gaze to see him leaning against the door frame, his raven black hair matching his raven black suit.

“Do you have news for me, or what?”

He smiled, pushing off the wall to go to the mini bar adjacent to him, his hands moving gracefully to pour a drink.

“It’s done,” he spoke, “You don’t have to worry about him telling anyone.”

You tossed your pen down, leaning back in your chair as a sigh of relief left your lips. He smiled at your reaction, lifting the glass to his lips as he downed his drink in one go, swiftly pouring another one, but instead of knocking it back, he carried it over to you, pushing it towards you before taking a seat on the armrest of one of the two chairs across from you. He looked at you, his face serious as you reached for the glass, mimicking him as you drank it in one gulp, wincing faintly as the hard liquor burned its way down your throat.

“And it won’t come back here?”

He ran his tongue over his teeth, your insinuation that he couldn’t do his job properly spreading a bad taste in his mouth.

“You know I wouldn’t let it.”

You scoffed, leaning forward again to fiddle through the pages of your manuscript, continuing to scribble notes while he watched you curiously. He raked his teeth over his lip, slipping into the chair he’d been sitting on, unbuttoning his suit jacket as he crossed one of his legs over the other.

“Do you think I can’t do my job?”

“I didn’t say that,” you quickly chimed back.

“No, Y/N, you didn’t say anything.”

Your eyes shot up, his informality making your blood curdle. His hands were placed in his lap, hands intertwined as his black eyes pierced your equally black eyes.

“Careful, Jungkook, you’re forgetting your place,” you hissed.

He chuckled, his eyes searching your face silently for a long moment before he got to his feet, reaching forward to take the glass you’d shared, and carrying it back to the bar to pour himself another drink.

“Why aren’t you with your guests?”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued he didn’t have a retort as he usually did.

“They’re vultures,” you muttered, tossing your pen down once more, leaning back in your chair as you turned it around; you chose to face the night sky, your eyes drifting with the snowfall as you spoke without any need to censor yourself, unlike how you did with everyone else, “You know they’d all have my head if it weren’t for you.”

He turned his head, the sudden change in your tone alarming him as he watched your reflection in your window. You placed your elbow on your armrest, resting your chin on your fist, your mind falling blank as you stared at the calm serenity just outside your windowsill. He turned away, gulping down his drink as he thought about things he knew he shouldn’t have.

“What’s my place?” he suddenly whispered.

You blinked, his words taking you out of the trance you’d been in, driving you to turn around in your chair again.

“Excuse me?”

“You said I was forgetting my place, what is it?”

He walked over to you slowly, glass filled with a shot of liquor as he took his place back in the chair across from you, his hand pushing the glass towards you before he leaned back in his chair, legs crossed. You watched him carefully, not sure what he was getting at—his dark eyes reflecting too much for you to comprehend all at once. He grinned, taking your silence as an indicator to explain himself.

“I thought my place was by your side,” he spoke, his eyes growing darker, “Actually, I thought we had a clear understanding that I’d always be by your side as long as I breathe,” he shifted in his chair, “Was I wrong?”

“No, but I employ you Jungkook, and you speaking to me like we’re friends undermines everything I’ve built.”

He chuckled, licking his lip, twitching his head to the side, a habit you discovered he had in situations like this.

“So, I kill for you, I clean up your shit, I stand by your side, I fuck you when you’re lonely, but I’m the one forgetting my place?”

You clenched your jaw, a flash of all the nights you shared tangled in each other’s sheets, wrapped around one another when you needed each other the most, flooded to the front of your thoughts.

“I have work to do.”

You swallowed hard, unable to find a better reason to avoid the conversation between you two that had been a long time coming. You grabbed your pen, concentrating as best you could on the words you’d already written, but finding it difficult as his eyes ran over your features, purposely trying to make you cave under his gaze; it was a game you both had started, a game that had ultimately led to this moment.

You listened as he got to his feet, taking the glass, drinking its contents, and slamming it back on the wood. You listened to his feet as they moved around your desk, stopping somewhere behind you, his body silently waiting for you to pay attention even though you refused. He looked at you, his body already more awake by your words, his yearning to make you feel good like he always did erasing any need to do as you said. He bit his lip, turning you around in your chair, his hands pressed firmly against both of your armrests as he leaned forward, his warm breath running over your face, his deeply black eyes begging for you to take a dip. He gritted his teeth, his jaw flexing against the faint glow of the moon, and your measly desk lamp.

“I know everything about you, Y/N,” he whispered, “I know how you think, how you feel, how you smell…but most of all…” he leaned closer, his lips grazing yours as his eyes searched yours, “I know how you taste.”

His fingers dug into the leather of your chair as a rush rolled through his body, making him moan against your lips as he closed his eyes, and imagined your body.

“Let me make you feel good,” he whispered, opening his eyes, “Then we could be how you want us to be.”

You gazed into his eyes, already feeling your body craving his as you slipped further into the grasp of his midnight irises. He bit his lip, sinking down on his knees as his lips ghosted over your lips, trailing to your jawline, and outlining part of your collarbone as it peeked out of your dress. He paused, breathing you in as he slowly moved one of his hands to your knee, slowly tracing his fingers to the space between your legs, parting them slightly as his fingers marked their way further between your legs.

You closed your eyes, biting your lip as he pressed his fingers against your core, rubbing your growing wetness, and soaking your underwear even further. He smiled against your neck, licking a strip along your flesh, drawing out a moan, which only made him want you that much more.

His hands were fast, pulling your hips to the edge of your chair, forcing you to open your eyes as he hiked up your dress, his hands ripping the small piece of cloth separating him from his fix. You moaned, the cool air rushing to your center, making you so blissfully aware of how exposed you were to him. He pulled his lips away, his warm breath seeping through the fabric of your dress as he trailed his lips further down, making you squirm as the warmth hit your bud. He immediately gripped your legs, tossing them both over his shoulders as he settled comfortable between your legs.

You gripped your armrests, staring down at the beautiful sight of him wrapped in your legs. He looked at you, basking in the reaction of watching you squirm when he was so close to making you feel good. He dug his nails deeper into the flesh of your thighs, wasting no time, licking a strip up your core. You moaned, arching your back as he continued to kiss you, tasting all over you, devouring your juices like it was all the sustenance he needed, or wanted. His tongue was like magic to you, gliding, dancing, feeling you in ways you hadn’t thought were possible.

You closed your eyes, sinking your teeth into your bottom lip, wrapping your legs tighter around his neck as he elicited moan after moan from you, igniting an untamable fire inside of you, making you want more. He moaned against you, sending a euphoric vibration through you, causing you to reach forward, locking your fingers in his hair. He smiled against you, his eyes drifting to you face, admiring the sheer pleasure coveting your features, your mouth parted and letting out symphonic moans for him. He wanted to bend you over the desk in that moment, but he liked seeing you like this, in complete submission to his touch.

He sucked on your bud, switching between sucking and licking as he pushed you to your peak. Your grip grew tighter, your hips trying to get more of him, but he was quick to keep you still, wanting to see you beg for more through other means. You opened your eyes, locking with his, your eyes pleading for him to make you feel good. He moaned, taking one his hands away from your thigh, pushing two of his fingers inside of you.

You gasped, “Jungkook!”

You moaned loud for him, tangling both of your hands in his hair, but he was still in control as he pumped his fingers inside you, making sure to keep his tongue working on you too, eager to make you cum faster so he could taste you one more time.

Your breathing was labored as you watched him, his eyes never breaking from yours, not wanting to miss your beautiful face when you reached the edge. You could feel yourself soaring, practically swimming in the stars as he flicked his fingers inside you, feeling the way your walls wrapped around him in need of his touch.

You saw white as you let out a long moan, leaning your head back against the chair as your body arched into him, his tongue quick to lap up all your juices as he pulled his fingers out. You wrapped your legs around him, pulling him close, not wanting to let him go, or the feeling.

He moaned, pulling away as you let his hair go, licking his lips clean of his leftovers. You looked at him, not fully done with him, and he wasn’t done with you, his hardened member straining against his suit pants. He didn’t speak as he rushed forward, locking lips with yours, saving the pleasantries for someone who truly cared for them; his tongue moved in a quick waltz with yours as he pulled you off your chair, lifting you up. He held you in his arms, your legs wrapped around him as he debated pressing you against the window, or perching you on your desk, but he wanted you bent over.

He moaned into your mouth, trying to fight his urges, but he found himself unable to contain himself as he tasted your moan on his tongue, all your lingering tastes mixing in his mouth. He set you down, swiftly turning you, pushing you against your desk. His hand ran along your back, stopping at the small of your back, while his other hand gripped your hip. You moaned as you pressed your face against your expensive mahogany desk, gripping the opposite edge as Jungkook unbuckled his pants, removing his hand from your body as he pulled himself free. He hissed, swallowing hard, aligning himself effortlessly fast with your center, pressing into you with brazen.

You let out a groan, pressing your forehead against the cool wood, feeling your warm breaths bounce back against your face as your breathing grew unsteady. He let out a low growl, thrusting his hips immediately, and making you grip onto the wood tighter as you took him all in, all his girth alone driving you insane. He grabbed your hips, keeping you steady the harder he thrust, keeping you on your feet as he made your legs go numb. He bit his lip, tilting his head back, closing his eyes as he took in the feeling of having your around him again, squeezing him as tightly as he remembered you could, throbbing against his throbbing member like he liked.

He moaned softly, rolling his head forward again to see you bent over. He smiled, about to let out another moan for you as you were for him when someone began knocking on the door. Your eyes snapped up, a small bout of fear making your eyes linger on the door. Jungkook smiled, leaning forward, pressing his chest against your back as his lips found your ear.

“I’m not done with you yet,” he trailed his lips along your ear, taunting you, both of your eyes watching the door handle alarmingly.

He thrusted into you, your fear keeping you from letting out the moans you were so freely letting out moments ago. He hummed in your ear, not letting up, wanting to make you feel good no matter what the cost was. You held your breath, watching carefully, listening as the person on the other side of the door continued to knock, finally beginning to wiggle the door handle. You let out a sweet moan, the shock keeping you from controlling yourself as you stared at the locked door. He nibbled at your earlobe, one of his hands quick to grip onto yours as it gripped the edge of the desk even tighter, the grin returning to his lips.

“Don’t you want to keep us a secret, Y/N?” he laced his fingers with yours firmer, moaning softly into your ear.

You bit your lip, choking back your moans as he became rougher, his grip on you stronger, his member throbbing inside of you as his excitement built even more, as well as yours. You reached back with your free hand, guiding him to keep going, despite the person relentlessly trying to get into your office.

“Ma’am, everyone is looking for you. It’s time for the toast.”

You fought back your moan as you opened your mouth, wanting to say whatever you could to get him to leave, anything to be able to let out the moans on the tip of your tongue.

“I—I’ll be—right—there,” you said shakily.

Jungkook growled into your ear, purposely thrusting harder as you spoke. You could tell the person on the other side of the door wasn’t satisfied with your response, their shadow still looming under the brightly lit door.

“Are you alright in there, Ma’am?”

Your toes curled in your heels as Jungkook pushed you towards another climax, his hips intentionally rocking against you in the most unforgiving way as you tried to muster up a steady voice to reassure them. You felt his labored breaths as he tried to hold himself back for the same reason you were.

“I’m fine.”

That was all you could manage as he reached forward, playing with your clit as he found the fireworks igniting inside him. You snapped your free hand back to your desk, your nails scrapping along the wood, any sense gone as you both moaned. You felt your fingers lace together as if you both were clinging to each other for dear life, your bodies about to explode as they collided in a rough entanglement, dancing for the other, craving what the other was willingly offering. You could feel a match being lit one after the other, gradually igniting every nerve in your body. He felt the same, an electric current coursing through his body parts, sending him to the edge without any limitations.

You both saw stars, your walls clenching around him, his member twitching inside you, and you both let out a moan for each other, riding out the feeling as it coursed through you. His grip didn’t falter as your bodies came to a standstill, his chest moving to the same rhythm as yours as you both tried to catch your breath. You rested your cheek on your desk, your hand lying flat on the same wood as you listened to the sound of his breathing, growing steadier as the seconds passed. He rested his forehead gently against your cheek, his breath fanning over your exposed flesh, sending a spark to your center that made him moan again.

You couldn’t find the strength to move as he pushed himself up, the feeling of his hand leaving yours making you feel empty as it trailed down your back, taking hold of his member to pull out of you. You let out a gasped breath, not taking your time to feel the emptiness as you stood upright. You could still feel him inside you, and he could still feel you on him as you both fixed yourselves. He cleared his throat, moving away from you back to his place on the other side of the desk, grabbing his suit jacket to put back on. You watched him, waited for him to look at you, but he kept his eyes down as he made sure he looked presentable again. You were curious now, always knowing you were better off a secret, but you wanted to know the answer to the question you hadn’t dared to ask before.

“Where do you want your place to be?”

He looked up, his eyes taking a moment to search yours.

“If I tell you, will we still have nights like this?”

You were silent, knowing full well that wouldn’t be the case, and he knew it too, a quirky smile taking hold of his lips.

“Maybe I’ll tell you tomorrow night.”

You scoffed, his hand waving you forward to be the first one to leave. You shook your head, walking around your desk towards the door, and swinging it open. You weren’t surprised as you saw one of your men standing against the opposite wall, waiting for you out of concern. You watched him as he stepped forward, trying to see who might have been in the room with you, but you pulled the door closed more, quickly walking away, your actions drawing him with you. You could feel Jungkook still, taste him, smell him—he was right, you knew him better than anyone as he knew you. You smiled. Tomorrow night, then.

95 notes · View notes

explorerezreal · 8 years

Text

The Final Post (For real.)

[[ Hey guys.

As everyone knows, I officially retired this blog in December of 2016 after three great years of roleplaying in the League of Legends community. However, it just occurred to me that I have an unfinished piece of writing that I had been working on for NaNoWriMo 2015 that I never released. This original Ezreal origin story will be the final post on this blog, and my final gift to all of you wonderful people. I hope you enjoy! Love always, Ezruul @w@

Initium

Written for NaNoWriMo 2015

This writing is purely a work of fiction. And by that, I mean fanfiction. Sorry guys, I’m not creative enough for anything else!

That being said, I don’t own League of Legends or any characters or specifically named locations mentioned. That honor goes to Riot Games Inc.

I wish to give thanks to my community for your undying support and faith in my writing.

I don’t remember how it started.

I remember when I figured out that everything was complete and utter bullshit, though. It was an early Tuesday, and I’d once again been reprimanded for doodling my ink-dipped quill pen all over the piece of blank parchment that had been thrust in front of me and expected to be covered in notes involving complicated mathematics that were supposed to aid in techmaturgical blueprints for future energy-saving devices that would be built across the entire City of Progress. The instructor took it upon himself to crumple the start of a shoddy ebony labyrinth that I’d created and mercilessly dump it in the trash bin beside me before handing me a new sheet, an exasperated sigh splitting his lips as he did so.

“Do you think maybe one of these days you’ll actually take notes instead of drawing all over everything, Mister Forcher?” he spoke with an edge, clearly on his last nerve with me despite it being my first lesson of the day. Good morning, indeed. Despite being a mere seven years old, my young tongue had already garnered its fair share of teeth marks from being bitten back so many times, and although I tried to make myself move, I’m not sure anything happened on my face. Or body, really. All I knew was that this thing I was in. This damn school. This damn stuffy classroom…

Had been suffocating me as though it were a toxin-filled gas from the very beginning.

Prodigy. That’s what they’d called me. I had heard the word so many times in my young life but I never got to really understand what the meaning was until I’d turned five and was placed into an educational environment that far surpassed anything that a normal child should experience. Other so-called prodigies littered the shining halls, but none as young as me. Hell, some were even university-age and beyond, but considering where it was, this wasn’t exactly surprising, though I’m sure it was a definite blow to their egos. At first, I was carefree. I of course knew I’d be starting school soon. It sounded like fun in my inexperienced head. My parents’ instructions and newfound rules were very clear, though. Instead of attempting to make friends with the neighbors and playing out in the grass, dirt and concrete beneath the dim illumination of the aged hexlight that lay just at the end of our street, I would have to study. Hard.

“You’re giving up scraped knees for papercuts.” Is what they’d say to make me feel better when my skinny fingers had grown tired of constantly turning pages and attempting to make sense of words that even my above average mind couldn’t yet comprehend. On a particularly warm day when the glare of the sunlight showed itself through the window, I found myself entranced with the red-orange swirled horizon instead of the technological banter in front of me, and the possibility of what lay beyond the walls of the only place I’d ever known captivated me like no other feeling ever had.

I wanted to be out there more than anything.

“Ezreal.”

The sound of my name was like an unexpected clap of thunder, and my small form quickly whipped around to face the textbook, again and at one point, I fantasized that it was the book itself that had spoken to me, but I’d know my father’s stern tone anywhere. I wrinkled my lips and shrank back, waiting for the inevitable.

“Please stop looking outside, Ezreal. You know why you have to do this, right? You’re a prodigy. Act like one. Your education is costing us good gold and the sooner you apply yourself and realize your potential, the better it’ll be for everyone.”

I didn’t know what this word, “potential,” was. But it sounded neat. I rolled the word over and over again in my head, considering what letters went where in its spelling. Potential.

“Potential.” I repeated out loud, nodding my tousled blonde head as I fingered the word of the book I’d stopped at, my eyes brightening with a soft, golden hue; a side-effect of the magic that lay running within my veins alongside the blood. When my father left the room, with a yawn, I’d continue to sneak peeks through the window, each glance checking to see how far the sun had gone down since I last looked. I still wanted to be outside, but wondering what was beyond the glistening white towers of Piltover wasn’t going to help me reach my potential.

I continued studying dutifully in the best ways I possibly could over the next two years, but it didn’t take long before I soon became restless, and my mind would always revert back to subjects that were far, far more interesting. I didn’t have a word for this particularly warm feeling that had settled itself in the pit of my stomach, but as I grew older, I discovered it.

Wanderlust.

It was this lust for wander that had compelled me to begin scribbling onto that sheet of paper that my instructor had thrown away, and it was also what caused me to once again start doodling instead of taking notes or focusing on what was being said in the classroom. The stale words seemed drowned out by the wondrous and vibrant images that took shape in my imagination, and I daydreamed of being somewhere else. Somewhere dark and full of danger. Somewhere unknown that had been quietly itching to be discovered. I dipped the end of my pen into the ink and started making one full line down, but before I even finished the first stroke, the instructor was back, his eyes showcasing that the last of his patience had been drained away.

“If you’re not going to pay attention, Mister Forcher, I’m going to have to ask you to leave. Again.” He said, and I could feel the eyes of the other students, particularly those of the much older ones, burning into every piece of me like small branding irons. Some were apathetic, but most were annoyed. Confused. Angry. Possibly even moreso than the instructor himself. Because they didn’t understand how someone as apparently gifted as I was wouldn’t take advantage of the situation that I’d been dealt. I did not speak my response, and instead, I gathered up the leather satchel that had been slung over the back of my chair and departed the room in silence, hungry for the fresh air that would greet me outside of the stuffy walls.

The door clicked behind me, and I could hear the expected sigh from behind it, and then more words. Words that I had absolutely no desire to hear. I started walking, counting the number of times my boots crunched on the leaves as I made my way to my favorite place in the entire esteemed techmaturgical academy; a rock beneath a tree with a weather-stained bench surrounding it. Flopping my satchel atop the bench, I dug my fingers into the pockets and produced a tiny, spiral-bound book with a piece of charcoal hanging from a string attached to the center of the spine. This book was blank, aside from an assortment of sketches that I’d drawn from various areas around the campus. Since I wasn’t doing any assigned work, drawing and sketching was how I preferred to pass my time at school.

Despite my young age, I wasn’t an idiot. I’d stopped officially doing work weeks ago, and it was only a matter of time before my parents found out. I had to tell them eventually, though, that I wasn’t sure that this whole prodigy thing was really for me. When I had done the work that was expected of me, it was forced and passionless, but I’d always assumed that one day I’d realize that this was what life had in store for me. That I’d learn to love and appreciate it. But instead, every textbook I’d ever received had just made me more listless and bored.

I raised my head and took a deep breath, filling my lungs with the spring-laced oxygen. It felt cool, warm, clean, and dusty all at once. I sneezed with force, and following that, the metaphorical hunger in my stomach pleaded to be noticed as though it had physically punched me. I swallowed hard, then looked down at the sketch I’d been absentmindedly creating with the sharpened end of my charocal. It wasn’t a fantastic sketch by any means. All it was was a crude likeness of one of the leaves that had been sitting there before I’d even made the walk to the bench and invaded its personal space.

I could draw rocks and hallways and leaves all day if I wanted. Despite every leaf looking different, the overall environment was the same. And it, unfortunately, was one that I already knew. I took another breath, and then closed the sketchbook, letting the wind ruffle my hair as though it were comforting me from the troubling thoughts that were bubbling inside me. I closed my eyes, allowing it to soothe me.

Then I looked toward the sky and realized that this was never going to get better. I just simply didn’t have the drive for science like so many other Piltovians did, and I couldn’t just choose to ignore it, could I? Maybe I could. It wasn’t too late to start doing assigned work again and actually making an attempt to pay attention in lectures. I was only seven. I had a lot of time ahead of me, didn’t I? Surely I’d figure it out when the time arose, and at this point, it was probably better to just not say a thing.

My imagination caused my father’s voice to touch the sensitive insides of my ears as though it were being carried on the breeze, and my muscles bunched up beneath my skin as though an icy chill had just overcome my small body. “Your education is costing us good gold.”

I put the sketchbook back into my satchel, slipped it over my shoulder, and soundlessly crept away from the bench, heart lightly fluttering in my throat. The last thing I wanted to do was the walk of shame all the way back to the classroom that I’d been kicked out of, so that only left one other place: the university library. No, I couldn’t go there, either. Libraries were quiet, and being surrounded by silence would only make my own thoughts louder, which was something that I most definitely did not want.

If I didn’t go to the library, the only choice left was home. Maybe if I slowed my stride enough, I’d arrive there at the same time I would if I’d gone to class and no one would suspect a thing. No, that was stupid. I’d almost forgotten it was still morning, and it wouldn’t take more than an hour for me to get back, even if I avoided using the small city paths that I’d discovered that cut the already short time in half. I’d always been good at finding directional shortcuts even when the route was already easy, but I of course had no idea how this would influence my life until a great bit later.

Again, I was internally conflicted, and I blew air out of my lungs in such a way that if anyone were around, they would have seen how intensely frustrated I was, which would prompt the more curious ones to ask why a child was seemingly so stressed. Venting to a stranger sounded nice and all, but everyone around here knew who I was, and if I’d openly shared what was ailing me, I had no doubt it would get back to my parents in some way, and that was a risk that I couldn’t afford to take.

I raised my blue eyes toward the sky that almost perfectly mirrored the shade and set off without a direction in mind, my small hand clutching to the strap of my satchel to keep the weight steady across my meek shoulder. I had no idea where I was going or where I’d end up, but the thought of getting lost had always been somehow comforting. Besides, I was pretty sure I knew how to get back to the university from any place in the entire city. Considering how tall the glistening argent pillars of the entrance were, it would really be hard to miss, even from a distance. Before long, I’d passed said pillars and came into the sight of returning students whom were ascending the steps in an almost synchronized manner, and I could see the way their eyebrows raised upon seeing me.

I lowered my head and brushed through them as though they were invisible and continued my trek, though their whispers were louder than I think they’d intended them to be.

“Shouldn’t he be in class right now? That kid’s gonna flunk.”

“He’s never in class.”

“I wonder why? Maybe he has a tutor at home?

“I don’t know. No one really d-…”

Part of me still thinks that to this day, they’d done that on purpose to get my attention and to possibly gather some information about my recent lack of attendance in the classroom, but I guess I can add it to the list of things I’ll never really know or have an answer for. All I could really do now was hope that they wouldn’t tell or that a teacher or someone of importance wouldn’t see me leaving the campus. I raised my head and darted my gaze left to right. A bird trilled in the distance. All clear as far as I could see.

For some reason, this made me grin. I remember the muscles in my cheeks turning up and me being unable to get rid of it. Maybe it was a good thing. Frowning would just draw more outward attention to the conflict within, right? If I looked happy, no one would ever suspect anything. That is, unless they too realized that I was supposed to be in class at this hour like any other typical student. I breathed in, feeling the air stretch my lungs, and then my feet were moving again, carrying me away from the university like a big burly savior, but this time, it wasn’t just a walk.

It was a sprint.

I still don’t know why I briskly moved as though a beast had been chasing me, but by the time I got to the next street over, my mouth was open and I was panting, my cheeks flushed with a dark coral tint. On the opposite side of the concrete sidewalk, I could see fellow Piltovians standing around and the distant chatter of what was probably an attempt at meaningful conversation, but my focus was swiftly drawn elsewhere. I’d been down this street a number of times before, but I’d never noticed that far off in the distance to the right there seemed to be an area that looked, well…closed off.

I squinted. It wasn’t new, and I’d realized that. The shadowy area had been there the entire time. But why had I never felt so compelled to look over there until this very moment? It didn’t make sense, but then again, I’d never had the best attention span, and really, I still don’t. Wrinkling my nose, I began a steady stride once more, wondering if anybody would see me, a child to normal eyes, attempting to enter what was possibly a forbidden and dangerous area. There weren’t any signs telling me to keep out, though, so I assumed it was alright.

Regardless, I flattened myself against the aged brick wall, holding my breath as though making any noise at all would cause me to burst into flames and then fade into nothingness. I took one step forward, then another, almost as though I was floating toward the darkness and acting like it was a bright beacon instead of a dreary shroud. My shoe crunched on the cracked, uneven cement, and I realized right then that whatever was over here had been there so long that the floor was literally crumbling.

I couldn’t see past the darkness, of course, but I could somewhat make out what looked like a really large circle in the back corner. A hole? Or a covering for a hole? At the current distance I was at, I couldn’t tell. But I wanted to know. Needed to know. I took another step against the crumbling ground, but the sound of gravel separating beneath me was drowned out by the loud gasp that had abruptly slid down my throat and the feeling of being flung back by my collar. The world spun for a few seconds before I realized what had happened and whipped around, my eyes wide with surprise. Someone had stopped me from venturing onwards. Someone had tugged me back into the light of the City of Progress.

I opened my mouth to speak, but the man got there before I did.

“Now just what on Runeterra did you think you were doing over there, young man?” the tall stranger asked me, his lips pressed together into a tight frown and his arms crossed to his chest. He seemed huge. Towering, even. But it’s not like that was really a feat when it came to being compared to me. I knew I should probably be scared by a dark-haired menace, but I wasn’t. At all. In fact, I crossed my arms right back at him, though my motions weren’t as fluid considering I had the weight of my satchel on my shoulder.

“Exploring.” I answered simply, suddenly realizing with each passing second that maybe this stranger wasn’t as old as I’d first assumed he was. Tall, yes, but he had a boyish face and a youthful physique. Teenager, I decided. Not grown up. Possible threat, regardless, though. “I was gonna explore that shadowy place over there. What’s over there? Do you know?”

There was no harm in asking, right?

The young man rolled his eyes, then looked over me and narrowed his icy blue gaze into slits, behaving as though he too had known all about the mysterious area in the close distance but had never really thought about what exactly it was. He put a gloved hand to his smooth chin and lightly rubbed, his voice vibrating with a low hum as he pondered, pulling his thoughts between what whether it was right to indulge me or simply leave me to wonder. He then turned toward me, and his face softened, making him look even younger.

“They say that the tunnels of ancient Piltover before it became civilized are down there. No one’s ever gone down into the sewers to take a look, though, so I don’t know if it’s true.” He said, his broad shoulders rising and then quickly falling again as he shrugged, arms still crossed. “It’s honestly probably just an old city rumor. Nothing a kid your age should be concerned with, and definitely not something you should be trying to get into. You could have fallen down and gotten seriously hurt, you know.”

His gaze hardened again, and I pursed my lips, then snorted. Really, it was a terrible thing this young man had done, giving me this kind of information. My already intense curiosity was suddenly severely heightened, and I hoped it wasn’t evident on my face. I wrinkled my nose, trying not to smile.

“Are you gonna be called a hero then? For savin’ me even though I didn’t really even do anything or get hurt? I was just lookin’, honest!” I said, putting my small palms up toward him as though surrendering for a terrible crime. My neck was starting to ache from where my shirt’s collar had been violently pressed against it during my “rescue”, but I didn’t think it would be enough to leave any sort of mark. Boy, would that have been hard to explain.

The dark-haired teen smiled and I could see his straight teeth were a flawless, pearly white. He certainly looked like a hero, and I wondered if it were true. My eyes must have become as round as a supper saucer or something, because he laughed, and then reached forward to place his large hand atop my flaxen head, rubbing it as though he had known me for years and this was simply a thing that we’d both come to know and expect from the other.

“Maybe. Though I don’t think anyone was around to see my so-called heroic deed.”

I glanced around the young man to see that his words were true. How was it possible that there had been so many people walking around just minutes prior and now it was only the two of us as far as the average eye could see? I certainly hadn’t gone out that far, had I? Unless I horribly misjudged the distance between the civilized street and the darkened corner and was so entranced I’d paid no mind to just how far I’d walked.

I turned my focus back up to the teenager and shrugged, absentmindedly adjusting the strap on my satchel; a habit I was sure to never break. “Good. I’m gunna go back now, then. Won’t be goin’ over here again. Too dangerous, like you said. Don’t wanna get any scraped knees or look for any gross underground tunnels.” What a lie. I brushed past the other boy’s shoulder when I felt the pressure of a hand atop my own, rightfully stopping me. I turned around again, my thin brows furrowed and my expression visibly annoyed.

“You’re really weird.” The teenager said. “Like…really, really weird. I have no idea why a kid your age would even be out here alone in the first place. Much less want to explore something that not even the Piltover protection force will touch without bare hands. What’s your name, anyway? Are you lost? Can I help you get back?”

He looked so suddenly concerned at the possibility that I’d become separated from my parents that I would have felt bad giving him the silent treatment (or lying, really), so I cleared my throat with a small cough before looking up at him once again. Man, he was tall. Even back then, it seemed almost ridiculous just how much height difference there was between us even with the gap in our ages. I huffed, then shook my head side to side, causing strands of light blonde to obscure my vision.

“Name’s Ezreal. And I’m not lost.” I said, my foot slipping back a bit to shake off some of the small bits of dirt that I’d collected on my shoe during my brief venture into the shadows. It wasn’t much. In fact, I would have liked if they’d gotten even dirtier in the midst of my stint. Something about sullying those pristine-looking leather lace-ups was incredibly satisfying. “I was just exploring like I said. And I’m okay! So I’m gunna go back now.”

Something about his tilted head and tension-ridden jawline told me that he’d stopped paying attention to everything I’d said immediately after learning my name, and pinpricks of tension formed in the pit of my belly. Adrenaline throbbed in the back of my neck, and I pondered if running would be a wise thing to do. Why did I tell him my real name? Why didn’t I just lie? It probably would have been a lot easier, considering the teenager now looked as doubly concerned as he did just a few seconds prior to learning that little tidbit.

“Ezreal. The prodigy Forcher boy? The kid that was enrolled at the techmaturigal university at age five?” he asked, spilling the information regarding my young life all over the ground as though it were a handful of small rocks. I bit down on my lip, and if my young mind had known any curse words back then, I surely would have whispered them to myself instead of standing in guilty silence. I inhaled softly, but I was soon cut off by the teen continuing to speak.

“Do you know what time it is? Shouldn’t you be in class? I mean…” He looked down at the rust-colored hexwatch that adorned his thick wrist, but it ended up being upside down, causing him to groan out in frustration as he twisted his arm the other way to right it. “Ten in the morning. Seventeen minutes past the hour. Lectures are in session for most university students right now, and yet I found you out here, trying to get into trouble.” He continued, maneuvering his other hand to press it to my forehead beneath my fringe, feeling for a temperature. “You, uh…you sick, kid? Little warm, there.”

“Magic.” I said, slapping his hand away from me with a weak fist. “Always got a temperature. Mom says it’s because of the magic I was born with or something. I don’t feel sick, though!” I chirped, wondering why I kept talking to this young man when he seemed to know everything else regarding me and my business aside from the fact I was warmer to bare touch than a non-mage would be. He nodded, then gave a thoughtful hum, seemingly satisfied. “Oh, right. I forgot about that. The papers just said you were apparently a genius and seemed to focus on it more than anything else. I forgot about the magic, too. That’s a rarity around here, you know? You should be happy, Ezreal.”

And I should be in school.

“…and in school right now! I’ll walk you back. How about it?”

Called it.

Arguing was futile since he not only knew who I was but also spoiled the fun that I was hopefully going to have in the mysterious dark corner, so I just limply shrugged, which he quickly took as an approval to start walking back in the general direction that I came from, seemingly knowing the way back to the university. I really didn’t want to go back to school, but what choice did I have? At least he didn’t seem like someone who would tell my parents, or anybody, really, about my absence in the classroom and the streak for danger that I seem to have developed in a matter of minutes. I quietly started to follow (quite literally) in his shadow, when he abruptly turned around, almost whacking me in the head with the point of his elbow.

I had never been pleased with my small height until that very moment.

“I’m Jayce, by the way.” He said, finally introducing himself, and to finally have a name to match the face made me feel a little better, but I still couldn’t help but resent him for both putting a dent in my curiosity but also heightening it to levels that I never even thought were possible. Why didn’t the Piltover protection force go down under the city’s ground? Why did the alleged tunnels only have to be a rumor? What if there actually was nothing down there at all and our plane of existence was above a mass of dirt? Or worse, air. Would the city eventually collapse in on itself and become nothingness? Would we become the tunnels?

My head felt like a cyclone with so many questions blowing around in it, but I was at least able to find my voice again before it became apparent that something far more interesting than introductions was taking precedence over everything else. I once again readjusted my satchel strap and forced a smile, but since I couldn’t see it, I’m sure it probably came off as extremely awkward. Despite my youth, I rarely had a true, real smile, and even back then, I knew that was kind of depressing. But, hey, what else could you look like when you’d been forced to study boring textbooks day in and day out?

“Hi, Jayce!” I squeaked, the high, grating pitch causing my face to flush with undisguised embarrassment. Making myself sound deeper would just seem weird and unnatural, though, so I continued on like nothing had happened. Jayce, though, didn’t seem to notice how I sounded and instead just grinned right back at me, and I wondered if maybe what I’d heard was completely different than what he’d heard. I’d hoped so. “Thanks for savin’ me, I guess.”

I wasn’t really thankful for it, but he didn’t need to know that, right?

“No problem.” He answered, tone proud and beaming as though this had been his intention from the start. Maybe it had. Maybe he’d secretly been following me out of boredom and now was making it his self-proclaimed duty to save naïve Piltovian kids that could possibly end up in trouble or bad areas. I could just see him now running back to his home after depositing me back at the university and fashioning himself a spandex onesie with a bathroom towel attached to it. I wanted to laugh out loud at the thought, but then he’d notice and I’d have to tell him, so instead I just bit the insides of my cheeks.

“You should just try not to give into your curiosities like that again, though. The last thing the City of Progress wants is to find out one of their brightest kids got hurt doing something stupid and unavoidable. Your parents wouldn’t be too happy either!”

They’re never happy, anyway, I wanted to say, but my cheeks were still being crushed between my upper and lower rows of teeth, the pressure becoming increasingly painful the longer I held them. It was much more fun when I was trying to avoid laughing. Now I was avoiding speaking altogether, for good reason. I was suddenly conflicted with this thought. Had my parents always acted so unhappy toward everyone and everything? Or was it me myself that made them unhappy? Had they always been so strict? Or did having a so-called prodigy for a son cause an abrupt change in the way they lived everyday life?

Too many questions for too young a mind. Even despite the sharpness of my intellect, these were things that I certainly didn’t want to bother myself with, though I knew that it would eventually be inevitable.

Sometimes I really hated having so many inquiries.

Quietly, we continued walking, though I could tell that Jayce was itching for conversation that he more than likely wasn’t going to get out of me. It seemed really odd that someone like him had been out wandering around in the morning hour and just happened to be in the same place I had been. Didn’t he have friends he could bother or something? He looked like the popular type of guy that had never been left needing attention in his life, constantly surrounded by praise and adoration by peers, teachers, adults in general, anyone.

I glanced up and was greeted by the towering white pillars of the university in the distance, catching the rays of spring sun, and I shivered inside, thinking about how close it was but also comforted by the warmth of it also being far enough to have to squint to see clearly. Really, I had walked a fairly great distance for the timeframe I’d been missing, and I wondered how far I could really go if I put my mind to it. I had no concept of how long I’d walked prior or even now. My legs just seemed to move on their own even with unwanted companionship. I knew I could stand to be a tad more observant of my surroundings and observant of details in general though. Like doing a sketch, but ingraining it within my eyes and mind instead of on a piece of parchment with a stick of charcoal.

“So…”

Jayce’s deep voice broke through my thoughts. Again. This was becoming an annoying habit. I looked up at him for a split second to let him know I’d heard him, then focused on our melding shadows on the concrete as they swayed with our walk. It was funny how the dark reflections seemed to be the same size despite us being not even close. Light tricks. Weird.

“Hm?” I answered, knowing my split-second glance probably wasn’t enough to let him know I was aware and that he needed an audible cue. I could sense the danger, but I was braced for it, a feeling that would someday become the bane of my godsdamned existence.

“Are you ever going to tell me why you ran away from the campus?”

Yeah, danger. Definitely heading into dangerous territory. Young me might have not had as great of a cognitive grasp as older me does, but I’d never, ever been an idiot. Ever.

“Nope.” I mumbled, refusing to look up again. Why should I tell him? He was still a stranger, for all I knew. He had no business asking me something like that and actually demanding an answer. Then again, he also had no business interrupting my curiosity and quote-unquote saving me. Big jerk.

“Oh, okay. Are you going to do it again?” A pause, then an exhale. He seemed to be searching his internal dictionary for the right thing to say. It took a few seconds, but he apparently found it, the continuation trickling out like a steady stream of water that had come to an abrupt end. “…do I need to be on the lookout? Just in case you get into trouble? I really don’t want to see your face on the papers for anything other than some sort of prodigy thing, if that makes sense.”

“Nope.” I lied. Probably the biggest one I’d ever told in my life thus far. But I couldn’t have him following me around even as a preventive measure, could I? Even now, I still wasn’t certain that he was going to tell my parents, though he never gave any clues that he knew their names or where even to find them, so I figured at least in terms of that, I was as safe as I possibly could be. Still, I thought he might have needed more convincing, so I continued to speak, hammering in the false truth like a nail in a plank. “Not gunna do it again.”

“Good.” Jayce answered soon after, satisfied finally by my lie. I’d never thought of myself as a fantastic liar, but perhaps he assumed that I’d had a glimpse of the danger and wouldn’t dream of getting myself into something as potentially unfavorable as trying to figure out whether or not there actually were tunnels under the city. I put on my best, most thoughtful grin, and continued walking with a spring in my step, feigning excitement about getting back to school when in actuality, I had all intentions of going back to see what the mysterious unknown had for me. Maybe not tomorrow. Maybe not a week or a month from now.

But someday.

By that point, the university was in plain view, and Jayce gave my tousled head a gentle pat before he turned on his heel and made his departure. I waved to him, but his back was toward me, and I wondered if whether or not I’d ever see him again. It seemed unlikely considering Piltover’s large population of both humans as well as yordles, but something told me that he was going to keep an eye out for me regardless of me saying I’d never wander off toward what was deemed a dangerous place ever again. I gazed up toward the ivory pillars and slowly ventured back onto the campus.

One day, I thought. I had a personal motive and something that finally mine and only mine to work and strive toward.

If I believed in myself enough, I could make it happen.

I could make anything happen.

Something happened to me after my brush with the possible underground tunnel system, and I don’t think it’s something that anyone was expecting. If you can believe it, I actually started going to classes again and diligently completing any and all work that had been assigned to me. Yeah, I know. Crazy, right? I still wasn’t the most talkative student in any of my lectures, but the instructors honestly didn’t care so long as I kept turning work in. The load off my back was comfortable, but if anything, it was just a very potent distraction from the things that were really captivating to me. Honestly, this sudden spurt in my academic career was probably just something good to draw my attention to while I attempted to swallow down the urge to slip away from my seat and make my way back to that darkened corner of the City of Progress to debunk the mystery of what was beneath the concrete once and for all.

The work I completed was as passionless as it had ever been, but every test was returned to me with a perfect score. Every assignment flawlessly completed. At one point, I imagined that I’d get so sucked into techmaturgical studies that I’d eventually forget about what I might possibly find outside the same four walls of a classroom, but I knew in my heart that this would never be the case. I wouldn’t deny, however, that it felt great to not be reprimanded every single goddamn day by both parent and instructor alike, and as my eighth year came to pass, I wondered how long it would take before my urges broke me.

In the weeks following my birthday, the adrenaline that pumped inside my veins alongside the blood and magic seemed to push me toward a new course, and one day, in the midst of a break during my morning lecture, I gathered up my books and notes inside my satchel and headed off toward the front of the university campus, knowing that this was the day I’d both been hoping and dreading for.

I was going to find out what was under the city. And no one was going to stop me. I hadn’t seen Jayce again since our first meeting, and I hoped that there was a chance that he’d forgotten all about me by now, though that seemed too good to be true. I pressed my back against one of the pillars and inhaled, keeping my air safely locked away in my lungs as though I was hoarding it for the winter, and then took off in a rush, the wind I’d made with my run stroking through my blonde locks. From the left and right, eyes of wondering fellow students burned into me, but at least no one would think my leaving was too suspicious, considering this was around the usual time that classes had a short pause during a long lecture.

A half-hour was never enough in my opinion.

I moved with such a pace that it was almost like there was grease stuck to the soles of my shoes and I was skating across the ground, but hopefully it didn’t look quite so obvious to the other people that were around me. I knew I was being stared at, but this wasn’t a particularly new occurrence, considering I was still and probably would always be the youngest person enrolled in the university. I swallowed hard and tensed as though someone was about to scoop me up into their arms and force me back between the pillars, but nothing happened. I had made it outside once again, and now my gaze was darting left to right as I scanned the fastest route to get to the corner with hopefully the least amount of people.

Left. I should go to the left. And I had to keep an eye out, just in case Jayce decided to pop out of the woodwork and meddle. Again. I briefly wondered if I should have fashioned myself some kind of disguise before attempting to trek out toward the area that had so captivated me, but I was already on my way, and it was a bit too late. I wasn’t the only person in Piltover with vibrant gold hair, but it sure as hell made me stand out. Especially when the sun was high in the sky and casting its warm glow on the entirety of the city. I nearly tripped over a crack in the concrete, and only then is when I finally slowed my stride. Walking too fast was sure to garner more attention, anyway, and I instead took to walking at a normal pace, though my lips were still parted to allow my heavy breathing in and out with ease until that too dissipated into a slow, steady pattern.

Inside my chest, though, my heart was beating like jackhammer against my ribs, with little to no intention of stopping. Would someone be there to catch me? Would they stop me like Jayce had a few months prior? I scanned the streets for real threats, but none were detected, and I once again stole a breathy inhale before taking off in a burst of speed, gripping the strap of my satchel tightly to reduce the amount of noise the metallic buckle would make as it smacked against my hip while I ran. There were people in the distance. Of course there were people, and I’d have to take care to not make myself look like I was so obviously up to no good.

Was simply being curious really worthy of getting negative attention, though? I had no answer, and I continued my pace of running and then walking. Walking and then running. A stop-start pattern intended to get me toward my goal without one or the other drawing too much focus on myself. Soon, I saw it. The darkened corner of the City of Progress that had been on my mind from the very second I’d seen it. Taking care and knowing to expect the cracked ground this time, I crept through the dusty fog and then pressed myself against the brick wall, holding my breath. The fine hairs on the back of my neck stood up as I braced myself for either Jayce or someone else to once again play hero and stop me from accomplishing my personal task, but as I slowly expelled the air from my lungs in an invisible line, I realized that no one was coming. No one was around. No one was going to see me or stop me this time. I couldn’t help the sly grin that had stretched my lips as I carefully waded through the shadows and into the farthermost corner, looking down at the hole in the ground that seemed utterly endless and dreary. Not that I could really see much of what was there, anyway, but I was willing to take that risk. Of course, I couldn’t just simply jump down into the hole without knowing there was either something to grab or land on. At best, it would cause both of my legs to be broken, and at worst, I’d meet my end at the very bottom of an endless hole.

At least my parents would never see my body that way.

I took a step forward and crouched down, knowing the knees of my black pants would be incredibly dirty as a result of all the dust and cobwebs adorning the corner I’d burrowed myself into. I didn’t care, though. Dirt and dust was honestly the least of my worries at this point, and I thrust my hand down into the hole, throwing all caution and hesitation to the wind. I blinked, feeling something hard brush my small fingers. Hard and lined. Wood? Old wood. I moved my hand to the right and gripped. Rope. Rope and wood.

A ladder.

There was a ladder.

My heart leaped with undisguised joy as my smile stretched even farther, and I couldn’t help the small giggle that had crept up my throat and expelled out through my lips. I quickly silenced myself, not wanting my happiness to bounce off the walls of the aged, ebony brick and possibly into the ears of someone or something unfavorable. There was another dilemma of course, though. I’d felt the ladder, but I had no idea how far it went down. By this point I’d already leaned forward a bit more and pressed my hands lower, feeling that there was indeed at least two more pieces of wood, but that wasn’t really a straight answer. The only solution was to either try to find out myself, or to come back another day with some sort of light source.

I didn’t know if I’d be lucky enough to come back with no one stopping me another day, so I already knew the answer. I had to try to get down there myself. I wasn’t scared, no. Fear had always had a difficult time gripping my throat and it wasn’t about to suddenly get stronger. I had mentally weighed the pros and cons, and as of right then, there had definitely far more pros. Besides, what would I do if I didn’t go down there? Go back to school? Over my more than likely dead body.

I swallowed hard, then breathed the dusty air into my lungs and congratulated myself for not coughing and causing an attention-seeking ruckus. I maneuvered myself to begin the downward descent into the hole, my tiny hands shaking as they gripped the old rope. Could it hold me? Would it hold me? Was Jayce right? Would my name and face really end up in the Piltover papers if something terrible happened to me? Surely they didn’t care that much. At least, not when I was doing something not school related.

I pressed my foot against the first block of wood and hesitated before pressing the second one down, my knuckles turning white with the effort in which they gripped the rope. If the blocks gave way, would I be able to pull myself up to safety? Should I scream for help and give away my plan? Should I quietly accept death?

These were not questions that a child should ever have to think about, but yet, there I was, eight years old, attempting to disappear under the city that had raised me in order to possibly extract its treasures.

My grip loosened a bit when I discovered that the ladder apparently could carry my weight without giving away, and I gave a small sigh of content before slipping my hands down the rope, intending to descend to the next step. And the next. With each passing second, more of my uncertainty fell away, and as the moist, metallic smell of whatever was underground permeated my nostrils and the hole that lead back up to the outside grew farther and farther away, I knew what the word for what I was feeling inside was.

Courageous. I was being courageous.

At least until I realized that there were no more wooden blocks for me to put my foot on for support. I had grown so accustomed to the feeling of something there to hold my weight, and when I felt nothing but air beneath me, I couldn’t help but let out a small yelp. There I was, in complete and total darkness, hands gripped to an old rope that would probably eventually snap, without any knowledge of what was beneath me.

Even to this day, I’m not sure how I did it.

I held my breath, then let go of the rope and hoped for the best. My heart stuttered in my chest for a few beats before I realized that the ladder did go all the way to the bottom. I was safe. Unharmed. Though I had no idea what the bottom was. Or what it even looked like. I knelt down in the blackness and graced the surface of the ground with my fingers, my sense of touch incredibly heightened with my lack of vision. It felt like concrete, but much smoother. And colder. Metal, perhaps? Metal and dirt. That squishy softness was definitely dirt.

I got back up on my feet and felt for the ladder, finding it almost instantly. I gripped it in my right hand, holding tightly to it.

“Hello?” I spoke into the blackness, noticing immediately that my voice became a garbled, echoing mess that almost grated the sensitive skin of my ears. Whatever this was, it wasn’t at all a narrow, suffocating crevice. Considering that I was still answering my own greeting, I concluded that it was huge and open. A hall, perhaps. And if that was true, how could something so hollow be supporting our city beneath it? It didn’t make any sense.

Maybe it didn’t go as far as I thought? It wasn’t like I could see anything.

“Hello!” I called out again, this time louder than before, and the noise once more reverberated on the walls and right back into my own head. I might not have had use of my eyes, but after that time, I knew that my surroundings were far bigger than I could have ever imagined. Miles long, maybe. But miles of what?

I needed to know. I needed to come back down here with some source of bright light. But what on Runeterra would be big enough? A hextech flashlight wouldn’t cut it. Not at all. A lantern might work better, but that would only let me see what was a few feet in front of me at best. It would be easy to come by one, though, considering that the Arcanum at the university had them, and no one would think twice about me borrowing one, so that seemed to be my best bet, and at this point, I was going to take whatever I could get. I exhaled and I swore I could see my breath, and that’s when I realized just how cold it was down there in the middle of nothingness. Wearing a scarf in the beginning of spring wasn’t exactly common, but I’d definitely need one for a venture down here. Or even a jacket.

As much as I wanted to stay below the surface, I knew that I couldn’t be down in the dark forever, no matter how comforting it was. I was already late for class again, anyway, effectively tarnishing my perfect record over the last few months. Using my sense of touch and nothing else, I hastily gripped the rope and began dragging myself up the wood blocks until the small circle of light grew bigger and bigger. Refusing to pause to look back down into the depths, I scurried out of the hole and squinted hard, the pain of the sudden brightness impaling both of my eyes. Despite the discomfort, I was grinning. Hard.

Now that I’d known that it was safe (for the most part) to go down there, nothing would stop me from going back.

And tomorrow seemed like as good of a day as any.

I wiped the telltale dust off the knees of my pants and the length of my shirt and jacket and hoped for the best before bouncing back toward the university, hoping it was unlikely that anyone would say anything about my disheveled appearance. I knew that would be giving them far too much credit, though.

For the rest of the day, I sat quietly in my seat, scheming and dreaming of my future career as a brave explorer and guru of the mysterious Piltovian underground. I was lucky, I suppose. No one, including my parents when I arrived home, noticed anything different regarding my demeanor or the fact I was still covered in dust. What was noticeable, though, was that the very next day, I had awoken before the sun had even shown its face through my windows, and I raced down the stairs already prepped and ready for school as though I’d been waiting for the moment my entire life.

My father had awoken with the noise of my hurried stomps and demanded to know why I’d made such a ruckus, his blue eyes so reminiscent of my own burrowing into my face as though trying to force an answer out of me with one single look. Was that where I got it from? Another ugly lie crawled up out of my throat, but I continued smiling, trying to look as excited as possible when talking about school even though the very thought made my belly sour.

“I’m gunna go study! Bright and early! Gotta take a test.” I spoke, nodding my head up and down almost to the point I’d made myself dizzy. My father looked confused as he raised his hand to his chin, lightly stroking his index finger across the stubbled skin, but then his gaze ceased to be narrow, and he reached forward to stroke his palm across my head. It reminded me of Jayce, which I wasn’t sure was normal or not. I just couldn’t remember the last time my father had shown any affection toward me at all, and this secretly disgusted me.

I had to lie to him just to get some affection? Bullshit. Always was and always would be.

“Alright, then, Ezreal. You should eat something, though. Can’t cram on an empty stomach.” My father said as he turned his back to me to get to the hexfridge in the corner of our small kitchen. He rummaged around it, muttering to himself as he did so, before presenting me with a couple of frosted biscuits in a thin plastic wrapping. Not the best or most nutritious breakfast at all, but frosted biscuits weren’t something I normally got, and it was far more exciting than the bland-tasting porridge I forced down my throat all the other days of the week.

“Thanks, dad!” I squeaked, taking the packet of biscuits in my small hand and running out the door, wondering how on Runeterra I didn’t at all feel guilty about lying to my father and essentially scamming sweet treats off of him. It wasn’t like I’d asked for them, though, right? He gave them to me, so I really shouldn’t have even felt bad in the first place. I brought one of the biscuits to my lips and obnoxiously bit into it, letting some of the frosting get stuck in the corners of my mouth as I watched the sun cast its familiar and comforting gold glow over the entirety of the City of Progress.

The yellowed hue, something that I’d never seen before since there was no possible way I’d ever been to school this early in the past, made the techmaturgical university look oddly warm and inviting, and if it wasn’t so damned stuffy inside, one would think I’d actually want to willingly go there to cram my head full of useless information that others deemed was apparently important for my future as well as the city’s future. Considering the sun had barely risen, it was a miracle that it was even open in the first place.

My shoes, a different, now clean pair, clacked against the smooth tiles of the hallway, and I clutched my satchel’s strap tightly to my chest, trying to imitate a busy and dedicated student as best as I could. My legs carried me to the Arcanum section of the university, and I pushed the oakwood door open with an offending-sounding squeak that caused my teeth to grit and goosebumps to trickle down the length of my spine. If that was the noise that happened every single time someone opened the goddamn door, it was no wonder I hardly saw anyone in this part of the school. At least the inside smelled nice. Leather and…charcoal? Huh. Weird.

I looked around and momentarily became frozen by the plethora of books that lay organized in neat rows atop many, many shelves, and I resisted the urge to run over to look through them in the hopes of finding something interesting, reminding myself of the reason that I’d even come here in the first place. Considering there was no one watching over the front desk, I supposed it would be alright if I took one of the lanterns myself without asking permission. If I were being technical, there was no one even around to ask for permission, so with a soft sigh, I ducked down behind the front desk and fished one of the lanterns out, surprised that there were so many in such a small place. Why were there so many? What good did lanterns serve in a place that already had so many hexlights strewn about?

I shrugged to myself and grasped the handle of the lantern tightly with one hand, then slinked away from the library without a single sound aside from the stupid squeaky door, which they never oiled, by the way. Pretty sure it’s still doing that even to this day.

It was some sort of otherworldly miracle that no one saw me not only take a lantern, but also take it far away from school grounds. In fact, no one seemed to notice me at all, and I had one moment of completely wondering if I’d somehow activated one of the magical spells from the Arcanum’s library and I’d become invisible. Wouldn’t that have been easy? I walked across the streets of Piltover with precision and determination, though I wasn’t unaware of the fact that Jayce could potentially pop out at any given moment and possibly stop me. Again. But I hadn’t seen him aside from that one time, and it was still relatively early enough that I expected a great majority of the city’s population to still be catching up on their beauty sleep. I moved in the same direction as the morning shadows did, mingling myself with the darkened areas to disappear within them and not give my position away. One thing was certain: by now I’d gotten very good at holding my breath and pressing myself into tight spaces, and I imagined that this would be a thing that would come in handy later.

Finally, I saw it. The darkened corner with the rickety old wood and rope ladder. I almost wanted to happily greet it as though it were an old friend, but I resisted, my eyes as sharp as they could be while I surveyed my surroundings, looking for any danger. And by danger, I meant people. Nothing. Good. I slung the lantern’s handle over my left shoulder and immediately bounded over to the hole, peering down into it. I wondered if using the lantern’s light now would be a good idea or not, but ultimately decided against it as I began to descend down into the hole once again, putting one cautious foot in front of the other.

The last piece of wood, or rather, the lack of the last piece of wood, still startled me despite my being prepared for it, though, and I gasped out into the darkness before letting go of the rope, the soles of my shoes echoing on the ground. I breathed in the blackness for a few seconds before sliding the lantern off my shoulder and hastily turning it on, though I can’t say I was prepared for what was about to be revealed.

The light blazed out from within the center of the lantern, and, to my surprise, nearly illuminated everything within a twenty-foot radius around me. At first I thought this was a normal occurrence considering just how dark it had been in the depths, but I soon realized that the lanterns in the Arcanum were not normal lanterns. They were enchanted lanterns, rich in illumination spells.

I was luckier than I thought, but I didn’t really have time to marvel over it as much as I would have liked, considering I nearly lost my grip the thing and felt the muscles in my jaw grow loose as my mouth dropped open in shock.

It wasn’t dirt or rock beneath me. It was metal. Metal tunnels. An underground system of abandoned, metallic tunnels that more than likely had pathways spilling out through the entirety of the entire city. Of course there was some rock and dirt in the corners and the sides, but otherwise, it was slick. Shining. Gleaming.

Jayce was right. It wasn’t just a rumor. They really existed. They were here. In front of me. Still, I pinched myself on the wrist just to make sure. It stung. I was awake.

And all of this was mine for the taking. I would be able to prove to the entire city that the tunnels existed. But then what? Would they discipline me for skipping school to quite literally hide underground? Would they congratulate me for doing something no one else had the courage to do? Would they praise me?

What about my parents? It seemed odd that I’d almost forgotten completely about them. Surely they’d be supportive of my endeavors no matter what, right, right? Even if it meant throwing everything away that I’d been working for for years already.

Oh, who was I kidding? They’d be pissed and I knew it. Oh well. Their loss.

[[ UNFINISHED FOREVER ]]

#ezreal #finalpost

11 notes · View notes

ask-de-writer · 8 years

Text

DARING DO AND THE COMPASS OF DISCORD : Progress Post #2 : MLP Fan Fiction : WORK IN PROGRESS

Return to the Master Story Index

Return to MLP Fan Fiction

DARING DO AND THE COMPASS OF DISCORD

by De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

3192 words Presently written The story is incomplete THIS A WORK IN PROGRESS Because this is a Work In Progress, new writing or changes to older text will be indicated by BOLDFACE TYPE.

All rights reserved. This document may not be copied or distributed on or to any medium or placed in any mass storage system except by the express written consent of the author. ////////////// Copyright fair use rules for Tumblr users Users of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights. They may reblog the story provided that all author and copyright information remains intact. They may use the characters or original characters in my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical compositions. All sorts of fan art, cosplay, music or fiction is actively encouraged.

///////////////////////

For those wishing to read the story from the beginning, it starts HERE.

///////////////////////

Chapter 2 Withers

Daring Do sat across the cluttered desk from Withers. The washed out yellow unicorn with a mane and tail to match but even paler, looked over the list of locations, comparing the written notes to many maps. He had a nervous habit of scratching behind his right ear, which he was doing now.

“You are working for DISCORD?” he asked, incredulous.

Daring Do nodded, “Basically so, yes. Actually, she was in her female form as Eris. Still, the same being.”

Withers shook his head in puzzlement. “Why would you want to do ANYTHING for Discord, even if it is Eris in form?”

Daring Do grinned lopsidedly and fished in her briefcase. “Here is why. The Princesses both asked me to.”

She laid out her letter from the joint Crowns of Equestria.

Withers took one look and pointed out, “They do not say what the task is, do they? Did Eris bother to tell you what these places and times mean?”

Daring Do shrugged both shoulders and wings at once. “Partly. We all know that magic is not instantaneous. Especially, long range magic can have quite noticeable delays. The places and first times are where Eris began to do some unspecified task. The second time is when she encountered disruption of her work.

“I hope that you can reduce this data to give me a search area for the source of the disturbances.”

Withers looked up and nodded slowly. “I see.”

He pulled down a well worn volume from the crammed shelves of his office. He opened it and flipped through with practiced ease.

“Let me see, variables and constants of magic, humm, speed of propagation. Here we are. 6000 meters per second, roughly. That will give us a starting point.”

He began to click beads and move a sliding rule back and forth, adjusting a hairline and reading results. Those he entered into a neat table.

Looking up with a bit of a grin, his nervous ear scratching at a total standstill, Withers announced, “This could become a fascinating exercise in spherical trigonometry, or we could just make a few measurements on the world globe in the University Library!”

Daring Do snickered and pointed out, “Much as I would love to sit and watch you calculate for the next week, I think that the library is our best option!”

As she was opening the door to the office, Daring Do heard hooves scurrying down the hall. Checking quickly only allowed her to see a bit of a black tail vanishing around a corner of the hallway.

As they were crossing the tree lined University Commons, Withers commented, “There is a Rom band camped down at the fairgrounds. The commissary found out that they were there and bought a bunch of their famous Ka'check pastries and flavored coffees to go with the Rom tea that they always stock.”

Daring Do almost slid to a stop. “We are going the wrong way! Saving the world can wait! Rom pastries await us!”

She turned onto the path for the Royal University Commissary, almost sprinting! Withers was not far behind!

As they entered the big building, a glossy chestnut colored mare with a single perfectly centered eye, a mane and tail that were so deep a blue as to seem almost black, raised a hoof and called out, “Doctor Do! Professor Withers! Over here! I took the liberty of getting us all big tray full of pastries and got us some of the Rom coffees to wash them down!”

They dodged through the maze of dining tables. As Daring Do pulled up her seat, she snagged the nice hot caramel flavored coffee and an apricot filled Ka'chek roll to dip into it.

She sighed happily and said, “This is how I should be treated! Thank you Cy.” Turning to Withers, Daring Do introduced, “Withers, I would like you to meet Cyrene Yvonne Clopes, special assistant to Eris. Cy, this is Professor Withers, a brilliant statistician. He may have a handle on the problem that you suggested that I work on.” She finished her introduction by dunking her apricot roll into the coffee and munching serenely.

Withers helped himself to one with apple filling and took a simple honey cream coffee for himself. As he was dunking his pastry into his coffee, he asked, “Is it alright if I call you Cy?”

Cy nodded and offered, “If I can call you Withers, sure.” Before he could ask, she replied to his thought, “I am a third generation spell fallout pony from the Great South Bay Invasion Mage/Tech blast. The first generation, the ones exposed to the spell fallout, showed no overt ill effects. About eighty percent of their foals died before or soon after birth from fatal magical mutations. The foals of the third generation, mostly lived, though many were severely affected. I am one of the lucky ones who was affected but not too severely.”

Withers looked down, a bit ashamed, but forged ahead, “I know about the spell fallout issue. I did a major statistical work on the survivors. I never heard of your particular case before this. I am sorry. Seeing you, sort of brings home the abstract numbers.”

Cy reached across the table and touched Withers gently. “It is quite alright. I am used to those who stare because of my appearance. It pleases me in a mean sort of way to know that I make far more than most of them. Eris regards me highly and rewards me accordingly.”

Withers looked up, dunked his pastry in coffee and spoke around a mouthful of goodness, “Thank you for that. Now, I am quite sure that you did not come all the way from the Eris Inc. enclave outside of Ponyville just to get us pastries and coffee, however good those are.”

Cy sobered down. “True. I have three more data points for you and I brought Doctor Do a few things too.” She pushed sealed envelopes across the table.

Daring Do looked to Cy for permission to open hers. At her nod, Daring Do opened the envelope and examined the drawing within, minutely.

Cy nibbled at some of the pastries too, while the others were working. Withers looked up first, frowning slightly.

“Either all this data is wrong, the ones giving the orders are not on the world of Equestria, or the orders being given are going through a relay. To solve this, we are going to need to locate the relay point. It would be a big help if I knew whether the detection at the initiation point was active or passive.”

Cy pulled out a Magic Net mirror and tapped codes. They could see her speaking but a mute spell kept them from hearing either Cy or the speaker at the other end of the connection.

Giving Withers a calculating look, Cy suggested, “Doctor Do, I think that if he is willing to go with you, not only will Withers be a valuable asset, we could risk telling you two what it is that Eris does.

“First, though, the Compass tracks Eris passively. It is somehow being abused to locate where she is doing her works. Does that help, Professor Withers?”

Scratching his ear as he thought, his eyes brightened. His smile was nearly angelic. His pen nearly flew as he added columns to his present table.

Looing up to Cy’s single eye confidently, he stated, “It does make it absurdly simple. The link from the Compass to where the orders are being relayed is approximately a constant.

“The detection leg and the order leg will vary by their relationship to the work site. We will plot the work sites on the globe and measure arcs based on the difference between detection and action legs.

“It will take a few trials but we should have the length of the constant relay leg in only an hour or two. Arcs drawn based on the speed of magic propagation will pin down the areas where the Compass is and where the relay point is.

“It won’t be too accurate, but it will give us useful areas to search, depending on what it is that you want to do.”

Cy sucked in her cheeks as she thought. “We wish to recover the Compass of Discord or, in the worst case, destroy it.

“That last should be reserved as an option of desperation. There is enough non equine magic wrapped up in it that doing so will rival the Circle Lake blast at the end of the Nightmare Wars.

“We do not care about the Discordians as such. Whether some are killed or not is of no consequence.”

Withers mulled that over while they finished off the pastries and coffee. Finally he suggested, “Let us repair to the Library and start plotting this data on the world globe there. Now that we have done justice to these goodies, it is time to save the world!”

As she got up from the table, Cy remarked dryly, “That is more literal than you may think.”

Entering the Library, they were greeted by the silence and the scent of books and manuscripts. With assurance, Withers strode up to the main desk.

“Hello, Morail! I need to use the big world globe again. I have a commission in geographical statistics that I wish to demonstrate to Doctor Do and Cyrene, here.”

Morail gave Withers an almost adoring stare as she replied, “Certainly, Sir! I know that it is not officer training class, but I want you to know that I have burst fire on the MT84 held to fifteen centimeters at 60 meters.”

Withers responded, “That is excellent, Morail! I believe that it is a unit record. I can’t wait to see you shoot when it is time for class!”

To the others, Withers said modestly, “I am a retired Major in the Equestrian Army. I teach both reserves and the officer training program, besides statistics.”

Morail opened a door and they were faced with a room that had five globes of the world in it. The largest was almost two meters across. Withers strode confidently up to the big one, picking up a rack of objects with tags attached, a cloth measure tape and a marker.

He began placing the objects on the globe and filling in the tags. From each object he measured and marked off an arc.

He commented, “These are wrong. They assume that the relay/action is one half and detection is one half. They will give us a rough cut for the action center.”

Daring Do noted, “That rough cut puts things into the Selene Mountains on the border of the Zebra Confederation and the Eland Republic.”

Cy consulted with her Magic Net mirror for a moment. She picked up one of the sticky things with a tag and put it into the Selenes at a specific spot. “Mistress Eris has ordered me to reveal the location of the Hidden Temple of Discord. If they had remained basically harmless nut cases like they were in the past, she would never have done so, no matter how much she detests them.”

Withers took one look and erased his old lines and arcs. He drew new lines directly from each place to the Hidden Temple, carefully measuring each one and entering it into a new table. He began to subtract the new entries from entries in his old table. In only minutes, he smiled.

Withers measured carefully from the Hidden Temple and struck an arc across the Selene Mountains. From each of the other points he struck arcs that intersected his first one. They all came together in one small space.

Confidently, he pointed and stated, “There it is. The Detection center is in that spot. Of course at this scale, that is about a twenty five kilometer circle.”

Cy observed, “That is about twenty five kilometers better than we knew it before. The problem remains, that Eris and I cannot go to get it. They will detect us and move it before we can get there.

“Doctor Do, it is up to you. Can you go to the Zebra Confederation and get the Compass of Discord for us?”

Withers nodded, “Hate to put you on the spot, Doctor Do but if you go, I would be honored to accompany you.”

Daring Do Took a sheet of paper and drew a few small runes on it and laid it over the Selene Mountains. The paper conformed neatly to the globe. A perfect copy of the globe surface with Withers’ intersecting arcs appeared on it. She removed the paper and flattened it out on a table, then folded it neatly and put it into her saddle bag.

Finally she commented, “Can’t go without at least some sort of map! At least now I have some idea of where I am going!”

(To Be Continued)

Return to the Master Story Index

Return to MLP Fan Fiction

#DARING DO AND THE COMPASS OF DISCORD #chapter 2 #Daring Do #MLP Fan Fiction #WORK IN PROGRESS #written by De Writer

10 notes · View notes