#i’d have to think about it. which is disconcerting. don’t like that

[mildmayfoxe]

this whole weekend i keep thinking of that nightmare i had a few weeks ago where i had to play in front of a crowd and i went into the hallway to practice and could only get like croaking death throes from the trumpet and i know if someone handed me one right now and sheet music from something i basically knew i could play it probably pretty ok but it’s still scary. like what if i actually couldn’t get a single note outta that thang

[heliphantie]

Short story from 2023 about Agustín and Bruno in their youth.

Back then, I’d promised a follow-up to it, set after events of movie, and still stay by the promise. It just takes me so long for the reason I’m not sure yet in which form it’s going to be executed, because comic form may not fit it that much: it turns to be just a lot of back-and-forth talking, so it’s likely to end as short story with add of some illustrations or parts of it made into comic pages, or maybe even framed as picture book.

Under cut is a full script of the comic above (I think the text is conveying the story better anyway).

«Blessing (Bendición)», Encanto fancomic by PhantieArt

~~~

[1] Agustín: – Señor Bruno!

Bruno (is about to go up the stairs in Casita): – At your service.

[2] Agustín (young looking, in his early twenties): – I know, Señorа Alma doesn’t have much faith in me being good fiancé for her daughter… So I thought I can ask the man of the house for blessing.

[3] Bruno (apologetic smile): – Me being closest thing to a man in this house is the reason mother is so picky when it comes to suitors.

[4] Agustín: – Sorry, I didn’t want to call you unreliable…

[5] Bruno: – No, it’s fine. Our father set a very high bar… (They’re two looking at the portrait of Pedro above the staircase.)

[6] Bruno: – Anyway, blessing is not what people usually ask me for. Maybe, you may use some vision of future to reassure our mother in your decency.

[7] Bruno (continues): – But I don’t need to look in the future to see everlasting love. So, if little white lie can convince her, count it as my blessing.

[8] Agustín (surprised, but appreciative): – Why, Señor Bruno, you’re quite reliable!

[9] (Agustín pulls Bruno into a hug. Both look slightly confused at height difference at first – Bruno is barely up to Agustín’s shoulders.)

[10] (Bruno cracks disconcerted yet good-natured smile.)

[Capture: Sudden Brotherly Bond Is Blossoming]

[11] [Capture: P.S.]

Bruno (meaning business): – Now it’s all up to you. I “predicted” no less than three children. (Agustín is slightly taken aback.)

~~~

[majoryeager104]

im rlly freaked out rn cause the coyoetes are howling nearby my house rn and im already having trouble sleeping due to night terror

they sound like fucking sirens, from the sounds of em its a big pack of them

they probably just killed something from the yipping :/

could u maybe due a comfort fic (whenever you have the time, dont rush) of Dabi comforting a reader who gets really freaked out by coyoetes due to them losing a childhood dog to coyoetes?

hope ur doing well and taking care of yourself! Have a blessed night or day :3

I’m scared of em too 😭 I used to live out in the country growing up and when I’d take the trash to the end of the driveway I’d always bring my flashlight, and one night I heard like a crap ton of em and when I turned on my flashlight to look in the field across the street where I heard it there were like twenty of em and they all went dead quiet 😭😭😭 I was like ten and ran away screaming ofc but like I still think about it sometimes 💀

and I didn’t lose a dog to coyotes, but I did lose my baby goat sunshine to em when I was little, which was rough bc he was the sweetest lil thing T_T

anyways sorry this took me a while I was sick and had a migraine that lasted two days straight 🥲

✦••······················••✦•······················•✦••······················••✦

It had been a long time since you’d been in an area like this. A little ways out of the city, where you could see the stars clearer, and every night was filled with the sound of wind and crickets. You’d come out here to meet someone on a job, settling in an old building not far off from the road. It was cold, but you’d brought blankets, and had made it work. At least the building was in good shape- a lucky find out in these more rural areas. Dabi went with you of course, (he’d never let you go far for a mission alone) and was sleeping rather soundly in the calm environment, snoring softly at your side, totally peaceful.

But you on the other hand were very much awake, listening with your eyes wide open. Because you didn’t just hear crickets outside, or the occasional gust of wind making the windows creak; you were hearing coyotes, and they sounded close. It wasn’t your first time hearing them, of course, you’d grown up in an area very much like this, but maybe that was the problem. The sound of their barking and yipping made goosebumps crawl along your skin, up your arms and back, like the kind you’d get in an indescribably terrifying situation, despite the fact that you were currently very safe.

You sat up straight, the blankets you’d brought falling down and leaving you to be hit by the cold air. You couldn’t tell if you were shivering from the cold, or the twisted feeling in your gut telling you that you should have left this mission to someone else. Every howl and bark you heard brought back a single terrible memory, each second of it more visceral than the last. You were so trapped in thought that you didn’t notice Dabi sit up next to you, his blue eyes taking in your shivering.

“hey, what’re you doing up like that? You look like you’ve seen a ghost, doll”

You flinched slightly at his voice, and at his sickeningly warm hand as it touched your shoulder. You were so on edge that you had him looking around like there was an intruder. “Hey. Y/n” he said your name a little louder than he’d spoken before, his voice still gruff and groggy from sleep. You looked over at him, the warmth of his hand not so disconcerting anymore as his worried tone shook you from your thoughts.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, relaxing a little now that you seemed less panicked. “Don’t you hear them?” You whispered quietly, just as a rather loud bark could be heard out the window. Dabi looked up, listening for a moment. “The coyotes? They’re not gonna get in here, you know, and if they did you know I’d burn em” he replied, his warm hand squeezing your shoulder. But he could tell there was more to it by your reaction. The way you shook your head and furrowed your brow, the way your eyes flickered between that fear and something else.

“y/n, just talk to me.”

He said it so simply as he tugged you closer, wrapping his arms around you from behind. He was always so warm, his scarred arms feeling rough but ever so welcome against your skin. You sighed, leaning back as your racing heart steadied, the feeling of his calloused hands tracing circles on your stomach outweighing the coiled up anxiety in your gut. “I just hate coyotes… when I was little, I had a pet dog, and…”

You didn’t finish the sentence. You didn’t need to, really. Dabi sighed, his hands still working gentle circles under your shirt against your skin as he tugged you to lay down, his free hand tossing the blankets back over you, warming your formerly shivering body. “That sucks…’m sorry” he mumbled against your hair, pulling you closer against him. He didn’t really know what else to say, or do, really, till he got an idea.

He sat up, the warmth of his body leaving yours causing you to look up in confusion. He reached over for your bag, pulling out your earbuds. Before you could ask, or even sit up, he’d laid back down, pulling out your phone and sticking an earbud in your ear. “What’s your password- oh wait never mind I remember” he muttered, typing it in. How he knew it, you weren’t entirely sure. You glanced over at him, watching his blue eyes scan over the screen, scrolling for a moment. “You need new playlists. Your music taste sucks ass” he chuckled, tugging you closer with his free arm.

You didn’t object, your previous nerves satiated as you moved closer. The sound of the coyotes was muffled significantly by the earbud in one ear, as well as his heartbeat thudding softly against the other. He picked a tune and tossed your phone aside, sighing as he settled in again, the arm that he’d pulled you closer by wrapped around you and gently rubbing your side.

“don’t worry about the dogs, ‘k? Just go to sleep”

He said quietly, his voice vibrating through his chest and against your skin, the feeling so familiar and ordinary and yet so much more meaningful now as he used it to keep your worries at bay. He whispered and hummed till you eventually fell asleep, after all.

✦••······················••✦•······················•✦••······················••✦

Definitely the song he picked because I know for a fACT this man listens to way too much Radiohead

[karamazovian-vault]

an analysis of the joker in batman: lovers & madmen, pt. III

[ <- pt. II ]

this chapter delves further into jack’s growing obsession with batman—which is, perhaps, at least somewhat reciprocated…? well, without further ado

spoilers ahead

okay, this has one hell of an opening! we get immediately introduced to the action: jack and his newly acquired crew are about to make some noise at a museum gala.

once again, jack expresses a preference for working alone, or, at the very least, for every member of a team to have precise directions to follow. until now, even in his chaos, he’s wanted things to make some semblance of sense, and to be up to his standards. now, however, he doesn’t have any other motivation other than to get batman’s attention.

he’s grown bolder, going from just observing the bat from afar to risking a direct confrontation. but for that to happen, he needs to be a real threat—and thus, he needs more people.

as the whole thing unfolds, he doesn’t show the slightest interest in how the initial plan, if there was ever a plan to begin with, is going. jack unleashes hell and doesn’t even have the decency to watch it happen—his only measure of success is batman being there to witness it with him.

but when batman does appear, jack’s reaction is disconcerting—he immediately attempts to flee. which, actually, i think is pretty in character for him! reckless as he is, jack’s also quite the realist. he knows batman would overpower him easily and hand him to the police by the end of the night. but what’s the fun in that? as jack himself tells batman,

how can you chase me if i don’t run?

he ends up taking lorna, bruce’s love interest in this story, as a hostage. a tense confrontation ensues, and things end up predictably tragic, with lorna being hurt and batman staying with her in spite of jack getting away. the hero, however, wounds jack from afar as he thinks,

to let him know… we’re not done.

aside from the absolutely gorgeous composition and colors, i’d like to point out that they both understand the gesture instinctively. batman hasn’t uttered the words out loud, but the meaning doesn’t get lost on jack. it isn’t purely an aggression out of impulsive rage—it’s a declaration that their fight isn’t over, and they’ll see each other again.

back in his lair, jack promptly turns his own rage into reluctant gratitude. the wound, after all, reinforces jack’s belief that batman is the only person who’s able to make him feel something, even if that something is pain. so jack welcomes it and vows to return the kindness.

it’s also a nice hint at how his joker persona is, in some twisted way, batman’s responsibility. i say responsibility instead of fault because i think the latter tends to imply more of a direct causation and intent, and god knows bruce has enough guilt on his shoulders as it is.

all of this to say: batman plays a big role in the joker’s birth, but there will be lots of unfortunate events, bad decisions, and, of course, jack’s twisted mind to begin with.

a mind that batman wants to understand. so much, and with such desperation, that he’s even willing to seek the help of a (presumably pre-scarecrow) dr. crane.

and crane’s diagnosis is quick and simple—this new criminal is a sociopath, an unstable individual that is impossible to predict in his insanity.

sociopath and psychopath, by the way, aren’t official medical terms. i’d like to think crane would use correct terminology, and this is either a mistake on the writer’s part or a deliberate oversimplification.

faced with this reasoning even from a mental health professional, bruce feels hopeless. he’s been training years to fight the usual brand of gotham’s criminals, but he’s been too naive. there are far more complex cases out there. jack, as he puts it,

he’s plutonium, alfred. an atom split, rupturing two more—and two more… […] until there isn’t an atom left.

so, in a moment of weakness, bruce makes a bad decision. he calls maletesta, jack’s former employer, and provides him with jack’s whereabouts, implying batman would be happy to get rid of him.

this is in part because of lorna’s declining condition, but also because bruce has been confirmed that not even batman can predict, nor effectively counter, an insane man’s actions. there will be more deaths, there will be more suffering, and all of it will weigh heavily on batman’s shoulders. that is, unless he finds a way to stop it without explicitly breaking his code.

in this single moment of cowardice and desperation, bruce indirectly causes, or greatly precipitates, the joker’s awakening. but batman breaks because, underneath it all, and contrary to popular belief, he’s still just a man.

and it takes more than a man to defeat evil.

[ pt. IV -> coming soon ]

[cyten0]

A Symphony In Crimson

Act 1: A Movement in Black

Chapter 22

You stand next to your family, defending them. You don’t see a way out.

✸ “The fact is, I have a few ways to fix this! If you won't kill me then... Well, I can’t go back to Stardust if they're dead~”

Instantly, your family rounds about you, to defend you instead!?!

✸ “Oh dear? That devoted! Well then…”

Loop steps back and space folds in on itself, as you suddenly feel something behind you.

✸ “Let’s play~”

Loop grabs your arm, and you pull back, detaching it quickly before a surge of craft energy incinerates it. You regrow the arm back quickly and grab your dagger, as Mirabelle charges at Loop.

Loop easily sidesteps the attack without flinching, and then without even looking, grabs Isa’s fist when they try and attack from behind.

✸ “You’re going to have to try harder then that~”

Loop tosses Isa aside, and then fires another craft at you, as you dodge by mere inches!

Wait- You block the followup blow, as they closed the gap in the cover. Of course, you know that move!

You slash back at him, trying to hit him, but he dances just out of range. He knows your moves too.

Bonnie fires at him from behind, but he vanishes away into the shadows.

◆ “Fighting awfully hard for someone trying to die.”

✸ “If you can’t kill me, you won’t be ready when dear Stardust becomes a danger!”

▲ “Sif isn’t gonna do that.”

Loop appears from above, dive bombing Odile. Mira sets up a craft shield to block the blow, while Isa pulls her out the way.

✸ “HAHA!!!! But I’m proof they COULD!!!! And If you aren’t ready for that… Then I’d best remove that possibility~”

They fall into the earth, and you block the blow from your side. You knew it! They still fight like you somewhat! You snap your fingers to speed up Odile, who takes the opening to blast loop back into the tree.

✦̵ “Which is why you’re fighting like me, aren’t you?”

◉ “Wait, They are! Okay! We can work with that, circle up and protect each others openings!”

As the others close in around you, back to back, Loop begins to laugh, staring you down, perched in front of the tree.

✸ “Oh, think you Know me? YOU THINK I’M THE SAME AS DEAR LITTLE STARDUST???”

They pull their mask off their face.

✸ “Then I’d best change up my tune~ After all…”

Loop smashes the mask against the ground, and thousands of bright red, glowing flowers bloom around you all. Spider Lilies?

Loop plucks one from the earth.

✸ “I was made with a lot more then just Stardust~”

Loop crushes the flower in their hands, and their stance changes. They stand more straight, more calculating. A more serious, and uncannily familiar expression crosses their face. The bits of flower wither and transform into black crystal, slowly taking the vague form of a book.... Wait!

✦̵ “Mira, Shield!”

Mira crafts as quick as she can before a massive blast of craft energy slams into you all! Even with the shield, it knocks you all off your feet, and stings a bit.

Loop chuckles, in a voice not their own, their own voice only a faint echo behind their new, all too familiar voice.

◆ “Oh gems, I might have overdone it. Ah well.”✸

◆ “Right, That’s disconcerting.”

◆ “Well within Siffrin’s capabilities, I assure you. If only I’d stopped them when I had the chance…”✸

BANG

Loop narrowly blocks the shot with their book, as it starts to shatter. Isa runs around and tries to tackle them while their distracted, and Loop has to dive out of the way.

✿ “Don’t act like Dile! And Stop trying to hurt Frin!!! They’d never hurt us!”

BANG

Isa takes a hit in the shoulder, as Loop suddenly has a mimicry of a pistol in their hand, and an innocent yet terrified face.

✿ “But if Frin wouldn’t hurt us, How’d I end up like this?! It hurt so much! It hurt so much…”✸

Bonnie shakes hearing that. NO. That’s too far.

You charge at Loop, driving the dagger straight into the earth beside them, just managing to cut open their flank. They scramble to their feet, with another flower in hand.

Crystal forms into a rapier, as Loop heals themselves with craft. Their face is a familiar, determined look. Their stance unwavering.

◉ “Just stop it! We don’t want to hurt you!”

◉ “Neither did we! And we died for it! I won’t let you go the same way! We have to protect you!”✸

Mirabelle charges at Loop, who parries her attack. The two duel for a brief few seconds before Isa charges in the way, as Loop ducks under the blow.

They slide backwards, and grab another flower. Crushing it quickly, their hands become coated in crystal, and they charge at Mira, making several swings at her.

▲ “We might not like it, but that doesn’t make it better! We just gotta know you can handle it, please! I can’t let that happen to Sif again! We have to know you can stop it if it would!”✸

Isa jumps in, putting themselves between Mira and Loop, and holding back their blows.

▲ “Nobody is dying today, got it? If the worst happens, we’ll find a better way then this!”

You can’t take any more of this. Can’t take any more of hearing versions of them who died. Can’t take this fighting.

You unravel, and grab Loop while their preoccupied, and fling them against the favor tree, then leap towards them, and try to wear them down in a flurry of fangs and tendrils.

✦̵ “That’s enough! I’m not gonna let that happen, never again!”

✸ “… Then why. Are you BLINDING. HESITATING?!?!”

Loop grabs a limb and throws you back towards the party.

✸ “...I expected them to hesitate. They always did... But YOU?!?! YOU KNOW THE STAKES!!!!”

Loop vanishes, and the earth starts to shift. The world itself begins to tilt. Their voice seems to echo from everywhere at once.

✸ “hahahaHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!! Even when face to face with the monster within, When you FINALLY have the chance to kill it for good, YOU CAN’T BLINDING DO IT?!?!?”

The ground keeps tilting, and you grab your family, bringing them to the tree before they lose their footing and fall into the sky. You all stand upon the branches of the tree, hoping they’ll hold you up.

✸ “MAYBE you need a REMINDER.”

As the world becomes completely flipped, the flowers begin to drip a dark red substance. But you can smell what it is…

✿ “What’s happening? What’s coming from the flowers?”

✦̵ “Blood. I-It smells like blood.”

Stars not this nightmare. Nonononono

Faces start to form in the dark abyss below, rising into view. Blood-formed images of your family. Thousands of them. Their eyes lifeless, their bodies mangled. Staring at you. Screaming in pain.

◆ “Gems alive!”

◉ “Change!”

✿ “No no no that's not okay!”

You can’t help but shake, and grip the tree for dear life.

▲ “S-Sif? You okay?”

✸ “Of course not, they’ve had this nightmare every other night for almost a blinding year now!!!! Because even if YOU all deny it, It never left THEIR mind!!!!!! THEY ALWAYS KNEW!!!! KNEW WHAT I AM COULD BECOME REAL!!!!”

✦̵ “Nonononononono I won’t hurt them I won’t hurt them I won’t hurt them I won’t hurt them”

You won’t hurt them you won’t hurt them you won’t hurt them It’s not real it can’t be real please don’t let it be real you wouldn’t you wouldn’t!!!!

◆ “Snap out of it Siffrin!”

▲ “We’re right here, just stay calm!”

✸ “That didn’t stop it before.”

Loop appears. But their stance. No. It’s all to familiar. Their stance is that of a feral beast. A horn of crystal forms on their head. A claw forms on one hand. And a dagger in the other. A cloak of shadows, barely visible. And the moment they open their mouth, the voices quiet, and harmonize with them.

✦̵ “We can’t let them die. We have. To stop. The monster.”✸

They let out a manic laugh. They lift their face. Their eyes are dark voids, as tears flow down their face, contorted into a twisted smile.

✸ “So it ends here. One way, or another.”✦̵

They charge right at you. You can barely breath, the blood is making it hard to think! Gotta.. Gotta..

Isa blocks the blow before it can reach you.

✸ “BLINDING KILL ME!!!!! KILL US BEFORE WE HURT YOU AGAIN!!!!!!”✦̵

▲ “No! We can find a better way!”

✸ “No You CAN’T!!! Even I struggled to pull Stardust from the brink! YOU’LL DIE IF YOU TRY!!!!”✦̵

◆ “Wait, What do you mean by that?”

Nonononononono please don’t tell them!!!!

Loop sees your expression, and their grin widens.

✸ “HAHAHA Oh I didn’t mention?!? The king was one CRUEL MONSTER!!!! By their hand, Stardust already has a taste for human!! I won’t say which one!!! But when they came back, well… It’s a good thing I had a corpse ready!!!”✦̵

You choke. The smell is sickening, the memory still in your mind, and the corpses of your family still stare you down. You can’t move you can’t breathe they're all horrified and you can’t move!

Loop tosses Isa aside, and continues to charge at you.

Odile slows them with craft, straining herself to bring them to a crawl.

◆ “Siffrin! Get it together!”

✦̵ “Blood. Can’t. Think.”

There’s so much and every breathe just brings in more, and you can’t, you can’t!!!

✸ “SEE??? EVEN NOW THEY HAVE TO FIGHT IT!!! Even with AGES WORTH of getting away from it, EVEN WHEN FRESHLY FED, they can BARELY handle it!!!! And TRUST ME, I’d be FAR WORSE!!!!”✦̵

◆ “Gems this is bad.”

Loop takes advantage of her distraction and throws their knife directly at her, hitting her hand and disrupting the slow. Mira throws a quick heal at Odile, and then crafts a shield to block Loop from you.

◉ “Siffrin! You can do this! Prove them wrong!”

Mira… You... You can’t let her down. You shakily try and get to your feet. You wrap a tendril around the other side of Mira’s shield, trying to grab Loop and restrain them. They break out with ease.

✸ “STOP HESITATING!!!! I THOUGHT YOU LEARNED YOUR LESSON WITH THE KING??? YOU. CAN’T. SPARE. MONSTERS!!!!”✦̵

They take their claw and smash through Mira’s shield, grabbing her by the throat and tossing her aside.

You can still barely move, you’re shaking too bad. Loop continues to charge and-

Stops. Because Bonnie. Put themselves in the way. Arms outstretched. Not defending themselves.

✸ “… Clever, Bonbon.”✦̵

✿ “Y-Yeah! You won’t hurt us!”

✸ “… I can’t lose you all again, that's true.... But you misunderstand.”✦̵

Loop grabs Bonnie and vanishes with them. They reappear, hovering in the air just beyond the branches, holding Bonnie up with one hand. A new crystalline knife in the other.

✸ “I won’t KILL you.”✦̵

They bring the knife up to Bonnie’s eye! NO!!

YOU WON’T LET THEM!!!!!!

You reach out with your tendrils and grab Loop, and then, with a single motion.

You dig a fang into their heart.

✸ “Ah!”✦̵

The distortion shatters like glass...... as the world suddenly returns to normal.

Your family drops to the ground, including Bonnie, with Loop having released their grip. You wrap yourself around the tree, Holding yourself up, and holding Loop in place, slowly turning them upright.

✸ “Do it, stardust. Please.”

✦̵ “...No. Not after everything.”

✸ “….”

✦̵ “Wasn’t the whole point to not hurt anyone again?”

Loop just stares at you silently...

✸ “… Why. Why did it have to go this way?”

You slowly lower the both of you back down to the ground. The others start to get up.

Bonnie walks up to Loop, as you let them go. Bonnie has a scratch on their cheek, but is otherwise unharmed. Loop’s heart is cracked a little. But otherwise fine. Tears run down Loops cheek.

Bonnie hugs Loop.

✿ “… Cause you’re both stupid crabs who don’t talk about stuff.”

✸ “...Hah. I guess we are?”

You meander towards the both of them. And just put a hand on Loop’s shoulder.

✦̵ “...Sorry I put you through that...”

✸ “Well. If I’m not dying here, I guess you might experience it anyways.”

◆ “...Loop. Care to get this Fool Arcana to chat?"

Odile smiles a bit.

◆ “… I still have a Coinflip to win, and might as well use it on something that matters.”

Loop thinks for a second. Then tosses Odile a silver coin. The same one you carry around.

✸ “… They say Heads, I go to Stardust, Tails, I go with them... And that they already know the result.”

Odile nods. And Holds the coin out. She takes a deep breath. And flips.

… You look at the coin, laying in the grass. Tails.

✸ “… Guess they haven't had enough of me yet…"

Odile chuckles to herself. Guess she got that wish.

✸ “...Thank you.”

Odile walks over to them, and puts a hand on their shoulder.

◆ “Of course... Heh, Such a drama queen, all this over nothing.”

◉ “D-Does that mean this is the last we see of you?”

Mirabelle sort of hovers, nervous.

✸ “… Maybe. Not that we have time for proper goodbyes~”

You look, and see Loop is fading away slowly already.

▲ “Then... If you get the chance, you better say Hi. I’m pretty sure you’re part of the group now!”

✸ “...Of course. I promise… But can you promise me one thing?”

You all nod. They look at your family members. Before closing their eyes. And in several voices, speak.

✸◆✿◉▲ “Take care of them for us, Okay?”

Everyone else is kind of taken aback for a second.

◉ “… We will.”

��� “Can do!”

◆ “As if it was in doubt?”

▲ “No problem!”

You sit there for a second.

✦̵ “…I will too.”

✸ “...Good… You really are, frankly, quite helpless without them, Stardust!”

Loops body starts to fade away into nothing.

✸ “...Farewell.”

As their body finally dissipates into nothing, you see a small, red light appear on the ground where they sat. As a single, bright red Spider-Lily blooms in their place.

✦̵ “Sorry, to all of you. And… Thank you. Loop.”

You all take a moment of Silence. Just looking at this site.

▲ “...Let’s go. I think this has been a long day for all of us.”

You nod. You just lean up against Isa. Your family heads up to the house, to talk with Euphrasie, and clear up any last minute mess.

As the Morning sun shines down around you, with your family by your side. You feel content.

Your brain keeps telling you that things won’t go well but. You ignore it.

Because somehow. You know this will work out.

… The road is long. But. You know that, for the first time. In a long. LONG time. Really, truly, in every sense...

You are no longer alone.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

In the light the sins are burned

From deepest black they have been turned

For family the monster lives

Nigredo past, To Hope they give

Yet can they withstand purification?

In Albedo they will find life. Or damnation.

[theworldoffostering]

We had a great time at a Make A Wish event this weekend. It was at a zoo, and had a bunch of Disney and superhero characters there. They served lunch, had face painting, and a scavenger hunt. I’m not sure NB has ever been to a zoo. It was nice to have a little down time.

Baby won a bag of candy from our local library. He had to guess how many candies were in the jar, and his guess was only one number away, so he won all of the candy. We picked it up yesterday. He was thrilled!

DS had his senior pictures done last week. I cannot believe how expensive they were! We get the proofs later this week, and I know they’ll be great. The photographer is really talented. We’ve used her before, and I guess I feel like given that Ms. 6 never had senior photos taken, it was worth the splurge for DS. I’m just glad we could make it work financially.

DH had his next paper assignment due next week and he has yet to start it even though I’ve provided him several hours multiple days last week to work on it. I believe he spent most of that time sleeping while I was on kid duty. I feel like there is a serious problem happening here, but I don’t know what it is. He met with his psych last week, and I sat in on it. They are increasing his antidepressant and the psych suggested next level of care, but given that DH is not wanting to harm himself, next level of care is not available. He does however, feel deep hopelessness which creates apathy, lack of clear thinking, and zero motivation. I don’t know what my role is supposed to be as his spouse. It all feels very disconcerting. I’d love to do some reading on depression, how to help as a spouse, etc., if you have any good book recs.

We did book MGM Park in Vegas. Tell me anything I should know. We are not renting in a car and I’m writing down any and all suggestions. Mostly, I want to have an enjoyable pool experience and sleep well. I’d really like to be able to turn my brain off for a couple of days. I hope I can make that happen.

I met with my endocrin last week and she thinks I’m doing well. I have a full body scan coming up in September. If that comes back clear, I will basically be considered in remission. Yippee!

Ms. 6’s birthday is this week. I don’t know what to get her. She’s driving down to visit for a week or so and I feel like that’s too long. I know that makes me sound like a jerk; I sincerely love her and care about her, and also feel like it’s incredibly stressful to be around her right now because her life decisions stress me out. How do other parents manage this? Give me all of your tips. She’s committing to attend the college which will land her about $60k in debt if she graduates in four years when she could go to a state school, and graduate debt free. She won’t get a job for the summer. She won’t go to her mom’s house and get her things. It’s very different than how I would advise her, and it’s stresses me out, but I know that’s a me issue and not a her issue.

[autumnalethereal]

Forcing you to see the Great Gatsby "fanfic" I wrote when I was 17

It's literally just a chapter of The Great Gatsby that I ~altered~ in places.

Um.

They kiss at the end.

Enjoy.

~~~~

At nine o'clock, one morning in July, Gatsby’s gorgeous car lurched up the rocky ride to my door and gave out a burst of melody from its three-noted horn. It was the first time he had called on me, though I had gone to two of his parties, mounted on his hydroplane, and, at his urgent invitation, made frequent use of his beach.

“Good morning, old sport. You’re having lunch with me today and I thought we’d ride up together.”

He was balancing himself on the dashboard of his car with that resourcefulness of movement that is so peculiarly American-- that comes, I suppose, with the absence of lifting work or rigid sitting in youth and, even more, with the formless grace of our nervous, sporadic games. This quality was continually breaking through his punctilious manner in the shape of restlessness. He was never quite still; there was always a tapping foot somewhere or the impatient opening and closing of his hand. This, I noticed, along with something else. Something that perhaps had existed in fragments in my mind but only then solidified. 

It was the shape of Gatsby’s face; the quality of his eyes. 

I recalled the sketches of Greek sculpture I’d encountered in my youth; that easy contrapposto. Faces carved with such care that they seemed to attract sunlight. Something about the early sun-- the way cool shadows mingled with the light on Gatsby’s skin-- likened him to a work of Polykleitos.

It was in the interest of Classical Grecians, I recall, to create art depicting complete perfection of human form. Such was Gatsby as I beheld him now.

Had I been a sculptor, I would not have chiseled a centimeter away. Had I been a painter, I would have declared the image before me a masterpiece. 

He saw me looking at him with admiration.

“It’s pretty, isn’t it, old sport?” 

I realized a moment too late that he was referring to the car, not his physique. He jumped off to give me a better view. “Haven’t you ever seen it before?”

I’d seen it. Everybody had seen it. It was a rich cream color, bright with nickel, swollen here and there in its monstrous length with triumphant hat-boxes and supper-boxes and tool-boxes, and terraced with a labyrinth of wind-shields that mirrored a dozen suns. It was amusing, I thought, that Gatsby believed his car to be my subject of interest. There were many cars just like this one; just as grand and beautiful. 

God, what was I thinking? Perhaps my mind was altered from last night’s sherry.

Sitting down behind many layers of glass in a sort of green leather conservatory, we started to town.

I had talked with him perhaps six times in the past month and found, to my disappointment, that he had little to say. Why was it that I wanted-- so badly-- to hear the tone of his voice? The night after Gatsby’s initial party, my dreams had run wild with the smooth, lilting sound of Gatsby’s speaking. Like music it allowed my sleeping self to dance a while-- before awakening to heady confusion.

And then came that disconcerting ride. We hadn’t reached West Egg before Gatsby began leaving his elegant sentences unfinished and slapping himself indecisively on the knee of his caramel-colored suit.

“Look here, old sport,” he broke out surprisingly, “what’s your opinion of me, anyhow?”

What was my opinion of him? Though the scene had shifted drastically-- now that we were in the shrouded corners of Gatsby’s automobile-- I could not shake the image of him outside. Sunlight scattered across his dark hair, eyes full of some otherworldly force, some gorgeous witchcraft, that had set my heart ablaze. 

A little overwhelmed, I began the generalized evasions which that question deserves.

“Well, I’m going to tell you something about my life,” he interrupted. “I don’t want you to get a wrong idea of me from all those stories you hear.”

So he was aware of the bizarre accusations that flavored conversations in his halls.

“I’ll tell you God’s truth.” His right hand suddenly ordered divine retribution to stand by. “I am the son of some wealthy people in the Middle West-- all dead now. I was brought up in America but educated at Oxford, because all my ancestors have been educated there for many years. It is a family tradition.”

He looked at me sideways-- and I knew why Jordan Baker had referred to him as “tempting.” Those eyes. My heart leapt to my throat and ripple of cold nausea cut through me. 

“What part of the Middle West?” I inquired, attempting casualty.

“San Francisco.”

“I see.”

“My family all died and I came into a good deal of money.”

His voice was solemn, as if the memory of that sudden extinction of a clan still haunted him. I listened closely, noting the gentle scent of his cologne, hoping it would settle my nerves.

“After that I lived like a young rajah in all the capitals of Europe-- Paris, Venice, Rome-- collecting jewels, chiefly rubies, hunting big game, painting a little, things for myself only and-- are you all right, old sport?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Then came the war, old sport. It was a great relief and I tried very hard to die but I seemed to bear an enchanted life. I accepted a commission as first lieutenant when it began. In the Argonne Forest I took two machine-gun detachments so far forward that there was a half mile gap on either side of us where the infantry couldn’t advance. We stayed there two days and two nights, a hundred and thirty men with sixteen Lewis guns, and when the infantry came up at last they found the insignia of three German divisions among the piles of dead. I was promoted to be a major and every Allied government gave me a decoration—even Montenegro, little Montenegro down on the Adriatic Sea!”

Little Montenegro! He lifted up the words and nodded at them—with his stunning smile. The smile comprehended Montenegro’s troubled history and sympathized with the brave struggles of the Montenegrin people. It appreciated fully the chain of national circumstances which had elicited this tribute from Montenegro’s warm little heart. That smile. That smile. 

He reached in his pocket and a piece of metal, slung on a ribbon, fell into my palm. 

“That’s the one from Montenegro.” 

To my astonishment, the thing had an authentic look. But to my further astonishment, a piece of Jay Gatsby was in my hand. Regardless of where the item had come from, it was sacred.

Orderi di Danilo, ran the circular legend, Montenegro, Nicolas Rex. 

“Turn it.” 

Major Jay Gatsby, I read, For Valour Extraordinary. 

“Here’s another thing I always carry. A souvenir of Oxford days. It was taken in Trinity Quad—the man on my left is now the Earl of Dorcaster.” 

It was a photograph of half a dozen young men in blazers loafing in an archway through which were visible a host of spires. There was Gatsby, looking a little, not much, younger—with a cricket bat in his hand. That face; none of the other men could compare.

God, what was the matter with me today?

Regardless, it was all true. I saw the skins of tigers flaming in his palace on the Grand Canal; I saw him opening a chest of rubies to ease, with their crimson-lighted depths, the gnawings of his broken heart. 

“I’m going to make a big request of you today,” he said, pocketing his souvenirs with satisfaction, “so I thought you ought to know something about me. I didn’t want you to think you were alone.”

What did that mean?

“You see, I usually find myself amid strangers because I drift here and there trying to find the right one for me.” He hesitated. “You’ll hear about it this afternoon.”

“At lunch?”

“No, this afternoon. I happened to find out that you’re taking Miss Baker to tea.”

“Do you mean you’re in love with Miss Baker?” The question came as a foolish impulse. What did it matter to me if Gatsby was, indeed, in love with Jordan Baker?

But it did matter. Though I knew neither why nor how, it mattered immensely. Gatsby knit his eyebrows, marring his golden face. With unsteady nerves I awaited his answer.

“No, old sport, I’m not. But Miss Baker has kindly consented to speak to you about this matter.

I hadn’t the faintest ideas what “this matter” was, but I was too overcome with emotion to be interested. No, he wasn’t in love with Miss Baker. But what good did that do? Surely he was in love with another young woman; a man of his status was certainly affiliated with many women. Yet again, why did I care? What had occurred earlier as I looked over the illuminated form of my neighbor? Had I truly been so reverent?

“Are you sure you’re alright, old sport?” His tone was light and gentle-- just delicate enough a touch to make a broken thing fall to willing pieces.

We passed Port Roosevelt, where there was a glimpse of red-belted ocean-going ships, and sped along a cobbled slum lined with the dark, undeserted saloons of the faded gilt nineteen-hundreds. Then the valley of ashes opened out on both sides of us, and I had a glimpse of Mrs. Wilson straining at the garage pump with panting vitality as we went by.

“I…” I paused. “Just a bit dizzy. I’ll be alright.”

“Are you sure?”

“Once we stop, I’m sure.” I forced a smile. “I’m not accustomed to such a fast car.”

Gatsby tucked the medallion from Montenegro into his pocket and was silent for a moment. “Maybe it would be best if I told you myself.”

I raised my head, careful not to meet his eyes.

“I asked Miss Baker to deliver the news for me, but perhaps it’s better said like this.” He turned to me, deep blue eyes shimmering with earnesty.

“Old sport, I do believe I’m in love with you. ”

Never had there been a moment punctuated by such absolute rightness.

And the truth came without a moment’s hesitation;

I was completely, undeniably in love with Jay Gatsby, and so I had been for quite a while. Only now would I allow myself to believe it.

And by some spell, some miracle, some glorious incantation, he was in love with me too.

Over the great bridge, with the sunlight through the girders making a constant flicker upon the moving cars, with the city rising up across the river in white heaps and sugar lumps all built with a wish out of non-olfactory money. The city seen from the Queensboro Bridge is always the city seen for the first time, in its first wild promise of all the mystery and the beauty in the world.

“I was hoping you’d say that. Because…”

It was then that our lips touched. It was softness garnished by an unshakeable certainty, a rushing sense of canonical radiance, pure infallibility. Completion. 

I was taken by the scent of him, enveloped in the complexity, yet somehow, simplicity of his touch. And again, that overwhelming feeling of rightness. 

This was right.

He pulled me in closer, and all doubt was eradicated, dismantled, cast into places I knew my rekindled spirit would haunt no longer. The air was heavy with vanilla and musk, my hands grasping his collar, tugging him towards me in a crescendo, a tide, of passion.

“Anything can happen now that we’ve slid over this bridge,” I thought; “anything at all….” 

Even Gatsby could happen. He could happen to me.

[frozenjokes]

all in all mumbo jumbo has a pretty good day. everyone else..?

ao3 link / cw: blood and gore that’s more gross than violent, dubious consent (kissing), light body horror

It was nice that Grian seemed to like being outside as much as Mumbo did, though sometimes Mumbo was concerned this was just a continued effort to meet Mumbo where he was most comfortable which- it wasn’t- it wasn’t a bad thing. Mumbo knew it wasn’t a bad thing. He wished he could crush the suspicion that rotted under his skin, the fear, the instinct that screamed something was wrong.

Eight months of this. He thought he’d be over it by now. Grian was his friend. He wanted to be Mumbo’s friend. Mumbo wanted to be his in turn.

It just wasn’t easy. Not when Grian was a giant in Mumbo’s impossibly helpless world. Grian had too much power, too much control, and never once had he held these things over Mumbo’s head, but Mumbo was still painfully aware of his own position here, small, craning his neck to see a dark figure looming over him, someone who could take everything away with a snap of his fingers.

Grian wouldn’t. Mumbo really didn’t think he would. At this point, it was pretty clear that Grian really liked to care for him- for fuck’s sake, Grian wouldn’t even let Mumbo carry the blanket and picnic basket up the hill they were currently climbing, even though he was visibly struggling.

“I got it, I got it,” Grian said, over and over, like he’d rather tumble down the hill with both their lunches than make Mumbo carry anything, do anything ever.

It drove Mumbo crazy. It made him violently insecure in his place here.

He got to help Grian lay out the blanket at least, though Grian still went round every corner, pulling it flat. Grian squawked when Mumbo sat down early, laughing at Grian’s affronted expression and rolling his eyes as Grian continued to smooth the blanket of all wrinkles like it even mattered at all. Mumbo batted his hand away as Grian reached to pull the last corner, rolling to lay on his stomach and simultaneously mussing the whole thing up again to Grian’s great distress.

“Mumbo! Quit it, or we won’t eat until the sun goes down.”

“You don’t need to fix everything. Just sit, it’s fine.”

“I’d like to,” Grian huffed, haughty as he’d come to be since acclimating to Mumbo’s presence. It felt nicer at least to have that, real personality instead of the eggshell tiptoeing the both of them had been doing before. In fairness, Mumbo needed that delicate touch in the first weeks, but the stage between strangers to friends was utterly excruciating. Though, most of that was probably a result of Mumbo’s personal insecurity and Grian’s.. Grianisms.

“Hold my hand?” Mumbo asked, employing a wildly successful distraction, all Grian’s concerns about the blanket vanishing in an instant as Grian lunged for that touch. It was funny, sometimes, how whenever Mumbo wanted anything for himself, Grian seemed to crave it at twice the intensity, even if he’d never be the first to ask. A little disconcerting, especially at first, but just another thing Mumbo had tried to accept as a new normal.

He’d known very little human touch in foster care, even less from pets or other sources, and it was not something Mumbo had ever thought he’d crave. Touch was something meaningful to be shared among people, and Mumbo didn’t feel human at all, so it was never a facet of life that interested him. He never sought out hugs or even proximity, sitting side by side and leaning on a guardian’s shoulder. Maybe it was those years on the streets that exploded the yearning in Mumbo’s chest, pushing him to seek a physical comradery he’d never so much as thought about before.

Grian looked like he was about to burst into tears the first time Mumbo asked for a hug. Decidedly an extremely undesirable reaction, but there was no backing out once the question had been put to word, and any anxiety Mumbo had felt poofed under Grian’s touch, hold strong and sturdy, overwhelmingly safe in all the ways Mumbo had never been able to experience before. He did not want to let go. Grian didn’t mind. Later, in the privacy of his own room, Mumbo sobbed over it.

One hand firmly in Mumbo’s, Grian poked through his picnic basket with the other, a literal basket with a cloth folded over the top, reminiscent of a cartoon. Grian was always enraptured by those fantasy worlds, idyllic scenes, which is why they had to picnic on top of the hill rather than at the bottom, settled under the shade of a knotty oak tree, sat on a million lumpy acorns and spiders, the latter of which weren’t part of the fantasy, but were a nonnegotiable picnic feature regardless. Grian dug into his giant basket, clicking open a built in cooler and producing plastic champagne flutes, the mini bottle, and a small carton of orange juice, because he would absolutely not stand for a picnic without some kind of alcohol, and mimosas were one of the very few drinks Mumbo could stomach, though he’d much rather mix 7up and OJ instead.. Grian knew this, and he did not care. One of the very few times Mumbo’s comfort was not strictly prioritized, which was all but keeping Mumbo sane in a house where he wasn’t even allowed to do chores.

They were quiet as they ate, neither having much reason to speak, which was all fine and good, except for the fact that Mumbo couldn’t stop thinking about this- Grian was wildly overbearing, and while that was certainly an issue within itself, it certainly wasn’t what kept him up at night.

Put plainly, it just didn’t make any sense.

Mumbo had been certain once the initial terror wore off that Grian intended to extort him in some way, but he must have known Mumbo had no money or anything else of value, so it must have been for sex, right? Surely? And yet, eight months later Grian had never once touched him unless Mumbo initiated contact first, never made any strange or suggestive comments, never showed any sign of being interested. Surely if Grian had been planning on taking advantage of him, he would’ve done it already. But he hadn’t. So.

After all this time, Mumbo had narrowed it down to two possibilities. 1) This was some strange variant of Münchausen syndrome by proxy where instead of making Mumbo sick, Grian just ruthlessly took care of him, then bragged about it to his coworkers or something?? The only problem was that Grian didn’t seem to have any friends, he never invited anyone over, and he never seemed to want to show his Good Deed of Mumbo off to anybody else, so really, Mumbo had no idea. 2) It was a weird sex thing, just not something Grian wanted Mumbo to be involved in directly. Maybe he got off on taking care of people, maybe he had some sort of savior complex and this was really doing it for him. After spending way too much time feverishly looking for stray boners, Mumbo was suddenly struck by the realization he was the one being fucking insane about this actually. That felt bad.

“Are you alright?” Grian interrupted Mumbo’s thought, to which Mumbo had to force down an irrational surge of violent anger. Those stray emotions were like being hit by a tidal wave on a calm beach sometimes, but after all these years of unexpected violent impulses to yell and scream and cut, Mumbo rarely stumbled anymore. Grian did him a kindness by ignoring the brief curl of his lip.

“Sorry,” Mumbo mumbled, looking down at the half eaten sandwich he’d paused in eating once he’d really gotten lost in his head. “Just a lot on my mind.”

“Tell me.” Grian straightened in his intensity, but recovered quickly, looking sheepish as he manually relaxed each of his muscles, one by one. “If you want to, of course. You don’t have to. I’d like to listen though, if you need that. Want that. Whatever you want.”

Mumbo rolled his eyes. “You’re a mystery to me sometimes.”

Grian inclined his head. “I can see why you’d think that. Does it bother you?”

“Always.”

“Oh!” Grian jumped as if Mumbo had been shuffling over a staticy carpet in his socks, then walked right up and shocked him. “Ask away, then. Please. I want you to be comfortable.”

Mumbo did not feel comfortable, not even with the invitation. Desperation won out in the end.

“I just don’t understand why I’m not allowed to help out around the house or do anything myself without you- taking over. I can’t help you tidy up, or mop, or vacuum, or put anything away, I can’t unload the dishwasher for you or clean my own plate in the sink without you ripping it out of my hands. Makes me feel like a deadbeat. I already owe you so much, and you won’t even let me help around the house. You have a full time job, while I sit around and do nothing all day. I can’t even insist to water the garden, you’ll just refuse. I need to feel useful or I’m going to start ripping out my hair. Not being able to do anything isn’t comfortable, it’s suffocating. I don’t know what you want with me.”

Grian blinked a few times in rapid succession, mouth just slightly agape. “This wasn’t what I was expecting, honestly.”

“You don’t think this is abnormal behavior? Sometimes I worry you’ll bust into the bathroom while I’m taking a shit in order to be first in line to wipe my ass!”

Grian laughed, and Mumbo did too, a little impressed with himself for something that coherently funny leaving his mouth. He wasn’t lying though.

“I- I guess I didn’t really notice,” Grian shrugged, but not without a smile. “This is just how I live; it’s been just me in the house for a couple years before you came around, I’m used to doing everything myself. I like doing everything, I don’t want you to worry about it.”

“You can’t say my being here hasn’t added to your workload, Grian, you won’t even let me do my own laundry!” Mumbo huffed, though not angrily. Mostly, he was relieved Grian had a lighthearted attitude about this, Mumbo didn’t want any Deep Serious Confrontations. He just wanted to talk. Grian was good at that.

“That’s because you do it wrong. If you’re not going to separate the lights from the medium lights from the medium darks from the-“

“You don’t have to do that anymore, Grian, modern washers and dryers don’t make the colors bleed, and I don’t have any clothes that’ll get ruined in the dryer like you do.”

“Better safe than sorry.”

“Grian! This is the problem!”

“Mumbo, it’s not that I don’t trust you to wipe your own ass, I’m just a control freak. You’re doing me a favor by standing back and letting me do my thing, because I’d just worry about your methods. I need everything done in a specific way, and I am not going to subject you to that nor will I subject myself to the anxiety that you’re doing things.. not wrong per se.. Well, no, wrong is the right word.”

“I don’t see how you could have stipulations for literally every small chore around the house.”

“Name one.”

“Unloading the dishwasher. I know where everything goes, and I’m not enough of a child that I’ll break all your dishware.”

“All dishes get put away in a specific order, especially the silverware, it’s important to me, Mumbo, and I’m more at ease doing it myself.”

“You could teach me to do things the way you like them, Grian, I’d even count the seconds like you do when you water the plants if you wanted me to, I’m fine with that if you would just walk me through it so I could write everything down.”

“They’ll die if you don’t!” Out of nowhere, Grian bristled like a cornered animal, glancing around as if for an escape, “I know it’s annoying, Mumbo, it’s inconvenient for everyone else in the room and it’s stupid, I get it, so please don’t be flippant and just let me take care of it.”

Mumbo drew back, stung. “I wasn’t being sarcastic.”

Grian stared at him for a long time, eyes dark and wide, expression wavering, like he really couldn’t gauge Mumbo’s intention.

“I’m sorry.” Grian looked away, gaze glued to the acorn dappled grass. “This is a sore subject. I won’t bore you.”

“You could. If you wanted to.” Even despite Grian’s uncharacteristic outburst, Mumbo longed to hear it, yearned to know. So much of their relationship felt so unbalanced, the facade of openness that Grian put up being just that, while the rest was held close to his chest. Nothing substantial offered without prompting. Mumbo supposed he was the same way, but Grian prompted him so much more often- he was so much better at it. “I want you to.”

Grian’s gaze softened, unmoving from the grass. “It’s really nothing. I just know I’m difficult to work with, I can be a real pain in the ass, and I’ve had a lot of people in my life give me a damn hard time about it, so.. I don’t know. It’s just easier. Better this than having you resent me. Doing things to spite me. I really- I’d be anxious leaving you to your devices, and it’s not your fault, I’ve just been hurt, and I don’t want to live a repeat of that with you.”

Maybe this was a mistake, Mumbo didn’t know what the fuck to say to this.

“I- Well I’ve never really taken care of plants and stuff before, so as far as I know, your word is law. I can’t fight you if I don’t know what I’m doing without instructions.”

A small smile creased Grian’s lips, so maybe he’d said the right thing after all. “I appreciate the sentiment.”

That wasn’t enough.

“Please. I need this. I know you’ve said over and over that I don’t owe you anything, but that doesn’t stop me from feeling like I do, especially when you won’t stop going completely out of your way for me. And I- I’m grateful, you know I’m grateful, but I also feel like shit because I can’t give back. You don’t even want me to get a job, so I can’t start paying you back-“

Grian interrupted, sharp, “I’m not against you getting a job, Mumbo, just not for the wrong reasons. I want you to worry about yourself, not me. I’m perfectly well off, I have savings, and you don’t.”

“Well- This is me worrying about myself!” Mumbo couldn’t stop his frustration, Grian’s unwillingness to hear him, dizzying, “I feel bad. I will not stop feeling bad until I feel like I’m doing something for you, anything but watching you come home from a nine hour work day, do housework for an hour, then make dinner and go straight to bed! It’s terrible, you don’t get any sort of break during the week at all! I need to feel useful. Let me take one thing off your plate, exactly the way you want me to.”

Grian did not look up, eyes creased in focused consideration, or maybe anxiety. “You drive a hard bargain. I’m famously poor at compromise.”

Mumbo physically felt himself falter, something dismal collapsing in his stomach and billowing up his throat like a choking cloud of dust and debris. “I’m sorry. It’s your house, I’m not in a place to make demands.”

Something like a spark lit in Grian’s expression, pivoting to look Mumbo directly in the eye. “No, no, that’s not what I- I’m being an asshole, you live there too, you should get a say. I’m sorry. It’s not fair to write you off based on my own baggage anyway- I’ll tell you what. You can do the plants, but I do expect you to take notes when I show you how and I’m sorry in advance, but I want to watch you do it the first time. For peace of mind. I know it’s a me problem.”

Mumbo lit up. “That’s great.”

“And,” Grian added, holding up a finger for silence, “If you want, sit and talk to me while I’m making dinner. You can be on your phone, I don’t care, but I really like when you're there.”

“Consider it done.”

“And if you insist on it, you can also wash your dishes after you eat, but they need to be cleared, no food or residue, it’s fucking gross, I don’t need food water all over being-cleaned dishes, no chunks in the dishwasher. Also you’re going to need to put things in the correct places, but that’s fine it’s mostly typical stuff with a little- I’ll show you later.”

Mumbo laughed, and for a short moment Grian looked defensive, but his expression softened, and he even managed to smile in the end. Mumbo continued with his lunch, and Grian really seemed to relax then, just watching, quiet and content. Mumbo didn’t know why Grian liked watching him eat so much, but it was just another oddity Mumbo had grown used to, paying Grian no mind as he enjoyed the rest of his sandwich.

This was good, very good, the relief enough to melt Mumbo into a soppy puddle. He could do this. He could make a life here, however long Grian would have him.

…

There was blood soaked through his socks, coagulating between his toes, drying, announcing its permanent stay. Mumbo didn’t mind. He might’ve liked it there, if he could form any thoughts at all.

He was sitting in the bathtub, leaning awkwardly around the faucet, butt against the wall to avoid sitting on the drain. His legs were splayed, feet planted to keep him in position, one bloody hand grasping the ledge, the over hooked around his knee. They hurt, his knees. He had been kneeling for a long time. His pajama pants were ruined, nearly as soaked as his socks because the drain had been plugged, the gore building until it sloshed at the bottom of the tub. He and Grian didn’t usually plug the drain. Cub must have done it.

Sick, honestly. Cub was a sick man.

Mumbo didn’t entirely know how to feel. He’d just killed someone. He’d wanted to for so long, but this wasn’t how it was supposed to be, alone in a bathtub in his house after weeks, maybe months of wasting away. It should have been a little disappointing, it definitely should have been alarming, but Mumbo just felt.. calm. A lighter, almost disoriented feeling, like the world around him wasn’t quite real. It wasn’t bad. It might’ve even been pleasant if not for the dark figure looking in the corner of the room.

“Soooo, how ya feeeeeeling?”

“AuAGH- You talk?” Mumbo startled, nearly slipping on the slick porcelain, fingers slipping from his hold. The figure did not move, still as a shadow. He’d seen it before, most often at night in the dark corners of his room, almost poised to lunge, but it never did reach for him. It had been so long since Mumbo had seen it, he’d thought it had disappeared for good, but maybe not. Maybe it was waiting. That was ridiculous.

Mumbo never saw its face, but he’d never been this close either, even if most of the figure was still obscured in the dim. He squinted, trying, but could only parse the curve of its large nose, the wave of its hair.

It tilted its head, Mumbo flinching as it moved.

“I’m nothing to be scared of. I’m in your corner; I’ll help you with that, if you like.” It gestured to the body, but Mumbo couldn’t tear his eyes away from the shadow.

“Are you real?”

“Very.”

“What are you?”

“A guardian, of sorts. A scar. You are too, even if you’ve been suppressed for so long. I’ve been waiting for you to break the curse; seems you’ve done it. The first is always the best.” A slight light glinted off its face, and Mumbo spotted something like longing. “What did you do with the eyes?”

“Wh-What?” This was enough to turn Mumbo’s attention back across the tub, to the victim’s face which was- the whole room was dark, it made everything look blacker than it should, but there were- there were holes, holes bigger and redder than what was meant to be there.

“Did you eat them?” Its voice betrayed excitement, and Mumbo felt sick. He didn’t- it wasn’t like cannibalism was a particularly reprehensible act in his conscious, but eyes-? That was fucking gross?

“No!” He didn’t even know why he’d gone for the face in the first place, he couldn’t quite remember, but he’d certainly done some damage with his hands, the head lolling over a throat that was half gone, Mumbo’s fingers coated in it’s muscle and viscera. His mouth tasted metallic, but not like he’d indulged. Would he do that? Mumbo really didn’t know. He didn’t know he was strong enough to rip a throat out with his hands either, but here he was.

“I don’t see them,” it mumbled, Mumbo freezing as it took a few steps forward, poking its head over the tub. “I guess it could be in the mess.” When Mumbo didn’t speak, it straightened, looking down on him with an expression that was almost sad. “What’s wrong?”

“Hallucinations are new for me.” A whole new way to experience intrusive thoughts, that was for sure.

“I’m real, Mumbo.” The figure sat on the edge of the tub, and Mumbo stiffened when its fingers touched his. They were warm, no, hot, the figure took Mumbo’s hand and his whole body was set to flame, it hurt, it was incredible, he tasted blood and flesh and loved it, felt skulls cave under his fingers, saw wretched terror in a stranger’s eyes as he won. Not a stranger. Mumbo knew exactly who that was.

“Do you want it?” Scar breathed over him, on top of him, body pressed close, intoxicating, everything. Mumbo knew him because they had been briefly the same, and maybe it hadn’t stopped, the warmth and power sticking as Scar kissed him, his neck, stealing all of him away until all he could wheeze was a small, desperate, yes. Perhaps he hadn’t even been able to speak it aloud, but Scar heard him anyway, Scar knew Mumbo wanted everything Scar had to give.

Mumbo pushed up, desperate for friction, but Scar was stronger, pinning him hard at the waist, and uncomfortably against every other edge of the tub, the faucet digging into Mumbo’s shoulder.

“This might be a little uncomfortable,” Scar whispered, almost cooed as he cupped Mumbo’s face, but Mumbo could not remember discomfort, he could only feel Scar’s hand, wildfires across dry grass and rotting forests, eager to consume. Mumbo would have let Scar eat him whole like this. The way Scar kissed him, he might as well have.

Mumbo loved him, loved the way Scar’s tongue pushed past his lips, how Mumbo wasn’t strong enough to hold himself upright against him until the back of Mumbo’s head was pressed against the corner ledge, steady as Scar explored his mouth. Mumbo couldn’t keep up, but what a wonder that was in itself, to give up and let Scar have his way, their desire intertwined. Take and be taken.

Mumbo did not notice at first when Scar’s tongue was longer than it should have been, he hardly processed its presence at the opening of his esophagus, the burn disguising all threat of intrusion until abruptly, he could not breath. Mumbo jerked back, but there was nowhere to go, and when had Scar's hand landed over the top of his head, holding him trapped? So suddenly, every part of Scar was made of teeth, his lips drawing blood over Mumbo’s, eyes curled in sick delight, tongue sharp as it bullied its way down, filling his airway so completely that Mumbo could not even choke. Mumbo pushed, clawing at Scar’s jacket, but Scar was as immovable as the shadow in the corner of his bedroom.

Scar did not withdraw as much as he simply wasn’t there anymore, Mumbo falling back in the tub and scrambling upright, though it was difficult to move with another body as his side, rather than on top.

“Beautiful thing, beautiful,” Mumbo relaxed as Scar’s warmth graced his cheek, he had been so cold, and suddenly, it was like Scar’s touch was all he ever needed. He let Scar curl around him, desperate for the comfort, for someone to fight that phantom horror lingering in his throat. There was something still in there, something alive. “You did so well, sweetheart, so well. I’m so sorry, I don’t want to hurt you, but you’ll feel so much better now. The world is yours.”

Mumbo touched his throat, then clawed at it until Scar took his hand.

“Let it be, I guarantee you won’t even notice it's there by the morning.” Scar released him, then let his hand drift upward, falling across Mumbo’s forehead. His heat burned everything else away, and the more whisperings fell from Scar’s lips, the less frightening all of this was. It didn’t take very long at all to be alright enough to speak, even with the invading force blocking his wide pipe.

“What.. did you do to me?”

Scar smiled, and Mumbo could see him more clearly now, gentle, kind. “I only shared a piece of myself with you, something to help you along your way. You’ll be a little sturdier, a little stronger, more attuned to your surroundings. Goodness, given the damage you’ve done without me, I can’t wait to watch you meet your full potential. All those pretty things you dream of, it can be real now. The world is your oyster.”

Mumbo blinked slow, still dazed, still hurting. “Did you.. have to ‘share’ like that..?”

Scar giggled, not a very comforting sound. “No, but I really really wanted to. Not to say any of my methods are painless, but I like to make things interesting- was it not a little fun?”

Mumbo felt inclined to agree with him, and did not exactly know why. “Alright,” he mumbled instead. He closed his eyes. It was getting to be somewhat late, wasn’t it? It was dark outside, and had been for a while. He was justified in being tired, and Scar’s fingers running through his hair felt so good.

“Sweet, beautiful thing. I can hardly wait to take you home with me, and what a relief it is that you and Cub already get along.” Mumbo’s eyelids fluttered in recognition, but if Scar noticed, he did not care. “He gets so lonely sometimes, and he’s not very apt at.. talking to people. All these years he’d been at the clownvent, he’s barely made more than a handful of friends, not that he goes out of his way to spend time with them.” Scar sighed, shaking his head, “I think he struggles with people unlike him, he worries so much sometimes, like he can’t get comfortable. It’s not like they know, but it doesn’t matter. It’s a relief he’ll have someone else to talk to, especially since he’s still recovering from what you did, and I’m guessing you are too. You all can be such trouble. Gosh, sometimes I think I should have just whisked you right away out of that hospital waiting room, broken that nasty spell, and let you live.” Mumbo’s eyes shot open, but still Scar did not notice. “I suppose it wouldn’t have mattered much, not with how severe your conditions were. I bet you don’t even remember when we first met properly- Cub certainly doesn’t remember that day, he hardly remembers a thing from the weeks after!”

“Get out.”

Scar shut his mouth, and Mumbo heard the click of his teeth. “What?”

“It was you. Who did that to Grian. Threatened him for what I did. Has it always been about me? Get out of my house.”

Scar laughed, nerves pitching the sound as Mumbo shifted, pulling himself up and away, anything to get out of this damn tub. Scar reached to touch him, and Mumbo swatted the hand away.

“Mumbo, come on, we don’t care about Grian anymore, he’ll be safer without you around-“

“Get out. Get out of here, and don’t come back.”

Scar’s smile dropped. “You think you’re protecting him? I know what you fantasize about, Mumbo, I know what you want. I know when you tore out that man’s eyes, you were imagining Grian’s.”

“I won’t say it again.”

“You feel good now, don’t you,” Scar stood, but his full height was no more intimidating, and Mumbo did not care for the curl of his lip. “It won’t last. You can’t sustain yourself anymore, not without me, I gave you a fucking gift, and I don’t appreciate being spat at in return.”

“Take it back, then.”

“Take it back?” Scar’s voice was shrill, nearly lost to the scream of the music, “I’m part of you now, there’s no taking it back.” Scar stepped out of the tub, leaving bloody footprints across the tile as he advanced, “You’re already mine. If you can’t see it, fine, I’ll break you into a better shape. You won’t even rememb-“

Mumbo did not wait for Scar to reach him, lunging forward and rocking the side of his head with a bony fist hard enough to sweep Scar from his feet. He was stronger. His blood boiled low with a greater power, hunger, and whatever life stood in front of Mumbo here, he was going to take it too.

Scar did not even have time to raise his hands before Mumbo fell on him, a knee to Scar’s stomach, a fist to his face, Scar bit his wrist and Mumbo bit back, not coherent enough to do serious damage or even aim, but enough to taste blood. It got in his eyes. He loved it.

But when Mumbo brought his fists down on Scar’s head, they only hit tile, Mumbo gasping as his fingers cracked on the floor. There was no one there. Scar was gone.

…

Cub did not feel bad, he had no reason to, it was Grian’s own stupid fault Scar was here, and maybe he was disappointed because obviously they’d put a lot of work into setting this thing up only for Scar to take advantage, but it was Grian’s fault, and he would have killed Mumbo anyway- This was a good thing for Cub actually, it was good because Cub liked Mumbo, or at least felt some sort of connection which was close enough to ‘liking,’ but that didn’t matter, maybe with Mumbo at the clownvent Cub wouldn’t be so damn lonely all the time. Did Mumbo like cats? Everyone liked kittens surely, they were cute even if they were stinky and loud and shit on the walls. Cub bet Mumbo didn’t know that kittens shit on the walls. He could tell him. He could show Mumbo around. Cub wanted Mumbo to come home with him. And he didn’t feel bad.

So Cub had unloaded all Grian’s groceries from the minivan, stored the perishables, found places for the everything elses, Cub wasn’t sure if he should put his waffles in the freezer, but he didn’t want them to unfreeze and they’d already been in the car for so long, so he did that too. All the while Grian was mumbling things like ‘stop’ and ‘don’t do that’ and ‘don’t put that there’ and ‘leave’ and most terrifying, ‘I guess I don’t care’ before face planting into the kitchen table. Cub had to scurry to check his pulse, and was sure he was dead when Grian didn’t fight him away, but he wasn’t, so Cub made sure to busy himself with grabbing Grian a blanket and well, while he was here he might as well wipe the countertops-

There was a certain kind of Wrongness that swept through the room before Cub noticed Scar behind him, rigid, bloody; not that it was his, but.

Cub braced himself for a sarcastic remark about the blanket, some kind of teasing about his still being here. It did not come. When Cub opened his eyes, Scar was halfway across the room without a word, Grian sat upright, straining to stand, get away. There was death in both their eyes.

“Cub.” Scar addressed him murderously. Cub did not remember moving. He did not remember being between them, Grian’s knees brushing the back of his legs, Scar’s chest touching his as he loomed above. “Move.”

Cub could not look him in the eye, impossibly meek. “He’s had enough tonight, hasn’t he?”

Scar’s breath came hard, he didn’t even speak, and Cub had never heard him so angry. In all his life, Cub had never been so certain he was about to die. He braced.

When the ground shook, Cub was convinced it was the impact of his own body hitting the floor, but then he opened his eyes, and it was Scar on the hardwood floor, Mumbo above him, one of the kitchen chairs held high above his head. The Earth could have shattered at the impact, Scar’s scream inhuman, shrill, and horrible. Cub saw half of him phase through the floor, but then Mumbo had him by the shirt, yanking Scar back and wailing on him with his second fist. Scar screeched, too loud and too pointed to be for anyone but his own, the kind of cry that would stop any spawn in their tracks if they were not already hunting. Cub certainly stopped. Mumbo did not. He hit Scar again, again, and only then did Scar manage to throw his hands in Mumbo’s face, grab his hair, find grip enough on his mind that he should have been able to take some kind of control-

Mumbo did falter, but he only faltered, snarling as he leapt back on Scar, folding him to the floor.

This was not a normal hunt. Scar had placed his influence, and something had gone horribly wrong. Cub would die if he was not careful.

Grian nearly toppled over with the force Cub stole the blanket from around him, but he wasn’t watching long enough to see if Grian stayed upright, looping the fabric around Mumbo’s face, then again before he could react, and yanked back hard. Mumbo lashed out with fingernails wielded like claws, but the sudden blindness was enough to confuse him, enough to give Scar time to escape in the wake of a new attacker. Cub did not wait before letting go, diving back across the room and behind Grian’s chair; if he ran, he was certain Mumbo would chase him out the front door.

It was a matter of moments before Mumbo was free, kneeling across the floor, head whipping as he searched for a Scar who was long gone. Cub saw him physically slow, breathing a few long, deep breaths, like he’d forgotten how in his pursuit. Cub felt. A little safer. Some spawn went on sprees. Mumbo appeared not to be one of them. It didn’t stop Cub from tensing when Mumbo turned around.

“I think I’ve done something bad.”

Cub didn’t notice Grian was still upright until he spoke. “Mumbo, that was fucking awesome.”

Mumbo chuckled, a twinge dangerously, “It felt awesome.” But his gaze cooled as he looked past Grian, freezing Cub in place, almost forcing him to look Mumbo in the eyes. “What are you here for.”

“You.” It was true, but Mumbo didn’t seem to like that answer, eyes narrowing.

“I think you should go.”

“No.” Grian jolted in his chair, then deflated once more, taking a second to breathe. He did not have the strength to turn and address Cub directly, but Cub could imagine his dark, intense eyes just as clearly. “Stay. You don’t have to go back there. You can choose, can’t you? You did choose. I- I fucked everything up and you.. stayed.”

Something small and lonely shattered in Cub’s chest, replaced with a horrible, sick yearning. Could he have this? Did he- Could he grow old? Decidedly not. Quite honestly, he didn’t believe Mumbo could either. Not anymore. Regardless, he.. he was too far gone.

“Don’t sleep alone tonight,” he mumbled instead. “He will come back for the body. He likes to.. study them.” Cub suppressed a small shiver; the last time he’d seen his mother was not at the bottom of those stairs. Scar said it had been an accident. Cub believed him then. “If he was angry enough to go after Grian, he might try again if you make it easy for him. Usually he cleans the blood too, but.. he might be feeling petty. No police though.. so he probably suppressed the noise. I would turn the music down.”

“Cub,” Grian pleaded, and Cub could’ve killed him right then for the crime of finding Mumbo and not him. It was too late.

“Eh,” he said, turning around. “Don’t want to sleep on your stupid couch anyway.”

[flightfoot]

Never Underestimate Alya

AO3

“The data the program was looking for… it got sent,” Markov said. It was disconcerting hearing him speaking without having a facial expression to connect it to. “I reached out to see what it was and… it’s here. It’s all in the storage area. But I still can’t understand it or analyze it properly, the data almost seems to disappear when I try to look at it directly.” Alya’s heart raced. Data received via non-normal means right as an akuma attack alert went out…? With a Fox symbol appearing on Markov’s screen…? --- Alya has suspicions about the Alliance rings. She never expected that to lead to her being kidnapped, nor Monarch's downfall.

---

Alya sat on Marinette’s chaise, fingers curled around the fabric of the sofa. “I’m- I’m sorry. I don’t know how, but I must’ve messed up. He figured out I was Scarabella almost immediately, and because of that, he got his hands on the Ladybug Miraculous.”

Marinette put an arm around her friend. “I know you did your best. Besides, Kitty Noire had the same problem, it wasn’t just you.” She paused. “Though… did you tell anyone? Like Nino?”

Alya bit her lip. “No. I wanted to, it hurt keeping it from him, but… I didn’t tell him anything.” She looked up at Marinette. “I honestly have no clue how Monarch figured out mine and Kitty’s identities.”

She knew how important keeping identities secret was, knew how risky it was to tell someone else, but… it still hurt, having to lie to Nino, even just by omission. Her family had always championed open, honest communication as the key to good relationships, to solving most problems. If you were honest with yourself about your own wants and needs, and honest with the other person about what you were feeling and thinking when you did whatever you’re disagreeing over, most things could be worked out. It was why she always pushed Marinette to be honest with herself about her own feelings and reasons for doing things - she wanted her friend to be happy, both with herself and her relationships.

“I’m sure we’ll figure it out eventually,” Marinette reassured her, though Alya wasn’t sure whether she was trying to convince her, or herself. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

Alya gave her a small smile, before looking down at her hands again. “I just… I wanted to help, somehow. I mean, all of us do, that’s why we joined the Resistance, but…”

But she’d had the opportunity to keep things from being as bad as they were. If she hadn’t insisted that Marinette take back the Fox Miraculous, if she had kept it like Ladybug had told her she could, then Monarch wouldn’t have had that tool in his arsenal.

Then Monarch wouldn’t have had Trixx.

“You have helped,” Marinette told her. “You did brilliantly as Scarabella.” She placed her hand over Alya’s. “It’s Monarch’s fault, no one else’s.”

Alya let out a sigh. Intellectually, she knew that. She’d told Marinette similar things anytime she was feeling insecure over her own abilities, like she’d failed somehow. But it was harder to believe it when it was herself.

“AKUMA ALERT, AKUMA ALERT,” Alya’s alliance ring sounded.

“I- I’ve got to go,” Marinette told her apologetically. 

Alya nodded. “I know you do, girl. Go.”

Marinette smiled back at her. “Tikki, Spots On!”

As she was exiting the hatch door, Ladybug paused. “Were you wearing your Alliance when you went out as Scarabella?”

Alya blinked. “Yes, why?”

Ladybug bit her lip. “Maybe it’s nothing, but… I wore a friend’s Alliance once by accident, and it logged just how far I’d traveled as Ladybug during that time, and where exactly I went – which were impossible speeds for most humans. It’s one of the reasons I haven’t gotten an Alliance, in case Monarch or anyone else was able to get ahold of that info somehow and use it to figure out who I was.”

“That would require Monarch to be specifically monitoring the Alliance system though,” Alya pointed out. “I mean I’m sure he could make an akuma to do that, but they couldn’t be active all the time. Either that, or he’d need to have some sort of special privileges that would allow him to get into the system, or be an elite hacker.”

“I know it’s unlikely, but… just to be safe…”

The akuma alert sounded again. “I have to go,” Ladybug said.

Alya smiled. “Kick his ass!”

Ladybug nodded before leaving, for real this time.

Alya stared at her Alliance ring. It was a long shot, but… could Ladybug be right? Pulling out her phone (she suddenly didn’t trust her Alliance as much as she once did), she gave Max a call. “Hey, once this akuma’s taken care of, mind if I come over? There’s something I’d like you to check for the Resistance.” ---

“There’s definitely something weird about this Alliance,” Max said, looking at the readings his laptop was getting from the plugged-in ring. Thankfully the school librarian didn’t mind students talking with each other, so long as they kept it as a reasonable volume. “I examined the specs for it thoroughly when it was first released. It has everything it says it should have, but this-” he tapped on the screen, showing some large number she didn’t understand the significance of. “This is way bigger than it should need.”

She frowned. “What is it? And isn’t that good? I mean, it’s even better than expected then, right?”

Max adjusted his glasses. “Theoretically yes, but the fact that this wasn’t reported in any of the specs or advertising… large corporations aren’t exactly known for their charity. It doesn’t make sense to hide something that could potentially be used to help shill the rings, unless there’s some purpose to it that they don’t want customers to know.”

She nodded. She’d sooner trust in a company’s greed than their generosity. ��What is it, anyway?”

He sucked in a breath. “I’m… not entirely sure. It appears to be for information storage - like how your phone might have a few hundred gigabytes of storage, for instance - but it’s closed off from the rest of the systems on the Alliance. There’s nearly a terabyte of storage here that, as far as I can tell, isn’t allowed to be used for anything.”

“And it’s empty right now?” Alya asked.

Max nodded. “It appears that way.”

“Do you think something used to be there, but was deleted?”

He hummed. “I’m not sure.”

“I can check for you!” Markov volunteered. “I’ve got some of the best data recovery programs available. I was talking with some of my other AI buddies and we decided to dig back up some damning info some major tech companies deleted from their files, see if we can build a case against them.”

“Wait, WHAT?!” Max and Alya yelled.

Markov’s eyes slid to the side. “Just forget I said that. For a few more months, at least.” He blinked, looking at them straight-on again. “Anyway, point is, I don’t think even Tsurugi tech could stand up to some of the tools I have. If you plug me into it, I can see whether there’s anything you missed.”

Max disconnected the ring from his laptop. “Just be careful, okay? I know you have really advanced programs - I built a lot of them - but we don’t know what we’re dealing with here. There could be some form of malware on it to deter this kind of investigation.”

“Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing,” Markov assured his friend, reaching down with his ‘hand’ and plugging the ring into himself. “Let’s see here… Oh!”

“What is it?” Max asked hurriedly.

“There does seem to be some way to access the storage, but it’s not from any of the usual systems on the ring,” Markov explained. “There’s this weird program it’s connected to that funnels data into the storage area, but the program seems to be waiting for information to get streamed to it? But not from the internet or phone signals or anything else that’s usually used for this sort of thing. It’s just sitting here waiting for-”

Markov seized up, going rigid.

“Markov!” Max shouted, reaching for the cord that connected his robot buddy to the ring.

“AKUMA ALERT, AKUMA ALERT,” the school loudspeakers (and the ring) blared, startling Max and Alya.

“Now? Again?! Damn purple menace can’t give us a break…” Alya mumbled.

Markov’s face flickered and disappeared, the facial image being replaced by a fox tail.

The exact fox tail that was used as the symbol for the Fox Miraculous.

“Markov!” Max shouted. “What’s going on?!”

“The data the program was looking for… it got sent,” Markov said. It was disconcerting hearing him speaking without having a facial expression to connect it to. “I reached out to see what it was and… it’s here. It’s all in the storage area. But I still can’t understand it or analyze it properly, the data almost seems to disappear when I try to look at it directly.”

Alya’s heart raced. Data received via non-normal means right as an akuma attack alert went out…? With a Fox symbol appearing on Markov’s screen…?

“Markov, try saying ‘Trixx, let’s rest’,” she said dazedly.

“Trixx, let’s rest…?” Markov said, confused. 

He glowed, orange light leaving his body, and condensing into- 

“TRIXX!” Alya shouted, catching the little fox as he manifested - which was good, since he immediately started dropping to the ground, evidently exhausted by what he’d just gone through. 

Her kwami blinked up at her, not seeming to even register her.

At first.

“...Alya…?” he rasped, his eyes focusing on her face at last.

She nodded, tears streaming down her face as she held him close, nuzzling him.

“ALYA!” he perked up, laughing and crying and nuzzling her right back.

Trixx was here, safe in her hands. Monarch couldn’t use or abuse him anymore. 

She hadn’t failed him.

“Are you okay?!” she asked fervently, drawing back enough to look him over. “Has Monarch been feeding you enough? Did he hurt you?”

“He’s only been feeding us guinea pig pellets!” Trixx complained. “That’s it! For all of us! And he’s got us locked away in these little glass containers, they’re smaller than basketballs! We can turn around and that’s it!”

Her heart ached for the little kwami. “Here, I’ve got something for you,” she said, pulling a grape out of her fanny pack. He devoured it eagerly.

“Is that still good?” Max asked, concerned.

She nodded. “I put some fresh grapes in it this morning, just in case.”

Of course the idea that she’d just suddenly recover Trixx unexpectedly was a long shot, but she couldn’t keep herself from hoping.

It had paid off.

“You’re Rena Rouge, aren’t you?” Max asked.

She automatically opened her mouth to deny it… and then closed it. There was no point. Max was smart enough to see through any excuse she might give. 

“Are you talking to a kwami?” Markov asked. “I can’t see anything, but you two are both behaving like some other being is with you, like when Max meets up with Kaalki.”

Alya blinked. “YOU’RE PEGA- actually you know what, that makes sense, given the other people I know she chose.”

“You know who Ladybug chose?” Max asked.

“Forget I said that.”

Max’s eyes shifted to Trixx. “Would you be able to tell us who Monarch is?” he asked eagerly. “Or something else that could help us rescue Kaalki and the others?”

A momentary pang of guilt buried itself in Alya’s chest. She’d been so overjoyed to reunite with Trixx, she’d forgotten about all the other kwamis left to be saved.

Trixx opened his mouth, but only bubbles came out. He shook his head. “Monarch’s used me so I can’t tell you who he is. He still counts as my wielder,” he said miserably.

“But you can tell us where he lives, can’t you?” Alya asked eagerly. Though thinking about it for a minute, if he kept them locked up, they may not actually know for sure. She deflated at the thought.

Trixx perked up. “That’s right! His home is Chat Noir’s home!”

“WHAT?!” she and Max screeched.

“I mean it’s-” Trixx tried to explain. He didn’t get the chance to finish his sentence. 

Being pulled into a ring like it’s a black hole will do that.

“No! Don’t go!” she shouted, hugging Trixx tight to her chest as he stretched like spaghetti towards the Alliance ring. 

He grit his teeth, pushing back as hard as he could, trying to stay with her. “I- I think you’ll have to let go,” he ground out. “I can’t resist much longer and I don’t know what’ll happen to you if you’re still holding me.”

“I’m not letting you go!” she declared, holding on even tighter. 

Whatever happened, so be it. She wasn’t letting him go again. Not when she knew what he was returning to.

Slowly she started being pulled towards the Alliance as well, unable to muster up enough friction against the floor to stop herself. 

Finally she hurtled forwards, the pull of the ring on Trixx sending her off her feet, and headfirst into the ring.

Literally into the ring.

It felt like she was being squeezed through a tube of toothpaste while barreling down a waterslide, with the added bonus of little shocks of what felt like static electricity pricking at her several times per a second.

Overall, not an experience she would recommend.

Either three seconds or thirty years later (she was pretty sure the three seconds was more accurate, but time felt wonky while in whatever-she’d-just-traveled-through), the tunnel-thing spat her out, still clutching Trixx.

“WHAT-?!” 

The man, whoever he was, didn’t get a chance to elaborate, as Alya promptly crashed onto his face.

She winced. His nose would be in pretty bad shape after this. Hopefully he wouldn’t need surgery-

Oh. The man was Monarch.

Never mind.

She hoped his nose was broken in five different places and would never heal straight.

Thinking quickly, she pulled her phone out of her pocket, congratulating herself for making sure the case she bought for it was not only attractive, but highly protective. After all the effort she had to go through to “borrow” Sabine’s phone while her own phone was broken back on the day when Monarch first stole the Miraculous (and about a million other things happened as well), she wasn’t going to chance it getting broken by a simple drop anymore. 

Seems it was also effective at protecting during digitization and travel over… the internet? The phone line? 

She’d have to bump her four star review up to five stars.

“This just in,” she announced, starting a livestream. “Alya Cesaire here, in Monarch’s lair! He–”

“SILENCE!” he bellowed, stumbling to his feet. She ran away as far as she could. Which wasn’t very far. Did this room even have doors?

He advanced, swinging his cane at her. 

The metal bludgeoned her hands. Even with her attempting to maintain a vicelike grip on her phone, she couldn’t keep hold of it any longer. It clattered to the opposite side of the room. She couldn’t tell whether it was broken from here – the room wasn’t exactly well-lit, was he allergic to light? – but even if it wasn’t, she doubted he’d give her an opportunity to grab it.

“ALYA!” Trixx yelled, floating in front of her as if to shield her.

She clutched her hands to herself, wincing. She was gonna have some monstrous bruises on them after this, bare minimum. That was assuming nothing was broken, which she didn’t think was a safe bet.

“Ladybug and Chat Noir will be here any minute now!” she yelled, trying to sound more confident than she actually was. “They’ll kick your sorry ass!”

“Really?” he asked coldly, striding over towards… were those the other kwamis? Did he just buy the smallest fishbowls he could find and stick the kwamis in them? He smirked as he touched one of his rings to a fox symbol on one of the containers.

“No!” Trixx cried.

“Trixx, your power is now mine!” 

Trixx disappeared into his… ring? 

One of several rings it seemed. Each with a kwami symbol on it.

“What did you do to Trixx?!”

“Nothing he isn’t used to,” he said, waving her off. “He’s a kwami, he’s made to serve.”

She wasn’t surprised by his attitude. Monarch had never shown much concern for other people’s right to autonomy or to make decisions for themselves. That didn’t stop the deep wave of loathing from upwelling within her. Just dismissing a sentient being’s right to self-determination because they were different from you… he was the worst sort of person.

“Now, what to do with you…” he mused. She backed away even more, aiming to get as far from him as possible. “Ziggy, your power is now mine!” he called out, touching a different ring to the goat kwami’s container, sucking her into it.

“Genesis!” A cage appeared around her, complete with metal bars.

“Now just wait here quietly,” Monarch purred. “All of this will be sorted out soon. Then I’ll figure out what to do with you.”

“You won’t get away with this!” she declared, gripping the bars of the cage. “You won’t be able to cover up my disappearance forever.”

“My dear, who said anything about covering it up?”

Her heart sunk with dread. 

He shot her a terrifying grin. “People won’t look for you if they think you’re already dead.”

[coquetteriddle]

AHHH your post on tom riddle sr and tom riddle, thank you. Sometimes I think one of the reasons tmr is so fervent in his belief that magical people are superior to muggles is because magic was the One thing he had that sr didn’t. Like imagine you met someone who had everything you ever wanted (wealth, security, comfort, parents, etc) WHO LOOKS JUST LIKE YOU and ostensibly there’s no reason that they should have these things and You shouldn’t, and then they revile you for the one thing you have that they don’t (magic) like shit I’d snap too

also also, I think people should be more understanding (but not condoning) of how the riddles reacted to tmr. I could go on for ages about it but that requires more sensitivity than I can provide in a tumblr ask box

ANYWAY thank you for bringing it up I loved your insights

hiii thank u for the ask!!!

god that is suchhh a good and interesting point, because it really is the one thing that tmr had in his control and power. he cant change his name or his heritage or his status, but he can respond to it with his magical ability. also even though i think the reoccurring trend of ohh this person looks Just like their father in hp books is sort of lazy writing, i think it's superrr interesting in regards to tom and his father bc it serves as such a direct parallel. also bet that it was super disconcerting to see an older, aging version of yourself when death is your worst fear. not that i think tom riddle sr was like super old when he was killed but u know

AND 100% AGREE. like does it suck that tom riddle was basically rejected by his father through no real fault of his own? yeah. DO I BLAME HIM? NO LMFAO like i do think people realize that tom riddle sr was functionally a rape victim but they don't really understand or delve deeper into the mindset of that which is that it is hella traumatizing to have any remnants of that situation still exist, let alone an ENTIRE KID. i have a lottt of opinions on this tbh and would love to hear yours as well but yeah. very sensitive situation

[angrycommielez]

Thoughts on music in the Hunger Games (trilogy + prequel)

After finishing the trilogy, and especially after Katniss sings again in MJ, I remember thinking of the Hunger Games’ story each time I was listening to folk, country and gospel songs. The lyrics sometimes reminded me of the story and I pictured Katniss singing these songs with her dad. Songs condemning war, songs about working class people, songs about wildflowers and birds. And when I read the prequel, I was so happy to see that music was a big part of it. So here are some things I’ve noticed and wanted to share, sorry if it’s a bit messy :))

1/ Everdeen’s family // The Carter family 

In Tbosas, Maude Ivory sings “Keep on the sunny side”, a song written by The Carter Family who come from the Appalachian mountains, where District 12 is located. Its original members, A.P, Sara and Maybelle Carter mostly sang ballads and mountain songs. Recently, I watched a documentary about the history and origins of country music, and learned that A.P. fell in love with Sara Dougherty when he heard her sing. He was from what was called Poor Valley while she lived in Rich Valley. I automatically thought of Katniss’ parents, her dad from the Seam, her mom, a Townie falling in love with his voice when he sang. Katniss was taught how to sing by her father, and if we consider Maude Ivory to be her grandmother, then the tradition sure has been there for many generations. 

2/ Unity through music 

We don’t have much information about other districts, but I have this headcanon that District 11 and 12 share some of the same songs. We know music is what Rue loved the most, and people there sing at work and at home. Considering that both districts are southern and quite geographically close  to each other, I believe they kept alive some old songs from bluegrass, blues, folk, gospel and country music. (I also hc District 10 as having country music). 

Also in MJ during Finnick and Annie’s wedding, District 12 refugees start to dance to their traditional music, “teach the steps to District 13 guests” and “insist on a special number for the bride and groom” (MJ, p.217). So Finnick and Annie from District 4 and the guests from 13 all “join hands and make a giant, spinning circle where people show off their footwork” (MJ, p.217). I’d like to add that I think they are clogging. Clogging originates from Irish step dancing and developed with Native Americans influences, especially Cherokee, and “was also shaped by African ‘buck dancing’, which originated during slavery.” Therefore this dance is already a mix between Europeans, African and Native Americans cultures. And in this scene, it shows unity between the districts, everyone gathers to dance together and Katniss states “Dancing transforms us” (MJ, p.217). The same way in Tbosas (p.28), Snow’s thoughts when seeing Lucy Gray on stage during her reaping were that “Singing transformed her”, and that he “no longer found her so disconcerting.” 

3/ Snow’s dislike for old songs 

Now in the prequel, we get to see that Snow doesn’t like the old songs, and prefers the recent ones : 

“Some of the numbers bordered on unintelligible, with un-familiar words that Coriolanus struggled to get the gist of, and he remembered Lucy Gray saying that they were from another time. During these in particular, the five Covey seemed to turn in on themselves, swaying and building complicated harmonies with their voices. Coriolanus didn’t care for it; the sound unsettled him. He sat through at least three songs of this kind before he realized it reminded him of the mockingjays. Fortunately, most of the songs were newer and more to his liking, and they finished up with the one he recognized from the reaping…” (Tbosas, p.286) 

Old songs, like “Clementine” or “The ballad of Barbara Allen” are older than Panem. They existed centuries before what caused the almost extinction of human beings in the story. Despite the loss of billions and the destruction of technologies, cities…and freedom, poetry and songs are passed down generation from generation. With them, a part of history. 

Bluegrass “was born from the creativity of working class and impoverished Southerners, Appalachians, and immigrants”, and how can I not think of District 12 when I hear Hazel Dickens sing about coal miners, and how can I not think of Katniss when I listen to country song “Coal miner’s daughter” now ? These old tunes (from bluegrass, blues, folk or country music) sometimes talk about slavery, poverty, workers’ life, hard times, but also hope and resilience. They show survival. And they also set an example of worlds existing before Panem. And in my opinion, this is why Snow doesn’t like them. 

Just imagine if thanks to the songs and lyrics, people knew some parts of what happened before Panem, if they knew the atrocities committed, the wars, revolutions, and struggles. They may not know a thing about the civil rights movement but still have songs about it, like “We shall overcome”. Even songs which have ancient names are rebellious to the Capitol, think of “Country roads”, “My native home”, “West Virginia, my home”, “Sunny Tennessee” or “You'll Never Leave Harlan Alive”. Think of all the songs and ballads telling the stories of people long dead like Joe Hill or Ira Hayes that may have survived. Cause as Rachel Baiman sings, “old songs never die, they just cry and cry out for you to sing them once again”

And it’s neither in the books nor in the movies, so it’s not canon, but in the fan movie where Katniss is a child and goes to the woods with her dad, there are these lines : 

Her dad (D) : “Because what’s in the woods ?” K : “Weapons, and food and mockingjays, and…” D : “All of it exists without the Capitol.” K : “Freedom.” D : “Freedom.”

And I believe that’s the reason for Snow's specific hatred for old songs. Also, the fact that when the Covey sung these, it made him think of mockingjays is telling. I keep thinking there must be an explanation for that, perhaps it's because the mockingjays are creatures who escaped the Capitol’s control just like traditional American music did ; because mockingjays represent a way out of the Capitol’s dictatorship later becoming a symbol of hope and revolt, and old songs can hold the same power.

[bright-tatters]

Tatters #125

Franz woke when the sunlight infiltrated the room. Morning, and the birds were going full tilt.

He looked around. Habs was gone. Evan lay sprawled over two dragged-together chairs, which was not how he’d started the night.

They had no food. They had no water. They had no supplies except the cleaning goods Franz could access from one of the tunnel closets.

Logistics was something Franz was good at.

He left his sleeping companion and took the tunnels to the refectory, where instead of filching one meal for the start of his shift he filched three with a wink to the woman unpacking the day’s shipment of food. He vanished into the tunnels once more.

This was his place, the network beneath the University. They had been his since he’d started on this job at sixteen. The passages immune to rain and snow, the locked doors he had the privilege to open. You could be alone for days under here if you navigated carefully. It comforted.

Bringing two people through it was a strange experience.

Outside the locked lounge, Habs waited. She looked at his full hands. “Smart boy,” she said.

He unlocked the lounge. Evan was sitting up, hugging himself.

“Good morning,” Franz said, trying not to sound ironic. “Are you all right? Do you need to sleep more?”

“No,” Evan said, too violently, and cringed. “No.”

“I brought you a meal. The bacon may not be good cold.”

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take. Thank you.”

Habs sat down and slipped a revolver from under her mid-calf skirt. “Morning,” she said with a fiendish grin.

“Here,” said Franz. “I don’t know when we’ll have our next good stopping point.”

“When food shows up you’d best be hungry,” she seemed to quote. “Thanks.” She pushed the revolver into her jacket and started on the sandwich.

“So,” she said with a full mouth, “you can get around the city. What’s pretty boy contributing?”

“I’ll help with anything,” said Evan.

“So you can make her laugh. That’s what I got out of a year of you ninnying around not asking her out. You believe you can make a difference in an actual emergency?”

He sucked in a breath and ran his hands back over his dark curls. “I could make a difference. I’m an empath.”

All the horror stories about empathic tramplers raced through Franz’s mind. “I didn’t realize,” he said weakly. “Though, if you wanted me not to realize…”

“I can’t suppress words or thoughts. To be honest, I’m not even a very good empath.” His voice started shaking. “I can’t sustain work or affect people at a distance or anything. But if I get close enough, I think I could mess someone up pretty good. I guess I’d better think about…what to do.” His brown eyes widened. “Ye gods. I have to think about what I would do if I had to use my abilities as a weapon.”

Franz couldn’t even imagine facing that choice. “Your reluctance does you credit.”

For the first time, Evan smiled. A small, self-conscious thing. “That’s what my mother always says,” he said.

“Once I have gotten you to the prisons I can go home,” continued Franz. “Evan, I’ll take notes for your classes.”

Evan chuckled, a little hysterically. “Right. Because I get to go back to class when this is done.”

“Of course you do. You heard the Professor. Once Audrey is safe, Fortune will have nothing against you.”

“Except trying to kiss his daughter. I mean, before it went to hell.”

“Stay with us,” said Habbamock, turning a cold shoulder to Evan and studying Franz with disconcerting focus. “You deal with panic good, and I like your sense of direction. You got us here without a map.”

“Ma’am, I couldn’t. I have no skills.”

“Except what I just listed. Which is ahead of a lot of men I’ve met on this job.”

They ate in busy quiet; Franz was the first to finish, and he immediately went for a closet.

“What are you doing?” Evan said anxiously.

“A janitor must have supplies. Perhaps we want a janitor at some point.” He pulled the heavy door open and reached in. He came out with a bucket full of yellow cables and a long, stringy mop. “It’s a start.”

He gave them each a kerosene lamp—Habs jerked back, but accepted one—and then it was time to go into the dark.

[ljamberfantasy]

The Elf Who Would Become A Dragon

CHAPTER 24 – What Connects

There are months when nothing makes sense, and moments when everything at last comes together — when all the puzzling pieces that were scattered along the path suddenly click into place. Saphienne had one such moment when she arrived before Celaena’s house, gazing beyond a gate in a low wall that surrounded a hill which steeply climbed through terraced gardens overgrown with budding flowers up to a grand doorway in a house that was grown from more than–

Iolas spoke with awe. “This is your home?”

Celaena paused, her hand on the gate, and looked back at them. “Yes?”

Saphienne blinked. “How many trees?”

“I’ve never counted.” Celaena glanced up through the gardens, considering the grand building which she called home and the great trees that wove together to form its rooms. “Three, I think? One of them is much younger than the others, though. Father expanded the house when he decided he wanted a child.”

Tearing their eyes away from the sight of it, Saphienne and Iolas shared a look.

Celaena hesitated, and stepped away from the gate. “Is something wrong?”

Shaking his head, Iolas strolled past her. “No. I just never imagined you living in a place like this.”

“Like what?” Celaena blushed, self-conscious. “Is it the gardens? I know they’re a little wild, but I’m not really much of a gardener, and they’re only tended to every other month.”

Realising that Celaena was oblivious, Saphienne smiled, and for once she was the one to reach out to her. “The gardens look beautiful,” she promised her as she took her hand. “We just weren’t expecting your home to be so impressive.”

Although reassured, Celaena was still perplexed. “You’re impressed? What’s so impressive about the house?”

Iolas started laughing as he pushed through the gate. “This explains a lot.”

“What does?” Celaena let Saphienne lead her into her own gardens. “And what does it explain? Why are you– stop laughing!”

But neither of them could help their giggles, not until they climbed the hill — not until Celaena muttered under her breath and pulled free of Saphienne to sweep haughtily through the pair of doors that led into her reception hall. “You’re being very rude,” she sniffed at them, though she was less offended than bemused. “I suppose you had better come inside.”

Which Saphienne and Iolas hesitated to do, both children feeling small as they took in the tiled floor – which was dark as the midnight sky – and the high, white, vaulted ceiling – which lay three stories overhead – and the grand staircase that swept from one toward the other, lightening as it ascended. Saphienne stepped in first, and her footsteps echoed off the polished wooden walls and bounced up to the landings of the upper floors.

Iolas joined her. “I’ve never seen a place like–”

The door shut itself behind them, and they both jumped.

Celaena was on the stairs, and she smirked. “Sorry, the door’s enchanted. It wouldn’t have opened, without me. You’ve never been to a wizard’s home before, have you?”

Unable to help herself, Saphienne began to correct her. “Our master–”

“I mean a real wizard.” Celaena gestured around the hall. “Someone who really knows what they’re doing.”

Clicking his way across the floor, Iolas stared all around himself — including down at his feet, disconcerted by his audible footfalls. “Your father: he’s a more powerful wizard than our master?”

“I mean, he must be.” Casually sitting on the steps, she shrugged. “I don’t know which degree of spellcasting he’s obtained, but it’s higher than whatever our master can do, I’m sure.”

That Celaena didn’t know the specifics intrigued Saphienne. “You don’t know? Why not?”

What little confidence Celaena had found quickly faded away, and she was once more unsure of herself. “We don’t talk much about magic. I’ve seen him cast spells, and he was always very clear that I’d learn wizardry once I was old enough, but apart from telling me what to study… he was always careful not to break the rules.”

Looking to Saphienne, Iolas nodded. “Wizards aren’t allowed to teach family members, are they?”

“No.” Celaena sighed. “We can’t discuss magic. Not until I’m a wizard in my own right. He was much more cautious about it than–” She stopped herself, clearly reconsidering what she was about to say. “…Than others I’ve heard about.”

Realisation made Saphienne speak aloud. “You mean Faylar’s aunt.”

Her words caught Celaena by surprise, and the wizard’s daughter scowled at Saphienne. “I didn’t say any such thing! And Faylar would resent the implication.”

 Reaching the staircase, Iolas sat down on it as well, a few steps below Celaena. “I thought our master was the only wizard in our village?”

Turning her attention to him, she nodded. “He is. Well, the only wizard who is recognised by the Luminary Vale. There are others, and they’re entitled to be called masters if they wish, and they have the right to assert their opinions if consensus is sought between practitioners of the Great Art. But they don’t have the authority our master does, since they can’t…” She grinned at Saphienne. “Since they can’t invoke the Luminary Vale.”

“But what about your father?” Iolas pressed her.

“He doesn’t live here.” Celaena spoke matter-of-factly. “He hasn’t lived here for… I think a few hundred years.”

Saphienne crossed to the steps, but didn’t sit. “So you live with your mother?”

“Oh, no.”

Realising she had assumed, Saphienne faintly blushed. “Sorry. I mean, with your guardian?”

“What do– oh!” Celaena laughed. “No, Saphienne. I meant that my mother doesn’t live here — not that I don’t have a relationship with her. She’s a priest, cloistered, and lives far to the west. She visited me, once.”

Iolas stared up at her. “Who do you live with, then?”

“Well, nobody.” Celaena shrugged. “One of the neighbours is technically my guardian now, along with our master.”

Saphienne couldn’t believe it. “You live here alone?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Celaena glanced between them both. “I stayed with father in one of his other houses when I was very little, and then he had someone from the village look after me when I first moved here. Madris, if you’ve met her?” She smiled, warmly. “She’s really lovely. Sometimes, she visits for tea.”

Disturbed, Iolas shook his head. “Don’t you get lonely?”

Celaena furrowed her brow. “Lonely? A wizard has to be comfortable being alone. Solitude is important to our work. And I have plenty of friends.”

“…That’s very sad, Celaena.”

Once more caught by surprise, she held his gaze for a moment, then looked away, and her eyes glimmered as she shook her head. “Don’t be odd.” Celaena smoothed her apprentice’s robes as she stood and turned away from her friends. “Anyway, we can talk properly in my study. Come on up.”

Saphienne lingered for a moment at the bottom of the stairs as the others climbed, casting her eyes across the tile floor. It looked cold.

*          *          *

After their shock wore off, Saphienne and Iolas adjusted to Celaena’s lodgings quite quickly, and they were delighted to discover that her study – which was as big as the sitting room of Saphienne’s family home – even had its own small library. Saphienne’s enthusiasm dimmed slightly when she realised that she’d already read most of the books, and she was puzzled as she wondered what the point was. Why did Celaena have private copies of so many texts, when the village’s library could provide all she would ever need? Did she reread them so often? Were they all of sentimental value?

“Sentimental?” Celaena laughed at Saphienne’s question. “Not at all. Doesn’t every decent wizard need a library of their own? Don’t you have one? How about you, Iolas?”

He shook his head in reply; Celaena thought they were both quite odd.

 Later in the afternoon, in the middle of their note-sharing session, Celaena abruptly looked up, then jumped to her feet and threw open a window, greeting the magpies that had come to roost outside. She introduced each as she fed them with seeds she kept in her satchel, explaining their family history, along with their rivalry with the local crows — which she was doing her best to calm, by feeding the two flocks together whenever she could. She beckoned her fellow elves over, introducing them in turn to her avian friends.

Iolas already knew about the seeds. “She really likes birds,” he said to Saphienne, gently petting one of the tamed magpies as it ate from his palm. “I just didn’t know she liked them this much.”

*          *          *

When evening came, Saphienne lingered outside the imposing doorway after Iolas had left, and she stared thoughtfully at Celaena, until the older girl blushed.

“What is it, Saphienne?”

Saphienne made up her mind. “Would you like to have dinner with me?”

Her question was not what Celaena was expecting, and caused the girl’s flush to deepen even further, alarm appearing in her eyes. “Saphienne, I’m flattered, but… you know I have a friend… and you’re too young…”

“Too young to eat with me?” Saphienne tilted her head. “I’m going to meet Faylar at the library. We eat dinner together. I thought you might want to join us, since… you both should be friends again.”

Celaena’s expression had quickly danced through several different emotions as Saphienne was speaking, and now settled on awkward relief. “I see. You shouldn’t have phrased it like that.” Endeared by her, she managed a smile. “Odd bird.”

“You’re avoiding the question.”

Celaena coughed, and looked over Saphienne’s shoulder, watching Iolas pass through the gate. “…I was meant to ask you where you live, wasn’t I? I suppose you could show me… after dinner… but…” She sighed, and returned her gaze to Saphienne. “Do you think Faylar wants to see me?”

“He does.” She leant against the frame of the door. “I spoke to him yesterday. He said he misses you.”

“I don’t even know what to say to him. ‘Hello Faylar, nice to see you, sorry you’re not cut out for wizardry?’ His heart was set on joining us.” She stared down at her shoes, her brooding reflected in the black tiles. “I don’t know what else we have in common.”

Saphienne lightly stepped on Celaena’s foot, and glared at her when she looked up in surprise. “Find out! And he is cut out for wizardry, he’s just taking longer to get there. Don’t you dare discourage him.”

Studying her face, Celaena seemed unconvinced. “Isn’t it cruel? To give him false hope?”

“I’m not pretending.” Saphienne folded her arms. “He’s learning a lot. And just because he was turned away, that doesn’t mean he won’t be back. Almon turned me away at first, remember.”

“You’re not meant to say his name, you’re supposed to call him your mas–”

“Oh, fuck all that.” Saphienne felt her cheeks burning, unused to swearing. “Which matters more? Respect for wizards, or your friends?”

Celaena opened her mouth to answer, but no words came. She looked startled, and then conflicted, and when she finally spoke her voice sounded much smaller. “…Both matter.”

“Do you miss Faylar?”

Celaena nodded.

“Then come have dinner with us. Tease him, like you used to.”

Wavering, Celaena went to step out, then stopped, glancing down at her robes. “Let me get changed, first. I know we’re meant to wear the robes, but…”

Saphienne blinked. “What?”

“I don’t want to remind him that we–”

“I meant about the robes. What do you mean, we’re meant to wear them?”

Celaena took a moment, and then she smiled. “No one told you? Wizards who are welcomed into the Luminary Vale, or who want to be welcomed there, are meant to wear their robes when out in public. Apprentices with such ambitions are supposed to do the same.”

Saphienne still didn’t understand. “Why?”

“Appearances.” Celaena gave her an indulgent smile. “Being a wizard has to matter to you, more than anything, and you have to show everyone else that it matters. Also, people treat wizards with deference.”

“I don’t see why that… really, all of the time?”

“Most of the time. Enough that people are surprised when you don’t wear them.” Her eyes were bright. “Father told me all about it. He sent me a very long letter. But I don’t think he’d disapprove if I dressed informally this time, since there’s a good reason.” Stepping forward, she hugged Saphienne. “Wait here. I’ll be back down.”

The door shut itself as she went back inside, leaving Saphienne to ponder her own robes. Yesterday, she had changed out of them without thinking.

She hadn’t meant to spare Faylar from heartache. The thought had never even crossed her mind.

*          *          *

Since Celaena had left Saphienne stood on her doorstep while she changed, Saphienne felt comfortable doing the same when they stopped by her house. Fortunately, her mother was entranced by the fascinator, lounging in her bedroom, and so didn’t even notice when Saphienne came up the stairs, nor did she do anything other than laugh quietly to herself as Saphienne went back down them.

Idly, as Saphienne collected food for herself and her friends from the pantry, she wondered what magical daydream could be so amusing to her mother.

Faylar was sitting by the fire when the girls arrived at the library, reading over his written notes and making annotations in the margins. He didn’t glance up when Saphienne appeared next to him. “Just a moment.”

“…Hello Faylar,” Celaena said.

His pen scratched a long line across the page as he looked up, and he inhaled sharply — caught between happiness to see Celaena, and fear at being seen by her.

She, too, stood awkwardly, and clasped her hands together behind her back, squeezing her fingers to distract herself from her anxiety.

Saphienne looked between them both. She didn’t know what to say.

But it was Celaena who broke the silence, looking pointedly at the page he’d just scored. “I see your calligraphy hasn’t gotten any better.”

Faylar looked down, and then mildly grinned at the paper, his grin remaining in place as he set it aside and made a show of brushing his hair behind his ear, sitting back. “It’s quite good, actually. When I’m not being interrupted. Don’t you have spells you’re meant to be learning?”

She laughed. “Like you’d know anything about that.”

“Oh.” His expression grew sad. “I suppose not.”

Celaena turned pale, and she started to apologise — only for Faylar to burst out laughing, and he stood up to hug her as she warmed to a rosy red.

She slapped his back. “Ass.”

“Good to see you, too.”

Saphienne smiled, though her smile was short-lived, as Filaurel coughed meaningfully at the three of them from her desk, glancing from them to a small child who was reading within earshot.

“We should go upstairs,” Saphienne said, lifting the basket that held their dinner.

Celaena glanced at the librarian, and lowered her voice. “Are we allowed to eat in here?”

“Faylar and I can.”

He agreed. “There are rules. You better follow them, or Saphienne will turn you into a toad. She can do that now, she said.”

Saphienne blinked. “No I didn’t–”

But both of them were loudly laughing at her, and she got the joke and laughed along — until Filaurel loudly shushed them all, her face stern.

Chastened now, Saphienne, Faylar, and Celaena shuffled away, and they went up the stairs together. Faylar spoke again when they were halfway between the floors. “So, what have you been learning?”

“About the disciplines of magic,” Saphienne answered. “We’ve touched on a few. Nothing about casting spells, more the history of how the disciplines were discovered, and the rules they follow.”

“We’re not supposed to share specifics,” Celaena cautioned. “Our master’s the only wizard in the village who can teach magic.”

Faylar sighed. “Well, fuck me for asking, I guess. Still, is it fun?”

Both apprentices paused on the upper landing, looking to each other, neither quite sure how to answer the question.

Then Celaena grinned. “You know something, Faylar? As of today, I think it’s going to be. We’re going to have a lot of fun. Won’t we, Saphienne?”

Saphienne met her with a hopeful smile. “Let’s find out.”

End of Chapter 24

[monster-rinds]

Chapter 26: Paydirt

“You have to take the right left to get to it,” I told Cassy as we walked, side by side, a snowy Mount Hood visible on the horizon in front of us, a little to our left. “And if you’re not an emanant, you won’t see it. And some emanants still can’t.”

“Oh,” she said, barely loud enough to hear over the traffic.

“We must have just missed each other in there,” I mused. “I maybe could have opened the way for you if you’d texted me, but I’ve been very preoccupied. There are things I’ve learned about myself that could be very useful.”

I wasn’t just saying things willy-nilly for a reaction from her. Not anymore. I couldn’t feel her emotions anymore, which was disconcerting but a deliberate choice on my part. So I was using my vast knowledge of human psychology, and the experience of our friendship, to try to mend the rift between us.

I’d decided to talk about my world and life like it was a mundane thing, the same kind of thing as her housemates’ questionable cleaning and food handling decisions, and her worries about union organizing. And I was using the same tones I did when we used to talk about our lives before.

But I was keeping the references and explanations simple, assuming she already knew what I was talking about. To make it easy for her to accept it.

“I think I lost track of time, and I’m really sorry I did that,” I told her.

“Oh, well. I do that too, sometimes,” she said, hands in pockets, looking down at the sidewalk. After a handful of paces, she looked over at me, a crease between her brows, “Of course. I guess it gets worse as you get older? That’s what my grandma says.”

I chuckled and smiled over at her, “I guess you could say that. I’m a bit past the point of thinking about aging and ‘getting older’, though. And I can control how I perceive time. I’m pretty good at it. When I’m not hyperfocused, at least.”

“Right, right.”

“I told you all I’d keep you updated, let you in on my, uh, life,” I said. “And I didn’t do that. So I’m sorry. The offer is still open, though. But it might be better not to do it over text messaging now that I think of it. I still consider you three to be my friends, if you still want to be. We just have to be a little more careful, I think.”

“Why’s that?”

“I said a few things there,” I pointed out. “Why’s what?”

“All of it?” she blinked at me. “But definitely, why careful?”

I gestured grandly at the city to our left and behind us, “There’s someone, or a couple of someones, out there keeping an eye on me and what I do. And they’re at least as good as I am at computer shenanigans. And they fucked up Hayward Grocery because of me.” I gestured at the house we were coming up to, and continued, “I think they’re manipulating the locals for some reason, too, keeping things in their sense of order. It starts sounding like crazy conspiracy theory shit when I start to explain it. But, then, so does everything else about me, honestly.”

Cassy stopped, so I did too. She turned toward me, arms at her sides, looking slightly upward at my face. Her expression was unreadable, relaxed except for that crease of concern. And her jaw slowly widened, her lips deforming in the act of remaining closed to the last moment before she spoke, “Is it a good idea to be your friend?”

I tried to make an expression that she could understand, twisting up my lips in a semblance of thought, and raising an eyebrow. I said, “It depends on your definition of ‘good’. Safe? Probably not, honestly. You will probably be safer if you keep your distance from me. But I don’t think you’re in particular danger. I don’t think there are any actual people eaters in town, unless Croc-face double dips somehow. Which isn’t without precedence. But affectivores like me can get fucking manipulative, and really disrupt people’s lives. And I think I’d come across as manipulative if I told you I thought your life is already being disrupted and still will be even if you walk away from me. But…”

“But what?”

“You might find it cool to still be friends with me?” I shrugged and scrunched up my whole face. “I never actually lied to you or Greg or Ayden, aside from omission. Or jokes. Jokes kind of involve lies sometimes. Like the whole T-rex husband thing. But I think it’s pretty obvious I don’t have one, because T-rexes aren’t alive today.”

We were walking again.

“T-rex husband thing?” she asked, scowling in confusion.

“Oh, you weren’t there,” I remembered. “It was a thing I told Ayden, to annoy him, and let him know I was totally teasing about the other stuff I’d said. The true stuff.”

“True stuff?”

“About dinosaur behavior. I’d said I learned something ‘the other day’, meaning sixty-seven million years ago. Of course.” I smirked at her. “You know how wishy-washy that phrase is.”

“Jesus!”

“Never met him.”

“Please stop,” she muttered.

“OK.”

“I like it when we joke and banter and all that,” Cass slowly explained to me. “But, I miss it. A lot. I don’t get it these days. And when we slip into it, I feel like how I used to feel around you. Instead of how I felt when I saw…”

“Ah, yes,” I acknowledged. I was pretty sure she was talking about my little melting into the grating trick. I’d been deliberately trying to scare her. “I remember those emotions from you. Yes. But I could only guess at what was triggering them. A pretty good guess, I think.”

“Was that real?” she asked. “I’ve rewatched our video a few times, but I still can’t wrap my mind around it. Were you trying to scare us, to push us away?”

I took in a deep breath, noticing how the Strands kept vibrating ever so subtly with each of Cassy’s steps. I wondered if every human did that, but I didn’t see anybody else around that we were likely to walk past soon. Just cars zipping by. And the cars weren’t causing anything, but they weren’t necessarily close enough.

Also, there were no signs of other emanants. None. It was like they had all fled the neighborhood while Felicity and I had been rebuilding ourselves in my domain.

I noticed a missing stoplight and found myself frowning up at it. The mounting beam was there. The other stoplight on the beam was still there, indicating whether to go straight or not. But the stoplight for the turn lane was missing.

Really.

“There was another Monster present,” I reminded her. “A pretty big one, too, even if it turned out to be a scaredy cat. I wanted you to be safe. But also, kinda, yeah? I want to make sure you know what you’re getting into by hanging around me, and that you know I will always work to protect your autonomy, to live your life on your terms.”

“It wasn’t very friendly of you,” Cassy grumbled.

“You’ve told me that you prefer it when people are honest and upfront,” I reminded her. “I was, and am, trying to do that. So you know what’s up.”

“I guess that doesn’t work very well when I’m just a twenty-something autistic girl, and you’re older than shit,” she said.

“I really am,” I told her, with all the honesty of the Earth itself. “I really fucking am, aren’t I?”

“You’re the one that knows.”

“Yeah,” I admitted. “And that is the problem, isn’t it? If I lose track of time again and a century passes by, we’ll never see each other again.”

Cassy hiccuped and rubbed her nose, and I regretted losing my ability to read her emotions. I wanted every last one she felt, so I could be a better friend while she was still alive. But I sort of imagined I could feel what she was feeling. The process of loss, a kind of sorrow.

But then she said, “It’s a power differential thing, too.”

“Also way too true.”

We kept walking, though. And I looked around some more, squinting and feeling around in the Strands. Gresham felt spooky and empty, like a town that didn’t exist despite how much of it I could still see with my eyes.

I started to say, “I want to walk toward the city cen–”

“I wish I was a monster like you,” Cassy interrupted me. “I hate people so much.”

I studied her, and she looked back at me. My imagination presented me with the feeling of longing, to belong, to be part of something.

“Assuming you really are a monster,” she said.

“I don’t think I can bite you and turn you into one,” I sighed. “And I don’t know if those kinds of myths are based on a real emanant who can. I don’t think it works like that, anyway. More likely, if they even exist, they deliver another emanant into your system, your psyche, and it takes over. Maybe someone’s figured out how to trigger the creation of an emanant in a human. But I don’t think a lifeform can become an emanant.”

“What about Fafnir?” she asked. “He was a dwarf who became a dragon from sitting on gold for too long. Also, like, there are so many myths about how a dead person can become a monster if they aren’t buried right.”

“Sure,” I said. “But, if they are real, were those people really transformed into emanants, or did emanants manifest from the remains of their lives? Cassy, we are fundamentally different things. We naturally exist in such separate substrates of reality that it takes a lot of effort for us to share this space.” I waved my hand in front of me and then poked it with the finger of my other hand, “This isn’t made of matter. It acts like it most of the time. I can use it to push against matter.” I poked her shoulder. “But there are no atoms in here. No electrons. No quarks. I’m something different.”

“What about souls, though?”

“I don’t know about that.”

She snorted an explosive sigh, “Poop.”

My mental model of her personality was really strong. It was almost as if I’d felt that blast of disappointment for real.

I hit the crosswalk button and turned to head deeper into town, where there’d be more people and maybe a Supraliminal emanant or two. “You experience a whole lot of things I’ll never get to experience. From the way you shit, to your dreams, and sense of self. It’s all alien and different. It’s part of why I like to befriend lifeforms.”

Halfway across the street, she asked, “Do you ever want to be human?”

I had promised not to lie, “No.”

“People are shit.”

I reframed that, “People can be really shitty, yes.”

“No!” she nearly shouted at me. “I mean, people, human beings are literally made of shit. Animals are. All life is. We are what we eat, all the way up the food chain, and the smallest life eats shit. To live, we have to eat other living things, and somewhere along the line, one of those things ate shit. We’re shit. And I hate it! Being alive sucks!”

“That’s –” I started to say as we were stepping up onto the sidewalk on the corner, looking toward city hall. But I was suddenly distracted by something looming below me.

All it took was stepping that much closer. By crossing the street, I came into view of at least one of my adversaries, I think.

It wasn’t really bigger than me, actually, it just felt that way from my current perspective, looking into the Strands from the physical realm. It also took up more space in one of the Strands that I wasn’t occupying much myself, so it was technically bigger in that direction. This made it harder to compare to the rest of myself. But I estimated that if I squeezed myself into that Strand, I could cast a shadow over it, so to speak.

Could I or Felicity take a bite out of it from the Strands? I didn’t know. Not from where I was standing. Neither of us had figured out how that worked yet.

“What were you gonna say?” Cassy asked.

“If you stick with me, you’ll get a chance to see how it’s even more like that with us emanants,” I said. “I’ve spent most of my existence, all of it really, learning how not to be eaten. But there’s always a new lesson around the next corner.”

“But you’re almost as old as the Earth itself!”

“Not even close. The Cryogenian is late, late Precambrian, Cassy. There were at least four billion years of enthalpiphages before me. And most of us don’t survive a millennium. I think I’m a bit of an outlier.”

She gestured at a passing car like it was evidence of something, “And I’ll be lucky to live another twenty years! Especially the way the government is going, ignoring climate change and turning all fascist!”

As we continued walking, I was quickly able to triangulate where the other Supraliminal was. Especially after bobbing my head a couple times like a bearded dragon. The big old monster was currently sitting just below the basement of city hall.

“Look. Cassy. Whether we remain friends or not, do you want help with that?” I asked. “Do you want to live longer and have a happier life?”

***

When Synthia asked her that question, Cassy thought about the conversation they’d just had and all the tangents her mind had raced through while listening to her. She tried to weigh all of that against the frustrations of her own life.

Her other option, right now, was to walk home and go to sleep during the day, to get enough sleep for her graveyard shift. To try to sleep while Derrick played Call of Duty in the room next to hers with his subwoofer and shouting at his ‘friends’. Or she could go to a Starbucks and sit blearily over a bunch of sugar and caffeine, alone.

“Yes,” she said, kind of angry that she had to even admit it. “Of course I want a better life. That’s what I’ve been saying.”

She didn’t think anyone, not even Synthia, had the power to make it happen. She was just venting to someone who she’d thought of as a friend, out of habit. Someone who’d suddenly become different.

“Done,” Synthia said. “I can’t promise results, who knows what the world will throw at you or me, but I can give you my alliance and protection. Greg and Ayden can have the same. Friendship or not.”

Cassy felt a chill go through her body. Which was dumb, because what Synthia just said sounded like it came from a freaking Disney movie. But clearly part of her believed it all anyway.

“What does that even mean?” she felt herself asking.

“I don’t know. We’ll find out,” Synthia was staring off in the distance, slightly to the left of the direction they were walking. “But, in the meantime, I’m about to go see if maybe Felicity can eat an aircraft carrier.”

“A what?”

“Well, it’s about the size of one. I think.”

---

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[littlestsnicket]

witcher wip amnesty 2023

(it's still january, i'm still allowed to do that right?

summary: jaskier's never had anal sex. obviously he asks geralt. (i gave up on this before i got to the sex part, but i really really enjoyed writing the dialogue setup.)

word count: ~.8K

[also on ao3]

They are sitting around the campfire, Geralt working through his endless equipment repair and maintenance, Jaskier humming and tapping his fingers against his palm (it’s too dark for him to do much of anything else). Jaskier goes quiet for just long enough for Geralt to become suspicious and look up at him before he asks, “Geralt, have you ever been fucked?”

“What?”

Jaskier huffs—a momentary flash of annoyance that Geralt hasn’t divined enough of his train of thought for this question to seem reasonable. “Yes, surely a worldly person such as yourself is familiar with the male body’s capacity to be penetrated for sexual pleasure.”

“Yes. Why are you asking me this?”

“I haven’t been, and I’m curious.”

“And your first thought was to ask me?” Geralt’s voice is flat with incredulity.

“My first thought was to—“ Jaskier pauses to wiggle his fingers, “self experiment. But it wasn’t… it wasn’t bad but I’m not sure I’m doing it right.”

“So you want me to teach you how to make anal sex feel good?”

Jaskier’s face lights up. “Yes, that’s the idea!”

His face crumples into a frown just as quickly, “I suppose it’s presumptuous. I’ve never even known you to seek out the company of men. If I was of your advanced age, I’d have tried everything, but not everyone is like that…”

A small part of Geralt is curious of what else Jaskier might say it was allowed to keep rambling. He’s seen and learned a lot of the world for someone so young, it’s interesting sometimes to see what he has and hasn’t pieced together. But Geralt speaks when Jaskier pauses to draw breath, “I don’t usually, but I have often enough. Most of my experience is with women.”

“Well, yes, in general, I know you well enough to have observed that.”

“Not just in general.”

“How does that work?” Jaskier sounds alarmingly excited.

Geralt wiggles his fingers the same way Jaskier had earlier and adds, “or with a harness.”

Jaskier’s expression goes a bit glassy and Geralt can smell his arousal spike. Maybe this will distract Jaskier enough that they won’t have to finish this conversation. Geralt’s not sure if he’s disappointed or relieved.

It doesn’t matter. It only takes Jaskier a few moments to return his attention to Geralt. “The mechanics on the receiving end must be basically the same regardless.”

“Yes,” Geralt confirms. He pauses with a frown. “Are you propositioning me?”

“Oh, no. I was not expecting a practical demonstration. But, hm, you’re not usually one for words, so that’s not an unreasonable assumption and if you’re offering I am in no way opposed.” Jaskier gives Geralt a deliberately obvious once over. 

That, in Geralt’s opinion, is the worst answer Jaskier could have given, putting this decision on Geralt, but Geralt studies him. He’s comfortable and relaxed, pleased to have Geralt’s attention, but mostly endlessly curious.

“Okay,” Geralt says, allowing Jaskier to study him in return.

“Lovely!” Jaskier exclaims before shifting suddenly into awkwardness. Geralt has had the time to grow accustomed to how quickly Jaskier’s expressions can shift, but it’s still disconcerting sometimes. “So, do we kiss or…”

“Thought you were supposed to be good at this.”

Jaskier hrumpfs with exaggerated offense. “I’m practiced in how to seduce, be seduced, and exchange quick favors, but I don’t know which of those things I’m supposed to be doing? I’ve never done… whatever this is?”

“Hm,” Geralt says in genuine surprise. But Geralt thinks about it a bit more and it makes sense. It was the last thing Geralt would have expected them to share upon meeting each other, but they both exist in a liminal space (very different ones but the results are very much the same) that makes it difficult to see where one stands with other men. Geralt has only done this sort of experimenting with other Witchers.

Geralt’s been quiet too long and nervousness is starting to creep into Jaskier’s scent. It jars him out of his thoughts.

He nods decisively. “We should kiss first. Not sure how to make this good for you unless you’re…”

Geralt trails off, but Jaskier seems to understand, does a pleased wriggle and moves to kneel next to Geralt, posture open, inviting, and eager. Jaskier does know how to be seduced. 

Geralt sighs again, aiming for annoyance but it comes out fond instead. It’s embarrassing, especially when Jaskier smiles at him knowingly. Geralt quickly tidies away the bits of Roach’s tack he’d been mending and comes back with a vial of oil.

“Oh,” Jaskier says, looking at the vial. “That does make sense.”

Geralt laughs.

“I would have asked more questions before I did this to someone else! And I did think it through enough not to just stick completely dry fingers in my arse!”

“No, it’s not that. If you thought this was fine with just spit—not that experienced people don’t enjoy that—my job will be easy.”

[thevoyageurmoteplass-writing]

Usually the path leading to the forest was empty, especially in the dark, and yet tonight there was a figure pacing the mouth of the entrance. Despite my better judgement I continued walking, just eager to head home, to eat a warm meal. All day out was nice, but nothing quite beat Mum’s food. And, after everything that had happened over the past week or so, the last thing I wanted to do was linger. The relative normality of home had never been so appealing.

As usual I diverted my attention away from the person’s Countdown, something made a little harder by their short height. Even from this distance I could tell that they were actually short, not just distorted by perspective.

I went to move aside but they seemed to move deliberately in my path. I went the other side, they followed. My heart thundered against my chest; sweat slicked my palms. Why had I told the others I was going to be fine?

‘Sylvester?’ the girl, I realised, asked as I reached her. Inadvertently I slowed my pace.

At the sound of my name I stopped short. A small smirk curled the girl’s lips. Her dark eyes skittered across my face, as if she were somehow trying to read my mind. Any other time being spoken to by someone who looked like they could have passed for a woodland fairy by stature alone might have been amusing. But right now, with the large moon hanging low in the sky, it was nothing if not disconcerting.

‘You found the key, didn’t you?’

I blinked at her, trying to wrap my head around the question. How could she possibly know? Yesterday I’d been grabbing homework from my bag when my fingers brushed cold metal. I’d wrapped my fingers around it and pulled out a key, my name engraved in cursive lettering on the handle. I hadn’t even told Brooke about it, not quite sure where to start.

‘So,’ said the girl, a curiosity I recognised flashing behind her eyes, ‘want to find out where it leads to?’

Instinctively I started to nod, but doubt crept up the back of my neck. Didn’t all fairy tales teach you not to head into the woods with mysterious strangers?

The girl shrugged dismissively. ‘It’s all right if you don’t,’ she told me simply. ‘It’s not like The Voyageurs Möteplass is gonna go anywhere.’

‘The what?’ I asked before I could stop myself.

My eagerness didn’t go unnoticed; a knowing glint flared to life in her eyes. ‘The Voyageurs Möteplass,’ she repeated with deliberate care. ‘We need a door though.’

‘But which one?’ I asked as she started down the path, back towards the school. Without thinking I followed her, keeping pace with her easily. ‘Do you know what one you’re even –?’ She cut my question off with an incredulous look.

‘Doesn’t matter,’ she told me simply. ‘Magic key; it’s not fussy.’

I pulled up short. ‘Sorry. Magic?’

‘The unexplained. That stuff you suspected reality to get a hold of,’ she explained, not stopping. ‘Even if I did get how Darius did it, I wouldn’t be able to explain it.’ She paused as we reached the gatehouse, motioned me forwards even though I was no longer beside her. ‘Well, try it.’

‘Look, this was fun and all –’

‘Sylvester, humour me, please.’                    

I shuddered. There was something ridiculously creepy about her knowing my name and not making some comment about a Countdown. And yet, I couldn’t deny that she had intrigued me in the short time that I had been with her.

‘What’ve you got to lose?’

With a deep sigh I pulled the key from its new home: my pocket. I couldn’t deny her reasoning. It wasn’t like there was anyone to see; unless this was some ridiculously elaborate prank by Bertie which I really wouldn’t put passed him.

Slowly I extended my hand towards the lock. I wasn’t nearly as shocked as I would have expected when the key fitted perfectly. I glanced back at the girl, who nodded encouragingly, before turning the thing and pushing the door open.

‘Welcome to The Voyageurs Möteplass,’ she announced as I stepped through, not sure what to look at first.

Rather than the boring gatehouse interior that I had been expecting there was a café. People spoke merrily; cups clinked; the smell of hot drinks and food filled the air; sunlight filtered through large windows. But, at closer inspection, not all the people were what I had been expecting. Some were impossibly tall; others had fangs protruding over their lips; there was even one person who seemed to have an extra set of eyes on their forehead.

‘Thanks Fox,’ called a large man from behind the counter, sorting out some drink at the coffee machine. ‘Grab a table, I’ll be over.’

The girl, Fox, nodded before ushering me to a spare table. ‘Anyone’d think I worked here,’ she grumbled, before shaking her head as if to clear it.

‘You kind of do,’ noted the man, wiping his hands clean on his apron before extending one my way. ‘Darius Kilvert.’

‘Um, Sylvester. But, I guess you already know that though,’ I said, rather awkwardly as I shook his hand.

He let out a low, rumbling chuckle and eased himself into the space beside Fox. ‘Quite right I already know your name, Sylvester. I’m sure you have enough questions to contend with this one –’

‘Hey!’ complained Fox.

‘– but can I say my piece first, about where you are and why?’

I shifted a little uncomfortably. Honestly, I wanted nothing more than to stay and hear them out, but I had dinner to get back for.

‘I’m sorry, Mr. Kilvert –’

‘Darius, please,’ he corrected amicably, earning an eye roll from Fox.

‘Darius,’ I tried again, ‘but I have to –’

‘Magic,’ Fox reminded me mildly. ‘They won’t even know you were gone.’

‘Seriously?’ I asked, my curiosity flowing once more, overriding my concern at the fact that she had pretty much read my mind.

‘Yes,’ chuckled Darius. ‘But we’ll get to that. First, this place is a kind of way place for weary travellers when their stories are over.’

‘Why we can’t get this place beforehand I’ll never know,’ said Fox simply, the flicker of annoyance, of someone who was more insulted for the sake of others than herself, shone behind her eyes. Darius shot her a look, one that he was probably tired of giving her already. ‘Sorry. Just saying.’ 

Apology glinted behind Darius’s eyes as he looked back towards me and I felt my stomach plummeting. If I’d thought the past couple of weeks were weird they were nothing compared to what I was now privy to. I just hoped I might somehow be able to navigate my way through this as well.