#or did he read it in a spell book and commit to memory on purpose

[whataboringstory]

The way Merlin just knew what the spell was to put a toad in someone’s throat

[i-choose-the-danger]

Lesson Learned

Whoa, new fic alert! I'm surprised at how quickly I wrote this one. Don't expect that speed to become a habit though. 😂 This is a Hogwarts Legacy fic, so obviously if you play the game or plan to and wish to avoid spoilers, you should probably save this fic for later.

Summary: Ominis has offered to help the new fifth-year student catch up on learning charms. Sebastian gets volunteered as tribute to be the student's practice dummy, and also learns never to go behind his best friend's back again. Fic below the cut.

**A little background info for those of you who don't know anything about the characters but still want to read it and not feel completely lost:

Ominis Gaunt (yes of THAT Gaunt family) and Sebastian Sallow are 5th-year Slytherin boys and they've been besties since they met at school

Anne Sallow, mentioned a few times, is Sebastian's twin sister who became too ill to go to school any longer and now stays home

Ominis is blind, born that way (not something I made up, it's canon)

The other student is the "main character" aka the player in the game/story, and they've started Hogwarts as a 5th-year so they have a LOT to catch up on

For the purposes of this fic, the character is a female Slytherin and I've named her Kathryn

the "Undercroft", where this fic takes place, is basically a hidden room in the castle that only Ominis's family knows about... Ominis only shared this secret with Sebastian who then shared it with the main character when he shouldn't have

I think that's all the background info you need to know if you don't know the game's storyline. Time-wise, this fic takes places somewhere in the middle of the school year, after Sebastian told the other student about the Undercroft and I'd say not long before they start looking for the Scriptorium for those of you who know the storyline.

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Kathryn anxiously paced in a circle across the stone floor in a corner of the Undercroft. Her nerves getting the better of her, she fidgeted with the spell book in her hands and began to rotate it cover over cover as she walked. There was a lot of work she needed to do if she was to get her magical knowledge up to snuff with the other fifth-years before the O.W.L. exams began at the end of next term. The one subject she seemed to excel at was potions, which Ominis struggled with quite a bit. In exchange for tutoring him, he had offered to go over charms he'd been taught in his earlier years. Kathryn was about to give up on waiting when she noticed the red glow pulsing and growing brighter near the entrance gate.

"Oh good, you made it!" Kathryn exhaled. She smiled as the gate lifted and Ominis strutted underneath it as he extinguished his wand. She took a seat on the floor, folding her legs underneath herself and placing the spell book beside her. "I was starting to think that you'd forgotten." Her fingers buried themselves in her long dark hair and twisted around the strands.

"I promised you that I would come. You know I'd never break my word. I had to make sure there were no prying eyes around." Ominis furrowed his brow when he realized her voice came from below him. "Are you sitting on the floor?"

"It's usually how I study."

"Well, that will not do. You deserve better than cold stone. Just a moment." Ominis didn't need his wand to navigate the Undercroft. Having spent so much time down there over the past four years, the area was completely committed to memory. He disappeared around a corner and came back just as quickly pulling what looked like two large green velvet couch cushions behind him.

"Where in the world...?"

"I deserve a medal for being able to memorize and navigate Sallow's 'organized chaos', as he calls it, down here." He handed a cushion to Kathryn and dropped the other behind himself before sitting down onto it. "Much better. Did you have anything specific you wanted to go over today?"

"Madam Scribner helped me find a copy of Standard Book of Spells for first-years with braille and said I could keep it for the term as long as I bring it back in perfect condition." She placed the book on Ominis's knee and kept her hand on top of the cover until he took the book in his hands. As he started to flip through pages, she added, "I feel silly having to look through a first-year book and not knowing some basic spells and charms. I really do appreciate you offering to help."

"I don't mind. Sebastian brought you here to have a safe space to practice, so it only makes sense to utilize your time learning what you can."

"I still feel bad about that. If I'd known it was your family's private-"

"Nonsense," Ominis cut her off with a dismissive wave of his hand. "That fault lies with Sebastian, not you. I feel awful about snapping at you when I found out, so I suppose that makes us even."

"Fair enough. I got up to page thirty-two before morning classes started. I managed to spongify one of my books, which was fine until I realized I didn't know how to undo it and it bounced around every time I put it down." Kathryn huffed at herself, taking a seat on the cushion Ominis had given her.

"Ah, rookie mistake. Always learn a counter spell first." Ominis turned several pages in the spell book. "Twenty-nine, thirty, thirty-one, thirty-two..." He brushed his fingers across a line of bumps on the page and let out a quiet chuckle.

"What?" Kathryn asked.

"It's an... amusing spell," he told her. Ominis leaned his head from side to side in thought. "It's not one you see used very often. I don't think I've ever seen it used during classes."

"Well, now you've piqued my curiosity." Kathryn craned her neck to try to read the page Ominis had the book opened to in his lap. She lightly tapped a fist against his knee. "Come on. I want to cram the past four years of your knowledge into my brain before Christmas break. What is it?"

"It's called rictusempra." Ominis grimaced as a small wave of embarrassment came over him. "It's a tickling charm," he added, angling his face down towards the book in his lap.

"I beg your pardon? You're kidding." Kathryn scoffed and looked up at Ominis, whose cheeks were now dusted a shade of pink. "You're not kidding. Is it that bad? What happens if I use it?"

"It's what one would expect. It hits you here," Ominis mumbled, bracing an open palm over his stomach. He stretched his fingers out and wiggled them around. "It feels warm and kind of fuzzy at first, but then it wriggles out and becomes increasingly unbearable. It tickles like mad and you have no way to block it because it feels like it comes from inside you, if that makes any sense. Ugh..." Ominis buried his face in his hand and could feel himself blush.

"You speak from experience. Sebastian used it on you, didn't he?"

"Oh goodness me, Sebastian knows better than to try something like that. He may be brash and completely reckless, but he's not suicidal." Ominis closed his eyes and laughed at a memory sparked from the conversation. He gazed in Kathryn's direction. "It was Anne, his twin sister. I can't remember why, but I was in a foul mood and they were having none of it. Sebastian tried to cheer me up and nothing helped. Then I heard her cast the spell and I reacted almost instantly." He shuddered and scratched around his torso as if he could still feel the effects of the spell. He felt a light squeeze at his ribs and jerked away from the touch with a gasp, swatting his hand out towards Kathryn. "Noooo no no. That's not wise."

"So you're already ticklish to begin with," Kathryn giggled. She thought for a moment and looked at the book that was still open to the spell page in Ominis's lap. "This doesn't say what happens if you cast the spell on someone who isn't ticklish though. Would it have the same effect on them or would it be useless?"

"You really do have a habit of making me think of things differently, don't you?" Ominis quirked an eyebrow while he thought over the question. "I actually don't know. And you're the first person I know to even ask. I suppose we'd have to find a willing practice dummy."

At that moment, they heard the gate open behind them and heavy footsteps echoing down the stairs through the chamber.

"Ahh, there you two are. I figured you had to be down here when I couldn't find you in the common room or Great Hall. I guess this means you're not mad at me anymore for letting Kathryn into the Undercroft?" Sebastian directed at his best friend.

"Of course not. I understand why you let her down here. Whyever would I still be upset?" Ominis's tone was less than sincere, but Sebastian didn't pick up on it. "You have excellent timing though, Sebastian. You're a perfect dummy," he added, smiling as he imagined the scowl Sebastian must be wearing.

"I am NOT dumb!" Sebastian put his books down on a nearby chair and crossed his arms over his chest.

"He means a practice dummy. No one is calling you dumb," Kathryn said, scolding Ominis by lightly backhanding his shoulder. "Ominis has been kind enough to spend time teaching me some charms and spells that you learned in previous years so I can catch up."

"Is that so? I can teach you spells that aren't in those books too. Just say the word." Sebastian felt a small pang of jealousy in that moment, even though he would never admit it. "So why do you need me to be your practice smarty?"

"Oh for Merlin's sake." Ominis groaned and rolled his eyes.

"This spell has to be used on a person and I didn't feel comfortable using it against Ominis. Besides, I wanted to test a theory." Kathryn stood and held out her wand towards Sebastian. "Odd question: are you ticklish?"

"What?!" Sebastian squeaked. He wrapped his arms tighter around himself and tried to remain calm as he took a few steps back. "I mean, of course not."

Sebastian glanced over at Ominis, who was wearing a smile that could only be described as pure evil. Ominis was fully aware of how sensitive Sebastian was, having heard him and his twin sister have countless tickle fights when they were younger.

"Oh, perfect! Let's see what happens then. Rictusempra!"

"No, wait!" Sebastian didn't have a chance to grab his wand and attempt to shield himself from the charm. A puff of silver glittery smoke shot out of the tip of Kathryn's wand and collided into Sebastian's torso. The boy gasped and instantly turned away from his friends as he doubled over, clawing at his vest.

"Did... did I do it wrong?" Kathryn asked.

"Not at all," Ominis replied in her direction. He stood and dropped the textbook back onto the cushion. "I suspect he's being stubborn and trying to fight it. What is he doing now?"

"He's kind of hunched over and jumping around like he needs to find a bathroom. I wish you could see him. It's utterly ridiculous." Kathryn clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle her own laugh as Sebastian squealed.

"Rictusempra is meant to weaken your opponent. The spell starts to dissipate once its victim is too weak to function." Ominis heard Sebastian starting to hiss through his teeth to suppress his laughter. "Sebastian, you're only making it worse for yourself. And you're not being very helpful to Kathryn either. Bad form," he scolded. He cleared his throat to hide a deep chuckle when Sebastian squealed again. "She needs to see how these spells work to understand them."

As if on cue, Sebastian's legs gave out and he fell to his knees. He couldn't fight the wriggling sensations against his ribs and stomach any longer and giggles rumbled in his chest before flowing freely from his lips.

"Okay-hay-hay-hee-hee! She see-hee-hees!" Sebastian's dark hair was a complete frumpled mop over his eyes. His shirt was untucked and his vest was twisted around his torso as he continued to claw and swat at the tickling sensations pulsing through his body. "Please! I ca-ha-ha-ha-han't!" He was laughing so hard that his eyes were tearing.

"If you actually feel pity for him and want to stop the spell, there's another that would immobilize him. Simply aim your wand at him and say titillando," Ominis told Kathryn in a hushed tone.

"And that'll stop the spell?" Kathryn was skeptical knowing what the incantation translated to, but she knew Ominis wouldn't teach her a spell that would hurt someone. It seemed plausible to her that a counter-spell would have similar terminology.

"You have my word." It wasn't a lie... exactly. Ominis could never lie to her, but he was still quite the cunning Slytherin when the need called for it. He was also still annoyed at Sebastian for letting Kathryn into the Undercroft without his permission. There's that old saying about payback...

"Titillando!"

"Oh my God, NO!" Ghostly transparent purple-tinted hands appeared around Sebastian and started tickling any spot on him they could reach. He no longer had the strength to hold back his laughter and outright screeched before bursting into cackles and curling into a fetal position on his side as he repeatedly kicked at the air. "Help meeeee! I can't brea-hee-hee-heethe!"

"Ominis!" This time Kathryn backhanded his shoulder with a force that nearly knocked him off balance. "He's going to pass out."

"He'll be fine. The little prat had it coming. Just give it a minute." Ominis continued to listen to Sebastian's deep laughter and occasional squeal, closing his eyes and laughing himself as it reminded him of happier times they had together before Anne had gotten sick.

"I do not want to be sent to Azkaban for murder! Call them off!" Kathryn tried to sound stern, but she knew Ominis could sense the amusement in her voice.

"Very well. Spoil my fun then. Finite incantatem."

As Ominis spoke the spell and aimed his wand at Sebastian, the ghostly hands vanished. Sebastian spread out his limbs, collapsing face-down on the stone floor and taking in gulps of air.

"Sebastian?" Kathryn bit down on her thumb and felt incredibly guilty as Sebastian lifted his head and turned it to face her. "Are you... okay?"

"Don't. Touch. Me. You two... are in... SO... much trouble... when I can see straight," Sebastian mumbled in between fleeting breaths and residual giggles.

"Me?! I just did what Ominis told me!" Kathryn glared at the blond. "You said that would stop the spell!"

"Did it not? I was truthful," Ominis stated with a shrug. A red light pulsed from the tip of his wand as he held it out and slowly stepped over to where he could hear Sebastian still panting. Crouching beside his best friend, he kept his voice low. "I thought you knew me better, Sebastian. I never get mad at you. I get even." Ominis extended an arm and felt around until his hand touched Sebastian's hair. He gave it a few semi-sympathetic pats before standing back up. "Although, I do confess that I may have gone a tad bit overboard."

"If you could see how destroyed he looks... Overboard is an understatement," Kathryn sighed. She offered her hands to Sebastian and helped him to stand.

"Overboard?! I almost died. I felt my soul leaving my body." Sebastian draped an arm around Kathryn's shoulders and leaned against her as his other hand massaged into his aching ribs. "I'll let you off the hook this time because you're learning." He glared at Ominis through the dark curls that were still matted against his forehead from sweat. "YOU on the other hand, you'd better sleep with one-" he caught himself in the middle of his own sentence as he realized what he was saying.

"Oh I dare you to finish that," Ominis hissed. He chuckled darkly. "Anne isn't the only one who knows your weak points. Perhaps I should teach Kathryn the body-bind spell next and you can show her how well it works."

"Perhaps you two can keep me out of your nonsense and just help me with my homework so I don't fail and watch you go on to sixth year without me," Kathryn interjected.

"Quite right. I apologize. We have work to do," Ominis admitted.

"I need a shower... and a nap now." Sebastian let go of Kathryn and stood up straight, wincing at the soreness in his torso from laughing so hard. "This is far from over though. Watch yourself," he added to Ominis as he passed by to head back to their dormitory.

"He's not serious, is he? I'm going to feel horrible if I started something between you two." Kathryn folded her arms over her chest.

"Not to worry. Our friendship is complicated, but solid." Ominis' jaw clenched as he thought about his siblings. "As I hate my actual family, I assume this is how real brothers would get along. He'll forget about it by tomorrow."

"I'll take your word for it. Let's go over a few more spells before dinner, hmm?" Kathryn sat back down and grabbed the spell book, flipping through pages. "Preferably some I can use in dueling. I have a feeling Sebastian won't go easy on me if Professor Hecat pairs us up again."

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The end! Hopefully y'all liked it. I have other Hogwarts Legacy drabbles knocking around in my head too. I love these two Slytherin boys so much. 😭 As always, likes and comments and reblogs are appreciated and encouraged. Thank you! 💗💗

[syms-things-5]

Clear The Area - Chapter Fifteen (Part Three)

Previous chapter here

Warnings: language, some suggestive sexuality, and some good old angst

Tags: @jennmurawski13 @kelbabyblue Thanks for the support!

Notes: Hope you enjoy this, and apologies for my poor spelling and grammar.

Chapter Fifteen: Part Three

She woke up earlier than him.

It was half six when she stepped into the shower having given up on her sleep. It had been a hot, rather uncomfortable night and the aircon barely broke a chill through the suite.

It was taking some getting used to, this sharing a bed, especially with someone who insisted on snuggling into the back of her. Sarah wasn’t much of a cuddler and Chris knew this. She would much rather wrap herself up in blankets and drift off to sleep but it didn’t stop him from slowly inching his body towards her throughout the night. It was a case of putting up with it for fear of falling off the end and breaking something.

She barely moved under the shower head except to allow the water to rain down on her skin and hopefully liven her up for the day. She was anxious, more anxious than she anticipated she would be. She was always able to keep her cool under test conditions, probably why she became a nurse in the first place, but something about this particular exam was hitting differently and she wasn’t sure why.

She eventually got dressed and went back into the bedroom to sort her hair. He would be annoyed she’d woken up before him now that he had decided he was single-handedly responsible for all her breakfast needs that week. Admittedly, though, it felt nice being looked after in this way. Really, really nice. It was like having her own PA.

He was sleeping flat on his stomach, one leg poking out from underneath the covers. He had wrapped his arms around a pillow and his low snore was rumbling through the warm air in the room. It was confusing how anyone could find that position comfortable and not wake up having lost all feeling down one side of his body. His back muscles were relaxed but still resembled something Michelangelo could only dream of painting. He was, in all honesty, a ridiculous specimen of a man. A man that told her he wanted her to get some good rest and sleep as much as possible. Who had closed her textbooks, ran her a hot bath, and climbed in behind her to massage her shoulders. Potential lingered in the air last night but he was going to stick to his word and not get in the way of her work. He told her he was glad he was with her and happily settled for stroking her hair as she fell asleep. Her head was lying on his chest but when she felt his heartbeat settle and his arms loosen around her, she softly rolled away from him like he knew she inevitably would.

At various times, they found themselves getting into a very comfortable and, dare she say it, enjoyable routine. It was surprisingly easy to do so when the door was locked. He had used the hotel gym to give her some peace for a few hours each morning. He had kept her fed and hydrated when she would have most likely forgotten both having had her nose stuck in her books for hours on end. He had watched daytime television in the bedroom and failed to hide his tears when a charity had rebuilt an elderly man’s home following a flood. When she asked, he had helped to test her using the notes she’d prepped for the exam. He read scripts as soon as they had landed in his inbox. His team was politely shocked at his new-found efficiency.

When they weren’t fooling around on the sofa in the evenings, she had taken a break to read over some lines with him. While at first he was very kind and promising with his notes, especially with some kissing scenes he’d invented, they both knew she was definitely not suited for a life in front of the camera.

“Don’t overthink it too much. Just go with your instincts.” he encouraged her to continue reading with him for fun but she had given up when he had fallen into a fit of laughter as she attempted to arrest him.

“Yeh, no, my brain doesn’t really work like that.” she responded, holding up her hands in defeat.

“Please? I’m sorry, I promise I won’t laugh.” he pleaded. “Again.”

It was easy to get used to having him around but she finally realised how and why women fell for him hard. There was something very childlike about him, something innocent even if he was anything but when they dimmed the lights. He was gentler and quieter than she knew him to be, less sure of himself at times than perhaps the impression he wilfully gave away to the public. She heard the criticisms he levelled at himself when reading his lines out loud and saw first-hand the pressure he placed upon himself where his career was concerned. But for every committed step them took forwards as they learned more about each other, even after all these years, something started to pull her back.

“Hey...”

She was broken from her contemplation by his groggy drawl. He turned on to his side and laid his hand in the space she had previously occupied. One eye had yet to open and his hair was pointing in all different directions.

“It’s far too early to get up, y’know.” He stretched his arm out to connect with her leg curled up underneath her as she looked back at him. “Oh shit. I forgot. Is it really this morning already?”

She stayed looking at him from where she was sat before nodding. “I should only be a couple of hours but I’ll swing by that bakery down the street and pick us up something nice for lunch. They do those almond croissants you like.”

He sighed, taking her in and smiling. She’d tied her hair in a side plait and was wearing a slightly fluffy striped sweater that he wanted to run his hands over. “Yeh, that sounds really nice, Bernette.” He didn’t miss a beat. “I could meet you afterwards? We could go for a walk through the Park?”

“I might just want to come home and cry.”

“Hey now, you’re gonna ace this test. I can feel it.” He was fully awake now, purposeful in his movements towards her to help put her mind at ease. “if I was your patient, I would be ecstatic to have you working on me.”

She chuckled to herself. He was always so confident expressing himself. She was jealous of that. She wished she could be as confident and as sure of herself, like the rest of the family were. It was one thing in her that stood out in stark contrast.

“What have you eaten? I didn’t hear any room service.” He probed, a serious look now glazing over his features.

“Oh it’s fine, I’ll grab something on the way. I’m not all that hungry to tell you the truth.” She tried to brush off his protests but it only served to make him more concerned.

“You’ve got time yet, let me order something up.” He made for the phone but was stopped as she got up from the bed. “You need to eat something, Sarah. You’re gonna be sat there for hours. I don’t want you passing out.”

“Alright, thank you, Dad!” she laughed. “It’s fine! This is not my first exam. I know what it’s like and I promise you I will get something from Starbucks on somewhere else on the way.”

“You’re going now?!”

“Yeh, I could do with a walk to clear my hear. I always found that helpful when back in school.” She was talking from the lounge as she tried to locate her boots. Something else Shanna had chucked into her suitcase without her realising, but she wasn’t as annoyed with this one.

“Give me ten minutes and I’ll come with you.”

She re-entered the bedroom to find him rifling through his bag for new clothes. “Why?”

“Because I wanna support my girlfriend! Jesus!” He was sharper than he had intended but carried on with his search for fresh boxers, throwing out some old stuff in haste like he was searching for long lost buried treasure.

She just looked at him. He’d never used that word before. They’d never talked about it. He acknowledged her silence and stopped to look at her, jeans in hand. He saw her awkward stance and instantly felt like shit. This was not the morning to lay this on her. He knew the very next words out of his mouth would determine how they moved forward.

He paused before chucking his jeans on the chair in front of him. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright,” she responded but she wasn’t sure it was.

“If you wanna head off, that’s totally cool. I’ll be here if you need me. Just text me when you’re done, yeh?”

She nodded at him, offered him as reassuring a smile as she could manage before leaving the bedroom to gather her things. He didn’t follow her; she heard the bed creak slightly so he must have chosen to stay put instead. It was probably for the best. She didn’t want the image of his pitiful face to be her last memory before sitting in silence for 90 minutes, trying in vain to concentrate as hard as she could.

*

The test went about as well as expected, if what she had expected was to doubt her basic entry-level abilities. She was one of seven that morning, six if you discount the gentleman that walked out fifteen minutes after he sat down.

It was multiple choice. It really shouldn’t have been that difficult. The answer was hiding in plain sight after all. She was reminded of something her tutor once told her and her graduating class before they left the relative comfort of their college:

“There will always be someone who knows more than we do.”

He didn’t mean it in a disparaging way - at least she didn’t think he did - but more that you go from being one of the best in your class to being surrounded by people who are equally as bright and as intuitive as you may be, and who will all have had different experiences. He wanted to say that sometimes, there is no one right answer. It was more than passing a test and qualifying; you have to adapt. You had to soak everything up like a sponge or else you risk becoming redundant in the very profession you devoted your life to. No wonder Medicine had the highest quit ratio. Boy, had she been naive.

Shanna 11.41am: OK OK I kno ur probably still super busy bt i’m dying to kno how it went?? Txt me when you get a sec babe xxxxx

She smiled down at her phone before typing a series of vomiting emojis. That should just about sum up her feelings. Scanning her phone again, she found a couple of messages from Audrey but none from Chris. She was surprised but would be lying if she didn’t admit to being relieved.

She meandered down the street towards the subway, thoughts swaying between reliving stupid mistakes she had convinced herself she had made, to what kind of mood Chris might be in. She texted him that she was finished and heading back like she promised she would, then the train was bang on time so she didn’t even have the luxury of blaming delays. Her legs weighed like lead as she approached the suite doorway, her lack of sleep the night before finally catching up with her.

Everything was deathly quiet when she entered. She paused after shutting the door behind her but still couldn’t hear anything. Certainly no trace of another person being present. Confused, she walked into the bedroom and found a note left on the comforter. He’d gone to the gym and told her to message him when she got back. This might give her the excuse she’d been seeking to grab five minutes alone.

She flopped on to the bed and turned to the side to catch the pile of notes and textbooks he’d shoved there the night before. So much promise contained in those few pages. So much knowledge that it felt like she had no business attempting to absorb it for her own personal gain. Many highly accomplished physicians and scientists had bound their entire lives to the duty of finding answers to the human body’s potential for extreme trauma. What exactly would a young, angst-ridden girl from Michigan bring to the table?

The door went a few moments later and she realised she had closed her eyes. She was lying on her back with her legs hanging off the end of the bed as he walked in, slightly sweaty but nevertheless a sight for sore eyes. Seeing him in this state was the nicest thing that had happened to her all day and she regretted their tense conversation earlier.

“Dude...” he muttered as he dropped his towel on the chair by the door and joined her on the bed. He flopped down alongside her with a heavy sigh.

“Good workout?” she finally offered.

“Yeh, all good. Nothing too strenuous.” He replied like it was the most normal conversation in the world. “Good exam?”

“Oh yeh, same.” she replied just as casual as him before they both fell into a fit of giggles.

“Wanna talk about it?” he asked after they had both calmed down.

She took a deep breath. “Not really.”

“You want me to guess?”

“Chris...”

“What?” his voice was a little whinier than he would have liked at this particular time. “I know you. You’re writing yourself off before you know what’s happened.”

“Who said I was writing myself off?” She pushed back. “It’s normal to feel like this. It’s just...nerves or whatever.”

“Yeh, well, there’s no point worrying about something twice.”

She didn’t want to talk about this right now. She was silently hoping he would make a move on her after refraining from touching her the night before when she was definitely in the mood for him. “It’s just...it’s hard to explain.” She got up from the bed and shuffled into the bathroom to remove what little make-up she had put on that morning.

“Try and tell me about it. What was it like? How many questions were there? How many people turned up?”

She threw the face wipe in the bin and ran the tap water to wash her hands. She knew he wasn’t going to budge from his trajectory. She knew he wasn’t going to stop picking at her to talk about it. She leaned her hands on the marble top and took a deep breath.

“It was harder than I imagined it would be. I think I just froze. Like, basic stuff I do day in and day out just wasn’t coming to me.”

“If doing auditions has taught me anything it’s that you always think you’ve done worse than you have. It’s just natural. The brain works in strange ways sometimes. It can trick you.” he reasoned, finally moving into the bathroom but not daring to reach out to her. He settled for backing up against the wall inside the doorway.

“I’m pretty sure it’s not going to be a good result, thought.”

“You don’t know that for sure.” He spoke softly, comfortingly. “You’re so smart and so capable of doing this. You just gotta believe in yourself.”

She nodded in acceptable of what he was trying to say and looked at him face-on. His brow was defined with those worry lines again which made feel a little crap, but he still had a boyish shine about him, no doubt because of the glow from his workout. She would have been a heaving red mess.

“What are you thnking about?” he asked.

She continued studying him, trying to arrange her thoughts. “Is this all there is to life?” she asked after another moment had passed. “You find something you like to do and that’s it, you just coast for 40 years?”

He contemplated her question for a second. “Yeh. Pretty much.”

Sarah huffed out a laugh, not fully appreciating his brutal honest at this moment in time.

“But not everyone is lucky to even get that far.” He moved into the bathroom to stand closer to her. “People can go years with no real clue of what it is they wanna do. You’re one of the lucky ones, Sarah. You figured it out when you were young, you did what you had to do and now you’re doing it for real. That’s less common that you think.”

It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate what he was trying to do, it’s just that often she had multiple anxieties convincing her of the opposite. It’s easy for him to say this, he’s already at the top of his game. He doesn’t have to other with the real world if he doesn’t want to. Most people don’t have the financial luxury of stopping to retrain as something different and Chris had always alluded to quitting acting while he was still young in order to take up something else, like carpentry or simply staying behind the scenes. He always figured he would stop when he had his first child but the reality for everyone else couldn’t afford them that same privilege.

“You are where you’re supposed to be.” He continued. “I don’t believe there is anyone better qualified at what it is they do than you. I believe that and I believe that you know that, too, deep down. You just gotta find the other stuff that keeps you happy in the meantime. Whatever it is that keeps you going.”

“What makes you happy?”

He smiled at her. “Well...what you see if what you get. Family, football, beer. Not necessarily in that order.” He was glad she was smiling again. “Spending time with the people I love. Recognising that I love them and that they love me back and that that love is wonderful.”

“You’re so lucky you don’t second guess yourself all the time.”

“Oh, believe me, I do.” he impressed. “It’s just that I learned some things a few years ago that helped me now. Like taking a deep breath and letting it wash over you. It’s natural to feel doubt but it’s what happens afterwards that really matters. It’s how we choose to perceive the things that happen to us, and how we move forward.”

“Anything has gotta be easier than feeling like this.”

“It’s not always a good thing. Sometimes you have to wait for other people to catch up.” He leaned onto the counter next to her, the mirror in front of them spotlighting them both and making them both appear a little pathetic in their current gait.

“I should start packing.” She whispered after a few more silent moments had passed by.

Neither of them made the effort to move but check-out was 2pm at the latest if Chris had bought it and she was almost certain he had. She would eventually need to make her way to the station and presumably Chris would simply head home in his car. Back to Boston. Back to reality.

“We still have some time. We could order up some lunch if you want to? I’m not entirely convinced you ate anything this morning.”

She watched him in the mirror as he turned to face her, a sterner look in his eyes. He was pretty certain he could read her face this time and her lip-bite told him he was right.

“Or we could do something else with the little time we have left.” He reached out his hand to touch hers, rubbing his thumb across her knuckles. She didn’t more away so he chanced his arm and pulled her closer to him before kissing the inside of her palm and wrist. “It was so hard last night.”

She smirked at him before it dawned on him. “I mean...you know what I mean.” He rolled his eyes. “It was hard for me to lie so close to you and not touch you. I really meant what I said, about you getting a good night’s rest but fuck me, it was difficult.”

“I know. It was hard for me, too.”

“We don’t get this kind of time together,” he looked down at her hands, held tightly in his. “And I’ve really, really enjoyed myself. I feel more normal around you. I can’t explain it.”

“It’s OK. You don’t need to say anything.”

This was the type of conversation Sarah would ordinarily run a mile from had it been with anyone else. Chris seemed to understand as well as he stopped himself from talking some more. She was being held in place by the literal limited space around her as he planted himself in her way. He looked down at her causing her to freeze up and, mentally, she began checking if she could feel her feet.

She slowly ran her hands up and down his arms in an attempt to sooth him. She saw him glance down at her lips and she hoped he would end the silence by kissing her but there was no such luck. He was trying to figure something out but what, she didn’t know. He was waiting for her next move.

“I don’t think we’ve thought this much about what happens, when...” he paused, gauging her for a response or an indication that she was OK with what he was about to say. Perhaps even anticipating it in some way. “Sarah, I have these feelings for you and they’re getting stronger and these past few days have told me that I’m right. Do you know what I mean?”

She did know. She didn’t much want to know, but she did. “Let’s pause this and figure it out another time, yeh?” He hands rubbed up to the rest of his shoulders. “Let’s just enjoy this while it lasts. There’ll be another time for talking.”

He wasn’t convinced but assuaged enough to kiss her again, a little harder this time. His hand slipped into her hair to hold her to him and she responded by wrapping her arms around his neck. They had time.

*

She should have known he would have had the idea to drive them both back home. Yes, there was no need for her to sit on a busy commuter train for three hours but still. She did almost say yes but she would feel awkward asking him to drop her off blocks away from her home and he would inevitably disagree and they’d argue. Not argue per se. They never really argued, but it would become a thing and she didn’t have the heart to disappoint him a third time that day.

They were in happy moods by the time they checked out. All ideas of having a more serious conversation had evaporated quickly after she pushed him onto the bed and climbed on top of him. He had them both naked in record time even for him, and she made a point to memorise his face and the rush of red through his skin when she watched him cum hard underneath her.

She’d bought him a coffee from the cafe bar inside the reception and he’d thanked her with a gentle peck on the lips before slipping away via the underground garage, ball cap pulled down low over his eyes. She felt the light bruises form on her thighs and smiled to herself at the memory of where his hands had been when she walked into the apartment to find Shanna in tears. She froze on the spot.

“Oh my god, what the hell happened?” Finally finding her voice when registering the scene in front of her. Sarah dropped her bags and ran to the couch to wrap an arm around her friend. “Why are you crying?”

“I didn’t think you’d be back so soon. Sorry, I’m...” Shanna tried to gather her thoughts. “It’s stupid really. I don’t even know what I’m crying.”

“Well, it’s not stupid. It’s obviously something because it’s made you upset.” She pulled her hand inside the sleeve of her hoodie and used it to wipe away her tears. “Do you wanna talk about it? Is it something I can help with?”

“Not really.” This wasn’t the feisty Shan Sarah knew. “Turns out Robbie wasn’t interested in me after all because he’s asked somebody else out. I should have known really. He definitely wouldn’t be interested in me.”

“Oh love,” Sarah empathised.

“It’s not even like I was really all that bothered about him, honestly.” She continued. “It’s just, it’s been a while since someone decent asked me out on a date, y’know? Someone smart who had potential. Normally, they have to be drunk to even approach me and they just end up being dickheads. All of them.”

Knowing Shanna as well as she did, she knew Shanna wouldn’t appreciate an empty platitude. “I think it happens to the best of us. You should hear some of the tales Audrey has. She’s experienced some crazy shit.”

“Yeh? How did she meet Michael?”

“She didn’t make it easy for him that’s for sure!” she chuckled and felt relief at the grin now showing on Shan’s face. “The way she tells it, she stopped looking. Just stopped going to bars and clubs, spent more time doing the things she enjoyed and more time with her friends and family. Randomly met him at a march in the city, can you believe that? He wasn’t even supposed to be there but his brother dragged him along apparently.”

“I think she was right to concentrate on her friends and family. I should take a leaf out of her book. At least you can count on them to keep you sane.”

A sense of unease found its way into Sarah’s head. “Yeh, definitely. You never know when a good thing will strike and maybe this shows you that you know what you don’t want anymore. That’s gotta be a positive thing, right?”

“Yeh, it just feels a bit crap but I’ll probably feel better in the morning.” Shanna got up from the couch and Sarah sense it was more so to hide a few more tears. “I got some wine earlier, do you fancy a glass?”

“Uh yeh sounds good. I’ll just go and sort my stuff out.��

“Oh fucking hell!” Shanna smacked her hand to her face. “I’m so sorry! How did it go?”

Sarah held her bag loosely in her hand, her attempt at making a quick getaway to her room without discussing the exam a failure. “Oh, it was what it was. I won’t find out for a little while so no point worrying about it twice, right?”

“Huh, you sound just like Chris.” Shanna said before walking back into the kitchen. “I’m sure you did great, though. You always do.”

“Thanks.” She carried on to her room to dump her stuff. She would sort it out tomorrow. Right now, she figured Shan would want to get a little bit drunk and Sarah was on a late tomorrow anyway, so...it wouldn’t do them any harm.

“Hey, Sarah?” Shan called from the kitchen.

“Yeh?”

“Who did you have coffee with?”

Confusion set in as Sarah tried to figure out what Shanna was talking about. She peered her head round the door. “What?”

“Coffee today?” Shanna responded, holding a crumpled piece of paper in her hand. “This dropped out of your coat, I think. Coffee for two?”

Confusion quickly turned into full-blown panic as she realised what she had done. Fuck. “Oh, um, I just...” She stumbled over herself and felt her skin redden and get hotter. She must have looked a sight. “Um...it wasn’t...”

“Hey, listen, you don’t need to explain anything.”

“Oh no that’s not what it is-”

“-At least one of us is having better luck in the romance department.”

“Shan, it’s not-”

“-I’m so glad you and Greg are getting on well.” Shanna handed over the receipt to Sarah before regarding what must have looked like a rabbit caught in the headlights. “I mean that. He seems nice and you absolutely deserve to have some fun for a change. I know I haven’t been very supportive of this whole thing with Charlotte but I worry about you a little bit sometimes. After everything that’s happened, I guess I just didn’t wanna see you hurt again.”

Sarah was frozen to the spot. Numb. Shanna had put two and two together and thought the best of her friend. Sarah didn’t deserve that.

“He seems like he’s being really supportive right now and being the person that I should perhaps be. I will try to be better, I promise.” Shanna apologised.

Sarah looked down at the slip of paper in her hand and then to the floor, a little bit of feeling starting to return to her legs. “Shan,” she started quietly, so quietly that she missed it entirely and when she looked back up, Shanna was walking back into the kitchen.

“I mean it. You’ve always been amazing to me. Picking me up when I need it and looking after me. Everyone says I take you for granted sometimes and they’re absolutely right so I just wanted to say that I will back you up 100% from now on. No excuses. You and me against the world, right?”

Shanna flashed her a broad and hopeful grin and all Sarah could do was return a limp version in response. 

“Let’s get that wine opened and you can tell me all about it.”

Shanna disappeared into the kitchen again. If she had stayed a second longer she would have seen tears form in Sarah’s eyes at the knowledge that she screwed everything up. She and Chris had diverted a conversation on the promise of having it another time but that was never going to happen. Not now.

How could it?

*

[woodsmokeandwords]

"The hours after English magic had been restored, duly restored - he still marvelled at the concept - were strangely mundane. Mr Childermass, his face still bleeding, had ridden off in a great hurry and returned hours later, quiet and wan with the look of a man trying to remember something that kept slipping away." Segundus has questions, Childermass has an wound that needs tending to. I shan't pretend this is anything other than indulgently trope-y. My first foray into writing JS&MN fic after years in the fandom Read on AO3 above or keep reading below

The hours after English magic had been restored, duly restored - he still marvelled at the concept - were strangely mundane. Mr Childermass, his face still bleeding, had ridden off in a great hurry and returned hours later, quiet and wan with the look of a man trying to remember something that kept slipping away. With him came the somehow even more bedraggled Vinculus, throat covered in bruises that no one could look at for very long. But before they had returned, a hundred questions tripping in at their heels like wind blown autumn leaves, the house had been... normal. More normal than it had been for months. With the faerie’s enchantment lifted the shifting, labyrinthine passageways of Starecross had ceased their slow merger with the Other Lands and become once more confusing in a reliably mortal way. The overpowering press of faerie magic had ebbed away like the tide and in its place Segundus had sat quietly with what he gradually began to appreciate as the comforting presence of His Own Magic. If he concentrated he could still feel the spell tingling in his fingertips, akin to the last traces of pins and needles. Lady Pole had been fussed over by the cook and the maid and was now settled in the parlour with a stack of paper and pen and ink, furiously committing her experiences in thrall to the faerie to paper. Segundus had not asked what she intended to do with this record of her mistreatment at the hands of Norrell, she might send it to the Prime Minister, or to The Times, or both and be completely justified, in his opinion. He did not need to know, all of England would know soon enough. The lady had been silenced long enough and one did not need to be particularly attentive to see that her anger was as a storm that has long since been sighted on the horizon breaking at last. Whilst Lady Pole seemed to brim with energy, Segundus found that he was sorely lacking in it. The tingling in his fingers was accompanied by a slight tremor, as though after strenuous activity, although he had performed none. Except the magic. Childermass’ words continued to ring in his head - Do The Magic - over and over. Well, he had done it and now they would have to see. He sat at the quiet kitchen table and watched the sun begin to slip down the sky. First to meet the trees on the distant hills, their bare winter branches like spidery writing against the pale February sky, and then to glare at him from between their twisted trunks and finally to wink at him from behind the crests of the hills until its comforting warmth disappeared from the kitchen and he was left with the glow from the hearth at his back and a cooling cup of tea sheltering between his tingling hands. 
 -

A great banging pulls him from his reveries. He has lost track of the hour, the sun is fully set and his tea is cold and only half drunk. The banging comes again and slowly he realises that it is the front door.

-

The door wrenches open and reveals Mr Segundus, who blinks at him from the gloom of the entrance hall. Childermass steps forward into the scant light escaping past Mr Segundus and out into the night. Vinculus, half leaning into him, half propped against the porch, comes with him like flotsam. “We had not expected you back, Mr Childermass?” “They are gone.” He hears himself reply, and adds “Strange and Mr Norrell.” belatedly realising this might need some explanation. “Gone? Gone where?” his large brown eyes are full of questions and sincerity. “I do not know.” Childermass sighs and gestures passed Segundus into the hall. It is at this moment that Segundus seems to take in Vinculus’ near-prone form and his manners catch up with his curiosity. “Please, do come in!” He says, stepping aside to allow them entry. “I put Brewer in your stables, I hope you don’t mind?” “No, no, of course not. Mr Childermass, what happened?” Childermass heaves Vinculus onto the settle in the hallway and looks away as the man slumps back in his seat and his hands wander towards the cruel bruising on his throat. He meets Segundus’ gaze and almost as one their eyes travel down to the blood soaking the cuff on his left wrist. “Many things. More than I think I can remember presently.” “How do you mean?” Segundus’ careful examination of him transfers from his wrist to his face, to the cut on his cheek that is somehow no longer a cut. “I cannot yet say...”

Mr Segundus was too polite a host to badger him with the questions Childermass could see he was brimming with. At least not straight away. And so he is settled in one of the empty guest rooms, Vinculus installed in another, and left to himself. The maid brings in a steaming pitcher of water and a bowl and is followed by the footman with his saddlebags, he nods his thanks as they leave the room. For some time he stands, caught in a web of indecision, unable to do anything but stare at the worn leather of the saddlebags that contain his possessions. He is a frugal man, he has never had many things, let alone an attachment to them, but in this moment it seems important to him that he has them with him. Some record of his life in physical form. He had watched Hurtfew vanish. Swept out of existence in a whirl of darkness and stars and with it a significant part of England’s magical future. Regardless of what Vinculus believed.

As if dazed he strips off his greatcoat, jacket and waistcoat. His reflection in the small mirror above the dresser is pallid against the gory mess of his shirt. He had thought he had caught the blood from his face but in actuality it has soaked into his neckcloth and the collar and shoulder of his shirt. He begins to remove them and set them aside, he’ll scrub the blood out later, he does not have the luxury of many shirts, but stops with it clutched in his hands as he catches sight of the cuts he had made to his forearm. Unlike his face they have not healed without explanation and the few King’s letters he had managed stand out raw and angry against the pale skin of his arm. Bloody fool Had he really thought to carve The Book into his own flesh? Looking at the poor job he’d done he is relieved he had dismissed the idea. Childermass splashes his face with water, then uses his ruined neckcloth to wipe the dried blood from his skin and goes to fetch his spare shirt from his bags. Back in front of the mirror the glisten of water on top of the scar on his cheek catches his attention and he leans in the better to see it. Healed, perfectly. As if it were years old and not mere hours. How? He brushes his fingers across it and in that touch feels the ghost of another, there is something... parental in it? And he remembers black hair but he cannot now be sure if he is remembering something from that afternoon or the shade of his mother, some scrap of half forgotten memory from his childhood. However it was done, it is fortunate. Lascelle’s knife had been sharp and it had cut deep, there is not a doctor or barber-surgeon around for miles who could have repaired his face so neatly.

A clock somewhere in the house chimes and he takes a breath, as if he has been underwater. It shudders into his lungs. He takes another. And then one more. Careful not to jostle his forearm and restart the bleeding he dons his clean shirt and his waistcoat, he has nothing with which to bind the evidence of his foolishness on the moor and so will have to prevail once again on Mr Segundus’ hospitality. 

-

 Segundus for want of company had returned to the kitchen. He’d had soup from luncheon, some hot toast and a pot of tea sent up to Vinculus after Mr Childermass’ back had disappeared up the stairs and suddenly without an immediate purpose he had felt melancholy. He kept returning to the words Childermass had spoken on the doorstep; they are gone. But where had they gone? Were they coming back? How were they to go on without the foremost magicians of the land? What was to be done? They were questions that he sensed were without answers, or at least not simple answers at any rate. 
Sarah was finishing the washing up in the corner and the clatter of crockery and pans was a welcome, grounding racket for his mind which felt like it might be on the verge of flying away, spiralling up into the aether like a sparrow in flight. 

 “Oh, sir- Mr Segundus?” he glances over his shoulder and sees Sarah, drying her wet hands on her apron, looking between him and the doorway. Standing at the top of the two steps down into the kitchen is Childermass. He is in his shirtsleeves, with the left sleeve rolled up exposing the raw skin of his forearm, bearing strangely shaped wounds that stand out grotesquely from his pale skin. And he is pale, more so than he ever usually is, there is a sunken, defeated look in his eyes that makes something in Segundus’ chest ache. They have never been close, they have never even been on good terms. Any potential for acquaintanceship would have withered under the oppressive knowledge of who Childermass served, even if Segundus had contemplated such a connexion. The scant few times they had met he had been under the distinct impression that he was on the back foot and forces outside of his control had manoeuvred them into position, whether that force was Norrell, English magic, fate or simply Childermass’ own mysterious machinations Segundus could never have said. 
“Thank you, Sarah. Please feel free to go to bed, the washing up can be finished in the morning.” he does not take his eyes off of Childermass as he speaks, in his periphery the girl executes a clumsy curtsy and walks quickly towards the door, head down. Childermass steps backwards to let her pass and she awkwardly half-nods-half-curtsies to him too. 

Segundus watches as the blank expression on his face is replaced by something faintly bemused as he descends the steps onto the flagstone floor of the kitchen. It is gone again however when he looks up and their eyes meet over the large table. 
“She is rather new.” Segundus says to break the silence, Childermass nods once. 
 “I’m sorry to trouble you, Mr Segundus but have you anything with which I might bind this?” He gestures vaguely to his wounded arm and Segundus makes himself look away from his eyes for the fist time in minutes. 
 “I- Oh. Oh yes, of course. Just one moment.” He half turns, trying to remember where they keep the cloth set aside for exactly this purpose, hesitates and then, “please, have a seat. I’ll be back in a moment.” He pulls out the chair he had been sitting in a little further and hurries off to fetch the bandages. 
 They keep a box of neatly trimmed strips of linen in the upstairs landing closet. He remembers distinctly when Stephen Black had quietly informed him that Lady Pole had once been in the habit of hurting herself and Segundus had that very afternoon sent into town for two yards of linen and had sat up that evening cutting it into strips and rolling them himself. Whilst he is there he fetches a clean cloth and then brings his bundle of supplies back down to the kitchen. Childermass is sitting at the table examining his arm with care, he glances up when Segundus sets the roll of bandages and the cloth down on the table. 
“How did it happen, Mr Childermass? It is a strange injury.” he asks as he goes to the dresser and retrieves a clean bowl, fills it with a little cold water and places it on the table next to the bandages. 
“You will think me a fool, sir, but I did it myself.” Segundus halts only for a moment in the act of placing the kettle on the hook over the fire. 
“If you did such a thing, I suspect there was a very good reason for it.”
 “There was, although it proved needless in the end. A good thing, for no matter your tactfulness, it was indeed foolish.” He looks towards where the kettle hangs above the flames in the grate, “you will not have seen in the dark but Vinculus… Vinculus is very special. He- Did you ever hear of the Book of the Raven King, sir?” 
“Only vague allusions to it in theoretical texts, nothing tangible.” Childermass nods, seemingly to himself, at this. “I do not know how it came to be but Vinculus is that book. It is written on his skin, has been since his birth and today he insists that he is changed. That he does not say what he said before.”
 “What?” Segundus cannot help his stunned reaction. He drops into one of the other chairs at the table.
 “Just so… When I found him on the moor he was hanged. I… I had to cut him down and as I laid him on the earth I saw it there on his skin, in a strange alphabet. Having no ink or paper I could not think of a way to replicate it and in a moment of foolishness thought to cut it into my own skin.” Childermass is looking down again at the marks on his arm, large and jagged and surely no approximation for the words he says cover Vinculus’ own skin. 
 “Mr Childermass-” he gasps and covers his mouth.
 “Now you see, foolishness.”
 “But,” he says collecting himself, “how can it be that Vinculus was hanged when he is currently upstairs eating toast?”
 “I cannot account for it, sir. If I understood it at all I would tell you.” he shakes his head again and wipes a hand over his face momentarily covering his eyes. It is then that the kettle starts to boil so Segundus gets up and removes it from the fire, pouring a little of the hot water into the bowl and the rest into his teapot from earlier. He pulls out the chair next to Childermass and sits down in it before spooning an extra helping of leaves into the pot. 
 “May I see your arm, Mr Childermass?” he asks and Childermass twists in his chair and offers out his left arm. The cuts are fairly shallow and mercifully clean of any dirt but the curving letters Childermass tried to replicate have cruel edges and it looks painful. Segundus very gently takes the proffered arm and dipping his cloth into the bowl of warm water ever so lightly draws it across the wounds. He squeezes it slightly and lets the water drip onto them before wiping away the excess. He continues for some time and is surprised when Childermass speaks. 
“I appreciate this, Mr Segundus.” Childermass sounds awkward and slightly gruffer than usual, Segundus feels himself colour and is glad he has an excuse not to look up. It is a long moment before he can think of a proper response. 
“Please, think nothing of it. I would be a poor sort of colleague not to offer my help.”
 “Colleague?”
 “Are we not both magicians now, sir?” Segundus sets his cloth aside and reaches for the bandages. 
 “I suppose we are.” Childermass says and shifts a little in his seat. They are quiet for some time as Segundus winds the bandage around Childermass arm and ties off the end. When he has done this he stands and fetches a clean cup and saucer from the dresser and fills it with tea before setting it in front of Childermass. 
“I had not thought to find you here.” Childermass says, glancing between Segundus and the cup of tea that has been placed in front of him. “In the kitchen? It is not befitting of a gentleman, I know, but I like to sit here to think.”
 “Your staff do not mind?” 
 “There is not such a vast amount of difference between them and myself, Mr Childermass. I have been a bachelor for many years and until recently… Well, you are aware that I was not a man of means. I still am not, were it not for the kindness of Mrs Lennox I would not be in the position I am currently in.” he busies himself with fetching a plate and cutting two slices of bread which he then sets about toasting. 
“There are not a great many gentleman who would bandage the arm of a servant, or make him tea.” Childermass says quietly and Segundus hums noncommittally. 
“No, I suppose not but I do not mind being unlike them if it means that I helped a person in need.” he finishes toasting the bread at that moment and almost as if to reinforce his stance on helpfulness sets it down on the plate beside Childermass’ tea. “We have some fresh butter in the pantry, and cheese? Or perhaps honey?” he asks. 
 “Just butter is fine, thank you, Mr Segundus.”

 - 

 He has been watching the gentleman bustle about the kitchen making tea and toasting bread and now he watches as Mr Segundus fetches the butter dish from the pantry for him with a sense of surreal detachment. He is very conscious of the fact that he has been a thorn in this man’s side for ten years and yet has found nothing but kindness under his roof this evening.
 “Here you are.” Segundus says, returning with the butter and resuming his seat at the table. His chair is still close from when he was bandaging Childermass’ arm, he seems to realise this halfway through sitting down and rises again to nudge it backwards slightly. 
 “My thanks.” Childermass manages. 

He is almost grateful for the overwhelming weariness that sets in as he eats his toast, it falls over him like a quilt, blanketing many of the concerns that have been rattling around in his head since he saw Vinculus hanging from the twisted branches of the hawthorn tree. A grim tableau against the windswept, desolate moor. Mr Segundus does not seem to mind the silence, his is a comforting presence as he carefully sips his tea and stares at a knot in the wood of the table. 
 “Who else knows about Vinculus?” he asks quietly, surprising Childermass. 
“No one. My master knew he had a book, Vinculus boasted of it to him many years ago, but Mr Norrell never saw it, I searched for it to no end for some time.”
 “You mentioned- You said earlier that- that they are gone, Mr Strange and Mr Norrell. What did you mean?” Mr Segundus is looking at him, his large brown eyes full of questions again. Childermass sighs and leans back in his chair. 
 “We rode from the tree to Hurtfew and found it vanished. I left as Mr Strange arrived with his pillar of night that we have heard so much about in the last weeks and when I returned with Vinculus it was simply as if the Abbey had been cut out of the countryside.”
 “But how?”
 “I am not certain, it was as if it had been unpicked and the space either side of where it was stitched back together, edge to edge. Vinculus said it was the King’s doing. His spell spinning out to its natural end.”
 “I do not think I understand.” Segundus frowns down at his hands, clasped in his lap like a schoolboy. 
 “I am sorry, sir. I’m afraid I am doing a bad job of explaining anything tonight.” 
“No, it is I who should apologise, you are exhausted and I am plying you with questions. Please, Mr Childermass, answer no more of them and go and get some sleep. We can talk more on the morrow.” Segundus looks up then and smiles apologetically at him. 
 “I’m much obliged to you for your kindness this evening, sir. I will do my best to set everything out clearly in the morning, two heads are better than one as they say and two magicians are sure to have more success than one alone also.” 
“Goodnight, Mr Childermass”


 - 

In the bright, winter sunshine drenching the dining table the following morning Childermass does his best to explain to Mr Segundus and to an imperiously inquisitive Lady Pole exactly what he had seen first upon the moor and then later at Hurtfew. Neither of them have much more insight into the matter than he himself does but Lady Pole does have a few choice words on the subject of unreliable, meddling magicians, present company only somewhat excluded. 
In the days that follow, when the letters trickle in and reports of the disappearance of not just Hurtfew but of the houses at Ashfair, Hanover Square and Soho Square begin to surface, Mr Segundus and Childermass do their best to respond to them together. Careful not to say too much to their associates and acquaintances, mindful of events progressing too quickly. 

Some two weeks later Sir Walter arrives to meet with Lady Pole and the two magicians absent themselves to the far reaches of the garden when the ensuing shouting match between the couple proves too loud for them to pretend they are giving them any privacy from the next room. 
 “I think I shall go to York soon.” Childermass says, watching a snowflake settle on the leaf of a holly bush. 
 “You will go through with it then? Call a meeting of the York Society?"
 “I will, it is time they knew.” 
“They will wish to meddle.”
 “Let them, unlike Her Ladyship I am of the opinion that some good can come of meddlesome magicians. After all, without your intervention things may be very different.” Childermass drags his eyes away from the holly bush and watches the pink flush on Mr Segundus’ cheeks that was already present from the chill air deepen considerably. 
“There are some days that I wonder what would have happened if I had not asked the question.” Mr Segundus replies, a little wistfully. 
 “Do not wonder, Mr Segundus. In fact,” he says, a winding path unfurling before him in his minds eye, “I think I should like you to be at this meeting and ask another question.”

 The end

[fanfictingz]

Draco x Ravenclaw Reader (Gender Neutral)

Part one of I’m not sure how many.

If there are any parts where it seems that the reader has a certain gender, please let me know and I will fix it.

You were wondering around in the library trying to take in all the books that there are.

“Always with a book ,”Draco remarks, with his minions snickering in the background.

Obviously you could say something but then he would say something and then it just turns into a mini conversation with jabs and you have better things to do than trade insults with Draco Malfoy. For example trying to find a book to read, well more so narrowing down which book to read.

Finally being able to chose one, you head to sign it out. Finding a quiet nook in the library is quite easy seeing how Pince is strict when overseeing the library. Finding an isolated and comfortable place, you could hear Pince telling Malfoy and company to be quiet. You could hear Draco say something on the lines of “We have better places to be,”and ,”my father would be hearing about this.” Choosing to settle down, you dive into your book, losing yourself in it.

After a few hours of reading, you look up, realizing how much time has passed. Feeling content and happy, you return the book seeing how you already finished it. As you wander the halls thinking about the book you just read and the possibilities of what comes next for the characters, you then find a pair of socks. It was easy to figure out whose those belong to; your good friend Luna Lovegood. Picking them up, you continue to walk, the next time you see her you would give them to her.

Surely enough you see her looking for her belongings, “Luna look what I found.”

“A beautiful pair of socks. I have a pair just like those, that have gone missing. Would it happen to be those?”

Nodding your head, a smile grew on her face.

“Thank you,”she says.

“It was nothing. Would you like any help looking for anything else,”offering your friend.

“You have helped plenty. Thank you. I’m good, enjoy the rest of your walk,”she smiles then skips off.

Walking aimlessly, your feet end up leading you to a balcony. Standing outside you breathe in the fall air and already it is turning dark and the stars have begun to appear. Taking it all in, bought in a sense of tranquility. Soon the smell of food starts to fill in the air signalling it’s time for dinner.

You continue to make your way down, until some platinum haired idiot decides to stop in your way abruptly causing you to bump into him.

“Sorry,”you mumble trying to avoid any more conversation.

“You should be. Do you not know who I am,”saying with a sense of arrogance.

It was his fault, but seeing how he won’t want to admit it and the fact that he’s been getting under your skin, you decide that it’s only fair to return the favour.

“I’m sorry, I don’t,” causing him to be slightly irritated,” you can’t be serious, everyone knows I am.” You continue to act as if you don’t know who he is ,”I don’t, so I guess that’s not everyone. Anyways what’s your name?”

“Draco Malfoy, the Draco Malfoy. Surely you have heard my name.” Then one of his lackeys speaks up,”his name is known by all and feared rightfully so.”

“Well that statement is false,”you retort.

“Says the nobody,”he fires back. You smile, and take it a step further ,”why thank you. How kind of you. You must be secretly a Hufflepuff. Being nobody provides a liberty,” knowing that this would make him furious.

“Now excuse me,”walking away from them, smiling to yourself, proud of your accomplishment.

Calling him a Hufflepuff was insulting to him, saying that he belongs to some other house was offensive to him and to call him a Hufflepuff, house that he’s called weak multiple times on occasion, a lie seeing how it takes great strength to show kindness in a world where there are people trying to knock happiness out of people’s lives. To show loyalty when it’s hard to trust, and to care without expecting anything in return, making Hufflepuffs possibly the strongest and bravest house.

You were chatting with your friends while enjoying the various cuisines offered. Taking everything in, you glance around the the room when your eyes meets his just for a brief millisecond and you continue to look around the room, giving him no significance knowing this would continue to push him. As you continue to eat, a fellow Ravenclaw asks ,”y/n how come he continues to glare at you?”

“Draco?” Whispering back, “yeah, he looks like he’s willing to use a spell on you.”

“I bumped into him. His fault for just stopping out of nowhere by the way. Anyways I may have told him that I don’t know who he is, didn’t recognize his name and then called him a Hufflepuff,”you whisper explain to him. He chuckles to himself, “let me know how this unfolds, because I have a feeling he’s not going to put it to rest, and you have ideas.”

“I will keep you updated.”

That night you make your way towards your dorm being cautious of any dementors, until you were joined by a white haired boy. ‘A persistent one’ you thought to yourself, ignoring him. One of your Hufflepuff friend’s passed by who you wished a good night to and she wished the same.

“Ravenclaw,”he finally says, “Slytherin when did you get here?”

“Have you gone mad? I have been walking with you for some time now,”he says not being able to hide his annoyance.

“I prefer to live in my world, so what do I owe the pleasure Dalfoy,” mixing up his name on purpose. His reaction made you more content, “it is not Dalfoy, it is Draco Malfoy. I thought you would have committed this to memory by now.”

“Nahh. I don’t see the point, it’s not like we’ll continue to meet, after all it’s not like Slytherins often associate themselves with other houses.”

“Well that’s because we don’t want to risk not having any pure blood. Something that every Slytherin can understand,” he says proudly.

“A limit that only you chose to understand. Depriving yourselves of finding friends and possible true love,”you say sadly.

“A standard,”emphasizing greatly,” that we prefer to live by. Marrying someone worthy of ourselves unlike you, who I’m guessing is a mug blood with a name I still don’t know.”

“And let’s keep it at that,”you turn to him, “you should head to your common room, you don’t want to be seen associating with me and my mugblood. Wouldn’t want to hurt your reputation,” leaving a silent Draco behind, moving ahead and answering the riddle to enter.

As you read your textbook, that pasty Slytherin kept sneaking into your mind, with a spark of irratation kept igniting in your mind, closing your book out of frustration, you take a deep breath to try and center yourself, because you left your class reading till the last minute. Closing your eyes you empty your mind, well empty as it can be. ‘Draco Malfoy will not and can not get the better of me’ you think to yourself, exhaling then opening your eyes you return back to your reading.

[yourdeepestfathoms]

A Little Piece Of Heaven (part one)

[Tour!verse]

TW: Surprisingly not many...I guess mockery of religion, specifically Christianity and anything in that branch. Very minor mentions of self harm (like one time- if you blink you’ll miss it). But mainly this fic is just psychological.

———————

Lord of The Flies

Let’s get something clear really quickly: Joan Meutas was not religious. Did she used to be? Unfortunately, yes, but after seeing the world for what it really was, after getting an axe to her vagina from her beloved husband, she has realized that there was no merciful God who would save lost souls. It was all a hoax by crazy old folk from wherever Jerusalem was to herd people into one belief, thinking that it may make them more humane and friendly. But religion has done more harm than good- Christianity damns all non CIS heterosexuals to hell, Jews got murdered by the thousands, that one branch literally won’t eat anything besides fucking grain or some shit, Catholics are just rude as all hell, those fasting things literally cause people to STARVE TO DEATH, and for what? To appease some higher being? Do they truly think they will be saved? If God was so merciful and wonderful and kindhearted, why would he make things like murder and cancer and rape and torture?

Joan even once heard that the Bible stated that when a woman was on her period she had to leave her village and wasn’t allowed to come back UNLESS she had a turtle dove. She’s never read the Good Book before, so she doesn’t know if that was true or not, but it doesn’t sound unlikely given all the stupid rules she’s heard about.

So, no, Joan was not religious.

It’s strange, she thinks, how offended people get when she says it or simply hints at it. Their eyes will practically bug out of their skull and they probably pray for her “lost soul”, maybe even do that weird cross gesture on their chest when they think she isn’t looking. They look at her as if she was actually a demon spy loosed from hell and not just someone who has enough common sense to realize that an “all powerful father” was complete and utter bullshit.

That’s the thing- it’s like the word “atheist” was purposely made to seem like the most evil string of letters to ever be created. You know the words- those synonyms that just sound much worse than the actual root phrase (molest, slaughter, moist). Atheist just has this dark shade to it. Or so religious people say.

But enough of that! There’s a reason why such a taboo subject is being brought up.

Joan was going to contact Death.

As they say, desperate times calls for desperate measures. And desperate Joan was.

You see, her queen- Jane Seymour- used to be quite the woman. Sharp, beautiful, powerful, but also warm behind the closed court doors. Joan was very lucky to see this side of her as her youngest lady in waiting, often getting called gentle pet names and sometimes pats on her head if she was particularly lucky that day. As a touch-starved orphan servant, this was like a pot of gold to Joan- love and affection is something she’s craved long before reincarnation in the modern world. And, speaking of the resurrection, Joan thought she would get even more of Jane’s “Mum Treatment” since they had more time on their hands, but she was very, very wrong.

Jane...Jane was different. She changed. No longer was she the motherly, caring, strong woman from the past, but instead coming back as some reduced version of herself- slightly younger (24, 25, maybe even 23), more awkward and timid, and much less maternal. The way she now looked at Joan wasn’t with compassion, rather...plain curiosity, sometimes even aversion. Her memory of her young lady in waiting has waned- it was as if she didn’t remember that Joan had been at her side the whole time when she was bedridden after giving birth to Edward! Like she couldn’t conjure up the remembrance of a teenager literally watching her rot away and slowly die for days!

To say the least, Joan was not happy. Add in trauma, insomnia, hate on social media, constant stress and pressure from her profession, and a severe lack of friends and you can probably see why Joan was going to such extreme measures.

Now, she knew about the stories. She’s read The Monkey’s Paw. She knows about the consequences of one’s actions. Joan wasn’t going into this completely stupid- have some faith, will you?

Gambling with Death was a risk. A huge risk that could very well end with her soul being ripped out of her mouth or her flesh being worn by a supernatural being that then goes on to commit atrocities under her identity. And not only was it a massive risk to take, it was also very, very stupid.

If I have to spell it out for you, listen closely: Death knows things. A lot of things. They don’t call him the “Lord of The Flies” for nothing. Which is why he loves to play games for those desperate enough to contact him because he knows he is much smarter than whatever pathetic, miserable piece of useless garbage comes clawing at a mirror, begging him to reveal himself. And unless you have every secret of the universe, you’re probably going to get ass-blasted back to Tuesday.

Oh, what am I saying? You won’t get a second chance.

You’ll be long gone by then.

And whatever state the cops find your body in the next morning depends on whatever mood the beast was in.

However, in Joan’s case here, she is desperate and stupid enough to take the risk. In her eyes, she doesn’t have much to live for. She’s a slave to SIX- day and night she’s working endlessly over musical paperwork and the same songs over and over and OVER again. It doesn’t help that she isn’t the closest to the rest of the cast and is often left alone when everyone else goes out and has fun. The scars on her wrists are evident of how many nights she’s been alone.

Without Jane, she has nothing to live for. She needed her.

And that’s exactly why she was sitting on the floor in front of a mirror propped against the wall in the dark theater surrounded by candles and a semicircle of salt.

Joan has done a lot of studying up to this point. She knows she has everything correctly, now she just has to get Death to appear...and hope he doesn’t immediately pull her small intestines out from her throat for bothering him.

Joan stares into the mirror as hard as she can, closes her eyes, then counted to ten. Her eyelids lingered shut for longer than she would like to admit after she hit the number one, but she eventually pried them open.

It was not her reflection staring back at her.

To be honest, Joan wasn’t exactly sure of what she was expecting to see. Some parts of her believed nothing would happen, other parts convinced itself that a grim reaper-like figure or a horned, goat-legged demon would be kneeling on the other side of the glass wielding a scythe or pitchfork. However, a suit-wearing young man was not really something that crossed her mind in her theories.

If Joan wasn’t a lesbian, she might have found him attractive, but he definitely was at a straight woman’s perspective. Perfect smile, the most amazing cheekbone structure, unflawed olive skin, neatly combed brown-blonde hair, a broad chest, phenomenal shape- if it weren’t for his yellow eyes with slit pupils, he might have been the perfect lady’s man (although, knowing straight women, they probably wouldn’t care for his demon eyes- after all, you don’t need to see someone’s peepers to suck cock!).

Joan sat completely bewildered, all of her confidence draining and being replaced with dread that drenches her like a thick, dark oil spill. She can feel her hands, which are lying in her lap, starting to tremble and clenching her fingers doesn’t help at all. The ability to form a coherent sentence slips from her mind, so Death speaks first.

“Hello, Joan Meutas.”

This guy is the real deal. He pronounced her last name correctly!

Joan opens and closes her mouth like a fish out of water and Death is thoroughly amused by her sardine impression. He watches her through the glass, waiting patiently for her to learn how to enunciate again.

“H-h-hello-”

“Yes, yes, h-h-hello to you to,” Death laughed. He wasn’t directly trying to be cruel, but Joan’s self esteem was far enough into the ground to hear his jibe as a mockery of her understanding of the English language. “If I let you speak the whole time we are going to get nowhere! Pull yourself together, kid. You should see the look on your face! You look like you just got caught making out with the family goat!”

Joan’s expression remained one of fright.

“What? Didn’t you own a goat back in- god, what year were you born? 1517 or 1525? Historians paint it as both! But I thought a family farm animal was the big rave back then! I apologize- I need to catch up on the modern slang. Say, would you be considered a ‘boomer’? Because I have been DYING to use that phrase on someone who contacts me. Could you imagine it?” He warps his voice into one of a pruny old woman, “‘I wish for great fortune!’ ‘Okay Boomer.’” Death bursts into fits of maniacal laughter that sounded as if a thousand lost souls were chortling together at once.

Joan is still silent, but during Death’s monologue she was able to wire her brain back to functionality. She sits up a little bit straighter and Death notices, so he containers himself instantly, also fixing his posture.

“Ready to talk now?” He asked.

“Yes.” Joan answered.

“Wonderful,” There’s a glint in his piercing yellow eyes, “What is it that you desire of me?”

Joan gathers up all her courage, sits up a little taller, and says, “I desire to challenge you to a game of question-and-answer.”

The glint flares into a blaze of confidence. If Joan stares hard enough, she swore she could almost see the fires of Hell burning in his eyes.

“How fun,” The words ooze out from Death’s pale lips, soaked in liquid menace. “Shall I go over the rules?”

Joan nodded. She knew them, she knew she did, but it would be good to hear them one last time.

“Very well,” Death said. He cleared his throat and began speaking as if he were reading off of a manual, “Death’s Gambit: A two-player game between the Lord of The Flies himself and a human. After being conjured- just gonna skip over that process, you’ve clearly got it down, kid- and initiating the game, both parties will have sixty-six minutes and six seconds to answer as many questions correctly as possible. Anything can be asked- trivia, personal inquiries, riddles, even dares, as long as the salt circle is not exited. The catch of the whole thing is this: The Prince of Darkness is obligated to tell the truth only if the human answers correctly to his question or does a requested dare or the human manages to stump him. However, if he answers correctly or the human answers incorrectly to HIS question, he may lie about whichever question he wants. The score will not be revealed until the very end once the time is over. If the human wins, the Keeper of Souls MUST grant any one wish they have. If He-Who-Lies wins, the human will be the victim to whatever losing punishment he comes up with. Remaining rules include: The salt circle cannot be left- you may find yourself no longer in your dimension-, the game cannot be quit until the time is over, items like watches or phones are not permitted to be used to look up answers or keep track of the time. Good luck and Beelzebub be with you.”

Despite knowing this all already, hearing it out loud, spoken by the beast himself, made it all hit home for Joan. She was really doing this; she was gambling with Death.

She had to be the stupidest fuck to ever grace God’s green earth.

“Are you ready to begin?” Death asked.

Joan took a deep death and answered, “Yes.”

A wicked smile curled on Death’s lips. The candles around Joan blaze.

“The game is on.”

A dark feeling weighed down on Joan after that was spoken. The air around her seemed to shift. Her gut was screaming at her to run away, to hide, to do something other than just sit there, but she couldn’t move. Not from fear, but from sheer will. She couldn’t be stupid. Who knows what lurked outside her thin salt circle....

As he usually did, Death initiates the game and asked his first question.

“What was the name of Catherine Parr’s true love?”

Like that, a cold stone drops deep into the pit of Joan’s stomach. Of all the questions she expected him to start off with, Tudor history was not one of them. It startles her, takes her by surprise, and she realizes very quickly that that’s exactly why Death asked it. He’s trying to disorientate her right off the bat and weaken her before she has the chance to get some points in.

She could not let that happen.

It’s just that- she didn’t know Tudor history outside of knowledge on her queen and whatever is said in the show. The others certainly did talk about their past lives, but Joan- she-

It stung, to say the least, when she realized that Death knew about her nonexistence friendships with the queens. And that he was targeting that.

“Thomas Seymour.” Joan finally said.

She was pretty sure that was the right answer...but not completely positive. And, because of that, her worried mind began to scream doubts inside of her brain.

Was that a trick question? He’s supposed to be the embodiment of pure evil- wouldn’t he think Henry is Parr’s true love? Was Henry the right answer?

“Your turn.” Death said, not reacting to Joan’s answer, which scares her even more.

“What’s- why did you choose to show up in that body?”

“Oooh, you’re starting with a personal inquiry!” Death said, laughing, “How fun! And I hope you’re not flattering yourself, Joan- I don’t look like this to make your pussy wet. Trust me, I could look way more attractive, but I know you.” Those three words slither into Joan’s ears and made her shudder. “Isn’t the whole point of being a lesbian to not be attracted to men?” Death laughed again, “But I look like this because I want to. I can take whatever shape I want! Remember that one time I was a snake? That was weird. Although, peeping at a naked chick was pretty damn fun. As a lesbian, you could probably appreciate the sight.”

For just a moment, the image of Death disappears, the mirror hazes to white, and Eve appears. Not the paintings you always see- THE Eve, bare breasts and vagina and all, and if Joan weren’t also asexual, her own genitals may have been burning with desperate pleasure.

“She was a sight.” Death said, returning to view. He chuckles, then immediately goes to his next question, “What was the exact height of Mount Everest in the year 1666?”

Joan’s heart just about stopped.

How in the holy hell was she supposed to know that? Then again, that was probably the point of asking such a thing.

“Three...hundred feet?” It came out as a question, but it’s taken as an answer and Death doesn’t react except for a slight twitch of his nose. “What...is the hardest piece to learn on the piano?”

“Liszt.” Death answered smoothly. “What animal can see the most amount of colors?”

“A...dolphin.” Joan physically cringed at her answer. “Who wrote Liszt?”

Is this what she was going to be doing the whole time? Asking the King of Hell fucking piano trivia?

“La Campanella.” Death once again answered perfectly. “What is the full chemical name for the antidepressant and anti-anxiety medication, Zoloft?”

Wasn’t that the medicine Joan was supposed to take for her anxiety?

“I- I don’t know.”

Death just hummed and awaited his next question. He didn’t laugh at her like she expected him to, which slightly lightened the blow of her stupidity.

“What’s my favorite song in SIX?”

“None of them. Why did you stop taking your Zoloft pills?”

The answer followed by such a question felt like Joan was just punched in the stomach with a spiked gauntlet. She swore she was winded by some unseen force (probably shock). Her breath hitched in her throat and she seemed like a little kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

“I-” She hunched her shoulders around her neck. Death is giving her a curious look, which was at least better than worry or concern. “They- they weren’t helping me...so I didn’t think there was a point taking them if they weren’t going to fix me.”

Death hummed once more, this time louder and more enthusiastic. He clearly liked her answer.

“Interesting,” He mused, then quiets himself for the next question.

“What’s standing behind me?”

Ever since the game began, Joan picked up on the presence of something staring at the back of her head. She could feel their eyes burning into her skull, sometimes even breathing on the back of her neck.

Death smiled. “See for yourself.”

Joan saw nothing in the reflection, just darkness beyond the candles and Death, and she was not about to go and look away. She was scared about what would happen if she turned her gaze away from the mirror for even a second.

When Death realized Joan wasn’t going to fall for his tricks that easily, he quirked an impressed eyebrow and moved on.

“Will you greet the worker who just came in?”

Joan glanced fearfully to the corner of the room. A figure is hunched there. The glow from the candles just barely licks at their claws.

“What was their name? Terrance?” Death said, “Doesn’t he work in lightning?”

“That’s not Terrance,” Joan murmured.

Death took it as an answer, it seems. He leans in close to the glass and when he whispers, his hushed tone is right at the back of Joan’s ear.

“You don’t want to know what he really is.”

Joan can feel a panic attack rising in her chest. Death is trying to scare her, stray her from answering coherently or correctly and get her to waste time by freaking out. She had to steer the game back into calmness.

Or, rather, however calm a Devil game could get.

“What do I have in my pocket right now?”

Death seems a little bothered that the cryptic theme was interrupted, but he gets over it.

“One black pen that’s almost out of ink, a granola bar you promised yourself you would eat, and a rosary you stole from Aragon.” He said, “Oh and, by the way, that isn’t going to protect you from me. So return it as soon as possible or Aragon is gonna be PISSED!” He laughed, imagining the storm the golden queen would cause if she caught Joan with such a precious belonging.

Joan swallowed thickly. She didn’t want to check her pockets. She didn’t want to know that he was right.

“What is the color of the sky?”

It seemed like an easy enough question, but Joan, believe it or not, knew better than to fall for such a simple trick. She wracked her brain for a moment, then answered, “Black.”

Death doesn’t react aside from licking over his dried lips. His tongue is too pointy. Joan moves on.

“Does Jane care about me?”

Honestly, the question kind of surprised her. It bubbled up from her throat from out of nowhere- yes, she had been wanting to ask it so badly, but she didn’t actually expect it to come out.

“Yes.” Says Death.

For a moment, joy bursts through Joan, but the metaphorical, celebratory confetti is sucked up by the vacuum of doubt.

Is he lying? Is he giving me false hope? Or is he telling the truth?

“What’s your blood type?” Death asked.

“A...AB.”

Like Joan fucking knew that.

“What’s my favorite color?”

“Blue.” Death smiled, “Because the blue sky would always remind you of opportunities for a better life.”

A shiver runs down Joan’s spine. She didn’t like how he knew that.

“What’s something that you can’t eat for lunch or dinner?”

He’s asking a riddle. Joan bit the inside of her cheek, thinking.

It couldn’t be a food. That was too easy.

Think, Joan, think!

“...Breakfast.”

Death chuckles. Joan doesn’t know what to think of that.

Twenty minutes pass by in a blur. Cold sweat soaks Joan’s brow, dripping down her face, but she’s too scared to move from her stiff position. Her back muscles hurt from sitting like a statue for so long- how the hell does Death look so relaxed? Then again, he doesn’t really have much to worry about.

He doesn’t have to worry about the possibility of being mutilated or dragged to Hell or that that figure in the corner has been getting closer and closer as the minutes passed by.

“Do you think every human deserves to live?”

The question came out of nowhere, really. Death had been asking mostly trivia up until that point. He tittered at Joan’s stunned expression, then raised his eyebrows as if to say, “Well?”

“No.”

Joan didn’t hesitate because she knew it was the truth. Not everyone deserved to live. Rapists, pedophiles, serial killers, racists, homophobes, terrorists, abusers- they didn’t deserve life. People like them deserved to die.

And anyone who doesn’t believe that is a fucking idiot.

“Do YOU think every human deserves to live?”

Death scoffed. “Of course not.” He peered at Joan, really analyzing her for the first time. His yellow slit eyes raked over the girl, making her feel uncomfortable and violated. “You know, you and I think a lot alike. Not many humans give ‘no’ as their answer. They think optimism will make them seem like a good person. It’s pathetic.”

Joan just nodded silently.

“Now...where were we? Oh, yes.” Death leaned in, “Which queen suffered the most?”

Joan furrowed her eyebrows. The whole point of the show was to not compare, especially traumas, but...

“Katherine Howard.”

Come on- clearly K Howard had it the worst. The girl was violated by four different men before she was an adult! None of the other five stories combined could possibly rank to the fifth queen’s suffering.

“Honestly, I think the same!” Death said, “I mean- what is UP with the whole ‘one of a kind, no category’ gimmick? How stupid! Last time I checked, being a victim of sexual abuse doesn’t make you ‘one of a kind.’ Why would you even think of it that way?“

Joan nodded slowly.

“I agree,” She said, “Um- here’s my next question: Is this question false?”

Death raised his eyebrows and cooed in obvious interest.

“True.” He said, smirking. “My turn. Do you resent the queens?”

Joan actually recoils. Death laughed.

“I-”

Did she? Did she resent the queens? Surely she didn’t... She couldn’t! The queens were perfect! How could anyone ever hate them?

“No.”

Death almost looks disappointed.

“What’s worse than death?”

“You’re living it.”

Cold sweat drips down Joan’s face. It stings her eyes and is salty on her tongue. She hears noises all around her, but doesn’t dare to look. She already knows “Terrance” is on his knees beside the salt circle and his leaning his face in right next to hers. She can smell the rot on him.

“Have you ever wanted to hurt the queens?”

Death’s questions are definitely ramping up in darkness. Was the time close to ending? Is that why he’s getting deeper?

Joan shut her eyes tightly for a moment, but opened them quickly when the fear of losing sight of Death nagged at the back of her mind. Before her, on the other side of the mirror, the being is waiting patiently, eagerly for her answer.

“Sometimes,” Joan breathed, “Yes.”

Death smiles a wicked smile.

“How interesting,” He purred, then gestured for Joan to ask her question.

“Does God exist?”

“Unfortunately.” Death groaned, then laughed. He inspected Joan again. “How would you hurt the queens?”

Joan felt her stomach ache. She didn’t like that question. She didn’t want to think about actually hurting the queens, even if she’s considered it one or two times before.

“I- I haven’t really given it any thought.” She answered, then quickly sputtered out her next question before Death could comment, “Does the Bible speak the truth?”

“Of course not.” Death said. “My next question is this: If I were to give you a task, would you do it?”

“Depends,” Joan said, “What would the task be?”

Death held up both arms in a shrugging motion. “I don’t know! Pick up my dry cleaning? It depends! Don’t put me on the spot like that!” He then laughed that horrible laugh again. Once he contains himself, he says, “Time is ticking. The game is almost over. I want to switch things up before we end. I have a dare for you.”

Joan nods.

“Stab yourself in the hand.”

That flush of icy cold dread floods through Joan’s system again. Every part of her being screamed at her to refuse, there will be other offers or questions she could make up for, but she knew that was just false hope. Like Death said: time was almost up. She couldn’t risk refusing and docking more points (if she isn’t in the negatives already, that is).

“Fine.” She forced out through her teeth.

She reached for the pen in her pocket, but Death held up a hand.

“Don’t use that inky thing,” He said. “It won’t get the job done. Please- allow me.”

He flicked his wrist and a large carving knife appears out of thin air and clatters to the floor in front of Joan. She stares at it for a moment, then picked it up, setting her left hand down in its place. She took a deep breath, screwed her eyes shut, and plunged the blade down.

Joan couldn’t choke back the scream that burst from her lips. She cried at the pain, sobbing in horror when she looked down to see the knife practically pinning her hand to the floor. Dark red blood pools around her fingers, gushing and spurting like spigot from the wound when she pulls the blade free. She cradled her wounded hand close to her chest, weeping weakly.

“Very good,” Death cooed, clapping.

Joan raised her eyes slowly and Death smirked at how lit up they were, almost like hot coals.

“I have a dare for you.” Joan growled, her voice low and dangerous.

“I accept.”

“Change your eye color to blue.”

For a moment, Joan swore she saw the slightly twitch on Death’s features. She watched him close his eyes, sit their silently for a moment, then open them again.

They were still yellow and slit.

“I cannot.” He said. However, he wasn’t angry or irritated at being stumped, rather amused. “Next...what is the flying speed of a swallow?”

Joan ripped off of a strip of her shirt and wrapped it around her bloody hand, hoping it would be a good enough substitute for real bandages for now.

“African or European?”

Death grinned. And that grin only grew wider as the candles around Joan went out until only the one behind her remained lit.

"̸̡̢̢̣͓͚͖̪̼̪͑͊̈́͋̀́̾͗͘ͅT̷̼̺͈̮̜͔̙͂̋̉͋͛̈̿̀̕͜͠͝i̸̢̹̙̼̠͓͚̖̗͔̮̔̌͂̓̐̊̈́̔̃̕m̸̡̱̤̱͙͎̦̱͙̪̻̓̅͌̉̀̈́̐̄͒̌̕͘͝e̸̟̳͒'̸̗͎̞̙̋̎̓́́͑̉͐͑̈́s̷̰̬̙͖̲̩͚̥͈̝̩̻̻̮̭͂̀̐̓̑̓͌̓̀́̐̐ ̷̡̳͍̗͉̝͔̃̑͛̀͊͌͆̌̒̃̔͘̚͠ͅû̵̞̠̣͉̻̖̅̓̄̏͝p̷̛͖͎̮̖͇̬̮͉̥̲͈̟͊̃́̃̏̇̇͛͗̅̕͘,̷̢̧̧̹͈̗̝͙̪͉̖̆̈́ͅ ̸̲̩̥̇͂̓͌̀̋͗̀͛̚J̵̼̣̋ö̴̡͕̺̪̠͓̹͔̂͝ą̶̡̜̭̤͖̭̫̝̘̆̂̾̐͊̾̒̂̏n̶̛̛̬̦̥̠̮̐̓̃̋̍̒̂͐̂̽ͅ.̴̪̰̩̀͊̑̐́̂͗̍̐̈́̚"̴͍͆͛́̈́̈́̍͆̀͗͘͝͝

It was almost impossible to breathe. Joan can barely hold herself together- the tears are flowing freely and she can’t get them to stop. She would say a prayer for her damned soul if it weren’t for the whole atheist thing, and she worried that Death would get angry at her for it, even if it was said in her mind, which he couldn’t possible read (or, at least, she hoped he couldn’t).

Still, she bowed at the waist and thanked Death for the game.

“Let’s tally up the score, shall we?”

Joan first saw blood start to spread across Death’s midsection, then a sharp sting struck her in the stomach. She hissed in pain and lifted her shirt slightly, as did Death, and they both saw tally marks upon their flesh.

Death had twenty-three.

And Joan watched in shock as a twenty-fourth tally carved down through her skin right before her eyes.

“Congratulations, Joan Meutas,” Death says, “You’ve won. What is it that you wish for?”

[frizz22]

The Eldritch Terrors

Maybe they’ll address it in pt 4, but I had a head canon for why Faustus went looking for the Eldritch Terrors in the first place. So, here it is 😊 Read on ao3

He lost faith in the Dark Lord when he was ten and his mother was selected to be Queen at the Feast of Feasts.

Faustus blanched and almost threw up when her paper turned white... but his mother, his mother had beamed and turned to his father, proud.

As they walked back to the manor, Faustus tried to block out his parents’ voices, talking happily about the glory his mother would bring to the family. How wonderful it was that the Dark Lord selected a Blackwood over any other family.

Once back home, he sprinted to his room and locked the door behind him. Faustus couldn’t let his parents, especially his father, see his panic.

It didn’t make sense. How could his mother be happy about this? Why would she willingly leave him? She promised. 

She promised she’d always be there for him. Why? Why would she now think it was okay to leave him alone with his father? Trembling, Faustus threw one of his books across the room before snatching a pillow and using it to muffle his screams.  

Then it dawned on him. His mother was pretending; she had to be. There was no other explanation. She was pretending to be excited as to not provoke his father. Yes, of course. Even now she was likely planning, packing and soon they would run. Soon this would all be behind them. Delighted and relieved at his revelation, Faustus dropped the pillow and swiftly left his room.

But when Faustus slipped down the hall and into his mother’s, she wasn’t in the midst of packing, she wasn’t crying or upset. Instead, she was lounging on her bed, popping blueberries into her mouth as another witch begrudgingly rubbed her calves.

Stunned, Faustus gaped at the pair. “Mo-, mother?” He managed, hovering in the door.

“Faustus, darling, come in.” She waved him over and he approached warily. “You know Mildred, she’s my handmaiden.” His mother added the last part with a poorly attempted whisper and a wink as she ate another berry.

He glanced at Mildred and nodded politely before quickly averting his eyes. Mildred always made him anxious, her fervent desire to be eaten disturbed him. “Mother, are,” his eyes flickered to Mildred again uncertainly. “What do you plan to do tonight.” Faustus tried to be as vague as possible, not trusting Mildred, all while attempting to put an urgency in his eyes.

Melting back into her pillows, his mother smiled lazily. “I plan to spend the rest of the night in bed, Faust, letting Mildred fulfill her sacred duty as handmaiden. I plan to eat delicious foods and bathe in sweet milk to prepare myself for the coven and the Dark Lord; for I am His tomorrow.”

Horror filled him again as he saw the truth in his mother’s eyes. “You,” Faustus swallowed hard, “you plan to stay here all night?” Doing his best not to fidget, Faustus stepped a bit closer. “Wouldn’t, wouldn’t you like to go on a walk with me, mother?” Eyes peeking at Mildred again, but the witch was muttering to herself not paying them the least bit of attention.

If he could just get her alone, if he could just get her outside the house and outside of the wards then, then they’d be okay. Then he could talk sense into her, and they could get away.

She shook her head and popped another blueberry into her mouth. “Oh, Faust, that’s sweet but no. Mama is the star, no, the Queen of this Feast. I plan to prepare myself for the Dark Lord to the best of my ability.”

Bewildered and broken, Faustus backed out of the room, forcing his tears back and ran only once he was out of sight. Unable to comprehend who the woman in the bed was, because she certainly wasn’t his mother. 

~~~~

He made himself sick the next morning; cast a spell, even drank a potion just in case, so he threw up a few times and spiked a fever.

Anything to get him out of attending the Feast. Anything to keep him from seeing his mother happily slit her throat and be consumed by the coven.

Seeing right through it, his father countered his hasty spell work and grabbed him by the back of the neck, propelling him out of the house and towards the church.

All throughout the ceremony, Faustus kept his eyes locked on a crack in the back wall of the church. He stood when he was supposed to, knelt, said the proper responses... but he didn’t have to look.

He wouldn’t look.

But he couldn’t ignore how everyone else surged forward when his mother’s body hit the ground. Couldn’t block out the sounds, no matter how hard he tried.

And then... then his father dug his nails into the back of Faustus’ neck once more, practically dragging him forward and forcing him to his knees next to his mother’s mutilated corpse.

Well, he’d kneel next to her, pay homage to the witch who used to be his mother. But he refused to partake any further.  

Until his father gripped his shoulder so painfully that Faustus’ mouth automatically dropped open in protest only for a piece of raw meat to be shoved inside.

Gagging, Faustus tried to spit it out only to find a spell keeping his mouth shut. Tears poured down his cheeks and he fought against the spell to no avail.

“Chew and swallow.” His father growled in his ear, eyes glinting dangerously. “Chew and swallow like a man or I’ll make you eat more. Don’t embarrass me, son.”

With an immense effort, Faustus choked it down and only then did his father release him and turn back to eating more for himself.

Faustus took the opportunity to leave, lurching to his feet and stumbling out of the church. He made it around the corner of the building before he got sick.

Sobbing, Faustus made his way home, stopping periodically to dry heave a few feet off the wooded path. All the way wondering why the Dark Lord got to have his mother and he didn’t. Wondering why his mother picked the Dark Lord over him. Why she had left him alone with his father.

He was her son. He was the one she was supposed to love, supposed to take care of, supposed to protect. But she hadn’t. And not because it was out of her control, no, his mother had chosen the Dark Lord over her own son.

And despite the rage broiling within him at this knowledge, when he got home Faustus climbed into his mother’s bed and pressed his face into her pillow; determined to drown himself in her scent and memory. 

~~~~

When he’d finally gotten his bearings back, pushed his grief down far enough he could ignore it, Faustus threw himself into research. Every spare hour was spent reading, for the sole purpose of finding other powerful beings. Satan didn’t deserve his faith, his loyalty. Not when He’d stolen his mother, and especially not in that manner. Faustus was desperate to find something, anything, he could place his faith in, something to guide him, help him. 

It took years.

And it wasn’t until after he signed the Book of the Beast and had access to the academy library that Faustus found something concrete. He was sitting in the library with Zelda, their feet intertwined under the table in case Edward decided to pry, and he was surprised she couldn’t feel how he was practically vibrating with excitement at his discovery.

Hecate.

A powerful being, considered the Goddess of witchcraft and magic, daughter to titans. Actual titans.

Faustus grinned and eagerly turned the page, still stunned he’d found such an entry in a schoolbook—it would be considered blasphemy by anyone else. It was an unholy miracle, such luck... His heart stuttered, fell, then hardened, at the next entry.

Only, only witches could access their magic through Hecate?

Forcing back the damned tears pricking his eyes, Faustus reread the passage. Then again when the words before him didn’t change. He’d finally found a being that could rival the Dark Lord and, and She wouldn’t even look at him, wouldn’t give him a moment’s thought if he tried to pray to Her.

Because he was male.

Forsaken first by his mother, his protector, and now he was being forsaken by this Hecate too? A snarl formed on Faustus’ lips and his body stiffened.

Zelda’s voice captured his attention. “What’s got you in such a snit?” She hadn’t missed his sudden change in demeanor.

Schooling his face, Faustus ripped the pages from the book. “Nothing.” He balled up the paper, wishing he could set it on fire but knowing that would only draw Cassius’ attention and then he’d get in trouble for fire magic in the library and for what he was reading. “Come, we’ve got to get to class.” He threw the paper away, stuffing it deep into the bin; burying the pages along with his hope. Zelda didn’t follow right away though, she hesitated and peered back at the bin, clearly curious about what he’d read.

A shiver of fear shot through Faustus as he watched her take a micro step towards the bin, evidently unappeased by his non-answer. He couldn’t lose her too, though, couldn’t be forsaken by Zelda.

Zelda was the only one who cared anymore.

His teachers only cared about his intelligence and grades, his father only cared for his potential to bring glory to the Blackwood name, Edward only cared what Faustus could give him.... No, Zelda was the only one who truly cared. He couldn’t lose her to Hecate.

He couldn’t lose her to something, not when it was impossible for him to follow.

“Zelda!” He snapped, glaring at her. He got an arched brow and pursed lips in return, letting him know he’d pay for his discourtesy later. But Zelda picked up her bag and followed him, arms crossing over her chest.

Exhaling in relief, Faustus tried to engage her in conversation as they moved through the academy, but Zelda was still mad at him and he wasn’t fully committed to the act. His mind already coming up with where else he could look for beings worthy of his faith. 

~~~

“The Eldritch Terrors.” He whispered aloud to himself, not daring to believe his eyes. Not daring to believe that after years of searching he’d found yet another option.

Could it be true? More god-like beings that could rival the Dark Lord, and these ones who would answer his calls and prayers? Heart pounding, Faustus delved back into the book; desperate for more.

[faeriewild]

I love my Watcher from Pillars of Eternity, so I’m gonna go on about her for a bit. 

Name: Fenwë Cervenen (pronounced Fen-Way  ~ Ser-v’Hen-n’EHn)

Race: Pale Elf (Glamfellen)

Class: PoE1: Ranger - PoE2: Ghost Heart Ranger/Fury Druid - all ice/storm/spirit based attacks (I only play things by aesthetic) - her stag also dies at the beginning of PoE2 :( :(

Background: Hunter

Home: The White that Wends - a barren winter wasteland

Age: 43 in PoE1 - 48 PoE2

Romance: Aloth Corfiser

Dispositions: PoE1: Stoic, Rational, Benevolent, Honest - PoE2: Diplomatic, Benevolent, Honest, Clever

Closest companions: Sagani, Tekēhu, Maia and Edér (they grow distant in PoE2 though) 

Dislikes: Gluttony, Cruelty, Piety and purposeful ignorance - The Gods in general. 

Appearance: She looks like a walking marble statue, she has no coloring and looks unnerving. Even her eyes are a muted grey. Many Dyrwoodians thought she was a risen dead and was referenced as “the corpse” before her reputation grew. Her time in warmer climate gives her a more lively looking pallor of some very light blushes of pink, or other shades of grey when exerting herself or when embarrassed. 

Background

Grew up in The White that Wends with a close highly religious sect of Glamfellen. She was raised to respect and fear the god Rymrgand and assist in the heralding of Rymrgand’s word. 

Fenwë was raised communally, and has pitiful knowledge of her parentage.  What little she does know is through trinkets and worn scrolls The heraldry, though minimal, shows a connection to deer/antlers - at some point the animals were used as a symbol for her house. 

A druidic elder who was the closest thing to a father figure, told her that he lineage was an old and noble one, but it is no consequence anymore, as she was raised by the community and now must serve and provide for them. She believes her parents died but has no great grief over it - as she is not the only Glamfellen child to be raised this way. 

Out of necessity for survival, Fenwë learned to hunt, becoming a skilled and hardened hunter - as she had to in order to survive the bitter cold of her homeland. On an expedition with a few other hunters they felled some deer.  Fenwë found a fawn half frozen in the snow. Feeling a kinship with the lost fawn and ignoring the harsh jeers of her companions to leave or kill the creature, she took the fawn and hid it and raised it. The fawn grew into a stag named Cerven. The creature was the only thing that came to resemble family. (she’s basically Kristoff from Frozen y’all) 

As Fenwë grew she came to resent the elders, who hoarded knowledge and who demanded her to risk her and her companions life to put a bounty of food on their own tables - while she was given scraps and often left starving when times were more difficult. 

In rebellion, she would sneak into druidic lessons, trying her best to commit the shared knowledge to memory. She was forbidden of this knowledge - as it went against her assigned role, but she was drawn to the cold nature magic the Glamfellen druids used.

Harder still, as she was no elder she was never taught to read. A fact that became a source of bitterness for her. Smuggling some scrolls from druidic elders - she began the arduous task of teaching herself. By herself, she could not get far though, only able to read simple sentences. And if she read aloud she would mispronounce words quite a lot. She was caught on more than one occasion, often punished with lashings.

The hoarding of knowledge was a catalyst for her to distance herself from her people, even more so, a budding resentment towards Rymrgand grew. Her people were living to die, cutting themselves off from progress or a better life.

After years of frustration a passing group of adventurers came across her on a hunt. Fenwë, though lacking in social graces, managed to convince them to allow her to be their guide through the cold landscape. Gathering her belongings (and some stolen druidic texts), she left with them and eventually heard of a settlement opportunity in the Dyrwood.. 

Relationship with Aloth: (time to get sappy)

After rescuing and traveling with Aloth, Fenwë would watch him leaf through book after book with pure envy. When caught staring Aloth would often mistake her looks as interest or even judgement. Often times Aloth would turn the tomes for her to look at, which would only result in a burning shame for her as she would only reply with “interesting” before changing the subject.

This continued for weeks, with Fenwë eagerly asking questions of him - thirsty for any source of knowledge and turning over any notes or books they found to her companions to read.

After coming to trust Aloth enough, she approached him while they were staying at an inn, and took the opportunity for privacy to show him the druidic texts she stole. This led to a conversation about her ability to read, in which she asked him to help her. 

To her relief, Aloth did not judge her and they began the ritual of reading every time they camped or stayed at an inn/tavern. To save her pride while in the company of others, they would sit side by side and Fenwë would quietly ask for help from Aloth when needed, or he would correct her in a way that would not draw attention. 

From this, a deeper friendship grew between them, and more personal histories where shared. Fenwë, having never known this kind of affection for another - was stoic and tight lipped about it. Though Sagani and a few others, quickly noticed Fenwë’s fond looks towards the skittish elf.

They shared small moments of sharing knowledge, and magic and stories. They were always guarded until the events of Aloth’s story in PoE1 play out. With secrets revealed their relationship truly bloomed, and they often lagged behind the party so they were given time to talk. It was clear The Watcher had a favorite.

Fenwë fell in love with him, and despite the encouragement from Sagani, Kana (the two who noticed - or at least the two who said anything) and some randy suggestions from Hiravias, nothing progressed between the two despite some meaningful touches or confessions of care. 

As Aloth left to dismantle the leaden key, Fenwë set about the task of being the Lady of Caed Nua. Her feelings for him quieted but never left. There were brief affairs for her over the five years - though guarded and generally only physical. With little word from Aloth, Fenwë was determined to let her feelings fade in truth, even though that proved impossible. 

The events of PoE2 play out as they do in game, and I’m still playing through it so idk all of it yet. Suffice to say seeing Aloth again completely devastates any idea Fenwë had that she was over him.  Fenwë is more knowledgeable in PoE2, having continued her education since Aloth left and more sure of herself, but still has the biggest soft spot for Aloth. There’s jealousy when Tekēhu flirts with Fenwë, as they also share druid spells and knowledge.  There are lots of looks and angst and it’s pretty good and I love them. And thank god they just gave up and smooched. 

[orderofthedyingstar]

RECAP: SESSION 10

SESSION TEN

It’s been a week since the encounter with Umbra. The party left the barn they commandeered on Dynafell’s outskirts after its owners returned and have been staying in a tavern in the farmland area outside of the city proper. Rhododendron’s been staying in their room almost exclusively, while Inigo disappears for long stretches of the day and Jun’s been preoccupied reading. Verrix hasn’t strayed too far from the tavern (worried about Rhododendron, hmm?), digging around for information about Donny and Raz where he can. People sort of recognize Donny’s description, but they seem to be confused about what crimes she’s committed (robbing a bank, killing a man, etc); more people know Raz, since they lived in the city, but no one has seen them since Umbra took them - and no one recognizes Umbra’s description. 

Rhododendron, out of both boredom and curiosity, finally asks Jun where he got the books he’s reading and he admits that he stole a bunch of books from the Order of the Dying Star - and didn’t want to tell her since she’d been so worried after he stole the bow. Rhododendron tries to explain the difference in morality between stealing from a shady Order and the Queen to Jun again, and while he’s willing to listen he still doesn’t seem to really understand. Jun then says he doesn’t really care whether or not it’s bad so long as he can get more information, while Rhododendron disagrees, saying all of the information she’s gotten in the past month has been bad…when she starts wallowing and looking like she’s about to cry again, Jun makes a mustache appear on his face to try and cheer her up. When Rhododendron starts asking him about his spell-learning process, he hands her an Illusion magic book to try and distract her. Verrix returns, sees a book in Rhododendron’s hands, and starts laughing. 

Rhododendron: “I was going to learn! Fuck you!”

Jun switches the book from Rhododendron to Verrix, pointing out that Verrix might actually be able to get something out of it. When Rhododendron tries to argue that she can do magic, both Verrix and Jun conjure up fire and ask if she can do it. Rhododendron eventually gets annoyed enough with both of them to leave the room - and Jun asks Verrix if he can even read, which he doesn’t give an answer to. Rhododendron starts shooting arrows at a tree outside of the tavern that she’s been using  for target practice the past few days, although she misses much more than she would like. Inigo passes by Rhododendron on his way back to the tavern to sleep, commenting on her half-hearted archery attempts. Rhododendron eventually heads back inside and asks Verrix if he found out any new information.

Verrix: “Did you know Donny was a guard here? Who let that happen??”

Rhododendron: “I don’t think they really thought about it.” 

Jun: “I don’t think they do background checks here.”

The party starts worrying about their slowly dwindling supply of money, wondering if they’re going to need to start dividing up their rations. Rhododendron asks for a dagger (Jun hands her one, Verrix tries to hand her four), worrying both of her (conscious) party members that she’s going to ‘get stabby’. (Verrix: “At least it’s not an arrow.”) They also both comment that they have Shield at the ready in case she gets any ideas.

Rhododendron, threatening: “Oh, you both know Shield?” 

Jun: “It’s a pretty good spell when you’re fragile and bleed easily and blood mages can just knock you out in one hit.” 

Rhododendron: “Blood mages?” 

Jun: “Uhhh, I mean strange fire genasi that we don’t know the powers and origins of…” 

Rhododendron: “Are you not telling me something?” 

Jun: “Ah…I’m not telling you a lot of things…so…”

Jun tries to distract Rhododendron from his slip about Umbra by rambling on about divination magic, Donny, and Raz - and successfully derails her by mentioning that he might be able to track Raz using Locate Object, although he’s still reluctant to burn a spell slot.

Rhododendron: “We’ve been doing nothing for seven days, Jun If-I-Knew-Your-Last-Name-I-Would-Have-Said-It.” 

Jun: “That’s on purpose.”

Jun doesn’t think he can sense Raz’s arcane focus anywhere within the current range of the spell, just similar objects in the temples of Dynafell. Rhododendron wakes Inigo up with a loud screech, interrogating him about where he’s been wandering off to the past week. Inigo tosses a bag full of silver and copper coins at her, saying that he got them from ‘work’; he’s been killing a lot of rats and doing other odd jobs. Rhododendron tries to ask Inigo if he has any ideas about where Umbra could have gone, or if he has a secret hideout, and Inigo finally reveals that his memories haven’t fully returned.

Inigo: “I don’t remember…” 

Rhododendron: “Remember what?” 

Inigo: “MMHMM! A lot of things!” 

Rhododendron: “I thought you got your memories back?” 

Inigo: “Mostly, I mostly got them back. Turns out there’s a lot of stuff I didn’t know so when I started remembering I thought, ‘wow that’s a lot’…but it turns out it’s a slow thing.”

Inigo barely remembers anything about Umbra, and as Rhododendron pushes for more facts he freaks out about how little he can recall and how violent the things that he can remember are. The only concrete things he’s able to give involve a cave somewhere in the mountains with ‘creepy statues’ and a giant nearby. When Rhododendron looks to Jun for any sort of opinion on this he won’t look at her. Rhododendron realizes that none of the current party were with her for the incident at the lake and makes herself sad again.

Rhododendron (telling Verrix about what she and Donny fought about): “The blood on the hotel walls, my career ruined and in the garbage?”  

Verrix: “Why did you do that again?” 

Rhododendron: “Michael. Fucking Michael.” 

Verrix and Jun shrug at each other. They have no idea what she’s talking about. 

Rhododendron: “Oh, we could find Yeah!” 

Verrix: “We could find Michael?” 

Rhododendron: “No, Yeah!” 

Verrix: “Which one???” 

Jun, to Verrix: “Is she making less sense than usual or is it just me?”

Rhododendron: “Do you know Yeah?” 

Jun: “Do I…No?? Yeah??”

After confusing the rest of the party thoroughly for several minutes, Rhododendron finally explains that Yeah is another person that she knows, and that they might have some more information about the owlbears and anything that’s been happening in Dynafell…but the decides that it isn’t much of a lead. The party decides to go to the mountains to try to rouse Inigo’s memories, although Rhododendron gets annoyed when Jun points out that while it’s not a bad idea, it might take months before they get answers. She also blames Inigo and Verrix for not doing anything while Raz was being taken, which Verrix gets annoyed about and Inigo says that they wouldn’t have been able to stop Umbra. Inigo points out that Umbra probably would have killed them if they’d tried to stop them, and doubts they’ll be able to do anything to stop Umbra even if they find them again.

Despite the party’s disagreements about their ability to face Umbra or even find them, both Jun and Inigo agree with Rhododendron on killing Umbra. Jun also says that he doesn’t think they’re capable of killing Umbra just yet because they all work poorly together as a team and don’t really know what else Umbra can do. Rhododendron is still insistent on moving, irritated and restless with being unable to do anything to help Raz at the moment. Verrix heads out to gather more information in town, and Jun reveals that he recognizes Umbra from a few brief encounters with them a long time ago. Both Jun and Inigo try to escape with Verrix but Rhododendron doesn’t let them leave, interrogating both of them for every detail they can give her about Umbra.

Jun gives brief details about his time spent interrogating Umbra while still working at the Cobalt Keep, stating a few times that it’s difficult for him to remember all of the pieces of what really happened. Inigo gives some scattered information about some of the places he’s remembered going, and that he thinks he was very young when he met Umbra, and that they haven’t seemed to age at all. (Jun says that genasi don’t have very long lifespans, so Umbra not visibly aging would be abnormal for them.) Rhododendron tries to ask Jun about the Cobalt Keep, but he refuses to talk about it, just going back to his interrogation of Umbra and how few answers he got - and that Inigo was with Umbra during their imprisonment at the Keep. Jun also doesn’t give many details about Umbra’s breakout, but does mention that he couldn’t get into Inigo’s mind at all.

Rhododendron: “Wait, Inigo, how old are you?” 

Inigo: “Huh…..probably somewhere between ten and sixty.”

While she’s calmed down considerably, Rhododendron still gives Jun some shit for withholding information, which he isn’t upset about. He says that he’s always gotten in trouble for withholding answers and doesn’t have a good track record with trusting other people with the truth; he then mentions that if Umbra has run back to So’Joh he probably shouldn’t go because he’s wanted there, although most people probably think he’s dead. When Rhododendron whines about only being friends with fugitives and criminals, Jun points out that the only person (including her) that they’ve hung around the past few weeks that hasn’t committed any crimes is Raz. Inigo also manages to recall that Umbra had once had a plan to steal the crown of So’Joh and switch it, which Jun initially doesn’t care about until he remembers that it’s Enchanted to manipulate people’s emotions.

Jun: “That is not our problem, because it’s in the Cobalt Keep, which we are never going to - or at least, I’m never going to. You can do that on your own time, I’ll stay here. In a different country.”

Verrix, meanwhile, has been asking around if anyone has seen any mountains lately. (They definitely have.) He then switches gears, trying to ask about a lake up in the mountains.

Verrix: “Mountain. Cave. Lake. You know what I mean?”

Verrix goes into a tavern and stares at a map of the country, staring at it for a while before realizing he has no idea how to read it. He tries to get some strangers at the bar to read the map for him, but they refuse (Verrix: “This city is so mean”). He tries to pry the map off of the wall with his dagger, but the bartender catches him - Verrix asks the man to read the map for him, but he gets mistaken for a drunk person, although the bartender also does mention that the only lake of any significance up in the mountains is Mirror Lake before kicking him out. He gives up and heads back to the rest of his party. Verrix does confuse the bartender’s suggestions that he attend school with his information about the lake, thinking that children are getting kidnapped and taken to the lake.

Rhododendron: “Inigo, are you paying attention?” 

Inigo: “Honestly? No. You guys started using big words so I zoned out and started staring at the ceiling.”

The group decides to try to head up to Mirror Lake, although Rhododendron is reluctant to go through Whitwood/Elfslayer’s Run (even though it’s faster) and Verrix does not want to go back through Snaketail Crevice to get up into the mountains. She still says that they should pass through Whitwood as fast as possible, making the rest of the party think that she’s committed some sort of crime in that town. They spend too long arguing about whether or not to stock up on supplies in Whitwood, and Inigo calls the party boring, offending both Verrix and Rhododendron.  

Before the group leaves, Verrix takes Inigo with him to ‘borrow’ the map he was looking at earlier. Verrix tries to run into the tavern to grab the map, but gets blinded by his own bangs and trips over his own cloak. Inigo tries not to laugh and then walks over the map, rips the map + frame off of the wall, and walks outside. Verrix finally remembers to check for any wanted posters to see if anyone remembers Rhododendron’s crime, but gets distracted by all of the other posters in the city. Verrix is disappointed when Rhododendron tells him that they can’t carry the map around in its frame the entire time they’re traveling.

Rhododendron: “Um, did you need one that big??” 

Verrix: “Yup. We gotta go.”

The group heads out on the road, one Rhododendron is very familiar with. She’s made this journey plenty of times before, and knows that the last big town they’ll pass through before Whitwood and the mountains is El Canje. 

Rhododendron: “It’s important when battling to know one another to know how people think.” 

Jun: “Oh, I know how all of you think.” 

Verrix: “How do I think?” 

Jun: “You don’t.” 

Verrix: “That’s harsh. Wow.”

Verrix shares a little about his past, saying that he used to live in Silva before losing his parents and running around on his own. Inigo still doesn’t remember much, but says that all ‘angels look the same’ - when Verrix tries to confirm that with the Voice in his head he’s punished with three straight minutes of unrelenting harp music. When they finally rest, during her watch Rhododendron talks to a few animals, really creeping Inigo out.

Rhododendron: “I think you’re just bottling things up and avoiding them and it’s going to be really bad when they finally blow up.”

The close the party gets to El Canje, the more traffic they encounter. Rhododendron notices that most of the people heading that direction are self-styled adventurers, decked out in armor and weapons to try and break into an old temple that’s been unearthed in El Canje bearing the symbol of the missing moon goddess. Freaking out a little, Rhododendron catches Verrix up to speed on the events of the Laoteng temple she and Jun broke into a while ago. Rhododendron and Jun decide it would probably be worthwhile to try and get into this temple too, but are unsure how to do that without attracting the attention of the entire crowd of travelers. They debate whether or not the bow is cursed, (and hope that it isn’t) to which Jun says a small curse is better than a big curse.

Rhododendron: “We aren’t here to steal anything.” 

Verrix: “Yet.”

The temple itself is partially unearthed, clearly excavated from beneath another building and covered in scorches and scratch marks from the many failed attempts at entry. Whatever magic is here is old and failing but still incredibly powerful. As the party tries to figure out a way to enter the temple, they also wonder what could possibly be inside of the temple - and how to distract all of the many, many adventurers circling around the building. While Rhododendron and Verrix are distracted arguing about whether or not Verrix is ‘chill’, Jun mimics Laoteng’s symbol on the front door, attracting the attention of all of the other adventurers. The party circles around to the back and tries to get in through a window - Rhododendron prays to Laoteng for help and shoots an arrow through the window. Light collects at the arrow tip, just like the last time, and the window explodes as the arrow blasts through it. The party climbs into the temple through the window (with some difficulty on Rhododendron’s end), finding it just as decrepit as the last one, with another pool of water in the center of the main room. Rhododendron launches another arrow at the pool, evaporating the water and revealing another set of stairs leading downwards…

Inigo casts light on a rock so Rhododendron can see as they descend the staircase, leading them to another circular room covered in mosaics depicting more myths about Laoteng: how humans got emotions, Gosha’s founding, the guidance of the gods in creatinine the capital cities. Rhododendron, forgetting to look for traps/enemies, runs straight into a massive web, attracting the attention of something large that skitters along the walls. Verrix shoots a firebolt down the hallway, revealing six giant spiders (Gross). 

Verrix: “Boy, I sure do hate that.” 

Rhododendron: “Yeah! YEAH! Ugh, that’s horrible, spiders shouldn’t be that big.”

After setting most of the webbing on fire and dealing a significant amount of fire damage, the party manages to destroy all of the spiders, although Verrix and Inigo get poisoned in the process. Rhododendron sorts through her bag and spells but realizes they have nothing to cure the poison on them, leaving half of the party weakened. As they extinguish the flames and push past the last of the spiders’ webbing, they find that the hallway continues, but is trapped with spikes that Rhododendron nearly falls into. Rhododendron and Jun make it across the spikes safely, but tell Verrix and Inigo to stay behind since they’re still poisoned. The hallway leads into a large, circular room, only this time there’s someone moving around in it.

Jun: “Ah, shit - backup, backup, abortabortabort.” 

Rhododendron: “Do you think they’re friendly?”

(Nat1 nature check from Rhododendron) A kindly old woman is in the room, surprised by her visitors. She tells the two that she lives in this temple ‘sometimes’, and offers up a riddle. Jun keeps insisting that they leave. The woman says that she likes being in the temple to absorb the old magic, to which Jun comments that he’s never liked hags. 

Rhododendron: “Maybe you shouldn’t, like, do that? This temple is gonna fall apart.” 

Auntie May: “Maybe someday, but rocks are pretty sturdy and the magic is even sturdier.”

Rhododendron: “Not if you’re eating it.” 

Auntie May: “I’m not eating it, just…absorbing. It’s nature.” 

Rhododendron: “Or it’s stealing.” 

Auntie May: “Well, no on else is using it, so might as well.” 

Rhododendron: “You don’t know that.” 

Auntie May: “I do. What’s a dead god going to do with power that’s just sitting there? Nothing. This is but an echo of what she was.”

Auntie May expresses displeasure at the party having killed the spiders, calling them her ‘pets’ and saying she’ll have to go look for new ones. She dodges answering when Rhododendron asks how she gets in and out of the temple, but as Rhododendron asks more questions she offers and exchange: a secret for a secret, but Rhododendron declines. As Jun and Rhododendron start to leave, Auntie May addresses Rhododendron by name, saying that she read it on her bow even though it’s covered. As they leave Rhododendron spots spell components on the table Auntie May is rearranging, including bones. She asks Jun if they should be worried about the hag, but Jun is extremely against confronting her, especially after casting Detect Magic on the temple walls. 

Rhododendron: “This is a whole temple. It shouldn’t be a place you destroy and ruin.” 

Jun: “Well, we’re no clerics of Laoteng, you know? We can let it slide, it’s not like Raz is here - oh, s-shit. Um, I was UNCONSCIOUS, did I mention that?“

Rhododendron is still concerned about the hag and the possibility of other adventurers running across her, and despite Jun’s repeated warnings decides to go back into Auntie May’s room. Rhododendron says that she also feels compelled to see things through on behalf of Laoteng. 

[davetheshady]

may I politely request ⭐dealer's choice director's commentary⭐for pretty much any part of Love is All You Need to Destroy Your Enemies?

Did you mean: infodump about Chapter 5?

We start off in medias res during Pteranodon Attack-Gate from Episode 4: PTA Meeting. Since most of the fic runs parallel to WTNV’s storyline for the first ~two years, the way I narrowed down which events to feature was to read through the transcripts and take note of which ones had Carlos, which ones featured science/magic/time travel-related elements, which ones had weird discrepancies or unsolved details that could be explained by Carlos/science/magic/time travel/all of the above, and which ones I just liked a lot. 

Incidentally, Cecil issues a correction that the winged reptiles in question were actually pterodactyls, not pteranodons, which was then promptly forgotten by the showrunners lol.

"—And then Kelly pulled her hamstring while they were doing the Fixing of a Nail position. I'm trying to convince her that she and Joe should do yoga together, I think it would really cut back on minor injuries and also they both look great in yoga pants. Anything new with you, Carlos?"

"Nothing that compares to... hamstring injuries," says Carlos, from his position on top of the Sciencemobile.

"All right," says Kate, adjusting an enormous pair of mirrored aviator shades. "Then describe the Barstow formation."

Since literal character doubling was such an important part of the plot, I had a lot of fun with thematic character doubling, too. Carlos and Kate (and the other grad students) are actually pretty close in age, and here we see her willing to put herself into danger to get the job done while casually chatting with her colleagues. Also, there’s a nice dose of karma for the books in Carlos having to deal with someone else oversharing details about their relationships, compounded by the fact that unlike his all of Kate’s are actually true. (In nicer doubling news: Kate is the one who gets her degree in science, has functional romantic relationships, AND continues to work in Night Vale, which are all eventually Carlos’ hashtag life goals.) 

"Maybe it was future you," asks Julie, who does not sound appropriately concerned for the potentially diverted course of the Currents of Time. Or for the potentially diverted course of the already unlinear life of Carlos.

This is the first conversation where she’s ‘Julie’ in his mental narration. I enjoyed having her be hilariously unsympathetic to his concerns here, because her priorities are still very different, but it also sets up a baseline. She doesn’t bother worrying about hypotheticals from the weird shit, but actual hard data (like, Carlos not sleeping and having minor breakdowns in her lab) is what prompts her to share reactions besides SCIENCE! and snark.

His stomach roils at the thought of more time travel. "Some kind of illusion is more likely," he says: some person or creature temporarily assuming his form, probably for sinister purposes. He reluctantly adds those weird doubles from the sandstorm to his list of possible suspects, though his dissolved right in front of him in the middle of next March and there haven't been any sandstorms recently.

oh hey haha what’s that

One of my biggest pet peeves in fiction is when allegedly intelligent characters ignore obvious plot points so the writer can railroad the story in their chosen direction. On the other hand, it is genuinely difficult to avoid spoiling your plot twists if your main character is actively trying to figure them out. I leaned heavily on “the character has all the basic details… along with so much other information they can’t realistically narrow it down”, combined with some red herrings: an obvious one (illusion magic) and hopefully a more convincing one (time travel as the only relevant plot: it's DEFINITELY involved, but its presence is obscuring another facet of the plot altogether).

There's always a risk that astute readers will figure it out, but, like… so? That just means instead of shocking plot twist reveal, they get an “I KNEW IT!” reveal, which is equally satisfying in a different way. As long as the characters have convincing reasons for not figuring it out, it's hopefully still enjoyable to follow along with them as they wander around in the dark. 

(And just for clarification: that was Doppel-Carlos crashing the town hall meeting when he and Dr. Raith were testing out time vortices.) 

Andre hands him a copy of the Night Vale Daily Journal. “’Look your best to face the void. Smooth-chinned souls are most enjoyed’,” reads Carlos. “‘Burma-Shave.’”

"No, below the ads," says Andre.

1) ‘character reads wrong piece of information in paper’ is a classic goof (“There’s a sale at Penney’s!”) and I found it very amusing to repeatedly attribute it to Carlos, since he’s genuinely trying to locate the important information. Unfortunately for him, he lives in Night Vale and no longer has a filter for “useless nonsense”, because even the nonsense has proven relevant and/or kinda murdery before.

2) Burma-Shave! This was passed down to me as part of our Great American Roadtrip Family Lore (I come from a long line of roadtrippers) and it’s definitely the kind of kitschy 50s detail that fits so well in Night Vale.

"Oh!" says Cecil. "What were you studying?"

"Bioremediation for contaminated pit lakes via sulfur-reducing bacteria," says Carlos truthfully.

Why? Because I edited one of my friends’ papers on it, that’s why. (Birds kept landing on it and dying, which is also a very Night Vale detail.)

When he returns, he finds Cecil standing by the record player with his back against the wall, staring fixedly at Carlos’ vinyl copy of Ixnay on the Hombre.

One of the DF books (I think White Night) had a hilariously high number of characters showing up wearing band t-shirts, and Carlos’ was for The Offspring. (The original file name for this fic was Original Prankster, back when I thought it would be three chapters long.)

“It’s about a wizard stranded in a strange, uncharted desert territory,” [Cactus Judy] says serenely.

Cactus Jane! I decided to make her a recurring character because 1) she’s in a time travel episode (Episode 18: The Traveler), 2) both she and TMITJ had the detail where no one can remember their real name, which seemed significant, and 3) WTNV itself did not have very many recurring female characters at that point. She’s into Shakespeare because I personally knew a lot of relevant Shakespeare quotes, but also as a hint that’s she’s a lot older (and thus a lot more supernatural) than she seems: Shakespeare was a HUGE part of pop culture in the 19th century, particularly in the southwest. Theater companies used to make more money going on tour through states with precious metal mines than they did during their whole season in the big coastal cities, probably because jaded city folks never threw gold nuggets on stage to show their appreciation.

If life is a contest between good and evil, Cecil would be one of the people handing out stickers just for participating.

This is one of my favorite lines.

My plan is fool-proof! It's sheer elegance in its simplicity!

Look, if you enjoyed this fic, WTNV, and/or The Dresden Files, you should probably go watch The Middleman. Yes, I know it’s not streaming, do it anyway. Load up on antivenom and go rent it from your local library.

“Could you [create a time vortex]?""Oh, for sure," says Carlos. "All I'd need would be a couple years to do nothing but work on a highly illegal spell and figure out a way to steal an entire ley-line's worth of power and excise my sense of morality and self-preservation.”

And WHAT are the odds of THAT

It's not that Carlos doesn't like him. It just wouldn't be fair to lead him on when Carlos wouldn't actually—

Well, Carlos wouldn’t mind asking but he doesn’t normally go for—

Okay, Carlos could definitely make an exception for Cecil and—

And—

oh NO he accidentally used logic to make himself admit he has FEELINGS

One of the reasons I love this pairing is that you have Cecil, who is incredibly emotionally open (all the time, on public radio) as a distinct contrast to Carlos, who is so used to putting up a very specific facade that he even does it to himself and then struggles when he doesn't have it to rely on. It creates conflict, but it also means they have very different perspective they can share with each other. 

"Did the earth move for you, too?" says Cecil.

"Bwuh?" replies Carlos.

"At the monitoring station," says Cecil, because right, they're talking about science and not about how Carlos may or may not have accidentally developed a tiny, tiny crush on Cecil, who is standing right in front of him and looking extremely interested in what he's saying and will commit his words to memory and lovingly repeat them for all the world, or at least all of Night Vale and anyone else who received the same odd death curse as Carlos, to hear.

"Oh. Hmm – unh," replies Carlos, then shakes his head. Not talking, that's the way to go. That way he won't accidentally say something he doesn't mean, or worse, something he does mean but probably shouldn't say. Cecil can ask him science questions and he can shake his head yes or no, and maybe refer him wordlessly to supplementary materials, and it will all be very professional and—

"Where did you get your shirt?" asks Cecil. "It fits you so well."

"I'll look at my notes and computer models and see if I can figure out what's going on," Carlos blurts out, and practically runs from the room.

One of the reasons I started writing this fic (SEPTEMBER 2013, BABY god I feel old) was because we all knew Carlos was immensely important to Cecil, but had relatively little information about him, and ALL of it was filtered through our unreliable narrator. So… I just kind of ran with that. 

But on top of the obvious unreliability of “didn't notice Carlos was a wizard from a different series”, I wanted to do it on the smaller scale, too, and put a different spin on the touchstones of their growing relationship that everyone was already familiar with. So this interaction is now a crisis for both of them, and for dramatically/hilariously different reasons. 

“If you’re worried about going native, I’ve got bad news for you, buddy, because you do more chanting than anyone I’ve met.”

Another one of my favorite lines.

“I’ve had to hunt down people I know before, and trust me, it’s not a fun date night!”

Between Molly and fanon interpretations of Cecil, Carlos’ type is apparently 1) weird tattoos, 2) unusually-colored hair, and 3) can kill him

There's a brief hiss from the TV's speakers, and then Cecil says, in a small, forlorn voice, “I don't know if he listens to me, sometimes.”

Carlos puts his head down and laughs bitterly.

I LOVE IRONY 

But even though I wanted to subvert the surface meaning, Cecil DOES still have a point. He got a good look at Carlos’ soul when they first met and still fell in love instantly, but Carlos has a difficult time hearing that because at this point he fundamentally does not believe he’s worthy of that kind of love. In order to truly believe Cecil, he also has to start learning to love and accept himself. (It’s very much a work in progress, but nobody’s perfect.) The title isn’t just meant to refer to romantic love – self-love, friendship, familial love, and unconditional love for the humanity of his trash fire town are equally important, because they all support each other.

hmu for more dvd commentary!

[fromthedeskofelizabeththird]

Jealousy

The Arcana | Asra x Apprentice | Gen

Second prize in my milestone giveaway, for @zeodyme.~

~~~

As a young girl, MC was enamored with magic. She spent many an afternoon in her aunt’s magic shop, turning the pages of spell books and admiring trinkets. She eagerly pried open every crate and jar, sounding out the syllables on the label and committing each scent to memory.

That glee never quite left her even as an adult. It was certainly true that she had not appreciated exactly how much work went into running a shop until it became her inheritance, but if anything the extra work added an extra layer of anticipation.

She loved browsing the wares of her numerous suppliers; loved getting to know her customers and picking out trinkets she knew they would buy. She loved filling her shelves with brand new, mysterious items and testing the more obscure ones herself.

It came as a surprise, therefore, that Asra did not care for it quite as much as she did.

It was true that he pored over every item on her shelf and could not hide the thrill when they caught his interest. He would peer over her shoulder when she experimented with new ingredients. He did not, however, hold any sort of interest in her suppliers nor a decent number of customers to her store. As a matter of fact, he seemed to avoid them altogether. He barely even responded on the occasions she brought them up in conversation, immediately offering to make a pot of tea in an attempt to change the subject.

MC didn’t quite understand his reluctance, but accepted that he was a shy sort of person and likely overwhelmed by some personalities more so than others.

He was suspicious of Ignacio and his stockpile of furs, convinced that the man meant to swindle her in some way whenever he kissed her hand.

He raised an eyebrow when she described the more enthusiastic of her customers, from those who left her generous tips to those who flat out said how much they admired her.

She laughed off his concerns every time he insisted that merchants meant to rob her blind and her customers paid her compliments in the hopes of a discount.

It was ridiculous. She knew their lives, their families. They were her customers and colleagues and the idea that they were not in the least bit passionate about magic was absurd. She had always been in love with it, after all, and their frequent returns and smiling faces only served as a reminder.

As a matter of fact, Asra approved of only one of her suppliers-a herbalist named Syd, who supplied teas, weeds and more for a wide range of purposes. Exactly what it was that set Syd apart from the others was anyone’s guess.

In any case, his eyes lit up at every mention of them and he laughed out loud at each one of MC's anecdotes, nodding at every detail and observing that such silly jokes and actions were just like them.

He was almost as excited as MC to hear that Syd was set to join them at one of Nadia’s parties. Syd spent most of their days at sea, travelling from port to port and peddling their wares without the luxury of magic. As something of an unfortunate coincidence, every time Syd only ever seemed to arrive in Vesuvia on days Asra was elsewhere.

In truth, MC concluded that she was not sure which part of Nadia's gathering she looked forward to the most: meeting up with old friends... tucking into fancy desserts... dressing in her finest clothes... seeing Asra in his finest clothes... Each possibility was as enticing as the next. She certainly couldn't wait for Asra and Syd to finally share a conversation after so many years.

In her invitation, Nadia quite specifically referenced that it was to be a private affair. Asra smirked the first time he read it, wondering aloud exactly how many close acquaintances the Countess had. If previous parties were anything to go by, she had enough friends to fill a small continent.

MC couldn't shake the butterflies in her stomach as they set off for the night, which only grew worse when they actually arrived at the dance hall. Nadia had decorated the ceiling with an illusion of the night sky, leaving her guests to watch in disbelief every time a shooting star rocketed from one side of the ceiling to the next, leaving a flurry of glimmering stardust in its wake.

Nadia's greeting lacked none of its usual charm. She reached out to squeeze MC's hands in hers and insisted on introducing her to the more significant of her guests, many of whom MC and Asra had already met in one capacity or another.

Before long, Nadia had others to attend to and Asra stroked his fingers across the inside of her arm.

"I think there's a punch bowl over there. Here, I'll see if I can find us something to drink."

MC agreed to stay, folding her arms and waiting by the central pillar. She expected him to be gone only a matter of seconds, but time passed without sight nor sound of him. Now, more than ever, did she appreciate exactly how many people had come to the party, wearing heady perfumes and brightly coloured silks. It was overwhelming and she planted a hand on the pillar behind her to steady herself, increasingly dizzy with each passing second.

Where was Asra?

It only made matters worse that she could not see him anywhere. He didn't exactly blend into the background...and the hall was so uncommonly big...

Someone reached for her shoulder and she breathed a sigh of relief, expecting it to be Asra. When she turned to face them, however, it was someone else entirely.

"Syd!" She cried out, reaching to embrace them without an ounce of hesitation. Syd was only too happy to return the gesture, pulling them in close in the boisterous fashion MC had come to associate with them.

"I didn't think you'd come," she said, stepping back to admire their costume for the evening. As a consequence of spending so much time at sea, she had only ever seen them in practical clothes and comfortable shoes. At some point, MC had come to believe that they only owned threadbare shirts and soft leather boots.

Tonight, though, she scarcely recognised them. They were dressed head to toe in turquoise silk, with sparkling rings on every finger and peacock feathers in their hair.

"You look..." She said, searching her mind for something appropriate. Telling them she associated them with worn shoes seemed a terrible idea.

Syd roared with laughter, though, as if they knew precisely what she was too embarrassed to say.

"It's alright," they said. "I don't quite recognise myself either. You on the other hand...are a vision."

MC couldn't stop herself from blushing, all nervousness forgotten. Syd was uncommonly easy to talk to and before long MC lost all track of time, far too interested in their stories of giant squids and roaring tides. She did not even notice Asra return until he nudged a glass into her hands.

"Well if it isn't Asra!" Syd exclaimed, instantly giving him an enthusiastic punch to the forearm. "It's been so long! How have you been?"

Asra glanced from MC to Syd and then back again, no ounce of recognition in his gaze.

"I am Asra," he said, "but I'm not sure we've ever met."

To say MC was bewildered was an understatement. She had not expected Asra to come bounding over with his arms outstretched, but he spoke to Syd not only as if he didn't know them, but as if he was ill at ease.

"Never met? Asra, this is Syd!"

Perhaps he was as unused to seeing them in formal wear as she was.

"I don't suppose you would recognise me after all these years," they sighed. "Last time we met I was much shorter."

MC blinked, glancing from Syd to Asra. From the sounds of things, Syd had known Asra as a child, but that contradicted every story she had ever heard about them. All of Asra's stories about them ended in alcohol, wenches and birds of paradise. It was difficult to imagine a child in any of them.

Asra scratched his chin, seemingly thinking the same thing, recognition dawning long after the silence had become uncomfortable.

"Syd!?" Asra cried out, taking a step back and examining the person in front of them. "

Syd-deeqa?"

Syd laughed at his disbelief, seemingly delighted at such undeniable evidence of their own transformation from child to adult.

"I look quite different, don't I?"

"Different? Syd, I-I'm so sorry, I had no idea-"

Syd was almost too dismissive of his apology. If anything they found it highly amusing.

"MC," said Asra, as an afterthought, "this is Syd...they're the grandchild of the Syd I used to know. I thought that the other Syd was the one coming to visit, but I guess the family business has changed hands over the past few years."

"Travelling the world is so much more exhausting when you have creaking hips and cataracts," shrugged Syd. "If no one took on his contracts, he'd surely have worked himself to death."

Asra lifted his drink to his lips, meaning to take a swig, only to rethink it.

"I'm so sorry," he said, "wait here, I'll go and get you a drink as well. We have so much to talk about."

Asra waved his drink before disappearing into the crowd, leaving MC and Syd to watch him leave.

"I hope he doesn't feel too guilty," said Syd. "Almost all of my clients have made the same mistake."

"I'm sure he's just surprised," said MC. "It seems like he's very fond of your grandfather."

"I have to admit, I didn't have him down as the jealous type."

MC turned to them, taking in their wry smile.

"Jealous?"

Envy was the last quality she would ever associate with Asra.

"You didn't see? When he told me his name I could have sworn we were in the tundra."

"I..."

MC thought about it-his shift in tone and complete lack of recognition. The same expression he wore when hearing about many of her other suppliers and even some of her customers.

"Oh," she said, realisation sinking in. Suddenly it all made sense.

Asra was not nearly as concerned about her being cheated out of her coppers as he let on. No, the thing he was more worried about losing was far more personal and left her blushing.

"I'm going to be honest with you," she said. "Neither did I."

[vivika-ka]

I feel embarrassed but yo I am trying to write a fanfic, it’s not that good but do tell me what you think and if you have any constructive criticism it will be happily welcomed! This is the first chapter:

The pain he felt was indescribable. The constant pounding inside his head, almost as if there was someone hammering his temples over and over. Fragments of what took place in the last 3 days were coming back to him, bits and pieces. If he looked up, the ever-effervescent light of the Throne Room would infiltrate in his emerald green eyes, bringing even more pain. By the love of the Gods, make it stop. Frankly, his attention on the trial disappeared the moment he realized not a single soul in the room would believe any word he said -except his mother, of course. Loki wished he himself could understand what the hell his life had become, that he could make it up for the mistakes he committed against Asgard and his family.

"Any last words before your punishment?" Odin asked, his eyes carried deep disappointment and coldness, so much that made him flinch slightly. Oh, that's right. I don't belong here. Loki ignored the whispers and curses thrown at him, his older brother wasn't by his side and somehow that made him feel in excruciating danger around the people that were once his. The Jotun Prince then proceeded to look at his mother, Frigga refused to cry in front of her strict husband, but Loki knew the Queen better than anyone present, she was devastated. He licked his chapped lips and whispered to her.

"I am so sorry" His weak pleading voice was enough to make Frigga turn her eyes away from her youngest son, the tears threatening to spill. Odin frowned deeply, and with no further ado, banged his spear three times loudly.

"Then I, Odin, King of Asgard, declare that Loki Laufeyson shall have death penalty for committing crimes against the crown, the King, and the Asgardians. As well, for trying to take over the realm of Midgard. He is not to be touched, spoken to, and taken care of, until the day of his execution. Which will happen at dawn. I'll meet you all in 3 days" Loki sighed, trying to take the image of his mother as much as he could before his upcoming doom. I don't belong anywhere.

.-.-.

Thor sat in his room, caressing one of the few presents his little brother gave him during their peaceful times together. He was aware that Loki would be given death penalty for all the vicious actions he had committed against Asgard and Midgard. He was going to lose his little brother once again, and he couldn't help but to feel that it was his fault. There was a knock at his door, however the God of Thunder paid no mind. All he wanted at the moment was to go back to Midgard, hug his Lady Jane, and sleep. He knew slumber wouldn't come to him, though. Every time he closed his eyes he would hear Loki's screams; he would see the hopelessness in his brother's eyes when he let go of his hand; he would feel the smell of antique books, wet earth and flowers, and the raciness of his magic; he would feel the taste of their favorite dessert, the very one they would eat together after winning a big battle. Thor did not hold back his tears, he let them fall freely over the storybook they would read whenever one of them had nightmares.

"Thor? Are you there?" The voice of Lady Sif echoed in his chamber.

"I do not wish to speak to anyone. I ask of you, please, leave me at once" Thor managed to say without choking.

"Thor, I understand you're sad, but…Loki's actions have consequences, and this is fa-"

"If you dare to say it is fair to kill my little brother, I will never look at you, ever again"

"Will you quit it with this never-ending guilt?! It is nonsense! None of what is happening-" At this rate, Thor's chest felt as if it would explode any second now. With long steps, he opened the door, scaring the woman before him. He was livid.

"Everything that is happening with Loki is my fault! His betrayal, his fall, his breakdown, his invasion! All of this! Because I couldn't see what my father was doing to me! I did not stop my father from treating him differently! He was lost, and all I did was push him deep into the abyss!" The grieving god shouted.

"Loki is different! He is a Jotun! Not to mention a traitor!" Sif exclaimed viciously.

"Enough!" Thor shouted, a thunder could be heard through all Asgard. Sif jumped back, however never losing her frown and stance "You are not part of this family. Therefore, you can't possibly understand what happened to him. Much less what I am feeling in this moment. I will ask you nicely one more time: please, leave me alone" Thor said through his clenched teeth. Sif scoffed, turning to go back to the training chambers. The God of Thunder sighed, his shoulders still tensed.

"Damn it" He cursed, finally letting his body breakdown into sobs.

Guilt can eat you away. In his many years of life, he had underestimated the sickness of the mind. Guess I'm paying the price.

.-.-.

Loki was taken to his cell rather violently. The nagging feeling at the back of his head that something awful was about to happen with him couldn't seem to pass. He scratched the part that was afraid of his execution, since he long craved for his death the moment he let go of Thor's hand and fell into the void until now. This feeling was different, as if he had felt this unstoppable fear and hopelessness. The type of fear that you can't run away from. The type of hopelessness that no matter how many times you tell yourself it is over, it gets worse.

The loud sound of his wrists being attached to heavy chains pushed him from his thoughts. Looking over to his right side, the guard was eyeing him something awful. The amount of malfeasance in the guard's stance gave him such crippling dread, his heart was beating as loudly as his brother's thunder.

"What do we have here? God of Mischief, Loki" The man sneered, Loki gulped "You don't seem so mischievous now, do you, boy?" The voice and malice brought him more fragments, not the good kind. It reminded him of the voice that belonged to a mad being "No brother to save you, no mother to protect you. It seems I've won the biggest award of all" The guard proceeded to hit him strongly on the face with his golden baton, Loki could only see starts after such heavy blow, but it was enough to bring him one suffering memory.

He was falling. That was all he could gather. He was falling in a void, without destination, he would fall forever in the darkness. When Loki lost the count of how many days, weeks, months that he had been inside this well of despair, he started hallucinating. Loki dreamed of many outcomes of death, saw his brother dying in many awful ways, his mother being killed viciously, sometimes by his own hand. Most of the times, his hallucinations would show him a light, whenever he finally reached the warm and inviting path of closure, it would end with him looking at his own face. However, he would be without the spell of shapeshifter, he would be in his true roots. A Jotun.

Loki cried every day hysterically, all he wanted was the pain to end, he just wanted to die in peace, was that too much to ask? One day, the doomed day he thought he would be saved, Loki heard the voice of a mad being.

"Come, Loki Laufeyson. I can help you leave this endless pit. However, give me something I will need something in return-"

"Please, help me!"

"I won't hesitate to take that as a yes" The voice laughed sinisterly, Loki regretted immediately. An enormous purple hand grabbed him by his collar, pushing him into a pebbly ground, the Prince felt one sharp rock cutting his cheek. He hissed, but had no time to protest over the wound. Loki's collar once again was in the hands of the mad titan.

"You are Loki, of Asgard. And you are burdened with glorious purpose. You will do as I say" Thanos grinned mercilessly "Understand?"

"…I don't want-" The titan threw him inside a cage, Chitauris were cheering over the new chew toy "Wait! Why are you-!"

"You don't get to question me, boy. Simply follow my orders, and you won't get hurt" Thanos sat in his throne, watching the group of aliens hold the God of Mischief tightly, the beasts were ripping his garments off. Loki looked at Thanos desperately.

"What are they doing?" The mad titan said nothing, giving the Prince a dark smirk "WHAT ARE THEY DOING?" Loki's scream echoed loudly, making the beasts cheer even more over his despair and fear.

"They will teach you not to disobey me" Thanos crossed his legs, watching as the beasts ravished the Prince endlessly. All that could be heard for the whole year were Loki's pleads for mercy, for someone to save him. For the light to come and finally take him. For his mother. For his brother. Hell, even for his father. Thanos would laugh with gusto at the suffering creature before him. How he was being deemed as nothing more than a piece of meat, a pawn that would have no choice but to follow the titan to no end. Loki seceded, he had no other choice.

"Forgive me" He whispered brokenly, as he felt the power of Tesseract consume his already shattered mind.

The God of Mischief was screaming as if his life depended on it. His magic was strong enough to reach out to anyone, anything that could help him. Loki was sure that he could not go through being ravished again, not without dying of fear first. The guard was about to hit the Prince again, he was not done taking Loki's clothes off, luckily. Then, suddenly an abnormal tremor took place in the Palace. The rapist fell on his back, cursing loudly. Loki couldn't breathe, his body was under the spell of a very powerful panic attack. Every little detailed pain he felt during his imprisonment with Thanos manifested in his body along with the memories. The Prince felt the last bit of air he had left leave his mouth, as he choked with his own demons.

.-.-.

Not too far from the cell Loki was being kept, a very powerful being appeared. As she finished to materialize, Frigga and Thor had arrived as well, both looking at the shining woman with wonder and suspicion. Her skin was even more pale than Loki's, her dress was long and loose fitting, her long hair was almost as white as her dress, and her eyes were the most crimson red the mother and the son ever saw in their lifetime. She was ethereal. She was light. She was-

"Eve?" Frigga questioned, her voice exhilarated hope. The ethereal being gave the gentlest smile Thor ever seen, her aura screamed tranquility and lightness.

"Is she real?" He asked skeptically. Eve's chuckle brought even more clarity to the room.

"Yes, I am" Eve turned and motioned for the family to follow her "I suppose you heard him" It wasn't a question, the tranquil air and lightness left the room. As quick as lightning, the darkness and heaviness took over the atmosphere once again.

"We heard. My poor son" Frigga sobbed as she ran beside Eve and Thor.

"Loki's magic reached me! He must be in great great danger!" Thor exclaimed desperately, fearing for his little brother's safety (and sanity).

"And right you are, my friend" Eve answered sadly "We must leave at once, Odin knows I'm here, as well as his most trusted warriors" They opened the door that led to the cell, but immediately halted as they took in the scene before them. The guard was back at stripping the God of Mischief, who seemed to be dead. Frigga shot a powerful spell before Eve and Thor even moved a muscle. The rapist shouted in pain -and kept shouting- as he fell on the ground, his eyes were red.

"Mother?" Thor questioned, impressed.

"He is simply experiencing what he had planned for my son" She answered coldly.

"Very well done, Frigga" Eve complimented, already kneeling in front of the beaten and unconscious man who had stolen her heart many years back "Oh, Loki. What happened to you?" She whispered huskily and sadly as she caressed his cheek tenderly. She heard Thor smashing the heavy chains, which made the God of Mischief fall down towards her lap. With the help of Frigga, Eve managed to carry Loki. Thor was biting his lips nervously.

"What do we do? Where can we take him?!" He asked frantically. Eve closed her eyes tightly, a portal appeared in front of them, the sound of birds singing could be heard.

"To my temple. Odin's not allowed there"

"My husband is stubborn and powerful. He will go after you!" Frigga exclaimed desperately.

"Well, he knows better, my Queen. I am also powerful, as powerful as the old man. Besides, my defenses are strong enough to put him to sleep for the next 80 years" The Queen's eyes widened, but her shock was quickly gone as she looked at her sons. Frigga smiled determined.

"I will take care of my husband. However, all I care at this moment is for the safety of my son" Frigga said, caressing Loki's hair, her eyes lifted to make eye contact with her first born "Both of my sons" Thor smiled sadly.

"Then I promise with my life that I will keep them safe from Odin's wrath" Eve assured the Queen softly "I will see you again, Frigga. Fret not. Odin won't be able to lay a hand on you" The ethereal being said, as she casted a spell that engulfed Frigga in a warm light.

"Thank you, darling" Thor took Frigga's place as Loki's support "Be safe. All of you. I love you very much"

"We love you too" They said in unison, and just as fast as Eve made the portal appear, they were gone from Asgard. Right they were in time, since Odin came barging furiously inside the cell, taking the scene that consisted of his wife glaring at him with sharp blue eyes and one of his most trusted guards screaming and pleading on the ground.

"Frigga, what is the meaning of this?" The King asked sternly.

"It's called being just, husband" The Queen answered just as stern and cold.

.-.-.

As they left the portal, Thor felt the smell of fresh air. Taking his surroundings, he gathered the information that they were in a forest. The grass felt fluffy and soft under his feet. Wait, where are my normal garments? The God of Thunder directed his blue eyes to the woman helping him carry his little brother, his face contorted with a deep frown, he was greatly confused. Mother knows her, she seems to know my brother (very well, by her interaction with him in the cell). She is really powerful, I never felt such strong aura. Who is she? Eve sighed softly, not wanting to explain to the brother of the man she is deeply worried about how they got involved. However, the pale woman understands why Thor is skeptical and sending her questioning looks every 4 seconds.

"I promise I will explain everything detailed later. After we make sure your brother is safe and taken care of" Eve informed him, her voice left no room for discussion. Thor nodded, and thanked her, to which she simply smiled.

They must've walked for about 30 minutes when he finally located her Temple. At least, what he assumed it was her Temple.

"Why...A cave?" Thor asked, to which she laughed. Birds sang happily when she did.

"Just the entrance. I am not about to have constant annoying visitors. I only attend to those whom I deem as deserving of my services"

As they entered furthermore inside the cave, the dark rocks turned into pale silver walls that had stories encrypted in every corner. The floor was even more fluffier than the grass outside, when he looked up, he met the sight of amazing -almost hypnotic- sharp crystals. Thor heard a huff, only to see an area with 3 peaceful Pegasus. He thought they were only allowed to Valkyries, the sight of the rare animals amazed him. There was furniture made of what it looked like mud, wood, and rocks.

"And my brother is?" Thor did not ask challengingly. He was honestly curious about how much his brother means to this woman. She captured the innocence behind the question, holding her tongue not to curse at the God of Thunder, Eve could tell he cares deeply for his little brother and is simply worried.

"Yes. Loki is probably the most deserving of them all" Eve answered, laying the God of Mischief down on what it looked like a bed of soft feathers "I will examine him now. However, this magic is too...bright for the eyes of any other species" Eve explained slowly, knowing Thor did not want to leave Loki alone for a second. He seemed to consider what she said for what it felt like an eternity, then finally nodded, leaving the room. Eve started to gather the ingredients necessary for the spell when she called loudly "There is a waterfall not far from here, go West. About 8 minutes. Bathe, and come back by nightfall" Eve commanded, once more, no room for discussion. Thor sighed and left the Temple in search of the waterfall.

As Eve mixed the mystical cure, her eyes captured the scars in Loki's chest. They weren't faint, in fact, it looked as if it did not had the time to heal properly. Her hands trembled, her eyes shined brightly with vengeance.

"I promise that I will destroy whoever touched you, my love" Eve promised.

And she is a woman of her words. Anyone who met the powerful being knew better than to upset her.

So already warning, in my AU Thor actually cares for Loki, even I came to the conclusion he doesn’t in the same manner as Loki but I decided in this story he should... Also, there’s my OC, hopefully the OC isn’t bad. It’s mostly Hurt/Angst and Comfort, as well as Romance. I don’t know if I will attempt to post in Archive of Our Own, but I am considering. I am currently writing chapter 8, but I’m feeling like no one cares for the story anymore lol and figured why not share here. the fanfic

[jewishshadowhunters]

Judaism 101: Shabbat

The Sabbath (in Hebrew, Shabbat , pronounced shah-BAHT–or in some communities, Shabbos, “SHAH-bis”)  is one of the best known and least understood of all Jewish observances.

Shabbat is a weekly 25-hour observance, from just before sundown each Friday through the completion of nightfall on Saturday.

People who do not observe Shabbat think of it as a day filled with restrictions, or as a day of prayer like the Christian Sabbath. It is, in the contrary, a day of freedom from work, and rest, and family time and time spent happy.

In Jewish literature, poetry and music, Shabbat is described as a bride or queen, as in the popular Shabbat hymn Lecha Dodi Likrat Kallah (come, my beloved, to meet the [Sabbath] bride). It is said "more than Israel has kept Shabbat, Shabbat has kept Israel."

Shabbat is the most important ritual observance in Judaism. It is the only ritual observance instituted in the Ten Commandments. It is also the most important special day, even more important than Yom Kippur.

The Rabbis spelled out their understanding of forbidden “labor” in a complex series of restrictions on productive activities of many sorts. They also prescribed festive meals and ceremonies for every part of the day. The varieties of Shabbat observances and customs over the ages and around the world illustrate the adaptation of Jews in many societies to new realities and modern ideas.

Although we do pray on Shabbat, and spend a substantial amount of time in synagogue praying, prayer is not what distinguishes Shabbat from the rest of the week.

The two aspects of Shabbat: Zakhor and Shamor:

Zakhor: To Remember

Remember the Sabbath day to sanctify it (Hebrew: Zakhor et yom ha-Shabbat l'kad'sho) -Exodus 20:8

It means to remember the significance of Shabbat, both as a commemoration of creation and as a commemoration of our freedom from slavery in Egypt.

By resting on the seventh day and sanctifying it, we remember that G-d is the creator of heaven and earth and all living things.

We also copy the divine example, by refraining from work on the seventh day, as G-d did. If G-d's work can be set aside for a day of rest, how can we believe that our own work is too important to set aside temporarily?

In Deuteronomy 5:15, while Moses reiterates the Ten Commandments, he notes the second thing that we must remember on Shabbat: "remember that you were a slave in the land of Egypt, and the L-rd, your G-d brought you forth from there with a mighty hand and with an outstretched arm; therefore the L-rd your G-d commanded you to observe the Sabbath day."

What does the Exodus have to do with resting on the seventh day? It's all about freedom. As I said before, in ancient times, rest and leisure was allowed only to certain classes; slaves did not get days off.

As a result, by resting on Shabbat, we are reminded that we are free. But in a more general sense, Shabbat frees us from our weekday concerns, from our deadlines and schedules and commitments. During the week, we are slaves to our jobs; on Shabbat, we are freed from these concerns, much as our ancestors were freed from slavery in Egypt.

We remember these two meanings of Shabbat when we recite kiddush (the prayer over wine sanctifying Shabbat or a holiday). Friday night kiddush refers to Shabbat as both zikaron l'ma'aseih v'rei'shit (a memorial of the work in the beginning) and zeikher litzi'at Mitz'rayim (a remembrance of the exodus from Egypt).

Shamor: To Observe

This is another part that tends to be misunderstood: the list of things forbidden on Shabbat. This is the list usually presented by the most practicing people. Many more secular Jews tend not to follow all of the restrictions. Modern secular life, in countries where the culture is not Jewish, means you can rarely be able to respect every commandment.

Most Americans see the word "work" and think of it in the English sense of the word: physical labor and effort, or employment. Seen this way, turning on a light would be permitted, because it does not require effort, but a rabbi would not be permitted to lead Shabbat services, because leading services is his employment. Jewish law prohibits the former and permits the latter. Many Americans therefore conclude that Jewish law doesn't make any sense.

The problem lies in the definition that Americans are using. The Torah does not prohibit "work" in the 20th century English sense of the word. The Torah prohibits "melachah" (Mem-Lamed-Alef-Kaf-Hei), which is usually translated as "work," but does not mean precisely the same thing as the English word.

Melachah generally refers to the kind of work that is creative, or that exercises control or dominion over your environment. The word may be related to "melekh" (king; Mem-Lamed-Kaf). Melachah is, for example, the work of creating the universe, which G-d rested from on the seventh day. Note that G-d's work did not require a great physical effort: he spoke, and it was done.

From the Torah, the rabbis found 39 categories of forbidden acts:

Sowing

Plowing

Reaping

Binding sheaves

Threshing

Winnowing

Selecting

Grinding

Sifting

Kneading

Baking

Shearing wool

Washing wool

Beating wool

Dyeing wool

Spinning

Weaving

Making two loops

Weaving two threads

Separating two threads

Tying

Untying

Sewing two stitches

Tearing

Trapping

Slaughtering

Flaying

Salting meat

Curing hide

Scraping hide

Cutting hide up

Writing two letters

Erasing two letters

Building

Tearing a building down

Extinguishing a fire

Kindling a fire

Hitting with a hammer

Taking an object from the private domain to the public, or transporting an object in the public domain.

In addition, the rabbis have prohibited handling any object or tool that is intended to perform one of the above purposes  unless the tool is needed for a permitted purpose or needs to be moved to do something permitted, or in certain other limited circumstances. Objects that may not be handled on Shabbat are referred to as "muktzeh," which means, "that which is set aside," because you set it aside (and don't use it unnecessarily) on Shabbat.

The rabbis have also added travel, buying and selling, and other weekday tasks that would interfere with the spirit of Shabbat to the list. The use of electricity is prohibited because it serves the same function as fire or some of the other prohibitions, or because it is technically considered to be "fire."

The automobile is powered by an internal combustion engine, which operates by burning gasoline and oil, a clear violation of the Torah prohibition against kindling a fire. In addition, the movement of the car would constitute transporting an object in the public domain, another violation of a Torah prohibition, and in all likelihood the car would be used to travel a distance greater than that permitted by rabbinical prohibitions. For all these reasons, and many more, the use of an automobile on Shabbat is clearly not permitted.

As with almost all of the commandments, all of these Shabbat restrictions can be violated if necessary to save a life.

Celebrating Shabbat at Home

One constant theme in Shabbat observance across time and territory is the centrality of home life with family members and guests. Preparation for Shabbat begins as early as mid-week in some households, and its arrival is marked by the spiritual illumination of a candle-lighting ceremony. Rabbinic tradition mandates three Shabbat meals, two begun with a special kiddush (“sanctification”) recited over wine. Family meals are occasions for singing, studying, and celebrating together, as well as for consuming distinctive Shabbat foods.

Celebrating Shabbat at the Synagogue

Public Shabbat observance is focused on the synagogue, from the lively welcoming service, Kabbalat Shabbat, to the pensive farewell ceremony, Havdalah. Special melodies and liturgy are used, and the familiar prayers are supplemented with passages in prose and poetry extolling God for the divine gift of the Shabbat and its delights. At the major worship service on Saturday morning, a portion of the Torah is read aloud as part of a year-long cycle, supplemented by a passage from one of the prophetic books (called a haftarah).

Challah: Traditional Shabbat Food

A traditional Jewish meal begins with the breaking of bread. Challah is a special kind of bread used for Shabbat and holidays. It is a very sweet, golden, eggy bread. The loaf is usually braided, but on certain holidays it may be made in other shapes. For example, on Rosh Hashanah, it is traditional to serve round challah (the circle symbolizing the cycle of life, the cycle of the years)

The word "challah" refers to the portion of dough set aside for the kohein (priest); that is, a portion that is taken out of the dough before it is baked. You may have seen the notation "Challah has been taken" on boxes of Passover matzah, indicating that this rule has been followed, that the challah portion was taken from the dough before the matzah was made. There’s no real indication of why the traditional shabbat bread is also the name of the removed dough...

[stvrdustisms]

Man is a matter of / walking / upright, but she / suggests happiness. / Her whole power / is one the side / of vagueness. / Everything I / need to / know about her is / just before me. / What / can I learn / that is not already / gone?

—keith waldrop

APP

( SOFIA CARSON, WOMAN-ALIGNED NB, SHE/THEY ) — ✧ that looks like MORGAN ROTH they’re the TWENTY YEAR OLD ADOPTED DAUGHTER OF RAVEN ROTH AND KORIAND’R. they are also a UNDERGRAD STUDENT at paragon &  A TAROT CARD READER. i hear they’re IMAGINATIVE & ROMANTIC, but tend to be LONELY & FATALISTIC her/their  file says that her/their power is HOMO MAGI PHYSIOLOGY, & DIVINATION. { chris }

STATS

name: morgan roth

age: twenty, born february 16th

gender/pronouns: woman-aligned nb, she/they

sexuality: lesbian

zodiac: Aquarius-Pisces Cusp

species: homo magi, half

powers:

sorcery: via her homo magi physiology, morrigan is able to access and use magic very easily. her magic isn’t the best, and it isn’t the worst, either. she’s still practicing and trying to get better, but the plain magic doesn’t interest her much. 

divination: divination is where her passion lays. she’s always felt a connection to fate, and as soon as she could, she looked into ways of predicting it. she’s pretty good as astrology and palm readings but tarot readings and tea leaf readings are what she focuses on.  

BIO

You were not planned, but your biological mother, Sierra, loved you much more than she ever thought she could love another. She never learned the name of your father, never even had the chance to tell him before he skipped town. She loved you dearly. Of course, love did not make her a good mother nor her into a woman capable of pulling herself together enough to raise you. You don’t remember the time you spent with her, a blessing caused by the fickle memory of a child, but it was marked by your cries and Sierra trying and failing to take care of both of you. It lasted a year.

And suddenly, Sierra was overwhelmed. No matter how much she tried to pull herself together over the past year, a testimony to the strength of a mother, her own fears plagued her. What if she messed up? What if you got hurt? What if she held you back? These thoughts, and a thousand other ramblings, made her decision an easy one: she’d find someone she thought was better to raise you. A few months later, Kori and Raven adopted you.

You loved them. You have no memories of your biological mother, but you have plenty memories of your moms, nearly all of them from your early childhood overfilled with the happiness that only a child could manage. It was impossible for you not to idolize them, your powerful and wonderful mothers. Growing up, you thought there was nothing better than being like them.

Magic always called to you. Curled on a blanket under the stars, fate joined in the calls, wrapping around your soul and seemingly becoming a part of your very being. You drank tea and waxed poetic about what the leaves told you. You learned as much about divination as you could, enthralled with all it held.

Love came easily to you, almost always had. Nothing seemed to last long, your heart fickle, but ideas of something more than flings that lasted for a few weeks to a couple months always scared you. You loved with your entire heart, always pressing careful kisses to your lovers’ lips and skin and pulling them into the adventures you sought out wherever you were.

Divination gave you a calling. The fortunes you told were only in part about money. More than that, it offered you a chance to give bit of the power that fate gave you to those that needed it just as much as you once did. Few things felt as right as that.

TLDR

Morgan was put up for adoption when she was a year old, and she was adopted not long after. She’s never known parents other than Kori and Raven, and they were truly the best moms she could ever ask for.

In personality, she’s more like Kori but power-wise, she’s closer to Raven.

She was six when she first discovered her magic. She took to learning quickly and had a natural knack for her it. Of course, fate called to her from the first second she cast a spell. When she was ten, she found all of the books on divination that she could and tried her hand at it. She was great at it.

She didn’t handle the divorce well? At all. She’d just always had an image of her moms as perfect and that just kind of shattered that.

You know what she wants? To travel and help people. You know what she’s not gonna do because she’s afraid of being away from her family? Travel.

Commitment isn’t really a thing she’s great at. She’s a really romantic person, like she knows how to romance the shit out of people, except, she’s bad at maintaining long term relationships. It’s a lot of flings and short relationships that didn’t go anywhere.

She’s not a very easy to get to know person. This isn’t because of some choice she made or anything. It’s just... she a bit flighty and more concerned with fate than forming meaningful connections. 

It’s a bit of a choice. She prides herself on this weird ethernalness that her connection to fate gives her, and she thinks knowing her past what she presents will make that lesser. 

She’s very fatalistic, and she let’s it pretty much define a lot of her choices.

V aesthetic 

wanted connections

exes: mostly from her flings/short relationships. very much up for plotting!

the one serious relationship: morgan had one serious relationship. it lasted at least a few months, and she was actually in love for often, not just the idea of it. Then, fate, or morgan’s preoccupation w/it, got in the way, and she ended it. The break-up was messy. 99% chance she’s still pining from afar. 

friends: she’s lacking in the close friends department, somewhat purposely, but friends close or not would be great !

clients: morgan gives tarot card readings, primarily but she also does palm and tea leaf readings. it’s her passion.

titans kids: the relationships could be good or bad but 100% we should plot

[sethnakht]

Have you been reading the main Star Wars comic????? I feel like the end of the most recent issue (#49) was very much the sort of thing you would have all kinds of amazing things to say about, and I would love to hear alllll of your thoughts.

yes please let’s talk about that ending

I’ve been reading the main since Gillen came on board. He’s one of those rare writers who can really make me laugh — all those fabulous little jokes about comic-books, about what he himself does expressed through shape-shifters and droid programming — and think — the abyss sequence in the Jedha arc — while also selling me effortlessly on his grasp of a character.

Of his own characters, Trios has long been a favorite. Was I surprised by her choice? No. Was I delighted? Yes, very much.

Here’s a rambling explanation for why I like her and why I was delighted. Trios is one of those side characters who produces interest by mirroring characters Vader wants to capture but cannot, specifically Leia. (Which is also a refreshing change of pace, since most of the Vader comic is about his search for Luke / the upwelling of his memories of Padmé, not least as mediated through through Aphra.) Part of what made her fun in the Vader comic is the way she was positioned to make the reader imagine Leia, the way even Vader appeared to see in her the daughter he thought he had lost, the way he was at very least moved by her to imagine a father proud of such a daughter. If Vader and Leia are similar in their commitment to duty, Trios is like both of them (“We all do our duty, Lord Vader”). At the same time, she’s also potentially a contrast to Leia in her views on choice, which, while left implied, do suggest she’s more like Vader than his daughter. There’s a rapport between them as well, another reason why she’s fun — she’s not someone he’s going to kill over a polite disagreement, which means there’s room for a relationship there to be developed.

That a relationship does develop — and that it perversely mimics the relationship of a surrogate parent and child — that’s interesting to me. Not only as a mirror, but also a statement about Vader’s character (what kinds of relationship he is capable of, when at all, and where he takes his models). Much of the Shu-Torun arc is about lessons (Vader uses the word several times), and the physical parallels between Trios and Luke and Leia — Vader literally has her father killed, then slices off Trios’ hand like he does Luke’s, then gives Trios one of the last surviving pieces of Leia’s planet — strongly suggest that the lessons in question are not only being passed down through explosives and lightsabers and armies. This is made explicit through the contrasting figures of the Astarte twins, specifically Aiolin. Vader tells Aiolin — the girl he will go on to give the mercy death Obi-Wan denied him — that the lessons he has to teach are of no use to her. But he doesn’t say that he never plays the teacher to a student, and one could argue that those lessons are being imparted to Trios instead. The shifts in how Vader and Trios speak to one another resemble, in a most slanted manner, the relationship between a child and parent, or padawan and master — not only does Vader’s creation begin to emulate him, Vader also does step back from questioning her decisions (“as you wish”, he says instead) as though confident she has learned not only her place, but also his lessons.

Beyond how their relationship presents a massively fucked-up version of the (massively fucked-up) relationship Vader actually wants with his kid(s), the relationship Vader has quite literally destroyed for Trios by having her father and siblings murdered, beyond this highly unstable and blink-or-you’ll-miss-it surrogate parent-child relationship, one of the coolest things about the Trios arc for me his how the move from antagonism to something like mutual respect seems to actually have to do with something other than power. Vader spends a great deal of his comic talking about blasphemy and abominations and faith. So does Trios. “Blasphemy!” she cries when the rebellious barons desecrate a holy site of great personal significance to her, a place representing peace and family. (To be sure, Vader had destroyed an irreplaceable factory only a few panels before, but it wasn’t of spiritual significance.) Vader responds as ever — he destroys the attacking force — but his words to her afterward are notable. Instead of boasting about the Empire’s strengths or somesuch, he says, “I know little of your people’s religion, Queen Trios, but I presume this is a suitable punishment for their sacrilege”. I’ve yet to see this moment commented but find it significant that from the moment he acknowledges her religion, from the moment he punishes the people who dared deface a holy place, Trios is on board with his approach to the barons. And later, when he is delayed by Cylo’s trap, she speaks of her “faith” in his return. This sense on both their parts that they will prevail despite the odds seems to go hand in hand with a certain determinism, and one reason I love that ambiguous closing line from him to her, “there was no other choice” for queen, is because it permits that reading while also leaving space for the somewhat more charitable take spelled out by Triple Zero (”He could be implying that you are excellent”). By asking Vader whether he chose her well, Trios also reveals that it on some level does matter to her to have his approval, or perhaps rather that she wants to know whether she has truly earned his respect, or whether his deference was merely the illusion he threatened it would be. Although his response can be read both ways, by not outright narrowing things down to the latter, Vader arguably gives her what she wants (praise of her excellence) while placing that praise under the renewed sign of potential illusion. While he ultimately reestablishes his power with such a move (only he knows what he thinks, everyone else has to guess), letting her have at least an illusion might also be about as generous as he gets.

And then she returns in #38 with such a bang! For all that she’s no longer playing the same role, it’s clear how much of a mask she’s learned to wear. I love how she’s presented as someone who creates elusive comparisons, inevitably misread by those around her (not so unlike Vader) — someone who compares other Imperials to Vader, for instance, and judges them underwhelming on some scale known only to her; who looks into the ashes of a poisoned, wasted, once-holy moon and cooly compares this site of unspeakable horror to her own home as though they were in some way parallel. Her meaning there is clearly misinterpreted by the tank with a cybernetic arm (speaking of cybernetic limbs, has Trios replaced her courtly cybernetic gauntlet with a synth-skin hand??? I’m a tad disappointed), what’s-his-face; he thinks she’s simply confident that robbing the holy city of its final kyber stash will be easy. But her history — her religious leanings — already suggested in that first issue that she had come for some another purpose, that she could not truly be behind such a project unless she had undergone some significant change off-screen. That she ends up working with the girl she mirrored previously thus makes sense, but I’ll admit I was also waiting for a new form of contrast to Leia. (Making them too similar is only boring, plus having Trios become a rebel saboteur without additional storytelling to motivate a complete break with Vader would be unsatisfying, to say the least.)We finally got that contrast in #49, and I like how it’s nonetheless not entirely clear-cut: she’s conflicted, without doubt, she does like Leia, and yet “there was no other choice” shows her deterministic, fatalistic even, as it seemingly confirms, once more, that Vader was right about her, that Vader made her who she now is, that she sees the world as he does and not with Leia’s hope. (I’m hard-pressed to see her betrayal of the Empire as spontaneous or unbeknownst to Vader.)

Exciting to to think about what it could all mean / where it might lead. Does Vader know Trios sabotaged the Jedha mission? I suspect so, but if that’s the case, what does that say about his views on Jedha, on its significance? Or rather — did he encourage Trios to reach out to Leia specifically, to use Leia once more as lure by playing the bait? (Which is very meta: the character who represents what he couldn’t capture is now helping him do the capturing.) That would also be very much in character; he shows himself perfectly willing to sacrifice other Imperials (having Star Destroyers enter the asteroid field in ESB) if it will get him to Leia / Luke. But could one also hear resonances between a willingness to let the Jedha mission be sabotaged and a willingness to let the Death Star be sabotaged? Perhaps that’s too much of a stretch. In any case, Trios speaks to him as though he’s known for some time of her latest plan, but was it his or was this her idea? What are the conditions of her willingness to play bait, does he have something hanging over her head? How much does she truly resent the death of her real father, a man who was ready to sacrifice her for his own power? How much of what she told Leia is not just true, but also genuinely motivating for her? Is she working for him purely because being intimidated by Vader, as she puts it, sets every other concern into perspective, is she doing this out of fear? Or do vestiges of that however illusory respect between them also continue to play a role?

Sorry this got so long! thank you for thinking of me, this pulled me out of sadness. Can’t wait to hear your thoughts, my friend. <3

[msminutes]

[𝟑]

They got what they wanted, to get Thor out of the way of the throne, but at what cost?

———

MIDGARD.

When Odin said that Thor was banished to Midgard, memories of over seventy years ago flashed before Arselia's eyes. Her memories on Midgard, that she wished she could bury within the deepest depths of her mind, managed to add onto the heartbreak of losing Thor. She never wanted the blonde-haired god to be banished away and rid of his power, just as she never wanted to say goodbye to her first love. The man that she adored with all her heart. The man that even though he was not a perfect soldier, he was a good man. For a warrior like her, it was expected that she was to fall in love with someone as strong as her. Someone that managed to balance her out when it comes to power and skill set. But he was different. It didn't matter how strong he was, what mattered is what he stood for. The way he fought even if he was too weak to do so and the way he wanted to fight for his country because it was the right thing to do. His morals is what made Arselia fall into the spell of love. So in 1939 when the raven-haired goddess decided to visit Midgard after not being there for a millennia, she ended up falling in love with Steven Grant Rogers.

Arselia excused herself from the golden room of the Bifrost and teleported to her quarters within the palace. She sat herself on her emerald silk covers and contemplated everything that Loki and her had done. She quickly rummages through her beside table and finds a photo of her with two other men. Would Steve be proud of the person she is? How would James feel if he found out what she did to make sure Thor stayed off the throne? James. A brown-haired and blue-eyed flirt. On her time on Midgard, she met James at a small diner when he decided to buy her a meal. That one encounter managed to change Arselia's life in the most extraordinary way.

《♛》《♛》《♛》

OCTOBER 1939 (MIDGARDIAN YEARS)

It was a exciting day when Arselia decided to visit the precious realm of Midgard. The humans there spoke of the Asgardian Gods and Goddesses as if they were a thing of myths, when in reality, they exist. Midgard always intrigued the goddess. The way their planet known as "Earth" came to be was a story that Arselia loved reading about. Recently Arselia had heard the whispers of a war that has broken out amongst the Midgardians, causing the Mischievous goddess to want to visit the realm even more. She decided that on that sunny day she would visit the realm. She prepared herself for her trip and even created outfits that she learned were the latest fashion trends of the realm. She wore a cream colored, button up shirt that had a collar. As for pants she wore high-waisted emerald green trousers, with a wide pant-leg. She decided on black heels to pair with the outfit and curled and styled her hair the way she saw in a book known as a magazine from Midgard.

Not wanting to waste time, she wrote a note addressing where she would be for a couple days and to ask Heimdall to summon her if there is an emergency. The blue and green eyed goddess left the note on her bedside table where the servants would surely see it and deliver it to her friends and family. She teleported to the golden room of the Bifrost and Heimdall waited at his podium with Hofund in hand. "I see you are prepared for your travels to Midgard." Arselia softly smiles and nods her head. "Any location in particular? The realm is fairly large." "Brooklyn. Brooklyn, New York." "As you wish, princess."

Flashes of rainbow fill Arselia's vision as the Bifrost takes her to her desired location. Arselia lands right behind an abandoned building in the city and she makes her way to walk with the crowds. People make their ways past one another to get to work as some interact in conversation. The sounds of what Arselia read to be known as a car fill the streets as she walks along the sidewalks. Examining Midgard, it seems to be better developed then what it was ages ago. More buildings were built, better technology, though not as advanced as Asgard. On this trip to Midgard Arselia has decided to blend in with the crowd, rather than show off her powers and be praised just as the myths have said about her.

As she walks, she reads a big sign that says "Lee's Diner." The goddess read much about the strange Midgardian concoctions and being here, she decided she wanted to try them. She walked into the diner and politely waited to be seated. "Hello and welcome to Lee's diner! Would you like a booth, table, or stool?" The cheery woman asks. "A stool would be grand. Thank you." The woman raises an eyebrow after Arselia speaks. "You're not from around here, aren't you?" "You could say that." The goddess chuckles and is lead to her stool by a large counter top. Behind the counter stood an older man working. Arselia examines the menu excitedly. "Hello, what can I get you today?" The older man kindly asks behind the counter. His white hair shines from the lighting of the room and his glasses show Arselia a small reflection of herself. "I was wondering if I could order the delicacy of a cheeseburger and the drink of a soda." "Of course, coming right up!"

The mischievous goddess patiently waited for her food. As she waited she looked around the small diner in delight. The colorful posters and signs excited her as she read them. Men and women of all ages ate happily with one another as they converse about their day. From what Arselia has gathered it seems to be about midday in Brooklyn, hence the reasoning why it is busy in the diner. Continuing to gaze around, she senses someone sit next to her. "What's a beautiful doll like you sitting here alone?" When she goes to see who she is talking with, her eyes meet piercing blue ones. She studies the man's features that decided to talk to her. Short brown hair, a nice sharp jawline, a dazzling smile that can get any women to become weak in the knees. His eyes though, they not only held confidence, but happiness. In her lifetime Arselia has learned to read a lot of people, but a person's eyes is what truly shows who they are.

"Well I don't always need someone by my side." The man raises an eyebrow just as the waitress she met before did. "Feisty and an accent. What's your name?" The raven-haired goddess knew exactly what he was doing. Flirting with her. She had been flirted with many times, but this time he was different. He seemed to be the type of man that would back off instantly if you said you weren't interested. He would know how to respect a woman and treat her right if he was fully committed to a relationship. Arselia would continue his little game of flirting, but wouldn't let it go anywhere. She wasn't there to be in a relationship, she was there to explore the wonders of Midgard and enjoy her journey. "Arselia." "Gorgeous name, Arselia." The man says as he takes her hand and kiss her knuckles. "Handsome and a gentlemen. What's your name?" The man smirked as his blue eyes shimmered. "James, but most people call me Bucky." "Well then James, it is very lovely to meet you." The waiter brought Arselia her food and her eyes widened by it. James caught this and chuckled. "You're not from around, huh?" The goddess looked at the man again and shook her head. "No. No I am not." "Well then, how about I show you the ins and outs of Brooklyn and you agree to go dancing with me tonight." Arselia thought about the man's offer and didn't see a reason to not agree to it. "Alright then." James flashed his wonderful smile at her called the waiter over. "I'll have what she's having." He said as he handed over a five dollar bill to the waiter. "You needn't do that. I can pay for my own meal." The woman learned of the customs and how to pay on Midgard and found that she could easily summon money via her powers. "It's ok, doll. I wanted to show how much of a gentlemen I can be." The brown-haired man said with a wink. The warrior rolled her eyes and continued eating her tasty meal.

The two conversed for a little while as they ate. She learned that James was twenty-two years old and lived with his mother, father, sisters, and brothers. She even learned that he had a best friend named Steven, or as most people called him Steve. When asked about where she came from or her family, the goddess of lies simply made up lies with that silver tongue of hers. After about an hour in the diner, the pair left and walked across the street to Bucky's car. Being the gentleman that he was, he opened and held the door for her as she got inside. To say Arselia was fascinated in an understatement. She had never seen a vehicle like this before. Sure Asgard has ships to travel to space in and different animals to ride, but this was different. The leather interior of the car felt smooth against her skin.

James got into the drivers seat of the tan colored car, and started it up. The two drove through the city and James explained all the buildings that were there and their purposes. As they drove the radio was set to a low volume and different slow tunes played. The windows of the cars were down and the wind blew through the raven-haired goddess' hair. Arselia's face was one of delight as James gave her information on the lovely city. An assortment of yellows, oranges, and pinks danced in the sky as night approached. "I'll drop you off at your place so that you can freshen up, then I'll pick you back up and we'll head to the bar." Arselia nods her head, then realizes something. She hasn't thought of a place to stay. She quickly comes up with a lie before she can orchestrate a plan on where her and her belongings would stay. "You can drop me off at the diner, I left my car their." James simply nods his head and hums along to a song playing. "Why don't we meet at the diner and walk together to the bar?" "That would be lovely."

James drops the goddess off and she makes her way to the abandoned building that the Bifrost dropped her off behind. Arselia figures that she can easily make a home out of it with some magic and her amazing interior design skills. She renovates the small building into a two story home that includes a kitchen, living room, dance room, dining room, master bedroom, guest bedroom, and a bathroom all with the furnishing inspired by the decade. As she uses magic to create her desired home, she gets ready for her dance date with James. The goddess decides to wear a floor length, elegant green dress. The sleeves are ruffled and towards the neckline of the dress is a little bow. She keeps her hairstyle and shoes the same, but applies a red lipstick. She looks in the mirror of her newly decorated room and adores the way she looks in her dress. Although she wears her classic green armor most days, she does like to wear a dress every once in a while.

Leaving the house she seals it with magic that doesn't allow anyone but her, or people she gives permission to, to enter. The night is young, yet as she walks towards the diner to meet James, their are already drunken men eyeing her in an alleyway. One whistles and decides to be the boldest one out of the group. "Where are you headed, dame?" "Somewhere you're not." The men chuckle and walk closer to her. "Why don't you let us take you out and buy you a drink." A tall man asks. His breath smelt heavily of alcohol and his words were slurred. Arselia simply smirks at the group of three men, then summons her daggers. "If you ever think about touching me I will be sure to cut off your hands as I electrocute you causing your brain to implode pain. I don't think we would want to make that much of a mess, now would we, boys?" The men's eyes are wide and step away from the mischievous goddess. "How- Who- What are you?" "A woman that wont hesitate to murder you slowly and painfully if I catch you attempting to do what you just did to other women as they make their ways." The now frightened men stumble out of the alley way and Arselia retracts her blades. The warrior takes a deep breath before going about back to the diner.

Whilst walking she sees the very man taking her out to dance. She also notices him engaging in conversation with a scrawny blonde-haired man. She can only assume it's the Steven fellow that James talked so much about. From the way the man talked about his best friend, it seems like he truly cares for him. "Hello boys." Arselia happily says as she walks towards them. James' breathe hitches when he sees the outfit Arselia chose. Steven's eyes widened when he saw her. He wasn't one to believe in love at first sight, but man was he attracted to her. Just by the way she was walking she held such power in her steps. But Steve would be a fool to think that he would ever have a chance with her. Most girls usually go for Bucky and leave him on the side lines wishing he was his best friend. She would never in a million years go for him. Right?

"Hello, I'm Arselia. You must be Steven, James has told me so much about you." The goddess says kindly. Steve's cheeks tint with pink and he holds out his hand for her to shake. "Y-yeah that's me." Arselia examines the man and his figure. She notices how small he is compared to the other men she has seen in the realm. But his eyes, they carry kindness with a hint of fear. She has yet to figure out what the fear is, but has a goal set on it. Whatever that fear may be, she wouldn't want the man in front of her to experience. He seemed so nice, so innocent. Something within her has such an urge to protect him from everything. Maybe she would.

"You look dashing, Lia." "Lia?" "Yes, that is my official nickname for you." James says with a smirk. The woman rolls her eyes as she thinks about how that is the same nickname Loki had given her. "Whatever you say, James." Steve looks to his friend in confusion. "Buck, I'm surprised you let her call you by your actual name, you usually hate that." "Key word, punk. Usually. But, I like when she says it." The brown-haired man winks then proceeds to take the goddess's hand and lead her to the bar. Steve resides to the warriors left as Bucky is to the right. The three of them get to know each other more as they walk, and enjoy the small breeze of the fresh night.

The trio make it to the bar where Bucky orders him and Arselia some alcohol she has never heard of before. Steve decides to go for a water and when Arselia asks why, he simply responds with the fact that he can't carry his alcohol. When Bucky finally dragged Arselia onto the dance floor, she wasn't used to this way of dancing, as it is fairly different from the way she would on Asgard. Fortunately, Bucky leads her and teaches her the proper steps and she manages to master it in no time. Throughout the night of dancing, she keeps her eyes on Steve and watches how no one has yet to offer him to dance. She feels bad for the scrawny man as she can see him sadly sit down with his water while her and his best friend have been happily dancing the night away. She looks Bucky in those piercing blue eyes as they sway to the music. "I feel bad for him." "Who?" "Steve." The man looks towards his friend and frowns. "No girl wants to ever dance with him. They say he's either too short or too skinny, they yet to realize he's a good person." "Can I?" "Can you what?" "Dance with him." The man in front of her raises his eyebrows in surprise, but lets go of the woman, allowing her to go over and talk to Steve.

The Goddess of Mischief makes her way to the table where Steve resides and offers him her hand. The man looks at her confused. "What?" "Would you like to dance?" "W-Why me? Aren't you here with Bucky?" "Yes, but I would like to dance with you, if you gave me the honor." Steve looked to the beautiful woman standing in front of him and hesitantly took her hand. "This was my first time dancing, you know." The goddess states as they walk to the dance floor. "Really, a beautiful dame, woman I should say, like you hasn't danced before?" "Well not like this." Steve eyes her curiously. "Well uh, this is my first time too." He says as he looks to the ground in shame. Arselia's eyes widen in disbelief. "You must have danced." "Well, asking a woman to dance always seems so terrifying. And the past few years just didn't seem to matter that much. Figured I'd wait." "For what?" "The right partner." Arselia tilts her head to the side. "Well, I hope I'm the right partner." Steve looks to the goddess with admiration in his eyes. "I'm sure you are."

In that moment of talking to Steve she felt a warm feeling in her stomach, almost as if butterflies were fluttering. Arselia had never once fallen in love, yeah she had one night stands that didn't have any attachments to them other than attraction, but this was different. This feeling inside her for a man who she had found out feared rejection the most, wanted to do anything but that to him. She wanted to embrace him.

The pair make it to the dance floor and Steve places his hands on her hip and in her other hands, after asking for permission. The two start dancing to a song that plays as they gaze into each other's eyes. Those ocean eyes that she adored. She could drown in those depths of blue everyday. And she did. But, nothing lasts forever. Bucky watched as the two danced together, he saw the way that they looked at each other intensely and with adoration, even if they had met not even three hours ago. Arselia was a beautiful woman, he couldn't deny that. But maybe, she would be Steve's beautiful woman. He promised to himself for Steve's sake to lay off of her and let him have this. There are other women out there, even if they weren't as extraordinary as she was.

TWO MONTHS LATER

DECEMBER 1939

Arselia sat in her apartment in front of the fire place with her record player going. She hummed to the tunes of the Midgardian song as she warmed up from being out all day. Lately she has been obsessed with going to the library and reading poetry. She especially loves the poet Edgar Allen Poe and his works of literature. "I see you have made yourself at home on Midgard." A voice says from behind Arselia's couch. Though, she could recognize that voice and sense that magic anywhere. "I have, my dear soul bond." She turns around to see an illusion of Loki adorned in his classic green armor. She watches as Loki looks around her cozy home. "It is very small for someone of your ranks." "That may be so, but it is perfect for me." The god looks at his soul bond and sees how happy she truly seems to be here. Not having any responsibilities except for exploring and meeting new people. "Would you stay here given the chance?" The raven-haired goddess considers her options. The people she's met here and the home she has created, she absolutely adores. Home. Asgard was her home, but this was different. Although she did miss her home realm, she enjoyed every moment of being here. She especially enjoyed being with Steve and James.

The goddess's lack of answering is an answer enough for Loki. He misses being able to be with his soul bond and talk to her on a daily basis. Projecting illusions across realms takes not only a lot of energy, but a lot of power. They talked about once each month she had been there. Though, this time around when the God of Mischief looks into his best friend's eyes he can see the happiness, the freedom, the love. "Who is he?" The woman's cheeks turn pink and she looks down. "Who is who?" Loki's mouth contorts into his infamous smirk and walks closer to his soul bond. "The man you have fallen for." Arselia looks up and rolls her eyes. "I have not fallen for anyone, you fool." "Though you may be the Goddess of Lies, I am the God of Lies. That right there, darling, was one of the biggest lies you have told." The goddess sighs and rests her head against the back of her couch. Loki simply sits next to her on the couch and summons a cup of his favorite tea for himself. "Well, go on."

"His name is Steven and he is one of the kindest and generous men I have ever met. He is not a warrior, nor does he have the physique of one, but he does his best when it comes to fighting. With the recent war that has begun over here, their army needs more soldiers and he has been trying his best to enlist even though they keep turning him down. He is a small man who is weaker than others, yet he holds his head high when there is a challenge. Many men would rather stay at home not participating in the war to fight for their country. But him, he's different. No matter his size, he still wants to fight because it's the right thing to do. His morals and what he truly believes in is nothing but good. He is a true gentlemen and is so very kind." The goddess finishes her statement by releasing a breath she didn't know she was holding in. The god raises his eyebrows in astonishment. "You're in love, Lia." The goddess looks to her friend in disbelief. "I am not in love, Lo. Love is for children." "You have let down the walls you created for yourself millennia's ago and allowed him in. If anything you embraced him being there and breaking through your rough exterior. The way you talk about him as if he is everything to you and the look in your eyes when describing him just proves that. Also, I can sense your emotions and can feel the happiness residing within you when talking of him."

The goddess momentarily thinks about what her best friend has said. Has she really let down her walls for Steve and even Bucky? Was she in love with Steve? She wasn't sure what being in love was, but maybe it is the warm feeling that she gets whenever she is with Steve. "I hate when you're right." The god rolls his eyes as his illusion starts fading. "I have to go dear sister, do what you feel is right in your heart. Know that I love you." Arselia looks to Loki and smiles. "I love you most."

Arselia sits in her home with her mind going wild. She gets up off her couch and goes to her coat closet. Within the closet she sees the secret compartment that she hid Steve and Bucky's Christmas gifts in. They were shocked when they found out she didn't know what Christmas was, but eventually explained everything to her. They even helped her decorate her home and put up a tree for the holiday. The warrior took a look at the gifts and sighed. She bought Steve a pack of drawing pencils, the same pack that she bought herself and would allow him to borrow whenever her asks. The two of them would spend hours drawing together with the record player going in the background. She absolutely adored his drawings and wanted to see him do it more often with better materials. As for James, she got him a copy of Alice in Wonderland. He talked about how he read the story when he was younger and absolutely loved it. His favorite character was the Mad Hatter, so naturally she got a book that had him on the cover. Yeah, Arselia had fallen in love with Steven, Loki got that right. Though, she has also developed feelings for James. His charming personality caught her attention and the way he would always stand up for Steve whenever he got into a fight. She loved how he would stand behind him to make Steve seem like the bigger person in the situation and how he encouraged Steve to continue drawing. Even if she admired these things about the brown-haired man. She didn't feel the burning desire that she did for Steve. So in that moment of looking at the gifts she bought, the Goddess of Mischief, Lies, and Thunder had realized that during her trip to Midgard she had fallen in love with Steve Rogers.