#powerless witch kin

[otherkinotd]

Today's otherkin of the day is Andi Cruz, who is powerless witchkin 🧙‍♀️

-requested by anon

[see-arcane]

i'd love to hear your thoughts on or analysis of the "weird sisters"/wives/brides

Bride 1:

The first victim taken to keep Dracula company. I imagine Dracula being in something of a more maddened/not-quite-whole state following his turn to vampirism paired with his time in [SPOILERS]. Maybe closer to Nosferatu's stilted mindset when it came to behaving like a man. That, coupled with an unknown amount of time pacing alone in his dead castle, only finding contact in screaming meals and fleeing chattel, likely prompted him to go seeking permanent company.

I picture the girl he chose as one with a habit of inspiring laughter. Perhaps a jovial eldest sister who cheered her sisters, her family, her friends and suitors. He's always loved stealing away what others might love. So he picked her and stole her and she spent her final months of humanity trying desperately to amuse and cajole him into not doing the inevitable.

Bride 2:

Centuries pass. Dracula wants a new flavor. He takes it in the form of one of his own men's girls. A wife? A sister? A daughter? It doesn't matter. What matters is she has known of Dracula all her life. Known what it is the people she loves, she shares blood with, do for this thing pretending to be a man. It's a deal with the devil. She knows that too. To disobey is to bring death and worse.

Dracula takes the girl the way all predators take caregivers who forget the former are not now or ever tamed to safety. Worse, perhaps it is her own kin who offer her up or turn blind eyes. It's for the good of the whole, dear, you understand. Her last hours are spent at a familiar window, alternately calling for and cursing those she'd loved.

Bride 3:

A newcomer. Perhaps a last straggling escapee of witch hunt fever, seeking with distance and a final pocketful of funds a safety from the pointing fingers of monstrous men. She doesn't know of any demons in the mountains and wouldn't care if she did. Men have proven to be greater monsters than any local legend. She even takes a home, startlingly cheap, near the edge of Borgo Pass despite all warnings.

She meets her one and only neighbor there. He is a magician of sorts, he tells her from the other side of the dilapidated fence--he would not set foot on her land without invitation, young lady! In truth, he is far more a witch than any poor powerless soul deemed unholy enough to slaughter. Such barbaric times, these. It is a comfort to see one such as her rightly escape such cruelty...

Perhaps he cajoles her into inviting him in. Perhaps he beckons her up to the castle, the caleche driving her on. Perhaps it doesn't matter either way. She is the last Bride for a long while. In time, she blends into the cadre of the others, these Weird Sisters, these bloodstained cats he keeps even as they scratch and laugh at as much as with him, because he cannot stand to be a tyrant alone with only himself to menace.

They are his. He can never part with what's his, even when it so rarely brings him joy. But time passes and the joy fades and if he is not a mad monster now, he is a steadily more sullen one when not faced with company to perform for. He is Master. He is the Devil. He is the owner of all that lives and dies in his land, his castle.

And yet he lets the castle rot. Lets himself wilt. He goes without succor even as he fetches meals for his 'loves.'

(He too can love. So he calls it, so it must be.)

They are no longer here for his pleasure, but to give him an excuse not to bite at himself like a rabid old wolf tearing at himself in confinement. England will be a respite. The start of something new. Conquest! New blood! New thralls! New subjects and victims! He will return to himself and his rightful mode with that renewal.

Groom:

And with the preparation comes a delightful surprise. If the Brides are his ungrateful cats, Jonathan Harker is a charming young pup. Primed to be groomed into a new addition.

Just the right word, that.

Groomed.

And is it not fitting that his first Groom is the one to bring him so much joy? So much vigor and play and giddy prelude to supple England? Yes, yes. This one has made him happiest of them all. Thank you, my good friend. I cannot wait to see more of you.

[sergeantsporks]

Do You Want the Knife You Left in My Back, or Can I Keep It?

Rating: Teen and up, Gen

An injured Hunter wanders into Hexside. What was Luz supposed to do, just let him bleed out on the floor?

Ch 4/5: Rescue

Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3

Ao3

Hunter sat down with a whump at the base of a tree, huffing and shivering. He looked back at the owl house. Maybe he should have told the owl lady what had happened to her apprentice.

No. No, then she would just be angry at him, and would kick him out—or she’d trade him in a heartbeat to get Luz back. He had to get Luz back before Kikimora sent her demands to Eda instead.

Maybe they could have... worked to rescue her together? Maybe Eda wouldn’t have sold him out, maybe she would have helped.

Who was he kidding, who wouldn’t trade him in a heartbeat for Luz? On the one hand, cheerful, friendly human who could do magic! On the other hand, broken, powerless witch with an annoying voice.

Not that it mattered. Luz wouldn’t want him around after this—the best he could do was rescue her, and then hope he could make it back to the coven on his own, and pray that Belos would be angrier at Kikimora than him.

He could—he could do this.

Ugh.

Maybe.

Hunter leaned against the tree, trying to summon the willpower to get up and keep going. But it was quiet, and he was dizzy and cold, and his back was screaming at him to stop, and he just wanted to go back to sleep where it was warm. He twisted his arm around, gritting his teeth as his back protested, and felt under his shirt for the bandages, hissing when the touch made the pain in his back flare up.

His fingers came back red.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Hunter was relatively certain that was very bad. His head thudded back into the tree.

Stupid.

What was he supposed to do?!

“Where is he?” Kikimora’s voice came through the trees, “I really thought that would work!”

Hunter froze. Don’t find me, don’t find me, don’t find me—

Her little footsteps pattered nearby—on the other side of the tree he was on. Hunter shifted slightly, and a branch from the tree pressed right between his shoulder blades, right in the wound. Hunter bit on his hand to keep from screaming as the world blacked out.

But when he woke up again, Kikimora was gone.

This was his chance.

Hunter used the tree to haul himself up, his world still spinning. He stumbled towards where Kikimora had come from to see Luz, still tied up. She gasped when she saw him.

“You came?! You really came?!”

“Yyyyyeah. Lemme just…” Relief conquered his adrenaline high, and he nearly blacked out again, but he managed to untie her. “Kay… I guess… run?”

Luz blinked at him. “You—you really came for her. You’d abandon your mission to help her? Betray the emperor?”

Hunter blinked back spots from his eyes, pressing his arms to his stomach. Wow—okay—this was—that adrenaline had really been—

“Uhhh—yeah—I’ll capture you later—‘s not a big—” he blinked again. “Did youuuuuu just refer… third person?”

She blinked again, but her eyelids blinked sideways instead of up and down.

Hunter managed to haul himself up again, the ground seeming to tilt and sway beneath him. “K—we gotta—we gotta go—”

Luz caught him as he fell, but then she wasn’t Luz anymore, she was some kind of snake creature. She snapped her fingers, and the ropes that had been tying her floated up yanked around him. Hunter arched his back, biting his lip so hard he tasted blood as they pressed against the stab wound. He flew backwards into a tree, and he could just see, through blurry vision, the snake creature slithering towards him.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, “I really am—but this is the only way out for me.”

Xxx

Luz tore through the trees, her heart thudding in her chest. “Hunter!” she called, “Hunter, answer me if you can hear me! Are you okay?!”

She heard a weak cry for help, and raced towards it. “Hunter! Ohmygosh, you scared the living daylights… out… of… me…”

She skidded to a stop as she emerged in a small clearing. Kikimora was waiting, Hunter tied up in a limp, unconscious pile behind her. Next to Kikimora was… also Hunter. But as she watched, he shifted and changed.

A basilisk.

None of that explained why Kikimora had managed to get him out of the house—unless the basilisk had turned into Emperor Belos, she supposed.

“I told you I’d get him,” Kikimora purred.

Luz pulled out a set of glyphs. “Let him go. Now.”

Kikimora snapped her fingers, and Hunter floated up, her magic dumping him in an unceremonious heap on the floor. “Oh, no, human, I hold the cards now. You set down those glyphs, or… well, his death won’t be pleasant.”

Luz bit her lip, looking down at Hunter—if she could keep Kikimora from killing him just long enough for her friends to come back…

“Promise you won’t hurt him if I drop the glyphs?”

Kikimora pulled him up by the hair, pressing the claws of her other hand to his throat. “No, but I promise that I will hurt him if you don’t.”

Hunter was still limp in her grasp, and a wave of worry swept over Luz—he hadn’t reacted at all. “I want proof you haven’t killed him already.”

Kikimora shook him. “Wake up!”

His eyes opened just a crack, and then closed again. Kikimora tossed him back to the ground, putting one foot right over where his stab wound was. “There. He’s still alive. Now. Put the glyphs down before. I. Change. That.” She ground her foot down with each word, and Luz dropped the glyphs as Hunter howled in pain, breaking off into a heartbreaking whimper.

“Okay, okay, just… leave him alone! Please!”

Kikimora removed her foot. “Let’s see… I will take you to Belos. Alive. And you will agree that you were the one to hurt him—this worked out better than I could have hoped. I never thought you’d actually take the brat in! Yes, you will tell the emperor that you attacked him. And if you ever recant your story—well, Hunter has to sleep sometime. He has to eat. There are a thousand ways that someone—perhaps one of your friends—could assassinate him.”

There was a rustle in the trees behind Kikimora, and a feather floated down. Right. Showtime.

Luz glared at Kikimora. “This won’t work. Hunter will just tell everyone what happened, and your lie will fall flat.”

A satisfied little smile played across Kikimora’s lips. “Oh, I don’t think so. All I have to do is threaten the reverse—he agrees with me or you meet an unfortunate end.”

Luz snorted. “That’ll never work—he wouldn’t do that for me.”

“You’d be surprised.”

Luz shrugged. “Eh. I can think of another reason it won’t work.”

“Oh? What’s that?”

Luz grinned. “You won’t even make it back to the keep.”

Eda leapt from the trees with an unholy shriek, tackling Kikimora. The little demon drew a magic circle, but Eda kicked her away before she could finish it.

“Don’t. Threaten. My. Kid.” Eda growled, snatching Kikimora in her talons. “Let’s go for a little flight, shall we?”

Luz ducked past the fighting pair, kneeling next to Hunter. Blood was soaking through his shirt, and her hands fluttered around the wound uselessly. “Okay, okay, okay, this is fine.” She pulled up the shirt and undid the bandages. The stitches had ripped out, and the wound was angry, swollen, red.

And bleeding a lot.

“Hunter why?!” she demanded frantically, wadding up her cloak and pressing it to the wound, “Why would you run off?!”

His eyes opened just a crack, glazed over from pain and fever. “… you’re not a snake,” he murmured, then yelped as she pressed harder on the wound

“Oh, thank you, very helpful, that certainly explains everything.”

He whimpered, giving her big, hurt eyes.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t let you bleed out! Wait, why am I apologizing for that? Okay, okay—what did the healing professor say, what… Okay, let’s see, take the swelling down—”

Luz slapped an ice glyph on the ground, trying to make an ice block.

The magic didn’t come, and Luz felt her limbs grow weak. She whirled around to see the basilisk, staring at her with wide eyes. “I can’t let you go.”

Luz held her hands up. “I know what you’ve been through,” she said quietly, “I know Emperor Belos has hurt you. Has hurt your kin. Hunted you down. But you don’t have to do this. If you make Hunter go back, if you take me back, we are both dead. Is that really something you want?”

“You have no idea what I went through!” they scream-hissed.

“I do—I really do. I met one of your own, number five. She got away, she’s living away, she’s okay. She’s making her own choices, her own life. You can do the same. Please—please, let me take care of him. Don’t let Belos and Kikimora hurt someone else.”

The basilisk stared at her for a long minute.

Then they turned and slithered away.

Luz breathed a sigh of relief, turning back to Hunter. “Okay, okay, okay, we need to get you somewhere safe.”

She tried to haul him up, but he went completely deadweight on her with a whimper. “Oh—Hey! I know it hurts, but you gotta stick with me, okay, you gotta hold on.”

He shook his head with a whine, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Hunter, please! Work with me, I can’t carry you!”

“Need a lift?”

Puddles touched down next to her, Viney, Gus, and Willow waving from the top. Puddles squawked and nuzzled Hunter. “I can’t get him up,” Luz called, “He’s in really bad shape, Viney!”

Viney slid off of her griffin, opening a pouch strapped to Puddle’s side. She tossed a mini stretcher to the ground, and it grew to full size, with ropes on the ends. “I’ve got you covered.”

Luz laid Hunter down on the stretcher, sitting down next to him. “I am the worst caretaker ever,” she groaned.

“No, he’s just the worst patient!” Gus called down as Puddles grabbed the ends of the ropes and lifted off. They soared over the trees, back towards the owl house. Eda banked up next to them.

“Miss stab-happy is re-thinking her life at the top of a very tall tree. How are we looking?”

Luz squeezed Hunter’s hand. “Not great,” she said softly, “Eda, what if—”

“Luz. He’s going to be okay. Okay?”

Luz took a deep breath. “Okay.” She shook her head at Hunter. “What did she say to you to get you to come out of the house?”

He didn’t respond, and they touched down at the door. Hooty snaked around Puddles. “WHOA! That was WEIRD!”

“Good to have you back, Hooty,” Eda said tiredly, touching down, “Now give us space.” She carried Hunter inside, laying him out on the floor. “Alright, healing girl. Do your thing.”

Viney pulled out the knife that Kikimora had used to stab Hunter. “Okay, I’ve been taking a better look at this thing, asking my teachers questions about it, and I think I can put a better fix on this. Heal most of the internal damage—”

“I thought you already did that!”

“No, I put a patch on them—I stopped the problem from getting worse, sort of froze its ability to tear any further, re-routed any essential functions to undamaged parts of the body so that he could heal. But I think now—I can finish off the healing, find a workaround to the curse on the knife. It’ll fix the nerve pathways, anyway, and seal up some of the holes further in.” She gestured to the bloody mess that was his back. “There’s a tradeoff, though—I’m going to have to shift nerves and cells from another part of his back to fix the damage. Basically, I’m going to shift the damage from his internal organs and spinal cord to his outer muscles and skin, and there I can easily use stitches to fix the tear damage so that he can heal naturally. The wounds won’t be life-threatening anymore. If I can spread the damage far enough, it’ll just be a matter of stitching the initial cut, and the rest will be like naturally torn muscles.”

“Huh?”

“He’ll be really sore and have a nasty cut on his back,” Viney simplified, “But I mean really sore, Luz, like, he won’t be able to move at all for several days.”

“Oh, good,” Eda commented, “maybe that way he won’t run away.”

“I’ve got it,” Luz promised, “I’ll help him with everything he needs. Promise.”

“You’ll need to make sure the cut stays clean, or it’ll get infected. I’ll leave disinfectant behind. Be careful, it stings. As for the fever… well, once I shift the damage, it won’t be fun, but it won’t kill him either.”

“Okay. Okay, do it.

Viney took in a deep breath. “Okay, there goes nothing!” she drew a circle over Hunter’s back, and the stab wound shimmered and glowed. Pulsing, glowing golden lines spread out, and the wound slowly started to heal, at least not deep anymore. Viney grinned. “Yessssss! Alright, Luz, Gus, Willow, scram, you don’t want to watch the stitches.”

Luz let out a shaky breath as Eda steered her towards the kitchen. ���We almost lost him,” she said quietly.

“Almost,” Eda emphasized, “But we didn’t. And that’s what matters.” She sighed. “Look. If you… need any help. If you need a break from him, or you’re just too tired to take care of him. I… can step in.”

“Really?!”

“Yeah. Really. I have to admit, he’s starting to grow on me.”

“He was unconscious all day, Eda.”

“Exactly.”

Ch 5

[kaixzen]

KAIZEN is a UNKNOWN year old BISEXUAL, CISMALE, HE/HIM, here in Firebrand City. People say they look a lot like CHRIS EVANS. They are RIGHTEOUS but can be RESENTFUL. They are a DRAGON TRAITOR in Firebrand and they work as a FIGHTER IN THE PITS.

PRIDE GOETH BEFORE THE FALL.

And dragons were, after all, very proud creatures. Kaizen was no exception to this. If anything, he embodied the sentiment. Forbearing, arrogant, a creature as old as he was sure in his path of righteousness.

He held little love for humanity -- they were but a smear on Earth’s legacy. Short lived creatures who not only didn’t respect the Earth, but who poured pollution into the land, poisoned its oceans, and killed his kind in their ignorance. If he could burn every single one of them to dust, he wouldn’t lose a lick of sleep over it. In fact, he’d have revealed in their absence, scorched from the very Earth they callously debased.

See, it didn’t sit right with Kaizen that the land they gained from humanity was to be meant for all supernatural creatures. The land should have belonged to his kind, to the dragons alone. After all, had they not had the most taken from them? Had they not suffered at the hands of humanity the most? Did they not deserve it above all others?

He voiced as much, caring little what the other supernatural creatures thought. To Kaizen, they were little better than humans.

But, he was nearly alone in his opinion. How could his kind not see that they deserved this? That the other creatures were not allies, but creatures in their way. And so, Kaizen happily took the brand of traitor to prove a point, pushing back against the other supernatural creatures. 

His kin attempted to sway him back to the correct path, but Kaizen believed himself to be doing what was best for them, consequences be damned.

TRAITOR.

He was branded so, a collar of witch blood magic tight on his neck, forcing him into a powerless shell of the powerful creature he was. No better than a human, living in the gutters, where he’d rot unless one of the very creatures he fought against rented him.

All Kaizen had to keep him company now was resentment. He embraced his brand as a traitor, bitter in his acceptance, far crueler than he had been before, a wild thing locked in a cage of his own making.

Such rage had only one place it was useful: the pits.

Isolated from his kind, stripped of his powers, and forced to fight -- Kaizen chose to embrace the thrill of the fight. He may have been chained, stripped of everything, but still his pride remained. And there, on display for others to watch, he took pleasure in showing them just how feral he could be.

Give him an inch, he dared them. Kaizen was no more than a predator testing the limits of his cage, awaiting the day until his captors got lazy and left an opening to their own end.

A HISTORY.

Kaizen has no living family to call his own. Both of his parents lost their lives long ago and while his little sister is still alive, they haven’t spoken in years. He still thinks fondly of her, is fiercely protective of her, but has accepted in his current position he is of no use to her and that it’s best to keep his distance.

His dragon form is that of a black dragon, with an affinity for fire. If there is one thing Kaizen misses most, it’s being able to adopt his other form, to shed the human skin he’s now force to live in while he resides in the gutters.

He is a more hostile rental, disliking anyone who isn’t a dragon. Even though he has a slave’s collar around his neck, Kaizen air of dominance remains -- ever an imposing figure who likes testing the limits of the freedoms he’s given.

[sockori]

Naruto AU: Ancient Origins

Naruto world building but instead of slapping the Otsutsuki on the front and calling it finished there’s actual effort this time

note: This entire thing is a WIP and only covers the framework. It is still open to much change in its future.

Synopsis

Millennia ago, chakra was a scarce and sacred power that could only be gained, not raised. 

Such inherited means only came in the form of their neighboring kin- mythological creatures known as Yōkai; Unusual beings quite literally the manifestations of chakra themselves, stretched and exercised into beautiful and dangerous forms. They roamed their respective territories, both unexpected friends and fearsome foes to the powerless but curious humans that lived alongside them, weak, powerless, hungry for the chakra they could not create themselves- impatiently waiting for their own time to strike.

In those eras, coexistence was an unpredictable force- a struggle for dominance. Certain societies came to worship their native Yōkai, honoring their paths and respecting their grounds, forming a sort of symbiotic relationship that proved beneficial for survival. Other societies held much different practices, fearing the monsters and their foreign natures, making efforts to repel their influence, or hunt them down into nothingness. Sneaky and deceptive Yōkai were frequently tarnishing the good image of their virtuous brethren, reeking a bad name for the creatures across the board, causing mass hysteria and witch hunts of all kinds. Humans, devoid of otherworldly origins, lacked the mystical power to see through the looking glass, defenseless against the beasts that pulled their strings at every unknown path.

Then, at last, came a time of change, rooted in industrial and societal improvement. The human race, much to beastly dismay, rapidly evolved, discovering effective methods that gained the upper hand. It did not help that rare sights of crossbreeding began to occur, creating humans who now had inherited the powers of the demons they once feared. With no other cards to play, they were forced with the only viable hand- shapeshift, or die. Many Yōkai were against this notion, intensely proud of themselves and their strength, fighting tooth and claw to a grave, bitter end. Opposing Yōkai, however, fearful of extinction, decided to take the risk. Giving up their precious longevity, the beasts reluctantly opened themselves to more harm than good as they transformed into the face of mortals they once toyed with. Lucky few managed to escape treachery and betrayal, migrating into human life under a clever mask, thus saving themselves from a tragic fate. Others not so.

The blending of humans and Yōkai evened the playing field. Though, not all beastly operations had ceased entirely. Whilst some species scattered into fragments, a handful of hidden Yōkai decided to take advantage of their human forms to continue their legacies, seeking out and gathering others with similar roots or carrying their powers into the future through human courting. The bloodlines that were seeded into the ground grew into powerful and fiercely loyal groups- variations that effectively created the infamous clan and family hierarchy seen in the first years of unionized activity- budding numerous territories that graciously adorned themselves with the label “shinobi”.

Author’s Notes

Certain clans did not exactly originate from a specific brand of Yōkai- few variations might even be descendants of a deity. The Uchiha clan is rumored to have its hand in the flaming origins of Amaterasu, the beautiful sun goddess that grants the nobility their fiery power. The clan deeply honored her name, and for centuries, held various ceremonies in which they gave their respects to the mother of all Uchiha. Supposedly, this is also the reason many of their jutsus carry the name of the goddess herself, and as well as other deities (call this a headcanon of mine, they can have other possible origins as well).

Begrudgingly joining hand and hand with the human race did not spell an end to all untransformed Yōkai as a whole. Monsters found their own ways to survive to the next generation without shapeshifting. Many scattered to hide in isolated areas where humans weren’t able to tread, or had a difficult time treading in (exs. mountain tops, volcanic areas, cave systems), effectively preserving their kind. Societies that decided to remain traditional or open in the advancing era either became sanctuaries or feeding grounds for remaining beasts. Among other situations. 

How open certain areas are to mythological merit depends on the area in question. For example, Kirigakure tends to be one of the most open with, perhaps even run by Yōkai, seen in their variations of aquatic traits in their population (most common being pointy teeth and/or gills). The isolation of the island made it perfect for Yōkai looking to protect themselves and their legacies. Beastly pride is prominent on their grounds, with many water-based clans in power, making for a strong culture and wonderful areas of worship- as well treacherous rivalry, bloodshed and constant conflict, as the marine beasts seek to eliminate others in dominance and paranoia. Witch hunts within its remaining human population were also frequent, with many unfortunate massacres. A price to pay for accepting the idea of a Yōkai civilization.

With the example of Kirigakure being largely aquatic, I'll quickly bring up that each Land obviously has their own unique variation of “beast”, as well as a ratio of human to Yōkai origin in their populations. Some are pretty obvious, others not so much. Which Yōkai frequent which spot is a meticulous map to craft, one that’ll take a bit of time.

The Otsutsukis may still have a possibility of existing in this AU, but most likely in an entirely different way. I’d like to still make use of the Moon Rabbit in some shape or form, just drastically toned down. 

The Akatsuki tends to be the most infamous example of several variations of Yōkai origin coming together- whether inherited, influenced, or becoming. The group sought to bring their powerful ancestors back to the living world, making Yōkai the reigning force of the land yet again- for better, and for worse.

Speaking of gathering beasts, the concept of the Tailed Beasts was quite the grey area when it came to writing this AU. Given the reason they existed in the first place, I wondered if they were still possible, maybe remain in the form of much more tame beasts, but alas, powerful. I decided to write them in the sense that they’re the “Grand Ancestors” of certain Yōkai, perhaps the main guardians of the lands that their kind roamed. With that said, I highly doubt that the Ten Tails would exist in this variation alongside them.

They weren’t exactly gods, but legendary beasts- powerful monsters humans either worshipped to the core, or feared to the extreme. I suppose this will make Himawari, Kushina, and Naruto all variations of Kitsune alongside having Kurama’s influence (perhaps the Uzumaki are all descendants of the Kitsune?). Still a little wobbly on this aspect, I’ll leave those possibilities up to the reader as well.

[thebirthbysleep]

𝐭𝐰𝐨. 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱𝘀 :  six thousand, five hundred and thirty words

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 : avoiding rampaging navy soldiers, din is forced to stay on the pirate ship until they reach land. she grows distasteful that she is no longer homebound, and now the conversation regarding her curse continues to come up.

she’s sleep again.

in her sleep, din would forget who she was as she was reduced to dust at the mercy of traumatising dreams from which she could not wake. any child, upon awakening from a terror in the deepest level of sleep, would cry into their parents arms, and would be comforted with warm and hushed encouragements. and as the tears stop, they can find themselves slowly falling back asleep. because the comfort is there, the arms in which they feel safest are stretched wide open and the dark doesn’t bother them anymore. no monster under the bed can peep out, no ghost in the corner of the room can reach them. their dreams, plagued by the darkest parts of the human imagination, become forgotten memories as the second wave of sleep hits. 

din wasn’t so lucky in that regard. she had no arms to run into, she couldn’t even awake from the nightmares; she would simply be put into another, and fight back the tears of fear whilst facing another demon, another fear, another beast hidden in the back of her mind, placed into a plane from which she could not escape. there wasn’t a time where she was not in a dream, even after she spent minutes in the tower, she would be thrown into a whirlpool of darkness, to return to further suffering.

it was expected at this point, that if she ever sleeps again the nightmares would follow her, a stalking of the soul that would only results in the further shattering of something that barely existed anymore. din found herself feeling like a coward with each passing year, weak at the raging vendetta of vengeful greek gods. the effect of the curse working, the gods rendering her powerless, and her will to fight back reduced to the size of a speck.

in this dream, din found peace for the first time. nothing bad happened, but neither did anything good come to happen as well. she was stuck in a pond where she floated, ears hovering above the water where she could hear the tweeting of birds and the familiar rustling of leaves in the trees which would fall into the pond as if to kiss the surface where the nymph laid. they sensed her, they sensed every part of her. they sensed that something good and pure had fallen into the pond just like a leaf picked off on autumn, meeting the flower with its fellow kin, to be blown into the wind just like all the others.

it was a strange feeling but din felt like she was home. the nostalgia floating in tepid water, the running of streams of the grotto she familiarised herself with. it was heaven. she could almost reach the pearly clouds and the blue sky that greeted her, the sun smiling down upon her warm face,

causing her cheeks to rush rosy. it was odd, but din felt herself stand, her feet touching the smooth rocks at the bottom of the pond.

and that’s when she saw the fishes swimming in colonies, flocking to their families and picking off the algae growing on rocks. an orchestra of croaking frogs came behind her, following by a symphony of crickets which created the most magnificent music piece known to man; ambiance.

here, din stood for god knows how long, bathing and playing with water as if to familiarize herself with an old hobby, like picking up a pencil to draw years after closing the sketch pad and letting it collect dust. this was home, whenever this was. a memory, not a dream; her mind wouldn’t know how to create something so raw with nature’s perfection, it was a memory and even her doubts told her it was a memory. one which she wished to linger in for eternity. she could never get lonely here.

but all dreams must come to an end and this one was no exception.

din opened icy eyes to a strange environment. below her was a soft mattress, her body entangled in sheets and a pillow at her side which she had embraced tightly. it was the only occasion where the girl could confirm that she felt refreshed upon waking up. it didn’t land on her that she was somewhere strange until she heard a small hum from beside her.

sat on the edge of the bed, rosé glanced down at the half-awake nymph with curiosity. seconds later, din squeaked and jumped up, scurrying back and nearly falling off the bed on the other side. it was only then when the memories of yesterday came flooding back, but din found herself too dazed to scowl. to scream and scold as she did best.

“ good morning, sleeping beauty. we’ve set course to a lovely place in the mediterranean. i don’t know whether you’ve been to venice; i hear it’s beautiful ”, rosé said with a cheeky grin, din continued to stare at her with flustered round eyes, blonde hair caught in a nest which would only infer that she had slept well. what made it almost comical was the way in which the nymph held the pillow so tightly to her chest. “ captain said he has some sources over there; sea witches who could point us in the right direction. we’re going to get rid of your curse, dinnie~! ”.

getting rid of her curse? that didn’t sound right. din said she would be doing it alone and would require no help from the people who parents were the only reason she had gotten the curse anyway. she was stubborn, she wouldn’t allow her pride to be further injured by just subjecting herself to obedience just because they had volunteered to help and claimed themselves to be innocent children.

but it was far too late to be complaining about that now, especially as she laid in a bed in a small cabin where she assumed someone else slept, unless if this was a spare. she saw the lack of decorations and things that would normally personalise something as intimate as a room. needless to say, aside from being in a strange room, she had also fallen into a pirate ship which was no sailing in the middle of nowhere. the ship she thought would be going to athens was probably halfway through its journey by now, but then she realised she wouldn’t have been able to go.

because the sailor whom she brought the ticket off of turned on her, pointed a finger and cried witch, and the ottoman soldiers came in with the intention of doing god knows what to harm the nymph. it wasn’t safe to beg for a return. she couldn’t just snatch the wheel off the captain’s hand, she didn’t know how to sail a ship. and by far the most important detail, was that she hated the sea.

it was easy to say that she was eager to get on land as soon as possible, whether it be venice or anywhere else in the world; she would see land and she would vanish, she would start making her way home no matter what she did.

her thoughts came to a stop as din let her eyes fall onto her figure and found herself wearing something she definitely never recalled owning; a sky blue sleeping gown that went just past her knees and she quickly adjusted the ends as it had risen, bringing a flood of redness spilling onto her cheeks. “ who changed my clothes last night? ”, she asked through a mumble. 

“ oh, i did! ”. the nerve of this girl to sound so proud had din’s head spinning. rosé continued to grin. “ i lent you one of my many fancy sleeping gowns. you were in that white dress for a hundred years, and a lady should always have nice clothes at her disposal. so i hope you’re comfortable. i can get you something nice after breakfast. “

at that, her stomach croaked and ached. the nymph only shuddered and refused to look at aphrodite’s daughter as she stood and chuckled, seemingly amused by such comedic timing even though din was hours away from becoming a skeleton. she hadn’t finished eating her dinner last night, the pita bread and the mead left to be collected and thrown to others. it broke din’s starving heart.

“ up you get! don’t worry, i won’t be bringing you on deck now. i know you might be feeling slightly uncomfortable after yesterday ”, rosé continued, now on her feet and looking through something in a wardrobe; din daren’t look, it wasn’t her business. “ marcato will whip you up something nice. he feeds us quite well, none of that icky sailor food most pirates tend to eat. ”

din hesitated, her legs falling to the side of the bed and her bare feet now touching the wooden floors. she was confused on why she still felt pain at the soles, like something was digging into them. until she recalled the thorn path, and the scars it would leave on her physical body. she thought it would heal given her curse of immortality, yet not a patch of skin had nursed itself back; it was not good. how was she to traverse lands whilst aiming to get back home?

“ are you hurt? ”.

even rosé sounded pleasantly surprised by the voice coming from the door. din quickly adjusted the skirt of her sleeping gown and did everything she could to avoid looking at sephtis. by far the most awkward encounter she’s had yet; she’d cursed his mother the most, her personal grudge towards hecate running rampant.

he leaned by the door, and had taken notice of how din had been studying her aching feet with a small sneer on her face. “ don’t worry, seph. i’ll get marcato to patch her up nicely. what is it, din? a cut or a bruise? ”, din really didn’t want to be showing them her feet, it felt odd.

“ a scar. it’s still healing ”, she murmured and heard another hum from sephtis who then approached her and leaned down in front of her, observing the scar that her run to the side of her feet, raging with redness and aching to brush against. she had to look away.

sephtis observed in silence, “ rose thorns. they usually have this fungus growing in them that scars and swells up the injury it leaves. where did you get these from? ”. no answer, din didn’t need to respond when he could guess it for himself. “ i see. i thought you were immortal, aren’t you usually supposed to heal quickly? ”.

“ i still feel pain and gets scars like any other mortal ”, din said defensively, almost moving to show the other scar she had gained on her stomach but that was something far too intimate and private, a memory she liked to bury in a black hole somewhere in her mind. “ i-i don’t know why this isn’t healing. ”

“ enchanted thorns? ”, rosé suggested from beside her, placing a change of clothes folded neatly beside the nymph and tapped her chin. it was a cute habit. “ hardly seen in real life, most likely fabricated in that period of sleep you were in. ” din scowled, she disliked how they brought it up so casually, hardly with any caution that it might bring hurt to the nymph.

sephtis sighed after standing, “ i don’t know. but i’ll ask marc to whip up a remedy for the swelling and burning sensation. if she’s like this then we can’t really explore venice with much comfort. ” upon saying so, he turned and walked to the door. hesitated. but then left, leaving din staring at the wall in front of her and clenching the bed sheets under her trembling hands.

rosé quickly took notice and beamed care-freely. “ i know it may seem strange now, you’re on a pirate ship with people you most likely despise with a passion. i can’t blame you. but . . . we thought that maybe if you were going to return home, getting rid of your curse was perhaps the first thing you should do ”, she stated, din stared hard at her. “ in case something bad happens and all of this repeats again. and you suffered long enough, it’s about time you get back to your life. ”

din snorted bitterly, “ what life? i don’t remember anything from my life in the grotto. all my kin have passed, my parents are no longer with me and the grotto has perhaps become just another stream for men to drink from. ” she bit her lip. “ mortal men care little for the care we nymphs have for nature. the nature they go on to ruin. which is why i have to go back, even if i’m there alone. ”

“ seems like a lonely life, does it not? ”. the nymph blinked, taken aback. “ even if you’re home, you’d still be alone. it’s rather sad. ”

it wouldn’t be lonely, din wanted to say. but she didn’t like lying to herself. in fact, she knew it would be lonely. yet then again, she wouldn’t have anything to compare it to. her memories of the grotto had been whipped completely, she didn’t know anyone, so she had no one to miss.

it would be lonely, but it was home.

rosé got up and shrugged gently, placing the change of clothes within din’s reach, but before she could walk off, din had to ask something that had been gnawing at her mind since last night. in her dreams, it was pleasantly forgotten; but now it was important. she didn’t know whether rosé would be honest, but she still dared to ask.

“ last night ”, she stated. rosé stopped. “ at the inn. you said it was the man who found me and ratted me out as a witch. was it really him, or was it another pirate tactic to get me aboard your ship? ”.

rosé observed her for a while, to the point where din avoided her gaze, the air thick with an awkward tension. had she said something that brought offense? she knew it was a bold claim to make, but honesty goes a long way.

“ din. ”

the nymph looked up.

rosé offered her a warm smile, nothing like the cheshire grin she had gotten used to. “ we don’t like playing dirty. that’s something i can promise you. we’re not our parents in that sense. we like honesty. and we wouldn’t make this up just to get you onboard. we want to help ”, she said. “ just as we’d help any other person with your circumstances. ”

din rose a brow. “ okay. maybe not any other person. we owe it to you. our parents wrong you, and we’re here to correct it. it mustn’t be nice to kill all who you touch, and live out some of your closest friends. where’s the fun in that? ”. rosé’s words seemed genuine. din was no professional lie-catcher, but nymphs never lied, sworn to pure honesty. she could tell when someone was being anything but purely honest. but rosé had surprised her.

it was pleasant, in a way, to learn that they carried good intentions. but her rage was still boiling, she still hadn’t forgotten what they’d done beyond putting her to sleep for a century. they destroyed all that she loved. and yes, her sorrow cost three hundred lives; at the expense of the god’s betrayal, of course, giving her a gift she hadn’t asked for and cursing her with immense trickery which was probably funny from where they saw it. to her, it was anything but. never once had she laughed whilst stuck in that night-mare dimension, not even a smile.

it was only sorrow, painful sorrow.

“ we’re going to make this right. we owe it to you in a way ”, rosé continued, tapping her foot against the floors. “ i don’t really regret touching that gold. it awoke someone who will now give us the chance of an adventure of a life-time, and we’d be doing something for a good cause. ”

the nymph glowered, “ i’m not a compass. ”

“ no. you’re not ”, rosé quickly corrected herself. “ but you must understand, the whole concept of piracy is deemed a taboo. and we’ve sort of allowed ourselves into a self-fulfilling prophecy. we do pillage and steal and fight. with you onboard, it’s going the first time we’ll be venturing out for a good cause. we’re not heading off into the world to steal to survive. we’ll be helping you. and god knows, you deserve it. ”

it was deemed too perfect of an opportunity for din to accept. for all she knew she could be dumped back onto the hands of these gods and perhaps killed. she didn’t trust the kids yet, she couldn’t bring herself to do so when she still ached so much. deities weren’t good beings, they were selfish and it was painful to see the respect normal mortals held for them. they allowed their own personal grudges to have an impact on the world.

she wasn’t sure if it was true but she’d heard that after the fall of the january festival, there was ten consecutive days of rain that brought about a flood in the coastal region; poseidon’s doing, no less. demeter’s anger killed most of the crops. most gods allowed their anger to run wild and it hurt the greek population more than din’s storm did.

it was ironic, and unfair. yet she was perfectly comfortable with accepting the role as the antagonist. she had the perfect tragic backstory to become one. although most antagonists wind up crushed under the weight of the gods, din promised to be sly.

but right now, at that very moment, she had no choice but to comply. strand on a ship in the middle of the mediterranean, she would have to play along and then flee when they got to venice. it was the only way. would she be alone again? yes. but better alone than with these people.

she hadn’t noticed how quiet she’d gotten, and when she looked up, rosé was still smiling, but now sat beside her. din could only raise the corner of her lip and bow her head in slight dismay, squeaking when she felt what appeared to be a pair of cherry lips pressing against her cheek. rosé then quickly stood up. “ i’ll ask marc to get your breakfast ”, she said and then left, leaving a blushing din recovering holding her cheek, heart hammering.

the only worry she had, was that the charm of these demi-gods would be too much for her aching heart to handle.

･ ｡ﾟ.˚⊹･゜

the clothes felt weird.

as a nymph, din was used to no clothes at all. most nymphs would display their bodies and cover themselves with leafs around intimate parts, and took to nature to decorate their hair and bodies similar to how a mortal would craft jewelry and accessories from gold and stones.

the first time din saw her reflection after a century, she didn’t recognize herself. she hadn’t realized she had blonde hair quite like the locks she owned, and her eyes perhaps weren’t as azure as before. oddly, she thought back to the girl in her dreams. and how their features were basically swapped. for reasons unknown, she found the girl’s beauty far more striking than what the nymph saw in the mirror.

regardless, she fixed the tight waist-coast hugging her torso, the sleeves of the white shirt rolled up as they were a little long. the skirt was by far her favorite part; navy blue, her favorite color, and it went just past her ankles. shoes polished and clicking against all they touched, din thought that she could very well pass as a peasant girl, or maybe a maid or cook working on a ship. ordinary, just the way she liked it.

she remained uncertain of what to do with her hair, and in the end, let it fall loose after brushing it.

what was for breakfast was unknown to her, but it smelt nice when she stepped out onto the hallway, hands grazing against the walls to keep herself balanced. although it was a big ship and the water seemed calmer, din was still disturbed by the trembling and wading just as any person with a fear of the ocean would feel.

“ din! you’re up, that’s good! ”.

marcato sounded pleasant that morning, he had an air to him that was identical to his father’s. but apollo was more of a flamboyant god with smiles that could blind; what she now stared at was an almost exact replica coated in timidity.

in his hands, he held two wooden bowls and she spotted what appeared to be porridge with honey and chopped bananas on the stop, and she held her stomach so it wouldn’t cry out at the sight of something so divine.

she was seconds away from forgetting her manners, but she composed herself as the male placed the one bowl down on the table and beckoned her over. din gave a suspicious look around, marcato seemingly knowing why. “ don’t worry, i asked everyone to stay on deck so you can eat in peace. daeva is quite grumpy during the morning, and griffin is too loud ”, the sunny boy laughed and began to eat from the other bowl. “ dig in before it gets cold. ”

with some hesitation, din complied, lifting her spoon and observing the oats. could a ship like this really house such incredible ingredients? she wasn’t certain whether they had just stolen it or had someone make it for them, but din was impressed. from inside, it was already far prettier than the paladin, which she was supposed to have sailed off in that morning.

the thought of what would’ve happened to her on that vessel, aboard with only men, with a rumor flying around of her being a witch; din didn’t wish to linger on it. so with a shudder, she began to eat.

“ i know this hardly seems like a pirate ship. but it’s home for us ”, marcato said after a few silent spoonfuls. “ griffin usually fixes it when we’ve set course somewhere. he gets quite busy. he strengthened the thickness of the walls of the gallows, so our food and goods don’t get hurt by impacts or accidents. ”

din stopped, spoon hovering by her lips. “ how often would i have to worry about any of those happening? ”. marcato chuckled, but din didn’t mean to be funny, she was quite serious.

luck isn’t something din would say accompanied her on a regular, but she’s been having quite a lot of it after she woke up in regards to food. the food at the inn was something she wouldn’t quite forget, and this breakfast was no different. care was put into it, something about the softness of marcato’s hands justified this. the sweetness rolled right off her tongue.

“ are you feeling better? you completely blacked out after you came aboard last night ”, din had forgotten this entirely. to her, she was brought to a comfortable bed and slept soundlessly. that dream then came afterwards and she found peace. only to be awoken by rosé looming beside her.

her lips trembled for a moment, “ i’m fine. i just have a slight phobia of open water. makes me sick. besides, my plans were spoiled. maybe it was anger or just total panic that brought around a total collapse. ”

“ maybe it was pain, as well ”, marcato set his bowl of porridge behind him and went towards a cupboard where he pulled out a vial. a remedy. they’d really asked him to make her something for her injuries. her toes curled slightly, wondering if it would sting or hurt any further than the excessive burning on the scars on her soles. “ this will do the trick. ”

“ you don’t have t— ”.

“ i do ”, marcato said quickly, walking on over to her and sitting in front of her after pulling up a chair. “ it wouldn’t feel right to have an injured person aboard. i can tell you’re hurting. comes with being the son of the god of disease and healing. ”

could he sleep knowing someone nearby was in pain, she wondered. marcato motioned to her shoes, and after finishing her breakfast, din slipped the small heels off and hugged her knees to her chest, feeling bashful and she stopped the young man as he went to pour the medicine onto a cotton bud. “ can i do it myself? ”, she questioned.

he moved to give her the bud, but she shook her head. he would have to place it on the table, because if she touching something he was holding, she would make it disappear. it was just like what occurred with daeva’s sword the other day.

“ ah, your power. ”

marcato applied more of the oil-like substance onto the bud and then placed it on the table. and din took it quickly, and slowly dabbed it against the scars which would most likely turn purple if they hadn’t been treated any sooner. it didn’t hurt or sting to apply the medicine, to her pleasant surprise. “ it smells nice ”, she murmured. “ like— ”.

“  —chrysanthemums? i add floral scents to my medicine ”, the healer said, cheeks dusted pink like he’d just shared a timid secret. “ it makes the healing experience pleasant. most medicines smell like bitter herbs, and floral scents relax people. ”

din chuckled vaguely, amused by the confession. although she was forced to agree; floral scents were one of the many wonders of the world. they came in huge quantities and distinctions. subconsciously, din thought back to the grotto, and wondered whether she would familiarize with these blessed scents.

flowers were truly the gift of the world. it was as if persephone traced every single one with precision, and then breathed life into it. there wasn’t a flower that din didn’t know, but she hoped that perhaps she would come across others on her way back home.

in these thoughts, din hardly took notice of how quickly the scars were healing; like magic. she continued to picture the wind of colors that came with leafs and flowers. it was a form of meditation for her, she just had to picture what mattered to her the most. her thoughts ran wild of what beauties she would find back home.

“ do you have a favorite flower? ”.

she immediately shook her head, “ i don’t. it wouldn’t be fair to pick a favorite when they have so much value, one matters just as much as the other. medicine, food, beverages, most also aid in the care of our world. i love each one, even the ones i may not know about. ” with that said, din looked up at marcato. “ do you? ”.

“ u-uh, verbascum clementine, maybe. especially the ones with the faint yellow or orange color. i would say sunflower but . . . ”. din chuckled again, it would be self-explanatory. “ b-but i also like lavenders. ” marcato met her gaze shyly.

before she could conjure a response, din heard a noise from the entrance of the kitchen and spotted somnia. daughter of hypnos, and that morning, din didn’t find any energy to insult or argue. “ captain is calling all of us on deck, he says it’s urgent ”, somnia said and yawned into her hand, before taking a quick leave.

din glanced back down at the soles of her feet and found the redness fading and the swelling would soon be over. so she slipped her shoes back on and picked up her bowl of porridge and brought it over to what appeared to be a sink. “ y-you don’t have to wash it! ”.

it would be impolite if she didn’t, but the captain was calling, and she didn’t want to be the one keeping people waiting. so she left it on the side, adjusting her clothes before following marcato onto the deck.

what was difficult was getting up the stairs without feeling like she would tumble back, but she broke through into the sunlight which blinded her, her hands quickly thrown before her eyes in an attempt to protect them. she could hear the waves crashing from below, but the sound amplified as she stepped out, her stomach spinning with anxiety.

but as her eyes slowly adjusted, she blinked and was welcomed by a sight unlike any other. it was most definitely the most stunning ship she’d come to see, polished and clean, not a hole or crack in sight. it smelled of fresh paint and sea water, a funny mixture yet one that didn’t irritate or cause strange sensations.

“ morning, din! ”.

she heard griffin call from the side. the son of hephaestus didn’t share many resemblances to his father aside from the ears and perhaps the pouted lips. griffin was boyish, with dimples and muscles in every sense. she knew his father lingered with cyclopses, creatures unharmed by flames and also master smiths and creators.

marcato was right in saying that the ship looked so pleasant due to griffin’s seemingly strive at perfection. everything was precisely placed; who on earth would’ve guessed this to be a pirate ship?

“ busy so early in the morning? ”, she asked, feeling comfortable to talk to him the most out of everyone else in the crew. she continued to hold a hand against her forehead to avoid being blinded, whilst approaching a working griffin. “ what are you doing? ”.

griffin sniffled and then raked a hand through his brown hair, “ adding some metal onto the cannon side. not a thick sheet so it shouldn’t weight that much, but usually when we engage in sea warfare, our port cannons get butchered. we’ve lost two in our encounter in tortuga. so we can’t really repeat the same mistakes. ”

din wouldn’t have known that they suffered during warfare for how cared for the ship was. but as she looked deeply, she saw minor scratches on the edge of the port side, scars gained from engaging with people who had far more experience. but she thought of piracy of something like an apprenticeship; you learn on the way, and usually end up knowing more than scholars.

“ you seem to know quite a lot ”, she uttered, mostly under her breath but griffin picked it up with some ease.

he even laughed, setting down a hammer he held onto the floor and rubbing his scarred hands. “ i hear that a lot. i’ve been on the run from bitter gods for a while. maybe since i was fifteen or sixteen. when cap found me, i’d already gone through about four different crews ”, he revealed. “ two spanish ones, one french and one portuguese. i was always the mechanic, but i know a thing or two about sea warfare and the gamble that it is. ”

din almost didn’t hear what he said after he revealed something. about being on the run. well, it was no wonder she felt fonder of him than she did for the others. but it confused her; his father wasn’t a bitter man, he was fine serving as a blacksmith and being overworked to the brink of exhaustion. why would griffin be on the run? unless if hephaestus wasn’t the one he was avoiding.

and griffin spotted her confusion, “ my dad is alright. it’s his lovely spouse who makes things a little . . . complicated. she found out he pursued a mortal when she left him to be with ares, went absolutely insane. i guess it’s only because of rosé that i’m safe. ”

din turned her attention to where he nodded, on the quarterdeck, where the daughter of aphrodite sat chatting away with marcato and sephtis. “ i owe her a lot. she fools around a lot but she’s quite protective. i couldn’t have asked for a better half-sister. even if she annoys me half to death ”, with a snort, griffin turned back to his work.

･ ｡ﾟ.˚⊹･゜

the meeting didn’t come as urgently as din had expected, it took about an hour for the pirates to sort out an issue they were having with the gunpowder that was apparently weighing the boat down. whilst they disputed in the captain’s cabin, din took the time to explore the ship.

there wasn’t exactly much she could do other than walk around the deck. at first she didn’t advance onto the forecastle deck which was stationed right at the end of the ship, but it came to a point where boredom led her there, gentle steps finding her atop this elevated platform that allowed a view of the sea ahead of them that would scare but amaze every person.

to din, it was a matter of picturing the ship was the biggest component to the image. she couldn’t think of how big some waves could get, how easily this ship could be engulfed by one of poseidon’s murderers. the sea was an angry monster, hungry; it would swallow all it wanted. that was where her fear of it stemmed from.

it was no a matter of the beasts that laid within the waves; it was the ocean it itself, in its entire greatness and immense size, and the phenomenons that occur. whirlpools were by far her greatest fears; a large cyclone, a crack in the water sucking in all that couldn’t resist its great pull.

the very thought had the nymph cringing.

“ what are you doing out here? ”.

daeva.

din resisted the urge to roll her eyes and turned to glance at the male with a clenched jaw, “ am i not allowed? ”. what the nymph found was that her mood derailed the moment daeva opened his mouth or so much as came near here, it started the moment he pointed the sword at her yesterday; a foolish mistake, now she wanted him as good as dead.

“ no, you are. but the meeting is starting soon ”, daeva grunted, motioning over to where the pirates had gathered; just in the main deck, a map stretched out on a wide area with the captain pointing at certain places. at that, din moved past daeva, almost bumping into him on her way out of the forecastle.

she came to find theseus explaining the plan once they’d arrived in venice. by the nods he was getting, most agreed, and he politely rose his head when din approached. “ oh, you’re here! good, we were just going to ask you whether you’ve heard of tortuga ”, he said with a boyish grin.

tortuga? well, from what she’d heard, these pirates had wrecked havoc and had managed to tick off a couple of french soldiers. was it wise to put your feet back there when you had a navy after you?

“ yeah, i guess i have. ”

sephtis pointed to the island on the map, a mere speck opposed to the other islands of the caribbean. “ theseus says there’s a sea witch who apparently deals with curses. where in the island, i don’t know. but she’s there. and she hasn’t had many visitors in a few centuries ”, he explained.

din frowned, “ wait, weren’t you going to venice? ”.

“ we are ”, somnia cut in. “ but not because of the curse. we need to stack up on resources if we’re going to journey across the atlantic. we also need to find any island to stop at in case we have to hide. there are a few islands in between europe and the caribbean, and we need to find every single one. ” she nodded to griffin. “ he said the italians will help. ”

din looked at the taller male and he gave her a smile, “ relax, i know a couple of guys over there. they’re expert at maps. probably know territories we’d never even imagine. with the ottomans pissed off, the royal navy basically roaming the seas, and the french after us, we’ll need to be sneaky. ”

now she stepped closer to the map, and saw the lack of land in the atlantic aside from the huge continents of which she already knew. she pointed her index finger against the coast of africa, “ we might find a chain of islands here, and then cross directly into the caribbean. the shorter the distance, the better. but we also have to avoid following the trail of europeans colonizers. they’ll kill us. ”

“ well, we just about ticked off every european monarchy under the map. unless if we take down one of the ships at sea and steal their flag and clothes ”, theseus proposed, and griffin immediately shook his head. “ what’s wrong? ”.

griffin crossed his arms, “ we don’t have a lot of people in our crew. they usually carry twenty to thirty men in every ship. it’s fine that we have a small crew since we’re pirates, but the european ships will get suspicious. for that plan to work, we need more crew members. ”

“ we need to pick up more, then ”, rosé said pleasantly. “ i say we’ll find some as we cross the mediterranean. for now, we should focus on getting to venice, finding our sources, and we’ll pick up new members on the way. ” the girl clapped her hands, as if the meeting was over. “ great! now can we pick up more speed to get to italy sooner? ”.

theseus held a finger in waiting, and glanced carefully at din. “ i understand if you might be suspicious of coming with us. but we want the best for you, din ”, he said, bringing the nymph to frown more. “ this sea witch . . . she’s dangerous, but she’s our only hope. at least that we know of. we can break your curse if you want. ”

god, she wanted to get rid of it as soon as possible. and although the course had already been set and plans had been made, din was still resilient in joining them. in fear of putting her life at risk. she couldn’t die, but if she was jailed or imprisoned by officers on sea, it would be another period of imprisonment. and it wouldn’t be long before she was trialed with piracy.

she couldn’t risk it, and she wouldn’t.

yet the sly nymph to look the pirates in the eyes and nod.

“ i’ll come with you.”

𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐰𝐨.

[lady-o-ren]

The Witch and The Red Man

 Chapter One / Chapter Two        

Chapter Three

It felt like a lifetime ago back when Jamie was a lad, where his only problems were waking early in the morning before the streaks of sun blazed the sky with languid blues and pinks. To milk the cows fit to burst and feed the chickens ready to feast, then off to the fields to plow for harvest, only to get lost in the clouds or a dip in the chilly brook till he was as pruned as a wean. And always, ever always, arguing with his sister Jenny, over every aspect of each other's being down to the loudness of their breathing. Lord, how he missed her so.

Had she grown past his hip now? Jenny would twist his bawls like the wee savage she was for wondering so.

Did she ever marry, Ian? So obvious were they in stolen glances, a graze of wrist...

Maybe children of her own just as small as she.

Jamie could still remember his families faces, all beaming with pride and a love always felt yet seemingly tripled in those final moments at home. His father and sister a pair of dark haired silkies and his mother a kindred flame of locks, all held a sheen in their eyes that stung at Jamie's own. He was leaving them to sail to Gaul to be an educated man in his cousin Jared's keeping, like Jenny had before him.

But there was little those images of loving warmth could do to keep Jamie sane on the the tortuous tides of sea, where every swell of wave brought forth the suffocating stench of fishy brine and filth of sailor that twisted his wame to constriction and burned his throat with bile. That's when Jamie's godfather Murtagh (sent to accompany his travels and oversee his pension for foolery with a hard twist of an ear or whip of a belt at his head), would sing a tune to ease his sickness.

Will you search through the lonely earth for me

Climb through the briar and bramble

I'm with the ghosts of the men who can never sing again

Murtagh would take his coarsely calloused hand and gently stroke Jamie's copper hair soaked in sweat and wipe the vomit that had dribbled to his chin barely stubbled in reddish gold. Jamie had never known the man to have such a tenderness of touch or so sweet a voice.

Did Murtagh forgive him from his perch high above with a spirit at peace with the Lord? Or was he beside him in the here and now?

Perhaps, he was humming that same old tune.

Just three months living abroad as a man walking amongst humanity, Jamie held a heart filled in triumph from a duel over a woman whose affections he had won. Again and again, Jamie had been rewarded by his Annalise, so perfectly beautiful and petite with a charm of wit that spoke to his own unlike any lass of home.

Jamie still thought of her on forsaken, wretched nights and days where he could smell Annalise's perfume of roses that coated her silken skin, of which she was never shy to show or press Jamie's touch to wherever he dared. To please, tease and kiss that had Jamie longing achingly between his thighs and desperately - shamefully at his own hands.

A temptation Annalise was that Jamie willingly chose to throw himself to. And he did just so that day forever scarred to his soul.

Jamie was on his way to see Annalise for a late night rendezvous where her father was away and mother seeking oblivion with a handkerchief dripping in laudanum clutched to her breast. Just Jamie and Annalise who cared little for layers and layers of troublesome cloth.

On his way out the front gate of Jared's apartment, Jamie saw a figure at the corner of the street that very well could have been the shade of a ghostly haunt if not for the spark of light and fumes of smoke that followed, indicating the breath of the living. Jamie being a man of manners no matter the hour tipped his head to the stranger with a grin to bid him well and off the blush stained lad went strolling down the street.

But not for long.

Annalise's mother had awaken in a fit of hysteric delusions, wailing with need of her daughter, sending Jamie home with great reluctance and disappointment at his own ineptitude to assist. Veering down the cobbled street he noticed the iron gate of his cousins home was left ajar with a screech of unbalance. An anxious stride to the front doors that rushed a chill to clutch his heart, Jamie saw that the heavy set doors were hanging off their hinges and splintered at every edge. Where beyond the sway of wood all was engulfed in unnatural silence and obscured from his vision, with only the rich tang of blood his greeting.

With a guiding hand along the wall of the entryway that turned towards the parlour room, there was a soft flicker of a melting candlestick that cut through the dark, along with a whimpering, gasping cry. Jamie's godfather laid on the floor, choking on blood that frothed at his mouth and drenched his beard in a shining black and sword off to the side. Had it ever been raised? Murtagh's assault was splattered to the walls and revoltingly hot on the carpet that seeped through the breeks of Jamie's knees as he bent to find the wounds. To stop the gush of death. To save the life of the man who was his idol in boyhood. And still even now.

But ahead of that body that writhed in fear and fury, stood a man whose features were hidden away, dressed in ruined finery that clung wet to his lean, unassuming frame. His hands were unadorned in weaponry yet held the gleam of slaughter in their grip, as they were wrapped around the to and fro of hair still immaculately tied with a violet ribbon. His cousins favorite color.

"You came home." Relief, so like that of a lover, crawled from the strangers lips to a caress of Jamie's ears in a horror that resounded deep within him to scream and run. Commanded vengeance. To cry for help.

Jamie would remember in that moment that there was an absence of air all around. The life within him already resigned to a fate destined for the grave, as he made his choice. Running towards the murderer, with the sword of his godfather wielded slippery in his grasp, Jamie slashed his steel at the throat only to be stopped by a block of an arm. The sword, ablaze with his last shred of bravery, shattered in a rain that carved into the flesh all along the breadth of Jamie.

Who had gone rigid as stone. Not only in terror but by an invisible force that seized Jamie by his very marrow. Where he was powerless to defend his life as hands smooth and slick were upon him, crushing the bone of his skull with unyielding pressure and drawing out a curdling scream. Jamie fell on his knees to the squelch of his own blood and piss, down to his back with the man straddling him and clear before him. The lone candles flame had caught on the carpet and licked across the mans face misted with the red of Jamie's kin, his hair black as the eclipse and eyes, soulless as the devils. All that Jamie could do that was left to him was invoke a damnation of the mans soul.

"Burn in fucking hellfire!"

The mans face softened with a blooming grin and a bemused chuckle that disturbed Jamie to a soundless weep. He released his hold of Jamie's head, grazing his fingertips to tears and cuts against the petrified lads cheek, dipping his mouth to a whisper that kissed Jamie's trembling lips.

"Join me."

The Black Butchers curse to Jamie held no pain that he could remember, not until he awoke drenched in a christening of carnage. Bodies of men he knew to be neighbors around him, with his skin tingling with the last vestiges of their heartbeats.

Then there were voices of men, alive and shouting in a swarm. Outside with torches, reflecting bright in the windows glass. Armed with all that could bludgeon, stab and gut.

So Jamie ran. And ran. And ran

Hid in caves. Shades of mountains. Safety found in the solitude.

Sought miracles never granted. Crossed villages to do so, where the inevitable would fly in streams of crimson to a rising gale. A fate forever doomed to those who glanced his way. Saw the fire of his hair. Remembered the gossip told over drams and pews of The Red Man.

For years Jamie lived this way to no avail.

And now here he was. Trapped in a land not his own, wearing the clothes of a man he killed to shield him from the cold, and bound to a woman who would lead that demon right back to him.

In the twilight hours of trekking through the forest aching for dawn, Jamie and Claire were quiet with one another. Neither wanting or daring to engage in anything more then a grunt or sigh to signal a slowing of pace, a moment of rest.

Jamie approached a slope of earth covered in gorse flowers, their spikes sharper then needles could scratch against the cuff of breeks to pierce the skin raw, when a foulness of voice cut the air and broke Jamie out of his morose reverie.

He looked up to see Claire, twisting about as her footing had caught in the dense undergrowth of ivy concealing the dips in the forest floor. She pulled the same thin blade she used to split her wrist on the vines and nearly toppled over on her arse in the process with shoulders slumping from the strain that mirrored Jamie's own in a shake of fatigue. They would need to rest. Now rather then later. Jamie threw his sight (softly blurring at the corners) to the trees in the distance, where only the creak of boughs whistled with the wind and to the blackness inbetween where not a stir of the wee things that lurked about could be seen or heard.

"There." Jamie said flatly in a powdery huff, sounding hoarse and scraping at his throat. He found himself regretting his dismissal of Claire's pass of drink but Jamie would rather not piss in the pitch dark. Or worse, a shit.

Jamie skittered down the slope without a glance back to Claire, who followed the imprints of his boots down to a gathering of low hanging trees and blue thorned bushes. Opposite one another, they both collapsed against the bark, pulling at the cloth around their bodies tight and shuffling uncomfortably where they sat as the soil was hard as ice beneath them, unsoftened by the grass. Claire's brown eyes heavily lined closed in relief, trusting in Jamie that he found their surroundings safe. Something he found to be odd for another person to think so of him. It had been so long.

The crickets chirped their graceless songs, the leaves rustled with every whip of air from above but Jamie kept his hearing alert, his nerves still refusing him sleep. In frustration with his own paranoia that always served him well (his head still attached but with eyes soon to dissolve in a slurry) Jamie sought to control his emotions in a shivered query to Claire.

"How long has it been since ye've seen him?"

Claire's sight fluttered open to a watery sting with nerves jerking from the abruptness of sound. Nerves always jumping at a dash along her periphery or a shadow holding whispers just along the shell of her ear down the sweep of neck. The presence of a phantom seeking Claire's whereabouts where even sleep held no sanctuary for her as he was always waiting with the deadly patience of an arachnid before it's strike of fangs. But she'd always escape in a wake of her own convulsing breath and staggering pulse.

"Weeks. And hopefully never again beyond that day." She said with a waver quickly reined in, tucking a hand under her chin should she need to slap it to her mouth. "But he could be anywhere, you know that. Even here. Now. And we wouldn't know. Not until he wanted us to."

A wish to ignore the hitch in her words Jamie carelessly questioned what Claire did to incur the butcher's wrath. He was asking for a penny dreadful in the dead of night, something Claire felt just as keenly, the reciprocation spilling to Jamie in a shudder across his skin from their link. It was a time before she spoke, a wisp of tone that even she wasn't aware of inflecting.

"I told you that my gifts are rooted in healing the sick, a craft I learned from a man lost to the ages now, My Maître Raymond." So perfectly strange was Claire's guardian and mentor, in manner anda grenouille in appearance. But a figure that walked too close to the line of decency and immorality that had left Claire to wonder if that was his downfall.

"We had a quiet reputation and apothecary of our own with a trusted few knowing of what we were. Even still, the butcher caught word of us." Claire remembered his hushed arrival so soundless she questioned if he even breathed. How Raymond's face drained of it's hue when his gaze lifted from his parchment ruined with the spill of ink and drop of quill. The subtle stroke of stubbied fingertips against the embroidery of his coat to signal for Claire to hide, a gesture seen by eyes devoid of light.

"We were dragged to his dwelling to heal a man - a boy truly, that he called brother."

"A brother? Jamie asked in a confounding shock. "Ye mean to tell me that creature was born of a woman? Human?" He had never pondered the butchers creation, only ever inquiring to olden enchanters of his makers name (the title of butchery was all that was given) and a cure from the wickedness that was spilled down Jamie's throat.

Claire nodded, she herself having once had the same disbelief. "Who sired him is the greater evil. But a mother he had and who named him Johnathan Randall."

"He promised our lives would be spared if we could save his brother, Alex life and if we didn't..."

In a room of dying a flame laid Alex, a frail and gasping thing in a bed of pillows that propped and quilts that did nothing to purge what was killing him in a slowed agony. Neither of the healers needed to lay a hand on him to see the affliction growing inside the boy. It could be seen from just a glance of Alex, envelopled in a shroud of livid black that smelled putridly of burning rot. The radiant glow that all good men have was being smothered by what emanated from Randall in malevolence and what hopelessly cried in sorrow for death in Jamie.

But what thrived in them was killing Alex and them soon enough with him.

Then Claire's Maître patted her arm, giving it a gentle squeeze and a crack of what she supposed was a reassuring smile. He shook his chin for her to keep to the wall towards the back, away from Randall glowering at Alex's bedside. Then Raymond pulled from his waist a knife, slitting his wrist and placing his palm on the boys bared chest alighting it in blue, all while envoking the unholy spells of Les Disciples du Mal. His personal obsession that Claire had never approved of that would now save them from being strewn across the room.

It was a hope short lived as Raymond's blue aura erupted frantically in a struggle, clashing with Alex's in a consumption that hollowed out their skin and dissolved the flesh within.

Claire ran for the door and to the stairs. Falling in a smash of shoulder and hip, broken to the ground with an intensifying swell of pain. Claire had been rendered immobile by a simple brush of Randall's will and all she could do was scream while his hands buried in her curls ripping at her scalp, dragging Claire roughly to the bed where the remains of the two laid atop one another.

It would have been the end if not for her body healing hurriedly in defiance of impending death. For the force of her own power to raise what was once broken and to slash across Randall's eyes in a sear that toppled him off her with a wail.

And Claire ran from the room. Never stopping. Not until she found a chance to escape Gaul before the waters would ice over in winter.

Jamie

Claire didn't bother asking Jamie if he understood her need of him now. What right did she have when he had suffered from the same man's hand. But she returned the question, it only being fair that she had to relieve the experience.

"What about you?"

With his gaze brimming with a gloss that was shaded in dusk from Claire, Jamie replied flatly -

"I noticed him." And he curled his back to Claire to grab what little comfort sleep would grant him.

It wasn't much, a few hours only, as the prick of awareness had Jamie rise with a jolt on all fours to Claire, softly breathing a snore from parted lips, brace her tightly with a rough shake and insult.

"Wake up, ye bleating goat!"

With a tap of cheek to stir her. That was Jamie's mistake.

Claire woke to a throbbing hand and Jamie's face hovering closely above hers with three black gashes running down the curve of his cheekbone to a mouth strained to a scowl.

"What on Earth -" Before Claire could say another word Jamie pressed himself to her with his entire weight, squashing her ribs and lungs to a sputtering breath for air.

"Quiet yerself there's -"

Claire didn't, as she caught sight of her hand deeply bruised with teeth marks.

"You bit me!" She exclaimed.

Jamie would have countered that she nearly blinded him when he tried to wake her but the reason for needing to do so pierced the night with snarls and howls surrounding them.

Jamie lifted himself cautiously to a sitting position, Claire moving with him, chin on his shoulder with fingers clutched beneath his cloak, directly at his sark and cutting at Jamie's skin. In fear of the golden eyes dotting the forest like fireflies but mostly from the rising call to attack bubbling inside Jamie. Claire restrained his senses quickly bursting in bloody impulse with a summoning of her mark upon him, painfully rattling her mind and sending her heart to rapidly palpitate.

"Leave me be woman, if ye care to see another day." Jamie warned with his tone a dangerous growl, keeping his attention forward with a hand digging just as deep in the tender skin of Claire's arm clasped to his chest. An invasion of filthy desire to rip it from her frame frightening Jamie but the flood of her in his veins keeping it just in his mind. And for that at least he was thankful.

"To the right of ye, there's a split in the tree. I dinna care how fat yer arse is, wedge yerself there until I'm done with them and only when I've come back to myself." He tilted his head to Claire with a wry smirk. "Will be a true test of yer bewitchment on me, aye?"

Claire curled her nails one last time at Jamie's chest for his less then kind comment that had him grunting, before slackening her hold on him (the physical and intangible). She was readying herself to run like hell when a wolf, hulking in size with fur white as it's teeth brighter then moonlight, approached them from the blackness. It's eyes the vibrant color of the forest itself fixed on Claire in shining familiarity and Jamie shifted himself to block her from it's view, much to her surprise.

"Don't move." Claire ordered when she felt Jamie's muscles spasm and his body lurch while hissing under his breath,"Shit."

"Are ye mad woman?! I'm no' yer dog! I willna -"

"Mo calman geal." A voice inhuman came from the slack jaw of the wolf, deadening Jamie of speech and saliva. The beast not only spoke the language of Jamie's homeland far across the sea, the damn thing talked.

Mo calman…?  

Jamie whipped his head to Claire, white as any dove with a drop of red spilling from her nose to the curve of her lip aquiver that she quickly wiped away in a smear. It was then Jamie realized that despite the adrenaline coursing through his veins he was still in mastery of himself, or rather Claire was and seemingly just barely.

"Come wi' me." The wolf beckoned, then cackled devilishly that tugged at it's mouth, prying it wide with a waggle of it's tongue and flare of steaming nostrils. "Before my pets fill their belly's wi' ye."

Claire exchanged a glance towards Jamie where he shook his head at any notion of stupidty of hers that didn't end with him covered in animal but still very much alive.

"Yer going to listen that creature?!" Jamie asked incredulously, even as the hoarde of wolves began to swarm upon them in a circling taunt of teeth.

"What other choice do we have?"

Jamie's eyes darted around him before landimg back on Claire in grudging resignation. "Aye. But if one of them howlers nips at yer leg I'll encourage the fiends to reach a bit higher."

"Not if they don't take a bite of your redhead first." Claire mumbled not intending it as a shot but the honest truth even so Jamie felt his throat catch almost in a chuckle.

They rose together, still attached at the palms, with neither bothering to raise issue, an excuse of keeping Jamie in control was all that was needed. But in truth a touch of human, however veiled in magic and curses, was a desperate and unexpected comfort to them both.

_____

A/N: The big bad of this story was actually supposed to be Master Raymond who was stalking Claire's dreams and would eventually (unknowingly to you readers until close to the end) struck a deal with Jamie (seeing him through Claire's eye) in his dreams to deliver Claire to him. But it was all so complicated and in order to get this story going in I went to bjr (part of what was supposed to be a second arc).

*The song Murtagh sings is, "Detectorists" by Johnny Flynn. I was randomly looking for this song and found an English murder ballad from another century instead. Which is what made me decide to move forward with this story.

*The bite scene is from my thirteen year old selfs brain when I first thought of this story (which was inspired by a dress) about an empress and a cursed man. It's a little odd but I had to put it in. my own silly easter egg.

Thank you for reading.

[saurislazywritings]

Hello! And see you in another two years, suckers!

Enjoy!

Witch of the Lake

In the dark, lonely woods where the rain never ceased, a witch was said to live in a hut next to a lake. The townspeople whispered about her coldness and cruelty and madness. They mostly whispered about her power, though, and how she was willing to offer it for those who were confident—foolish—enough to brave her curses only for those poor souls to end up at the bottom of her lake

In a frozen village beyond the Witch’s Wood, there had lived, once, a family wistfully happy. They were all dead now, except for the young son who had seen the blood of his kin spilled down a demon’s jaw into the frozen ground. Powerless and desperate and at the brink of what some may had called madness, he made a vow of revenge to find and kill the demon who had destroyed his world.

In its place, however, he found a witch.

That’s their once upon a time.

ff.net

[thetimelessdreams]

Meredith of Westminster

Part of the Western Lawns of Ryegrass ...

Edward's mother is one of the most interesting women, that Katharsis had to look into. A lady ahead of her time, with abilities beyond the ones a royal would expect. She was an immortal creature, hiding in a human body. She traverses the realms in the shadows.

As Katharsis looked into the mind of Edward, he got an image of what she looked like, a tall woman with dark hair and eyes like onyx. But the boy seemed to have forgotten the colour of her eyes. Katharsis found that they changed their colour when magic was in action. Similarly to a demon, changing their eyes when they literally scan people. 

He silently muttered “witch” and proceeded to test Edward’s abilities. Not only that he was taller than a usual person, but he also had super strength. 

‘He must have inherited something at least from her magic. He can’t just be practically useless and powerless!”

...

Initially, the story is that Castellio's mother left him to another woman when Edward was 13. That woman was her best kin. Meredith had no other choice, as she received an offer to become an advisor for the king of a non-existent country nowadays. It meant full-time responsibility. 

It is still unknown how Don Castellio speaks old English and not Spanish. That indicates his parents were British and not from any other country. According to a chronology from that era, a woman named Meredith got burnt like a witch. She was an advisor for the king. 

Long story short, after Meredith realized her kid loves the other one, she froze him in a cave in Castilia, really far from home. The stepmother and the king rode horses to reach her that she could do many things with the child. The king knew that she can use forbidden methods but didn't want to kill her at first. Intelligence, to such extent as hers, was a rare treat. Both the stepmother and the king understood what Meredith wanted to do. After doing, what Katharsis can call a sin, she was kicked out of the kingdom and later burnt like the witch she was, publically, in front of every citizen.  

The confusion surrounding it is how she was seen in the 17th century and 19th century again. Katharsis concluded that the person that was killed was her copy, the original one is a demon that doesn't die easily and hides in the shadows to escape. It's the art of shape-shifting, the ones that can see it, know how beautiful it is. She must be a demon with different name, unknown to mankind. 

Moving on to his father, he is a general, the leader of the army. He died in a cruel battle of the 100-year war. He was even taller than his son, standing at 6'8. Which is very interesting.

Moreover, Edward mentions a woman named Eleanor. That was the name of one he loves sincerely. She was the daughter of the king. Edward probably knew he had no chances with her but was still trying his best.

[thecorteztwins]

A conitnuation of THIS fic. I posted them separately for two reasons. One is that the first installment doesn’t interfere with canon in any way; it could very easily have happened ‘behind the scenes’. After all, we don’t see what the bad guys are up to when not fighting heroes, and it gives an adequate enough explanation for Fabian’s canonical return to life and canonical claims of some sort of spiritual rebirth. This next installment, however, very much diverges from canon, least of all in that Xavier and Magneto were hardly on speaking terms in the 90s. The other reason is that frankly I just liked the first installment better and think it works best on its own, but didn’t want to just delete this half either after the effort of writing it.)

1994 They watched the screen, or more specifically, the woman on it. She spoke the crowd of peace, tolerance, truth, and the coming age. Of man and mutant, and becoming one. Of the Mahapralaya, and the divine voice that she heard within who spoke of it. “Like me, she professes to the public not to have powers, whilst also, like me, advocating my same message of peace between mutants and humans,” said Xavier, “ Yet she calls me to an astral plane she alone possesses and controls.” “And has my former follower by her side, poor woman,” added Magneto, arms crossed, his eyes on the tall redhead that stood nearby the speaker onscreen. “He may be of no use to her, at least in regards to his powers,” said Xavier, “Cortez enhances the mutant abilities of others, and I don’t believe she is a mutant Or, if she is, at least not purely, not solely.” “So what is she then Charles? A modified mutate, inhuman hybrid, alien crossbreed, magical construct?” Magneto’s remark was only facetious in part; the pair of them had in fact encountered all these things. “She preaches the eventual arrival of a third species, Magnus,” Xavier placed his hand on the screen beside Have’s form, “I believe she may be exactly that---or rather, this ‘Voice’ of hers inside her is.” He was wrong, as it turned out. *** 1995 “Do something!” Fabian Cortez demanded of the woman beside him, grabbing her by the shoulders. Moments before they had been foes. Now they were both reduced to spectators. “What would you have me do?!” Wanda wrested his hands away from her, “I cannot stop it. I am powerless here, as a mutant and a witch!” Her voice choked with pain and anger as she said these words. Wanda did not know the poor writhing, howling woman from which they cowered at a safe distance, not beyond a name and a file given to her by the other Avengers as someone she was best suited to combat, but she knew what it was to be possessed, violated, consumed. She did not know which wretched entity of the abyss held this poor soul before her, but she remembered Cthon, and it felt of his kin. “It cannot be stopped,” she  continued, “He will take us, and then the world, as he has taken her--” “NO!” Fabian grabbed her arm,  “You do have the power---it is here!”

And Wanda Maximoff screamed as his energy coursed through her, forcing itself into her genetic core, her very DNA, multiplying her mutagenic energy, bolstering it beyond her ability to control or contain. Her power shot from her mouth, her eyes, her every pore, like light shining through tearing paper, red-white and white-hot. And then everything went crimson. And a figure stepped towards them from out of the redness...

[raisingcain-onceagain]

FeanorianWeek Day #3

·         Day 3- Celegorm - > Childhood, Hunting, Orome & Huan, Strength & Beauty, Wickedness, Love/Unrequited

 Their guest, the little Doriathrin princess, has been trying to spark his temper for days now – imagining, perhaps, that if angered enough he will throw down the door and storm into her cell. And then what? She will have to fight off his beastly advances? She will be able to claim malicious intent against him? She certainly cannot escape.

He doesn’t like to think such deviousness of her, beautiful creature that she is –

(Dammit, Tyelko, a memory of Aredhel whispers, women are not does!

Are you not? his younger self laughs, and Aredhel snarls like a she-wolf and tackles him to the ground and he laughs and laughs and concedes that she is not much like a doe at all.

Ai, though you are nothing but a dog, she says haughtily, the mud in her hair and her dress and the glitter in her eye no impediment to her arrogance, and he loves her, but not as she seems to think he loves her)

– but the princess’s jibes are just knowing enough, and her assumptions just imprudent enough, that she is on the cusp of growing irritating.

A considerable but not an unimaginable feat – Celegorm may be hunter-patient, but his reserves are not unlimited.

“You are hardly renowned for your intelligence, you know.”

“Eh, I know,” Celegorm confirms, as comfortable in this knowledge as he is in his old boots. That is to say, both have been molded to fit him well enough that he doesn’t doubt them anymore.

“And yet, despite such an obstacle, you would think that certain concepts could still penetrate your fair head. Concepts such as, keeping a captive in a foreign kingdom will eventually look suspicious.”

Curufin’s admonishments to keep his mouth shut be damned. “So you deem me fair?”

Behind her locked door she sputters, and perched on the sill across the hall he chuckles.  

“Ignore the warnings about political ramifications, then.” There is silence, blessed silence, for perhaps the span of a moment, and then: “You are known as the fair one for a reason,” she admits eventually, and Celegorm can feel the dagger-like begrudging beneath every word.

Damned if he wants to examine that any further. “But it is not my intelligence?”

“It is not your intelligence.” Even from across the hall to her door Celegorm can hear her huff, and a rush of cloth, as if she has stood up or sat down. “Yet there is a certain charm to even that, I am not fool enough to deny it. I can see why your brother wants us betrothed – it is more than the legitimacy our newfound kinship would lend your cause.”

Oh, no. No, no, no – Celegorm will not have a half-Maia witch set her sights on Curufin, even if she does seem powerless enough to remain trapped behind an ordinary lock and key in the bowels of Nargothrond. “My brother? Pfgh. I am the one who keeps watch over you, lady, I am the one you should be concerned with.”

The princess’s amusement rings loud and clear in even her quiet words. “Is that so? You may have brought me here, fair one, but I have no doubts that you acted under orders. Or that you continue to do so.”

(Not a doe, and what makes you think that does are meek, anyway? sing-songs Aredhel, and he loves her but they are friends, and companions, and hunting partners, and that is all)

Celegorm can feel a snarl, or a roar, or a cry, building and rebounding in the back of his throat. “I take no orders from my younger brother, half-kin.”

“So you are the elder, then? I would not have guessed.” Her footsteps trace back and forth behind her barred door, and back and forth behind his eyes. “Where in the line of Fëanor do you two fall? You are too light, and him too dark, to be the eldest and the bard, though thanks to my father I admit I know little else about your House.” Back and forth and back and forth and back and forth. . . “Didn’t one fall in the landing? That leaves four.” (We are not does! Aredhel cries, and there is triumph in the call)

He has left his seat, and is pressed to the door. He must be pleading for her to stop, but she is relentless. “And if you are the fair one, then he is left to be the Man-lover. Or the bereaved. Or – the smith.”

The last word rings with power, and Celegorm will not listen to this anymore. Her door is open and she is smiling and he is abruptly on his back on the floor, his eyes drifting shut in sleep as she steps over his body and walks, presumably, straight out of Nargothrond.

Curufin rages when he learns that their captive is gone, and because Huan has disappeared too, assumes that Celegorm’s erstwhile hound was the instrument of his new misfortune.

And Celegorm is silent.

[abitoflit]

The House of the Seven Gables, Haunted by Sin

Sin, “an offense against religious or moral law,” (Merriam-Webster). Nathaniel Hawthorne’s novel entitled The House of the Seven Gables recounts the lives of the Pyncheon family, which are haunted by past sins. Sin first presents itself in the beginning of the novel, when Colonel Pyncheon falsely accuses Matthew Maule of sorcery, leading to his execution and the Colonel’s curse. The curse would grow to torment not only the Colonel, but his descendants who felt powerless within its grasp. Nearly a century and a half later, Judge Pyncheon follows in his ancestor’s footsteps and repeats his sins. It was a choice, which not only haunts his kin, but proves to be his undoing.

           Sin proves to be a pervasive theme within Hawthorne’s The House of the Seven Gables. The original sin to be found within the novel stems from one of the Pyncheon’s oldest patriarchs, Colonel Pyncheon, who falsely accused Matthew Maule of sorcery in order to obtain his lands. Before he died, Maule cursed the Colonel. Maule proclaimed, “‘God will give him blood to drink!’” (Hawthorne 3), foreshadowing Pyncheon’s mysterious death, which would take place shortly after his own.

           Roughly a century and a half passes and the Colonel’s descendants are still to be found residing within the house of the seven gables. As had her ancestors, Hepzibah believes in the family curse and its having been passed down through the generations from the man who first acquired it. Given the novel’s setting in the early 1840s, her superstitious nature is not surprising. This is due to the fact that during this time period, religious sentiment was on the rise, witch trials were still taking place, and mesmerism and other similar practices were still being used. Sometimes, these practices were linked to the occult, which made people ill at ease because it forced them to contend with issues over which they had no control. Often, Hepzibah felt similarly—she felt as though she had been paying for the Colonel’s sin all of her life and that she was fighting an intangible force which rendered her powerless. She felt as though the Colonel’s sin and his curse were the source of all of her woes including her impoverishment.

           Judge Pyncheon, Hepzibah’s cousin, added to her plight by following in his ancestor’s footsteps. He lied by omission, implicating his cousin Clifford in his uncle’s death, leading to Clifford’s imprisonment. The Judge claims that the Pyncheon family’s “fallen nature” had pit him against Clifford, (Hawthorne 183). It is at this point in Hawthorne’s narration that readers begin to surmise that Judge Pyncheon is using the family curse as an excuse for having sinned. We realize that while Hepzibah perceived the curse as being the source of her misery, her cousin viewed it as something that had twisted him into an individual beneath whose skin “lurked some evil and unsightly thing,” (Hawthorne 178). In essence, the curse is what drove Judge Pyncheon to sin. The curse is also the source of his greed and his reason for tormenting his cousins in his attempt to acquire even greater wealth. As the curse manifests itself through Judge Pyncheon’s selfish and malevolent behaviors, both Hepzibah and Clifford grow weaker as they struggle to combat him. Clifford becomes so feeble that he is described as having been “shattered by his previous calamities,” (Hawthorne 188). Therefore, it is only natural that Clifford’s health and Hepzibah’s mental state should improve after Judge Pyncheon was finally punished for his sins with his sudden death.

           In conclusion, sin proves to be a major theme within Nathaniel Hawthorne’s novel The House of the Seven Gables. It first establishes itself in the beginning of the novel when Colonel Pyncheon falsely accuses Matthew Maule of witchcraft in order to see him hung and his lands freed for acquisition. For his impure actions, Pyncheon is cursed by Maule and forced to suffer the consequences. In addition, his descendants fear that they are still paying the price for his sins. Roughly a century and a half later, the Colonel’s descendant Judge Pyncheon repeats his sins, both magnifying his family’s unhappiness and leading to his own demise.

Works Cited

Hawthorne, Nathaniel. The House of the Seven Gables. Dodo Press, 2006.

“Sin.” Merriam-Webster, Merriam-Webster, 2017, www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/sin.

[mysteryfanfictheatre3000]

Back to the Frollo, Chapter 10

Warning: No one kills Hitler in this one.

Chapter Ten

"So you finally met him, eh?", chuckled Fern as I mentioned my first few meetings with Claude Frollo. She kept laughing as I helped her unload supplies from a wagon. One nice thing about Jacki's invention was that we were able to travel back and forth through time and space with little trouble.

And you’re using this revolutionary technology to go to 1400s France, do absolutely nothing important or interesting, and mess with the plot of a Disney movie. You could be killing Hitler right now, couldn’t you?

Fern and I had just returned from a special shopping trip back home; we had to stock up on things that we couldn't possibly get in 15th century France: corn, sweet potatoes, sugar, coffee, and other foods we took for granted in our own time. We were getting somewhat homesick.

So go home. No one wants you here, and again, I’m more comfortable with these crazies being in America where they’re powerless and jail is a thing.

We even brought back some recorded music. This was Fern's idea, though I was apprehensive about bringing the CDs. Jacki had rigged a special device on a boombox so we could listen to recorded music whenever we wanted. I never asked Jacki how it worked, must've been solar-powered, since we obviously had no electricity. All I knew was it worked.

This Jacki chick is a genius. Why is she devoting all her advancements in science to helping her teacher’s friend fall in love with an elderly priest from centuries ago instead of actually doing anything good in the world?

So now I had my Motown and R&B, and Fern had her country tunes. We had to either keep the volume down or listen with headphones. We would've had a LOT of explaining to do if we ever got caught, and I knew what the charge would be: Witchcraft.

She keeps worrying about being accused of being a witch, but she keeps bringing back unnecessary future technology that would heighten everyone’s suspicions of her being a witch!

I never told Fern everything about my encounters with Frollo nor did I tell her my true feelings for the Minister of Justice, that I was gradually falling in love with him, and he didn't even know. Fern just gave me a stern warning. "Please try to stay out of trouble, especially if it involves Minister Frollo." She looked at me intently. "I'd hate to tell your folks that their darling daughter's -- ahem -- 'tied up' in Paris and won't be coming home."

Tied up as in tied to a pyre about to get burned to death? Because that seems like it could happen.

She then embraced me, chuckling in that southern Indiana twang, "Girlfriend, if you want to be friendly with the likes of Claude Frollo, that's your business." As Fern settled herself in the wagon and took the reins in hand, she said, "It's weird but it's your business. Just be careful."

It is weird, but it’s absolutely your business because Danisha messing the most powerful man in Paris could absolutely get you both killed.

"Don't worry about me, Fern", I said, "I won't get in trouble." Fern left for that old chateau where she kept the '59 Chevy. She said she had to take care of some business. Odd, I thought, she never let me venture inside that magnificant house. I always had to stay outside while Fern readied the Chevy. The car remained secure in another building on the estate. How could she just stash the car on private property without permission? Why hasn't anyone discovered it by now? Why hasn't anyone questioned our comings and goings? And why were these trips always made at night?

Probably because you’re a sick weirdo and she wants to get away from you. And how is she living here anyway? Why is Danisha referring to Fern’s chateau as private property she isn’t supposed to be on? I thought she owned the house somehow. Is she just casually living with a random Parisian family?

I pushed those thoughts from my mind as I pondered Fern's warning, 'be careful'. There was no need to be extra cautious around Claude Frollo any more, as I encountered him several times since that odd business in the cathedral. Just pleasant small talk and a few smiles passed between us, nothing more. I really felt that we could finally become friends. What happened later that morning proved me right. A nice compliment and some homebaking at last helped to break the ice.

Home baking is two words. Also, that would probably make him sick, seeing as he’s never had 90% of modern-day foods.

Fern had brought back so many pecans that I decided to take advantage of the pleasant late-June weather and do some baking. I baked a variety of wonderful things: cookies for the kids, a pie for Quasimodo. I then packed some cookies in a pretty tin for Minister Frollo; he should appreciate this.

So she just wanders around giving people strange food they’ve never seen before? Also, how is she cooking right now? Modern stove tops and ovens didn’t exist back then. Is it another of Jacki’s marvelous inventions that won’t be mentioned ever again unless the plot demands it?

I must've had an attack of ESP, for at that very moment, Claude Frollo had just rode past our house. I immediately went to the door and started to call out to him. He must've sensed my presence as he circled back and stopped. Oh, he looks so handsome! He wasn't wearing the splendid black velvet judicial robe with its jewel-trimmed yoke and epaulets. Instead, he wore a casual, hunter-style outfit complete with tall boots, tunic, form-fitting black hose, a sweeping cloak, and the famous triangular hat with its long red veil. The entire ensemble fitted his tall, slender form perfectly.

Every time she describes him like this, I think I lose a year off my lifespan.

Claude Frollo smiled as he greeted me. "Good Morning, my dear. And what a good morning it is now that I have seen your charming face." I returned the smile and, feeling a little silly, replied in a mock-Southern, down-on-de-ole-plantation dialect, "Mornin', Min'ster Frollo, suh. Much 'bliged y'all kin stop by an' set a spell. I has some pow'ful tasty pecan cake in yonder. Y'all sho' is welcomed."

Why does she speak in these weird, racist old dialects when she’s trying to flirt? No part of that makes me think “sexy,” it makes me think she’s an idiot.

Claude Frollo couldn't stop laughing as he dismounted and approached me. "Is this the language of the New World? It's rather odd and harsh...", he said as I welcomed him inside. "Coming from you, my dear Mlle. Wood, it is like pure music." "I would be delighted", continued Frollo, "to partake some light refreshment, especially in the company of such a beautiful hostess."

I can’t even talk about how out of character this is without being redundant anymore. He’s an abusive genocidal maniac! Why is he flirting with a girl and eating cookies?!

I tried to keep my nervousness from showing during Frollo's brief visit, but here he was, the Minister of Justice himself, sharing a piece of cake, a cup of lemonade, and pleasant conversation. Frollo favorably commented on my baking skills and developed a fondness for pecans that persists to this day. It was a pleasant, although short, visit. My heart sank as I showed him to the door.

And then he threw up because you’re overloading his odd with food he’s never had before, chock-full of chemicals and microorganisms that didn’t exist back then and would make him sick.

"Good looking horse, Your Grace", I said as Frollo mounted that gorgeous black stallion. I handed over the tin of cookies. "Percheron stallion, am I right?", I asked. Claude Frollo grinned. "You are as keenly observant as you are lovely. How did you know?" "My grandpa owned Belgians", I replied, "and I just like big horses." I asked, "What's his name?" "I call him 'Snowball'", replied His Grace. I looked at Frollo quizzically. "Minister Frollo, this horse is not white, he's black. Naming a black horse 'Snowball'?...That's like naming a polar bear 'Midnight'."

THATSTHEJOKE.JPG

I was certain that the good judge would slap me upside my head, but he just softly chuckled and said, "My dear, never lose that special style of humor. I will admit I am getting used to it..." He paused for a few seconds, then adding at last, "And getting used to you."

That’s not funny, that’s just her not understanding a simple joke.

His eyes met mine and he grew strangely silent. We looked at each other for several moments, then Claude Frollo spoke at last. "I thank you for the treats. I'd love to stay longer but I do have duties to perform." I offered him a bright smile. "Minister Frollo, you're welcomed here anytime. I know you're busy, but, drop by every now and then." Claude Frollo returned the smile. "I shall," he said, "Oh yes, one more thing. Do call me 'Claude'. I know you have been very polite and formal, but we know each other well enough to be on Christian terms, Danisha." He smiled again, said good-bye, and rode off.

He’s not even “on Christian terms” with Quasimodo, the baby he raised for years! Why is he so buddy-buddy with this chick he just met?

It was so weird, I thought, that only a few days ago we were at odds. Now Claude and I were growing closer with each passing day, but only as friends. I didn't care what people said about him, about his cruel nature and cold-heartedness. In those early days of our friendship, Claude always treated me with patience and kindness.

Does it really matter if he “treats you with kindness” if he tried to rape and murder another woman and commit genocide against an entire people? I mean, the fact that he likes your food shouldn’t erase literally every bad thing he’s ever done. And he’s done a lot of them.

Often I would go to the Palace of Justice and we would read poetry to each other. Sometimes Claude would show me his collection of tapestries because, somehow, he knew of my keen interest in the textile arts. For several weeks, I had hoped that things would change for us, but I didn't have the guts to tell him that I loved him. I imagined he'd be offended if I confessed my true feelings; he never voiced his for me.

What’s more romantic than sharing poetry in front of soldiers getting tortured?

Maybe it was all for the best, since, as of August, I would never see him again. I decided to treasure the close bond between us while my vacation lasted. But an innocent game -- a game that wouldn't be invented for another 400 years -- nearly ended a special friendship that was destined to blossom into romance and passion.

Just out of curiosity, why can’t you see him again? What’s stopping you from going back in time? You have all this miracle technology, why can’t you use it?

[honestmessofadiary]

1-2-2017

Again, Today, my thoughts are diluted, becoming increasingly opaque. Indeed, two paths did diverge in the woods. They must have. Again, Today, my wants are opposites. I want to stay. I feel the heavy weight of my debt and powerlessness. A dream, clear in my mind. A childhood promise. Restore the family homeplace. This is a burden that I owe to myself and my lineage, but in the end, it is someone else’s dream. Still, it lives inside me-beats in my chest and-it could be mine. I told you before about the witch in the glen-I truly want the knowledge that only comes from the soil. I want to revel in the romance of that ole homestead. I could raise animals and children there. The painful truth is that there is no future. Not here, not in these mountains. I’m not sure there is anywhere, but the chances are better otherwhere. It’s strange-I used to find comfort in the unchanging nature of my culture. I was born to this place-does that necessitate that I make my life here? I was born to this place, but it is not mine. No, I have always been outside, never apart of it. It is an  old desire to hold claim here, amongst my kin. I’ve always had a sense that I am neither here nor there. I’m like a ghost of the green woodland landscapes. I haunt ‘fore I am haunted. It’s phantom lives that curse me-as of yet unlived, some total fantasy. It seems that long ago, I promised myself one of these lives by accident-without my noticing. I fell into this internal promise as easily as falling asleep and with the same certainty that it would be so-just as the sun should rise. This yet unborn life has become my frequent nightmare…often a source of agony. This life commits me to an education-commits me not to my state, but to the World in its entirety. This life would force me to become part of the World. Hopes and Fears. It is because of this life that I am heartsick with wanting. And it becomes shameful to settle-to die in comfort simply because I was born in a grave. It’s my pride that suffers the most. My generation is known to love its convenience and my character rejects the idea that I am like the many. So, to settle is to die and to fight is an impossible struggle. I know not where to tread. I know not which to choose. And yet, I have chosen. God, help me. I’ve chosen.