#she's a witch and uses that bike as a broomstick

[manga-and-stuff]

Source: Flying Witch Furaingu Witchi ふらいんぐうぃっち

by Chihiro Ishizuka

[weirdthoughtsandideas]

Please rank the Astrid Lindgren stories

I'll only do a top 10 because this woman has written so many stories and is the closest we have to a secluded religion over here. So if I don't mention some, now you know.

1. Madicken

Mischievous badass little girl? I know we got Pippi but Madicken's life is tbh more appealing to me. She comes from a wealthy home, but their closest neighbours are poor, the husband is drunk and the wife is ready to sell her body to science to get some money. Their son is 14 but he's so big and cool (until he dresses up as a ghost and scares the shit out of you). Madicken's dad also refuses to be a normal upper class man, inviting their maid to the ball for example. The local mean girl who Madicken has a beef with turns out is very poor, and when she gives Madicken lice, Madicken's mom invites the girl and her sister, and cleans ALL of their hairs. They're anti child spanking in a story set in a time when hitting and spanking children was common. THEY HAVE THIS SCENE OF MADICKEN'S FAMILY TRYING TO HAVE A PICNIC AND END UP RUNNING FROM BULLS AND HAVING TO CLIMB UP TREES AND IT ALWAYS MAKES ME LAUGH. Madicken jumps from a roof with an umbrella just to see if she can fly. She's completely unhinged, yet so loveable. I also love her and her sister's relationship so much. Lisabet is also really funny.

2. The Children of Noisy Village

Just a slice of life story about children living in the countryside in early 1900s Sweden. Honestly great for a lot of historical fiction, showing how they lived back then, but also it's so cozy?? Just the kids, going through their everyday life, and causing chaos. It's april 1st, THE ENTIRE CLASS comes to the school at 6 AM to change the time, then go wake up the teacher (who DOES live in the school because this is Sweden in the countryside), and prank her. The same day, one of the boys tricks the other to go give a salesman a bunch of rocks, creating the most memeable quote "Sa du sten?!" that sweblr uses as a meme tag now. One of the kids is afraid to loose his baby teeth, so his neighbours SNEAK INTO HIS ROOM IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT AND DRAGS IT OUT WHILE HE SLEEPS. They have the coziest christmas where all the kids lie in a row on the floor and sleep. One of the kids accidentally fall into the water as they're ice skating, and it teaches kids what to do if this ever happens to someone! At one point everyone goes out in the forest to look for a mythical creature and one of the kids strips his clothes off and sits naked on a rock with a harmonica pretending to be him. The stuff these kids get up to, you wish you lived there with them! You wish you had the childhood they had!

Also the 1987 movie adaptation has every kid have a totally different accent and it's hilarious.

3. Pippi Longstocking

Was gonna put her lower but then I remembered how many times I watched "Pippi on the run" as a kid and changed my mind. But my sister was more obsessed with the actual show adaptation, I was more into the movies. Pippi is cool! However I remember sometimes getting second hand embarrassment when she didn't act the way you're supposed to in social situations. Especially when she got invited to the reception and dipped her head in the cake and kept messing everything up. Literally not the point about Pippi, like the point is that she breaks the rules and I am happy she's just herself and doesn't care for any norms, and yet I feel second hand embarrassment during those moments she's in other people's houses (or when she broke off a mannequin arm at the store). I don't know why! I do however appreciate that she's randomly magic, like making the most scary impressions (the dark man-voice in the tree still haunts me) and in the "on the run" movie she just goes biking without wheels and ends up FLYING ON A BROOMSTICK at the end (Pippi has been a witch all along!!!!!!!!!!)

4. Lotta on troublemaker street

Lotta is every single youngest sibling combined into one person. She's that one kid in the family that everyone has a story about. Although the thing I remember the most was when her brother decided to climb a cliff and ended up falling into the water. I was for some reason also obsessed with the fact that her sister's full name was Mia-Maria. Her dad is also one of the best dads in all of Astrid Lindgren tbh. Lotta I think is just how it feels being the youngest of the family and not really being allowed the same things as your siblings because you're too young, and it's not fair! And so you revolt, and runaway to the neighbour lady who is more than happy to play with you. You wanna ride a bike like your siblings so you STEAL AN ADULT BIKE and ride down the street. It feels like the whole world is against you, but you're also literally five years old. And because of your 5 year old willpower, you also manage to save christmas and get a christmas tree for your family.

5. Ronja the Robber's Daughter

I honestly didn't find this as appealing as a kid, I remember thinking the movie adaptation was WAY TOO LONG (and it was, it was over 2 hours), but I've grown to appreciate it way more. Especially since the new adaptation they released on Netflix. Also it has one of the catchiest themes, like I hum that robber's song every day. I love just seeing her play in the forest, I love her and Birk's banters... the creatures in the forest will forever scare me but goddamn those butt gnomes... everyone quotes them and we immediately know. Although tbh I've never been a fantasy kid, it could be why I wasn't as into this.

6. Seacrow island

Honestly?? I found it quite boring before Skrållan was born. Weird, huh? Thought it got better because they added a baby. It could however have to do with the final movie being one I watched a lot. I do appreciate the full series a lot more now than when I was a kid. I love the islands, I love the children's shenanigans. Still is so messed up how Westerman just gaslit Stina into thinking she sold Skrållan to him, when in reality he just made her get a cocoa ball as he returned Skrållan to her mom. I felt so bad for Stina??? SHE'S LIKE 7 YEARS OLD SHE JUST WANTED A COCOA BALL, AND SHE JUST WANTED TO BABYSIT THE ONLY BABY ON THE ISLAND SO SHE COULD FEEL BIG FOR ONCE. Also always got me so nervous when they snuck into Westerman's house to retrieve his gun so that he wouldn't shoot a fox. I also wish Teddy and Freddy were more developed, it felt like they just stopped caring about them, but they were interesting.

7. Karlsson on the roof

This is ONLY because of the cartoon version. I hated the live action version as a kid and I felt SO BAD for Svante because Karlsson kept messing his life up ALL THE TIME. And then everyone blamed him because no one believed Karlsson existed. But it was slightly better in the cartoon, I think. I also remember quite liking the books, and I remember distinctly how I watched a play in Stockholm where BENJAMIN INGROSSO played Svante. Yeah, I've seen Benjamin Ingrosso when he was a literal CHILD playing on stage and that's how I'll remember him.

8. Emil in Lönneberga

It's mostly for the songs from the adaptation? Because I could never enjoy anything properly due to being so scared of Emil's dad. But the songs are such bangers. Also I have appreciated it so much more now when I'm grown than when I was a kid.

9. Mio my Mio

I remember my parents insisting on reading this to me when I was a kid and I didn't want them to, so I pretended to dislike the story. But tbh, I was kinda into it. I hate his foster parents so much, though?? Like imagine adopting a kid and being like "yeah we dislike you because you're not a girl like we wanted to adopt". Also, the theme song for the adaptation slaps, even though the adaptation is kind of... meh.

10. Brother's Lionheart

I remember as a kid not getting why everyone loved this, because I was like "I don't get it, I find it boring idk" (kid me really didn't pay attention when I watched the movie adaptation), but as I'm older... woah. Astrid Lindgren said "the two main characters, both minors, DIE in the first chapter. You're welcome". I really understand why this book caused such a controversy, ESPECIALLY due to the way it ends????? Also it got the iconic quote "All makt åt Tengil vår befriare".

[the-s1lly-corner]

Some BI clothes! The middle one is one of Bump's clothes he gave her when her dress needed washing, she adjusted it with a lot of safety pins and a belt. She eventually learned to use glyphs thanks to Luz teaching her how, and the staff is based on a headcanon that every witch who doesn't have a palismen (either too young or simply not having one) still learns how to properly fly on magitech staffs. They're as common as bikes, and Hobble is using one of the training staffs from the school.

1) !!!!! I love all the lil outfits oh my goodness!!! First two are definitely holding me in a chokehold 😭😭

2) THE STAFFs!!! Thats such a cool concept me thinks!! It makes sense too, given that we see things like training wands and broomsticks + palistrum wood being scarce

I am!! Eatin this all up!!!

[boop-le-snoot]

masterpost ☀️ main masterlist ☀️ taglist

previously on...

Chapter 5. We have stucky, we have stevesambucky friendship, we have a new place to live and strange being a good guy because tony definitely ranted at him. Also, we're beginning the creepy part of the plot. I have decided that sam will be one of the main platonic characters in this story because I love sam.

fun fact: I used to be a creepypasta writer! Going back to my roots here, hehe.

Things had stated changing, for better or worse, much sooner than I had been prepared for - but was anyone, ever, really ready for the next big step? Certainly not me - the view that greeted me after I'd finished my shift at Jeremy's was peculiar and unexpected, so I froze, eyebrows high at the two super-soldiers parked, once again, illegally, right in front of the entrance door.

"Hi, doll," Bucky was reclined against his boyfriend comfortably, his bike standing a pace behind Steve's, who nodded companionably, a sheepish grin on his face.

"G'day," I nodded, eyeing them warily. "I think I know where this is going..."

"No, no, nothing like that," both men frantically waved their hands around, Steve coming up close to approach me slowly. "You're not in trouble. I came out here to say thanks," giving a sappy look to the grouch that was his boyfriend, Steve reached into his pocket and handed me a slip of paper. "Just, uh..."

"Those are our phone numbers. Don't hesitate to give either one of us a call if someone bothers you," Bucky took over the stammering blonde, shaking his head at the soft blush that blossomed on the good captain's face. The brunette wrapped an arm around Steve's shoulders with a shy smile of his own. "Or if you, I don't know, need someone to carry your groceries or something," he snorted. "The punk wouldn't leave it alone until we came out personally to thank you, the sap."

The laughter bubbled up from my chest as I grabbed and pocketed the paper, throughly amused and at the endearing gesture. "Sure, thanks."

"And, uh," Bucky's eyes briefly looked to the side. "We'd appreciate if you keep the status of our relationship to yourself for now. We're not, like, officially out yet."

I froze in place, mouth falling open. Surely they were aware that anybody with a functional pair of eyes could see that they were much more than 'good, lifelong friends'. "No problem, guys. Lemme know if anyone gives you shit about it though, this place," I gestured to the café behind me, "is strictly paparazzi and homophobe-free."

Steve's grin grew even more genuine. "Yeah, we heard all about it from Tony and Stephen. Said 'twas the only place they go these days."

I wasn't aware of that. "It's the paps, isn't it?" I remembered Tony's remarks.

Bucky shook his head, the metals of his prosthetic arm whirring as it recalibrated. "Not only. The public hasn't had the best reaction to a man goin' out with a man," the brunette looked away to the side, where Steve's face had fallen considerably. "And Tony's an eccentric rich man. We're jus' two soldiers. The US Army won't be too happy if we... Came out," both men were crestfallen yet determined.

I had a hunch nothing would be able to separate the two - seeing as not even seventy-odd years and brainwashing and ice couldn't keep the captain and his sarge apart, I doubted that a few government weasels could successfully do the job. Even so, it was unpleasant, to say the least, to see them deny themselves something that technically was perfectly fine in the 21st century.

I chewed on my lip, gathering my wits. "I've clocked out, I can tell you this as a friend- as a person. You don't owe the army jack shit. They do not own you, you are your own person that they experimented their German knockoff steroids on. Respectfully, fuck that shit." I firmly stated my opinion, figuring that there should have been at least someone that told Steve that he is more than his star-spangled uniform and giant metal frisbee.

The blonde scrunched his eyebrows together, fingers gripping onto his belt until the knuckles went white, the hard line of his jaw set firm.

Bucky laugh took me by surprise. "Agreed, doll. I'm too old to be hiding in back alleys and shit," he clapped on his boyfriend's shoulder. "Although I'm happy enough with just not going to prison for bein' in love with this idiot."

"Jerk," Steve's responding pout was downright adorable now that I knew the circumstances surrounding their relationship.

Which wasn't exactly surprising. As a barista, I knew my fair share about my regulars' love lives, their jobs, their kids. The tea was almost always piping hot. "Bye, boys," I smiled at them warmly, throwing a glance at the time, adjusting the strap of my bag for comfort. "Stay outta trouble!"

Steve scrambled for his bike, having noticed my pointed gesture. "Sorry, didn't mean to hold you back. There, I have a spare helmet," he gestured behind him. "I'll give you a ride."

"There's no way in Hell I'm getting on that death trap!" I shouted cheerfully, walking briskly towards my second job, hiding a laugh in the warmth of my scarf as two very offended motorcycle-loving gay fossils sped past me, making truly incredible amounts of noise. Good for them.

Odette was content to let me rummage around the bodega without showing herself more than necessary, taking her appointments and doing- well, witch stuff, I guess, only coming out to poke at the various jars for ingredients.

"Star, I have a proposition for you," right before closing time, Odette's voice filled out the store with its low drawl. "A good friend of mine owns an apartment building, not far from here actually, and one tenant recently moved out. It's a safe space for those who are different," she enunciated the last word, fixing it with a pointed stare. "She's not overly fond of total strangers coming to live there. The rent is reduced and the apartment itself is slightly bigger and more fashionable than yours..."

"Where's the catch?" I found myself interrupting her. I wouldn't lie: the reduced rent and increased size of the apartment did interest me, as well as the probability of a kinder, more involved landlord. My current one was - not the best, but such was life in the NYC.

"There are a few rules to follow, rules that might seem strange at first but they'll make sense in time. And your neighbors might be also a little... Unusual," Odette carefully studied my face for any signs of displeasure.

I sighed.

And then I sighed some more as I was signing my new lease in a few days' time, having spoken with Porter, my new landlord, and his boyfriend who had claws and fangs- after so much time spent around Odette's, I didn't even blink. The couple liked me enough to extend a secure but flexible offer and some furniture to choose from the attic where they kept the spares.

I quite liked the large, vintage couch I placed next to the wide bow windows in the living room. The floors were hardboard and well-kept, the walls a nice, homely shade of green and Porter didn't mind any new holes in them that might arise from hanging up decorations. I scheduled a thrift crawl at the next possible opportunity, happy with the "good employee" bonus Odette had given me after I sealed the deal.

My stuff was boxed up, a sleepless night and a call to a begrudging Jeremy to have a couple of days off to move; I was, thankfully, not late on my schedule and all that I had left was to rent a car to move the boxes of my things and the few pieces of furniture I had decided to keep - my haul in Porter's attic had been incredibly rewarding and my new apartment had all the basics to make it look like a warm, inviting bohemian home in a while.

My phone rang suddenly, startling interruption to the romcom I was watching as I ate my last lunch in my old apartment. "Hello?" I answered the number without looking.

"Hi, doll," Bucky's voice rang out cheerful. "A little witch told me you were moving. I thought you might need a hand?"

I blanked momentarily, the thought of enlisting two very busy super-soldiers to haul ten boxes and two endtables worth of stuff not having crossed my mind at all. "Is this the moment when you stop by my house just to unattach and put your prosthetic arm somewhere and leave?" I asked, hearing distinctive snickering - several more people were with him.

The cheer in his voice blossomed into a full belly laugh. "You're funny," he teased me. "And thanks for the idea. But no, I have a room full of men that have nothing better to do but get on my nerves. Might as well make 'em useful," his accented drawl thickened the more we spoke. Muted cheers rang out in the background.

"Uh, sure," who was I to look a gift horse in the mouth? I rattled off my address and warned them I didn't have a car, after which Bucky assured me it will be taken care of. The last remaining knick-knacks packed away, I went down to take out the trash, and returned to four people standing in front of my apartment building, all except one unrecognisable in their civilian clothes. "Hello," I waved at them, side-eyeing the tallest, grumpiest man of the bunch.

Stephen Strange was there, looking around curiously, hands in the pockets of his plain grey hoodie. I had already forgotten how normal he looked without his robes, and, frankly speaking, I preferred him like that. His title and the attire that came with it were quite intimidating.

"Hey there," a dark-skinned man who I recognised to be the Falcon, raised his hand. I had not met him yet. "I'm Sam, Sam Wilson. You must be the Star we're helping?" His quick once-over and the tilt to his lips; the ease with which he flirted had me brandishing smirks of my own. I led them all upstairs, Stephen's silence being just so loud. Sam, however, had no such reservations. "So, you're a witch, right?" Wow, subtlety was his middle name.

"Yes, I'll show you my broomstick," I deadpanned, wiggling my eyebrows at him with a grim look.

"Woah woah," Sam raised his hands as the three men behind us snickered loudly. "What happened to 'how are you? let's have dinner sometime'?"

I did my best imitation of an evil cackle as I let them through my front door. The four newcomers looked around my nearly empty apartment with muted interest before zeroing in on the pile of things in the corner: a few pieces of furniture and nearly taped boxes. Should be a walk in the park for four men.

A hand on my arm pulled me from the stupor of observing Sam, Bucky and Steve act like a well-oiled trio, bantering and teasing each other as they discussed how to best move the things.

"Look," Stephen Strange had all the appearance of a chastised puppy. "I wanted to apologize for my behaviour that day. I was out of line," the low notes in his voice made the appearance of the apology being somewhat reluctant. Tony probably put him to it after our little burger run.

Irregardless, I wasn't looking to make any enemies. "Me too, I was under stress - not that I'm using it as an excuse," to give where it's due, I nodded at the sorcerer, immediately awestruck by the easy, boyish smile that stretched on his lips.

"You are strong," he added. "If you would like to learn our ways, we would welcome you." There was a spark in his eyes, something belonging to man that respected and collected knowledge. My own respect for him grew immensely just from that one thing.

"I'll think about it," I offered amicably, however, I still leaned heavily towards a negative answer to that particular proposition. I liked my current way of life.

Strange's grin made a momentary second appearance, until Sam's voice rang loudly: "Fire in the hole, Wizard-man," causing the former to groan loudly and look at me.

"Think about your new place for a second," he spoke, briefly touching out fingertips. As soon as that was over, a golden circle with my new living room on the other side of it appeared quietly, Strange's hands immediately going back into his pockets after that. I sighed and pointed the men into it, stepping in a second after. The sorcerer wasn't far behind. "You could learn that, too, you know," he added wryly, having seen my look of mild envy directed at him.

"I think I'll be good with having the 'pissed off the sorcerer Supreme and lived' pass for now," I retorted with an eyeroll, turning around to stare him down.

He had the decency to look somewhat sheepish, at least. "I'm not like my predecessor," his words were chosen carefully. "And, to be honest, I have no clue as to why your... Boss is so hostile towards me- us," Strange looked around the room before unceremoniously beelining for the couch and plopping down on it.

"Not to be a gossip," I started, slightly intrigued. "But Odette and some lady she called ancient had mad beef," I slipped into casual language easily, trying to recall the details of Odette's, quite often jumbled, stories. "Sounded almost like territorial disputes," I shrugged. "And the apprentices Odette took on before me found themselves in all kinds of compromising situations," I chewed on my lip. "Like the Arctic."

Strange rubbed his face with a noisy groan, large hands doing nothing to mask the resignation and slight embarrassment.

I focused on the thin, red scars on his hands - they had to have been something serious, the way slight tremors betrayed the deteriorating state of the nerves in his fingers. I frowned, quickly averting my gaze before he could catch me ogling him. The fact thag Stephen kept his hands in his pockets or covered by gloves at all times didn't go over my head.

He muttered something to himself, something that sounded like he was often forced to clean up his predecessor's mess. "I see," was the only thing he'd offered me, looking slightly pitiful and apologetic.

"Well," I started, noting the last of my stuff was about to be in its rightful place, "as long as you don't toss me into the ocean, I think we can coexist peacefully."

"Tony would kill me if I'd tried," Stephen groused.

"Probably," I agreed. "Considering the fact he hit on me, for you, it would make one hell of a lover's quarrel," my hand pointed towards the kitchen as Steve and Sam carried in the boxes aptly labeled "kitchen", looking around a place to put them down.

"Tony did what now?" Stephen's tone dropped, a wry smirk decorating his lips as he eyed me through his lashes.

"Don't ask me," I raised my palms, feeling my eyes widen. "He's chaos personified and Satan only knows what he's got on his mind."

That squeezed a laugh out of the tall man, followed by a fond, sappy smile as he looked out of my large, panoramic window, probably thinking of Tony himself. There was no doubt, Stephen Strange was utterly and throughly head over heels in love with Tony Stark. Good for them, good for them.

"A-and that's it," Bucky walked in, wiping his hands on a kitchen towel I'd provided them earlier. "I took some liberties and assembled the furniture, Steve is stacking the dishes as we speak," the brunette noisily plopped down next to me, arm carelessly thrown behind me on the back of the couch.

"Oh, um," I stammered, unused to such random gestures of kindness. "Thanks a lot, you saved me a day's worth of time and a backache," I smiled, scooting over to make some room for Sam.

"No problem, not like we had anything better to do than argue which part of the Lord of the Rings is the best," Wilson rolled his eyes, elbowing Bucky none-too-gently.

Bucky elbowed back, thus starting a horsing war between the two, causing me to scoot closer to Stephen as I attempted to avoid any flailing limbs; the sorcerer and I shared an identical, perplexed sigh as to how two grown men could easily bait each other into such juvenile behaviour.

Whatever. It was kind of endearing.

Steve emerged from the kitchen dusty but smiling, having heard the commotion, and quickly herded his guys into a semblance of decent behaviour before all of three of them left, leaving me and Stephen to go back to my old apartment and give the keys to it to the guard. That was done, too, and a portal from an alley behind my old building straight into my living room had me and Strange awkwardly hovering, saying out goodbyes and waving to each other as the golden circle rapidly shrunk in size and disappeared, golden sparks scattering across my living room carpet for a short second before they fizzled out, too.

I used the brief moment of respite to find the small piece of paper containing the rules Porter had insisted I read and take seriously; figuring it might be a good idea to give them a read before beginning to unpack, I popped open a bottle of soda, holding the itemized list written in neat cursive to my face.

The further I read, the further my eyebrows rose:

"1. Keep your door locked at all times.

2. If a person knocks on your door claiming to be the mail man, do not open the door under any circumstances. You are free to ignore the knocking - it only lasts a minute or so. After the person has left, you may open the door and check for any packages.

3. If Samantha from 3B visits you and asks you to babysit, you may do so at your personal discretion. Her twins are a handful and their daily habits are not for the ones with a weak stomach, however, they mean nothin ill and will not harm you in any way.

4. Do not use the elevator between the hours of 1 and 4 AM.

5. There are no apartments under number "7". If someone claiming to be from those apartments knocks on your door and requests entry, come up with a polite excuse to decline and send me a text message. I will take care of it.

6. There is no garden on the premises of this building. If a man approaches you, claiming to be a gardener, don't interact with him and simply walk away. He will leave you alone.

7. You may meet a girl in a polka-dot dress playing in the hallways or in the stairwell. This is Lucy. Always be polite to Lucy - you won't like what will happen if you're rude to her. She does not talk but she knows limited ASL and may request to visit you. Allow her in ONLY if you have fresh meat in your fridge (beef or mutton, preferably bloody). You might want to avoid seeing her eat, however, it might be very beneficial to make friends with Lucy. She knows a lot of things.

8. If, when taking the stairs, you encounter inconsistent numeration of the floors, such as floor 2 followed by floor 5 and etc, simply walk a flight back. It will sort itself out. The building is old and sometimes it gets confused.

Important notice: these rules apply to your guests as well. Please make sure to introduce and educate them on these matters. We will help as much as we can should a situation arise but ultimately, there are fates far worse than an untimely, however swift, death.

- Porter and Lance."

A slow, creeping dread began to gnaw at my nape, curling on like a cold snake deep in chest. As if laughing at me, the warm, welcoming embrace of the green walls and the toothy, wide smiles my landlords had given me encouraged my recently found sense of adventure, all of it mixing into a cacophony of exhilaration and unease, equally steadily driving my running brain insane.

I sighed again, immediately going to the box containing my altar and the rest of the protective items. So much for peace.

Taglist: @couldntbedamned @mikariell95 @letsby @sleep-i-ness @toomanyrobins @mostly-marvel-musings @persephonehemingway @schemefrenzy @lillsxd @bluecrazedandbeautiful @slothspaghettiwrites @xoxabs88xox

[mycupoffanfiction]

It Has Always Been You

George Weasley x Reader

Summary: The twins want to teach the Reader to play Quidditch, but her secret fear of heights, coupled with her feelings for George presents an interesting flying lesson.

Warnings: Slight fear of heights, shed loads of fluff, stupid humour, kissing.

Word count: Approx 2500

Masterlist

A/N: Hi loves, I’ve tried my best to edit this, I’m not sure that I did a very good job, but hey 🤷🏻‍♀️ I’m so proud of this one, I loved writing this so much, I hope you enjoy it! I combined two requests for this, both of them were extremely similar and I thought they could be combined to be a good story, so @dark-academics-and-florals​ & @megantje123​, I hope you like what I did with your requests, thank you so much for requesting! 💖

You had accidentally let slip the night before that you had never really played Quidditch and it had set in motion a full plan from the twins to get you on a broom. They couldn’t believe it, it seemed ridiculous to them that a well practiced witch such as yourself had barely even touched a broom since the first year of Hogwarts.

You had partially agreed to try playing Quidditch just because you knew you would never hear the end of it if you had said no. A small part of you was sure that perhaps they would understand if you told them why exactly it was that you avoided riding a broom at all costs, though a greater portion of your mind was far too afraid to even admit it to yourself, let alone to your two friends and you were most certain you’d be unable to admit it to George especially.

The three of you were out on the Quidditch pitch during a free period when no one else was around, geared up with some broomsticks and the trunk that housed the balls used for Quidditch. “I’m not sure I’ll be very good at this.” You muttered. “You’ll do great.” George patted you on the back. “That’s right, we are your teachers after all.” Fred winked at you, making you giggle softly and shake your head.

“I just mean,” You paused, shoving the confession of your fear of heights back and fabricating something on the spot. “I don’t really remember how to actually… Fly.” “‘Course you do, what’s that muggle saying again, George? The one about bicycles.” Fred asked. “It’s like riding a bike.” George replied. “Yeah that’s the one, it’s like riding a bike, you have ridden a bike before, haven’t you?” Fred asked. “Of course I haven’t ridden a bike before.” “Fantastic, you’ll be just fine.” Fred grinned and patted your shoulder before pushing off the ground sharply and flying up over the pitch with ease.

“Right, it’s just like riding a bike.” You muttered, somewhat sarcastically to yourself as George stood at your side. You couldn’t believe you’d just been given muggle advice from a wizard who had likely never even ridden a bike before, or if he had, it was probably charmed to fly.

“George, I um- what if I fall?” You asked sheepishly, barely able to look at him. George looked at you and slowly reached out to grip your shoulder, dipping his head slightly to try and catch your eye contact. It was foolish to think that your best friend hadn’t noticed how nervous you were, especially when you could barely look at him. “I won’t let you fall, love. But if you somehow do, I’ll catch you.” George spoke softly to you as you met his gaze.

“Promise?” You asked. “Promise.” George smiled, trailing his fingers down your arm and giving your hand an encouraging squeeze.

Looking up at him, you felt your cheeks warm at the contact, your fingers gently wrapping around his hand. You would be lying if you had told yourself that you didn’t have a crush on George, you always had, not that you were going to admit that to him.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” George asked softly and you instantly went wide eyed, unsure what he was referring to. “Say anything about what?” You asked far too quickly. “About being afraid of heights, silly.” George smiled. “Don’t tell me you wouldn’t think I’d forget the first year of school. And the way you looked at me and Fred like you just discovered we were actually triplets when we asked if we could teach you to play Quidditch.”

“Are you triplets?” You asked, George snorting out a laugh. “Don’t change the subject, love.” George smirked. “Oh don’t act like you asked me politely, the pair of you bothered me about it until I agreed.” You raised a brow at him. “I’m sorry, love.” George apologised, sincerity in his voice as he spoke.

“Are you two coming or not?” Fred called down to you both, though George just ignored his brother. “Look, I know this is scary, riding a broom isn’t for everyone, but will you give me a chance to show you how fun it can be?” George asked. “Will you let me fly you around for a bit? And then you can decide for yourself whether you want to learn to play, yeah?” He suggested, patting the back of his broom.

Staring at his broom for a second, you swallowed nervously and glanced up at George while you considered it. You supposed it would be better if you didn’t have to worry about controlling a broom while you got used to being above the ground and it gave you a chance to be closer to George. If anything else, his broom looked more comfortable than the old, gnarled broom you’d been loaned from the school broom shed.

“Alright.” You nodded, George smiling as he held out his hand to help you dismount your broom so you could move over to his. Climbing onto the back of his broom, you wound your arms around his waist and perhaps you were a little bit closer than you needed to be, though George wasn’t about to admit that he secretly loved it, feeling you against him.

Gently, he gripped your hand as he looked over his shoulder at you. “I’ve got you, love.” He reassured you with a sweet smile.

He gave you a moment before he pushed off the ground and the pair of you lifted up into the air. You kept your eyes squeezed shut for a few seconds, not even registering that your grip around his waist had tightened slightly.

“It’s alright, love, we’re just hovering now.” George told you. “Look straight ahead and you’ll be just fine, but you know you can tell me to bring you back to the ground at any time, alright?” He assured you. “Mhm.” You hummed, slowly pushing yourself to open your eyes and you took a deep breath in as you looked ahead, trying hard not to let yourself look down. “Ready for a little tour of the Quidditch pitch?” George asked as you watched Fred fly around the house stands before looping between the Quaffle ring posts. “Yeah, I think so.” You nodded, loosening your grip on George, only for a moment because as soon as he started to fly forwards, you let out a slight squeal and clung to him again, eliciting a soft chuckle from him.

The first few minutes of your lap of the Quidditch pitch was uncomfortable. You didn’t know where to look or what to concentrate on that wasn’t the ground below and the lurch of your stomach when you felt the broom tilt as you went around corners. “You’re alright, just breathe deep, love.” George reminded you a couple of times. And after a few minutes, you became used to the movements and the feelings of being in the air and what had been absolutely terrifying, suddenly seemed so freeing and calm. The feeling of the air flowing through your robes was refreshing and the view of the school as George brought you a little bit higher up was certainly worth it.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” George asked, turning the broom so that you could both get a good view of Hogwarts. “Yeah, it is.” You smiled.

“It helps to find something to focus on when you’re flying.” George explained as he flew you back down to the ground. “What do you focus on?” You asked, an edge of curiosity to your voice as George took in a deep breath and glanced over his shoulder at you.

“Well, you see, my best friend is always in the stands, so I focus on her.” He winked at you and you giggled, sinking against his back as you became shy.

“I thought I was your best friend.” Fred cut in, feigning hurt as George lowered you both to the ground, his brother in earshot of the conversation. “Yeah, well she’s my best girl friend.” George rolled his eyes. “Girlfriend?” Fred teased as your feet touched the ground. “Mate, shut up.” George laughed, shaking his head. You felt a little pang in your heart, wishing you weren’t just the girl best friend, wishing you were more to George than that. But perhaps being his best friend was better than not being close with him at all.

The twins began to teach you some of the ins and outs of Quidditch, how to throw a Quaffle properly, and only briefly letting a Bludger near you, Fred quickly smacking it away from you and locking it back in the box when you had almost fallen off your broom in panic. “Don’t worry, Bludgers are nasty blighters at the best of times.” George chuckled, trying to make it slightly less embarrassing than it already had been.

“I’m off, I’ll take these back to Hooch and then I’m going to find Angelina, enjoy your time with your girl ‘friend’, Georgie.” Fred told his brother, saying the word friend in air quotes. George snorted and shook his head. “I’m serious, you should tell her how you feel.” Fred told him as he nodded in your direction before he reached down to pick up the trunk of Quidditch gear. “Nah mate, not sure she’d feel the same.” George sighed, watching you as you inspected some of the little details of George’s Quidditch broom.

“Trust me, she’s head over heels, Georgie.” Fred grinned, gently shoving his shoulder before giving you a quick nod and a wave. “See ya later.” And then it was just you and George.

Shoving his hands in his trouser pockets, George looked over at you, considering what his twin had said. He could keep hiding it, but honestly, he loved the way you reacted to his teasing and flirting and George just wanted to do that without filtering himself, he wanted to kiss you, push you up against a wall after class in a little alcove and make out with you. He wanted to cuddle with you and tell you how beautiful and sweet and wonderful he thought you were without worrying about whether he was crossing any lines in your friendship.

Meeting your eyes, his smile was accompanied with a charming confidence you had rarely seen on him before, reminiscent to one that Fred wore when he was around his girlfriend, Angelina.

“Are you still afraid of flying?” George asked as he approached, standing a bit closer to you than usual and you backed up against George’s broom that had been left floating behind you. Looking up at George, you faltered slightly, he had the sweetest smile, but there was a hint of mischievousness and you loved it. “Not as much as I thought I would be.” You answered, voice soft, coming out quieter than you had expected.

“I um- I took your advice, I found something to concentrate on while I was flying.” You admitted. George smirked, shifting on his feet slightly. “Tell me, I’m curious.” He said, watching as you nervously wrung your fingers together, knowing you had wanted to tell him, but you hadn’t actually thought about how nerve wracking it would be to say it out loud. “It’s you.” It has always been you, you thought. “I mean, that I focused on.” You clarified, watching as George’s smirk faltered and he broke out into a huge grin.

“You make me feel like I can-.” You struggled to get your feelings out, the words stuck in your throat and you paused for a moment longer than you wanted and you shifted awkwardly, shoulders tensing with worry. “Like you can do anything? Because that’s how I feel when I look at you, love.” George spoke softly, stunning you into silence, your eyes meeting his, the words taking a second to reach you.

You tried to muster a response, but all you could do was nod, though it was the only reply George needed and he shared a beautiful, genuine smile with you that reached his eyes.

“I love you.” He blurted out. “I love you and I’ve been trying to tell you for years, love.” George admitted, the words spilling out before he could even stop himself and he nervously watched you for a moment, biting his lip in anticipation. A comfortable silence followed, eyes softening, your expression relaxing, shoulders loosening as you reached out for his hands, pulling them out of his trouser pockets to hold them in yours.

“I love you too, I think I always have.” You spoke quietly, though you were unable to keep the smile off your lips, your eyes bright with a love that mirrored the similar glow he held in his own gaze.

“Oh love,” George whispered, reaching up to gently smooth his thumb over your cheek, holding you so carefully as his other hand rested on your hip, bringing him closer. “We have a lot of feelings to catch up on.” He said, feeling emotions rush through him, elated, heartwarmed, but almost tearful with pure, heartfelt joy that his best friend, the person that he had always felt as if there was no one else comparable, loved him the way he loved you.

“We most certainly do.” You let out a soft laugh as you leaned into his touch, savouring the way it felt to be treasured by the person you had longed to see you the way you saw him for so long.

Leaning in, George closed the gap between you, his lips gentle against yours, pausing for a moment. You reached up, hands resting on his shoulders as you kissed him. George’s touch was gentle and tender, making you melt under him and you couldn’t help but let out a soft hum as you slowly moved your lips against his.

He loved the feeling of you against him, of your lips on his. George loved that you felt the same way about him as he felt about you, he loved that he could finally do all of the things he had longed to do. All of the nights he had spent, wondering how you felt, all of those dry lessons he had spent wondering how you saw him.

But now George knew that you loved him.

And he knew that he loved you with his whole heart.

Harry Potter Taglist (OPEN):

@coldlilheart​ @victorialynn7​ @pandaxnienke​

Permanent Taglist (OPEN):

@scuzmunkie​ @scarlett-berserker​ @megantje123​ @sideeffectsofyou​ @veganfangirl5​ @loving-life-my-way​ @searching-for-neverland​ @kitkatd7​ @littlegangrel​ @shadycupcakefox​ @psychiccreationtaco​ @tony-stank3​ @damienwitcher​ @thesewaywardskies​

[be11atrixthestrange]

Step 1: Getting To Know Her

From 12 Fail-Safe Ways To Charm Hermione Granger

Step 1: Getting To Know Her

All witches are unique. Before pouring effort into charming a witch, it’s important to get to know her well, Aim to understand why you like her, and stay observant, because there will always be more to learn.

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

Ron was lying awake in bed, flipping through the old and tattered book, and he couldn’t help but chuckle when he read part one, ‘Getting To Know Her’. Like that’s remotely possible.

He smiled softly at her sleeping form beside him. Her dark and bushy hair splayed wildy across both pillows, and the stress lines that appeared on her face throughout the day seemed to vanish in the night. She looked peaceful and calm, and it was contagious. Funny how the same girl that could rile him up and ignite his passion could also ease his anxiety. Her effect on him was undeniable, even this far along in their relationship.

Ron had a date planned for tomorrow, and he was pretty damn excited about it— so much that he couldn’t sleep, which is why he had picked up the old book again. His anticipation for tomorrow resembled a kid’s on Christmas Eve. He’d taken Hermione on plenty of dates before, but this one was going to be a surprise for her, and it had to go well. Maybe it was time to refresh his memory in the art of charming witches.

He nearly skipped this chapter the first time he read the book. It was in his sixth year, back at Hogwarts, and he scoffed at the book’s assumption that he would be interested in trying to charm a witch he didn’t know. He figured he could skip it because, well, he knew Hermione. They had already been through so much together, and he knew her like the back of his hand, or so he thought. But it turned out that Hermione was a complex witch, and even after years of friendship, she still managed to surprise Ron. Even now— they lived together, spent the majority of their time together, and could finish each other's sentences, but sometimes she still left him scratching his head, working new details into his understanding of her.

He recently learned that the scar on her knee was from a biking accident when she was younger. It needed stitches to heal. Muggle doctors actually sewed her skin back together. He was horrified when she told him— His parents had always been able to cast a cushioning charm around the Burrow’s grounds in case someone fell from their broomstick, and any cuts and scratches could be easily repaired with a dab of dittany— no needles required. Although it was a minor detail of her life, it further differentiated his childhood experience from hers, and unveiled that a lot of his knowledge of her upbringing was based on assumptions, not facts.

She surprised him again the first time he threw her a birthday party at their new flat. They had recently moved in together, and Hermione had insisted on living in Muggle London so her parents could have easier access to their new place. To go with the theme of their home, he decided to throw her an entirely muggle party, complete with muggle decorations and games and a cake baked the hard way— magic-free. He was quite proud of the result, and definitely didn’t expect her panicked reaction when she came home to find their apartment bursting with balloons. Hermione— who fought dark wizards as early as age sixteen, was afraid of balloons simply because they could pop anytime. Mental.

Ron’s perception of Hermione was constantly expanding with more information— Hermione had grown into a new person over the past decade and a half. The witch he met on the Hogwarts Express was completely different from the one sleeping next to him, and he had no idea what to expect in another fifteen years. This thought used to terrify him. He remembered discussing this with his brother Bill the summer before his wedding, after learning he was going to marry Fleur.

“What if you fall in love with someone, and then they change?”

Bill’s answer left Ron quite confused at first. “That’s the most exciting part,” he had said.

Of course, now Ron understood exactly what Bill had meant and agreed whole-heartedly. There was something exciting yet reassuring about how truly unknowable people were. Hermione was like an ocean— well studied and explored, yet ever-changing and mysterious.

At this point he had known her for fifteen years, and the words “Get To Know Her” made him laugh for completely different reasons that they did at age seventeen. This time, he laughed because he knew he never would.

******

There were many moments that stood out as turning points for Ron— moments when his knowledge of Hermione expanded, and his feelings for her strengthened.

There was a clear shift when he discovered her crying in the bathroom on that first Halloween, Hermione was no longer a “nightmare”, but a vulnerable, insecure kid who simply wanted to fit in— just like him. He saw her in a new light, and realized her commitment to studying so much, and showing off her knowledge wasn’t intended to be condescending, it was her attempt to make sense of a world of which she knew nothing. Knowing nothing meant knowing no one and the hurtfulness of his words took on an entirely new dimension. He had teased her for having no friends, but he also had the power to change that. On October 30th, she had been an annoying know-it-all, and by November 1st, she was his best friend, and he thanked Merlin every day that his eleven year old self had changed his opinion.

Things changed again in his fourth year. By the Yule Ball, Hermione had outgrown the young, precocious, socially awkward first year that pointed out dirt on his nose, and corrected his pronunciation of wingardium leviosa. She was a brilliant, confident, and strikingly pretty young woman, but his 14 year-old self was stuck to his original perception. He was forced to reassess when he saw her dancing with Victor Krum at the ball, looking magnificent in her periwinkle dress. He watched her laughing, dancing, and carrying herself with poise and confidence, while other girls lurked nearby, their faces contorted with envy. Victor Krum effortlessly ignored them because he was so drawn to Hermione, and he wasn’t the only one— Ron couldn’t take his eyes off of her either. Her words swam back his mind, suddenly changing everything.

“Just because it’s taken you three years to notice, doesn’t mean no one else has spotted I’m a girl.”

Why hadn’t he noticed before? And now that he had, what the bloody hell was he supposed to do about it? Hermione had evolved from a friend to a girl to a girl he fancied and Ron was left with the daunting task of moving forward with that revelation, somehow.

Although unsure how to proceed, he grew accustomed to his new feelings about Hermione. He edited her character profile in his mind to reflect this new person, someone who was infuriatingly clever, beautiful, and confident. This was Hermione, not that.

He kept learning, and her definitions expanded over time. He added both fearless and terrifying in their fifth year, when she risked her prefect badge to help form Dumbledore’s Army, jinxed Marrietta Edgecombe, and fought valiantly at the Ministry of Magic. He added flirtatious during their sixth year, when he could have sworn he saw her eyes that lingering on his taller, scruffier, more athletic-looking body, thanks to a combination of puberty and Quidditch. That same year, he briefly added not interested when her signals became too vague for him to trust, and completely fucking mental when she set a flock of canaries on him. Those descriptions changed again when they reconciled, and he fell right back into his old pattern of wanting her, this time slightly more confident that she felt the same way.

At that point he was convinced that knew her. He had adjusted his definitions so many times and finally felt that he had landed on something all-encompassing. But of course, he was wrong.

It was at the Burrow before Bill and Fleur’s wedding when she alerted him to another unexplored cavern of her personality. It had been a few months since the Lavender incident and they’d been dancing around their feelings for one another since then. Ron wasn’t sure how he was supposed to make the first move, or if it had been an appropriate amount of time to date someone new after breaking up with Lavender, so he just continued to hang around her, lamely hoping something would just happen between them.

His mother made an effort to keep them apart that summer, as she was— rightfully— scared they were planning something dangerous, so in order to spend any time together, they had to be sneaky about it. One day, his mother sent Hermione and Ginny to change all the sheets without realizing she had already asked them to, and instead of asking for a new chore, Hermione wandered up to Ron’s attic bedroom where he was busy tidying up.

“Hi,” she said before jumping and landing prone on his bed. “What are you doing?”

“Cleaning up my room,” he replied. “Not sure why I have to do it, it’s not like any of the guests will come in here.”

“You know why,” said Hermione. “To keep us busy.”

“Oh I know,” replied Ron, laughing at his mother’s antics. “Care to help me?”

“No, I think I’ll just sit here and watch,” she said with a coy smile.

Ron looked over and grinned at her. She was so cute lying on his bed like that. He couldn’t help but think she looked quite sexy too, with her skirt riding up, revealing more parts of her leg that kept him up at night. Sexy was another word Ron had added to her profile, one he found himself noticing much more frequently as of late.

He shook his head as if to jumble the randy expression that had undoubtedly formed his face, giving away thoughts that were best kept to himself— at least for now. At this point, they had not discussed where they stood relationship-wise, and gawking at her exposed thigh could easily ruin anything that remained unsaid.

“Mind if I join you?” he asked. He winced as he said it, hearing the unintended flirtatiousness of the words only after they left his mouth.

Fortunately his comment was well received. “Well, maybe take me to dinner first..,” she said playfully before shifting toward the edge of his bed, making room for him to sit down.

He felt his face warming as he lowered himself to the bed beside her and realized he had nothing to say. Dreading an awkward silence, he spluttered the first question that came to mind. “So uh, have you ever been to a wedding before?”

She turned onto her side to face him before nodding. “A few, but only muggle weddings. I was actually a bridesmaid in my cousin’s wedding last summer.”

Ron had expected that she’d attended a wedding before, as most people had. He was surprised by the other part of her answer. “You… have a cousin?”

“Yeah,” said Hermione. “This was Ellie’s wedding. She’s about five years older than me. Have I not told you about her?”

“No, I thought it was just you.”

“Hmm,” she said contemplatively. “I don’t have any siblings, but I have a lot of cousins. My extended family’s actually quite big.”

It wasn’t a personality-altering detail, but it revealed a sudden gap in his data. Ron wracked his mind for any missed conversations where he could have learned more about her family. “I never knew that. Are you close to your cousins?”

She shrugged. “Well I guess I just don’t talk about them that much. But growing up they felt like my siblings.”

“Do you visit them a lot?”

She hesitated before answering. “I used to,” she said, a hint of sadness in her voice. Ron suddenly regretted asking about her family, remembering what she had just done to keep them safe. “I probably won’t see them much anymore. At least not for a while.”

In a moment of courage, he reached for her hand, which was lying on his bed between them. He squeezed it gently and smiled. She returned the gesture, caressing the back of his hand in a way that sent shivers down his spine, but Ron was distracted by the glisten in her eyes as she reflected back on her family.

Also, his head was spinning. Hermione knew his family so well after their years of friendship, it almost felt like she was part of it. How had she never mentioned this detail about hers? Had he never even asked?

He had only met her parents once or twice, and he didn’t really converse with them when he did. Hermione had spent holidays with his family. His mum would send birthday and Christmas presents. Fred and George would take the mickey out of her like she was their own sister. She felt comfortable waltzing into his bedroom and sitting on his bed, and he had never even been to her house. He didn’t even know what it looked like.

“Can I meet them someday?” he asked boldly. “Your cousins, I mean.”

She paused in thought before answering cautiously. “Well, they don’t know I’m a witch. They think I attend a muggle boarding school. Whenever I visit them, I have to lie about everything. It’s a lot of work. A lot of stress.”

Ron hadn’t thought of that— she lived in a world that her family knew nothing about. Even if they got through this war, and she reunited with them, he would have to learn a whole lot more about muggles in order to keep up the lies she must have developed over the years. “I’m a good liar,” he said. “And a quick learner.”

“I’m happy to hear it,” she laughed.

Ron chuckled too, glad he could cheer her up, even if temporarily. But he was overwhelmed by this new information. There was a lot he didn’t know. He wondered what she told her cousins she studied at school, and what they thought she was planning to do after graduating. He didn’t even know how many cousins she had, how old they all were, or their names.

Now that he thought about it, he didn't even know her parents’ names.

“What are your parents’ names?” he asked.

“Jean and Hugo,” she answered. “Why?”

“I’m just curious.” He looked down at her hand, which he was still casually holding. He gave it another squeeze and saw her smile brightly at him when he did it, and he grinned softly back at her. It was the same Hermione, yet there was still even more about her to discover— things about her that he had never even thought about.

He felt a bit guilty learning exactly how many questions he’d never bothered to ask. But his guilt was overshadowed by his excitement to learn more. He really was a quick learner when the topic held his interest, and nothing held his interest quite like Hermione Granger.

[hanadoesstuffbadly]

‘Online’ ch I - RS&t7D University AU

Hello, I was looking for Red Shoes fanfiction when I discovered that there are little to no Modern AUs being written. So i figured, screw it, I’ll do it myself because I love modern AUs.

This is the first chapter and it is very long, so if you don’t feel like reading it, fair enough. I’m planning to write the whole thing anyway because I also love writing and it’s good practise.

Small warning if you do want to read this: Merlin is British. I am British. British people are very sarcastic and very moody all of the time. This entire first chapter is from Merlin’s perspective so there are a lot of British phrases and idioms used. If you are fortunate enough to not be an eternally grumpy Brit, don’t worry, the next chapter will be a very bad written impersonation of an American!!

Also, this is my first ever fanfiction so please don’t judge me too harshly, I am but a young peasant girl.

Sooooooooo.... Summary.

Merlin is a twenty year old student at Southend University. To combat his detrimental narcissism, his counsellor suggests online gaming. Merlin tries to cheat by using an ancient game called Fairytale Island, which designs your avatar to match a photograph. This plan falls apart when his laptop explodes, turning his avatar tiny and green. He ploughs on regardless, sure that he will encounter nobody. Little does he know, that a newly moved student from the States is coming online the very same night. :)

(It’s kinda switched so Merlin is the last of the F7 to get his attitude set right.)

With that done... I hope you don’t hate it!

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

Merlin couldn’t stand mornings, especially Friday mornings. Because for the duration of his first year of Uni, Friday’s lessons had always begun at the reasonable hour of 2 o’clock in the afternoon. This left Merlin a good half hour to be awake, out of the door and on his bike, zipping past the crowded Southend beaches. In short, Merlin hated Friday mornings because he had not seen one in fifteen months. Needless to say, it was not a welcome reunion.

Approximately twelve minutes prior to commencing with today’s zipping -at the unlawful hour of nine in the morning- Merlin had been idly stirring shredded wheat into a depressing gruel (much to the disgust of the ever-vigilant, ever-attentive, red-haired cook,) basking in his own tardiness. 

Had he asked for counselling? No. 

Did he need counselling? None of their business.

Did he want to be dragged out of bed at half-eight by six overbearing housemates who apparently believed it was "necessary" or "overdue"; to be packed off to the Resource Centre so that they could “Evaluate any and all emotional or psychological issues which may have arisen for you, as a student whom we have identified as being at risk, before the beginning of this new academic term”? No, he did not!

Contrary to a promising forecast, the sky was a sapphire pool overhead. Thus, the fantasy of motorbiking down empty seafront roads, the brassy drumming of thunder and the gurgle of saltwater smothering his roaring engine (Hans called him a madcap but personally, Merlin preferred the term Raptor-trainer) was squashed. And given that a motorbike charging down the road in the wee hours of the morning was frowned upon, Merlin was forced to content himself with walking at a purposefully counter-productive pace to the bus stop down the hill. Stubbornly, he insisted on himself that he wore a cobalt-blue, long-sleeved shirt with grey trousers; dressing not for the weather he had, but the weather he wanted. This was a stupid idea and the sleeves were rolled up before he reached sea-level. He had to restrain himself from missing a bus entirely. It wasn’t crowded, because of course it wasn’t. Everyone else in Southend had better things to be doing. 

Like sleeping. 

The bus didn’t even go all the way to the college, stopping at least a dozen yards from the entrance like a noncommittal shrug. It took everything in Merlin to not  keep his butt planted securely in his seat; let the busyness of British public transport whisk him away to the Leigh on Sea station; catch a train to Fenchurch street; disappear into Central London; never be seen or heard from again, especially by Dr- as a student whom we have identified as being at risk- LeFey; then inevitably die from water pollution at a ripe old age of thirty-five. It took everything in him, but he walked down to the building, through glass-doors ornamented by a million sweaty fingerprints, and into a waiting room that smelt of Sellotape.

Unsurprisingly, the stately woman at the desk gave him barely a passing glance, handing him a form to fill in with the enthusiasm of an automatic door sliding open. Also unsurprisingly, the assistant behind her paused in rearranging a filing cabinet to brush a couple of sandy hairs behind her ear and chew the end of a pen like it was made of liquorice. She even wandered aimlessly away from her task altogether, sidling up to the front desk most inconspicuously.

Merlin's mood brightened. While he leant down to scribble his name and address on the paper, he winked discreetly in her direction.  In spite of definitely not looking at him, her cheeks turned beetroot crimson and what might have been a giggle or the beginnings of a small heart attack escaped her lips. 

Against all of the shoddiness of his day so far, Merlin grinned inwardly, sizing her up with half of his attention. Tall, slender, twenty-one, twenty-two most likely. Stray blonde curls framed a thickly tanned face, the rest piled atop her head in a bun. In all, not a bad picture, although her wardrobe did leave something to be desired: Bell-bottomed jeans and a T-shirt reading "Darth Vader was framed", betraying that 

A. She still thought that bell-bottomed anything was a good look, and 

B. That she had never paid more than six quid for a shirt. 

However, her figure and the hang of her hair more than made up for those discrepancies. Perhaps he could get something out of this counselling after all. With this in mind, he cleared his throat loudly,

"I'm terribly sorry, Miss," he waved the form vaguely in front of his face, "but I have a small problem."

Perhaps knowing exactly what he was doing and being used to it by this point, the woman, Ms Marion- who had decided that underneath a lace cardigan was the place for a name tag- ignored him completely, leaving miss bell-bottoms to round the edge of the counter and come to stand by his side over the offending form.

"What's the matter?" She asked, sincerely.

"Y'see," Merlin began, fixing her with a smile that even Jack admitted made anyone weak at the knees, "right here it's asking me for something that I just don't really get." He pointed accordingly, and bell-bottoms leant in closer. To get a really good look at the text, of course.

"We need your mobile number."

"Oh, I see, now here's the thing." Wearing a look of utter helplessness, he faced bell-bottoms completely. She appeared confused, her face becoming redder by the second. "I don't have one of those."

"What?"

"A mobile number." He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "You wouldn't mind terribly giving me yours, would you?"

If he squinted, Merlin was fairly certain he would see her bell-bottomed soul leaving her body and fluttering out of the window. He took her lack of reaction as an invitation,

"Lin Pendragon." He extended one hand, still cloaked in a fingerless glove the colour of wet bark. Despite his housemates deciding otherwise, Merlin was in fact not his actual name, and he would sooner be caught dead than introducing himself with it to an attractive young woman such as this. "Part time Ancient Historian, full time Romantic."

Bell-bottoms took the hand and shook it with unexpected firmness,

"Gowlle Delocks. Part time assistant, full time, um..." She seemed a little lost, floundering like a GCSE English paper "Full time-"

"Doctor Morgan LeFey. Part time tolerator of tardiness. This is not one of those times Mister Pendragon."

Spinning on his heel and effectively knocking the form onto the floor, Merlin faced the speaker, who stood in the doorway of a side-office like a disgruntled flamingo.

One thing came to mind when Merlin looked at the counsellor and that was the smell created when someone burns popcorn in a microwave. Forehead too small; nose too large, a hairy wart taking up most of it; everything that should end in a curve ending in an acute, needle-like point. She looked like a bad imitation of a Picasso painting come to life. Yellow hair that might have been blonde hung from her scalp, which he could almost see for how thin the stuff was; and her olive skin was definitely closer to a pale, sickly green from where Merlin was standing. The murky, sky-blue gown that would have looked excessive in the nineteenth century certainly didn't help. Summed up, she looked like a creature one would throw something at if it approached them on a dark night. Merlin felt his nose wrinkle in disgust.

So, he had been forced into counselling by a literal witch. Today was just going swimmingly wasn't it.

Dr Lefey's "office" was exactly what Merlin expected. Save of course for a cauldron,  broomstick and small children in display cases. Indigo curtains rather than blinds hung at each side of a wide picture window that looked out on a garden peppered by horrendous little gnomes. Their China faces were stained green by years of mildew build-up. Her wooden floor she had covered with gaudy, knitted rugs, and the sides of her desk had glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to them. On the off-white walls hung various, tasteless frames of all sorts and colours, each depicting a photograph taken by somebody who was evidently not a professional photographer. One such picture especially caught his eye.

"This you, Miss… Lefty?" The question was stupid, of course it was her, every other human being on the planet had at least managed to look like one. The photo showed the woman sitting in a cluster of children underneath a cobbled-together shack, a paper tiara on her head and a wand made out of several plastic straws. "The fairy princess in the mauve cardigan?"

"First," She answered, pushing the door shut behind her with her pointy hip, "It's Doctor Lefey, but you will call me Morgan in these sessions." Merlin couldn't help but smirk internally when she assumed there would be more than one of these nightmares. "Second, yes, that is me in the photograph, November, four years ago, Uganda, a recycling activity. And third," The slam of a hefty file being dropped unceremoniously on to a desk made Merlin jump. "I was the fairy Queen."

"Well, your majesty," he ducked his head in a mock bow, "you've aged..." At first, he searched for an adverb but then realised, he didn't particularly need one.

Morgan gave Merlin that pinched smile that he'd seen Arthur's girlfriend, Gwen, give customers at The Golden Goose Cafe when they told her she had no idea who she was dealing with. Also called the 'booting-you-into-next-Thursday-would-cost-twenty-pounds-an-hour-but-i-am-legitimately-considering-it' face. Merlin ignored her easily. He'd had years of practise doing so.

He plopped himself down onto a teal green sofa with a ketchup stain running up one arm. It wasn't a comfortable seat, but the garish pixie cushion did help somewhat. Morgan paid him no attention, leafing through the thick file which she had retrieved moments before. She paid him no attention for a little too long.

As aforementioned, Merlin was fine with ignoring people. Even enjoyed it sometimes. Unattractive waitresses, bin-collectors, overweight people at the gym, pedestrians. Being ignored, however, was a far less comfortable experience. Probably because it was such a rare one. He coughed into the pasty silence.

"Those your medical records?" The room was quiet enough to facilitate a pin drop sounding like a bowling ball being dropped. A long, controlled intake of breath was easily made out. “Cosmetic surgery?” 

"No." She said shortly, continuing with her browsing, "but they are yours." Merlin quickly stopped ignoring her. "And your birth records and your parents birth records and every other detail of your stimulating life story, Merlin." He short-circuited momentarily.

"That's not my-"

"No, it isn't your given name, but it's what your roommates call you and according to them, the one you prefer going by." Alright, those googly snitches were going to pay later. He recovered from his surprise gracefully as always, but that left him no less indignant.

"I- I wasn't aware that you'd have access to that information."

"Several reliable sources have identified you as being at risk, Merlin, everything in this folder is strictly need-to-know." A smile that could have been genuine spread across her features, and it may have been nice if it weren't so nauseating to look at. He crossed his arms and sunk lower into the sofa, muttering to himself,

"You hardly 'need-to-know' about the name though."

"Obviously, anything said in this session doesn't leave this room and the values and standards of Southend University are to be observed at all times." With quick strides on legs like skipping ropes, Morgan left her desk and placed herself gracelessly on a trademark shrink chair. 

The ‘So, Merlin.’ Was audible on her spindly lips before they left them.

"So, Merlin. First, I'd like you to relax," Difficult, I'm sitting across from a gorgon, I'm a man moments from death, "and tell me about your background, where you're from, your family." He gave her a blank look.

"You just told me that you have a massive file telling you that stuff."

"Yes, but I'd like to know that you also know that stuff. Reviewing your case will prove very difficult if we aren't on the same page. Now, if you please." With an exasperated puff of air into his cheeks, Merlin leant forward so that his elbows braced against his knees and his hands clasped together.

"Fine. I was born in Seoul, South Korea; my parents died in a car accident when I was three. I was brought to England to live with an aunt in Ipswich."

"And you were comfortable with this change?" The interruption caused Merlin to blank for a second.

"Wha- I was three. I was comfortable sitting in a tumble dryer with knickers on my head!" This retort was not appreciated, judging by the tapping of Morgan's pencil against a green clipboard that had seemingly materialised out of thin air.

"These are regulation questions, try not to overthink your answers." With this she returned to drawing writing utensils from the ether apparently, a silent signal for him to continue. Already, Merlin's mind was going through fantasies of sprinting down the hill, across the high street and off the end of Southend pier.

"Alright then, the aunt was arrested when I was six-"

"Why was she arrested?"

"Are shrinks meant to interrupt their patients?"

"I'm not a shrink, I'm a University counsellor, why was your aunt arrested?" Nothing about this experience was relaxing. Getting a Frostino with Miss Delocks, the part-time-assistant would have been relaxing.

"Possession of illegal firearms. Just a taser. Five years in prison under the law of the United Kingdom. Happy?"

"Yes, this is very helpful. So, your guardian was arrested and…"

"I went into care, obviously. Seven foster homes over six years. Adopted after my eleventh birthday by Igraine Pendragon and her husband. I moved into their home in York, Summered in Cumbria; went to school with their son. Igraine died when I was fifteen, Uther when I was seventeen. Arthur and I moved out to one of the cottages we own in Leigh two years ago. It was all perfectly fine and now here I am at Southend University in a counselling session I didn't ask for with a counsellor that I'm certain nobody has ever asked for." Okay, the last bit slipped out half unwarranted, but he might as well be honest.

Long, mole-flecked fingers curled and tightened around the edges of her clipboard, leaving dents in the malleable green cork like it was plasticine.

"Right." Came a snarled response from between smiling teeth. "Now, on to some more current information: Who do you live with during your time at the University?"

"Igraine’s son, Arthur, and the five student tenants who rent out rooms." That felt weird to say. For some reason, whenever Merlin thought about the six other occupants of Stanrocc cottage, it was hard to remember that they weren’t all related in one way or another.

“Right, and are you comfortable with these living arrangements?”

“I’m a University student who gets to live in a fully catered house free of charge, what do you think?” The pinched ‘threaten-to-speak-to-my-manager-again-and-I-will-hit-you-with-a-shoe’ smile returned.

“Okay then.” A rustling of paper signalled that the background questions were mercifully coming to a close, as, Merlin hoped, was this entire experience. Unfortunately, the next words out of the witches’ mouth weren’t, ‘thank you for your time, Mister Pendragon, I hope you and Miss Delocks have a splendid afternoon.’ Instead she intertwined her grotesque fingers and looked him in the eye. The fact that he didn’t turn to stone was a shock.

“Now, Merlin, I’d like to know what features you look for when meeting new people.” Alright, not what he’d wanted or expected to hear.

“Is this a personal interview-”

“Just-” Morgan closed her eyes and pressed her lips together until they completely disappeared into her face. “Answer the question, Merlin.”

“I look for the same things anyone looks for. Do they look approachable? Would I want to be seen with them out and about? Those kinds of things.” He darted his eyes from Morgan’s varicose ankles to her sloping forehead. 

“So, you base the value of other people’s company solely upon their outward appearance and draw any and all judgements from those assets?” There were too many words in that sentence, was all Merlin could think in response. When he did finally puzzle out what the question actually was, he gave the woman a jovial nod. Finally, they were on the same wavelength.

“Of course I do, how a person looks tells you a lot about who they are, doesn’t it?” 

Morgan must have been writing something down, but it still felt as though her eyes had not left Merlin for a second. An intake of breath through her wide nostrils filled the room.

“To some extent, maybe.” She shifted on her chair and the look in her eye of a person who had gotten exactly what they wanted was unnerving. “Merlin, do you think you feel this way about other people because these mentalities could have been forced on you in the past?” Her nasal voice had become one of understanding and professionalism, the Northern accent thinning considerably. Merlin didn’t like it at all. “Maybe you feel as though you personally are liked or disliked for nothing besides how you look?”

Throughout this entire, stupid session, Merlin had been wanting to avoid answering questions. Now all he wanted to do was say something so devastating yet so on point that it would shut this witch up for the rest of her career. And yet his tongue remained still, rooted to the floor of his mouth.

“I see.” The counsellor stood and shook out her skirts with the smug air of a woman victorious. Merlin wanted to throw something at her. Like a shoe. She went around to the back of her desk and retrieved a post-it-note shaped like a unicorn. “I’m giving until the beginning of the new term to combat this problem that we seem to have here." In one motion she ripped away the post it note and was making her way back towards him, brandishing it like a literal curse rather than simply the figurative one that it clearly was. She handed it to him unforgivingly.

"I'd like you to try a social activity that is purely audio based. Interactions with others that don't allow them to see your appearance." The urge to crumple the note into a ball was strong. “I’ll schedule another session three weeks from now.”

"And what if I'm perfectly happy with the way things are? I don't need to change anything." Merlin shot back, and control of the situation brushed his fingertips before Morgan's condescending smile dragged it out of reach again.

"Tell me, Merlin, how many reports do you think I received from your professors and peers of this self-important, judgemental behaviour?" Merlin was already standing as he milled the question over for a full couple of seconds.

"One or two, I'd imagine." He finally mumbled. The witch drummed her pencil against her crossed arms and shook her head. "Well," Merlin started, "it can't have been-"

"Twenty-four." She didn't look victorious now, just a little sorry. That was so much worse. "Twenty-four different people, who you have known for only a year or so. Still think you don't need to change anything?"

Merlin didn't want to look around at her ridiculous face again. He didn't think he even knew twenty-four people well enough for them to report him. Her voice carried on no matter how much he wanted it not to.

"If I don’t see improvement three weeks from now, regardless of how you feel about it, I won't have anything to present against a decision to remove you from your course entirely."

The facts stung like poisonous, green smoke in Merlin's head. He pulled at the ornamented door handle, dismissing himself. Then a question came into his mind and forced itself to be asked.

"What activities would you suggest, then?"

"Start an interactive podcast; volunteer for a University chat-line; Online gaming." Merlin's humourless scoff punctuated her list.

"Yeah, no. I'm not an ‘over the phone’ kind of guy." He stepped out into the hallway and noticed Miss Delocks' head spin in his direction. The last ten minutes had dampened any mood he might have been in for going out, but that didn't mean he couldn't at least try to cheer himself up. He heard one last reply from the witch before he strode off in the assistant’s direction,

"Keep that attitude up and you won't be a "Part-time Ancient Historian" either."

-

In case the presence of a pale pink fiesta with mermaid stickers running along the doors wasn’t indicative enough, the loud guffaws and scattered shouts told Merlin that his housemates had company. This was before he even reached the top of the hill. Night was creeping across the sky already. Merlin would have liked to stay out longer, but the witches’ words had stuck a little too keenly to him, and a college bar surrounded by five beautiful young ladies was not, it seemed, the best place to process things.

Stanrocc cottage was one of a kind really. It was called a cottage because it managed to be too small to be a villa but also too pretty to be a house. The walls were brick, covered in an artsy kind of cement stuff with shells mixed into it, then painted white. Kingfisher blue window frames peeked out from beneath an overgrowth of marble-like gladioli and ballet-slipper foxgloves. The diminutive front garden was mostly taken up by the wild-cherry tree that had looked hurricanes and landfalls in the face, released a string of angry expletives and stayed precisely where it was with zero intention of ever going away. Around its ankles sprung up Snowdrops every Winter, but right now, in the twilight of August, the space was taken up by a hoard of decaying daffodil corpses.

Through one of the windows, a blonde head was just visible. It stood up haphazardly and came to the door when Merlin knocked. Jack appeared in the doorway, but he’d barely laid eyes on Merlin before he was leaning back inside and shouting into the noisy fray, his accent thick, probably from laughing,

“Ee’s back!” With that he left the door hanging open. Merlin entered, a little disgruntled at the lack of welcome, until he got inside and found out why. Seated on the various beanbags, chairs, and sofas, were their usual six occupants, but with them were four less usual ones. Alright, not that unusual, three of them Merlin knew he recognised.

First was Arthur’s fiancée, Gwen. She was a common recurring visitor. Whenever Arthur wasn’t following her around the café, she was following him around the cottage. The other two present were less clearly defined by engagement rings or Facebook relationship status’. 

Upon sitting back down on his very expensive armchair, Jack had one-hundred-and-fifty centimetres of pink-leggings wearing, ashen skinned vegetarian seating herself comfortably on his lap. That one was Viviane… Or Niniane. Merlin never actually paid attention when Jack gushed about her, but he was almost sure her name was one of those. She was Jack’s “study partner'', both of them being up and coming chemists. Funny, because to Merlin’s knowledge, studying didn’t usually involve reclining on each other’s laps; playing with each other’s hair (or her playing with his, at least) and going out on spa trips together. If they weren’t together, Merlin couldn’t blame Jack. All spread-out, round eyes and large lips, she did look a little like a fish with legs.

Lastly there was Briar. Nobody actually knew what Briar was. Was she Hans’ friend? His girlfriend? A kind of omnivorous goat? It was a mystery. Altogether they knew seven things about her: Like Hans, she was German; she took fencing lessons; her wardrobe consisted entirely of ankle-length, floaty skirts and a special talent of hers was tripping over literal air. She slept with a baseball bat, wore purple contacts in her eyes and, while you wouldn’t imagine so from her physique, she had the appetite of a full grown horse. They didn’t even know what she was doing at the Uni. With her legs folded in front of her, she leant on her maybe-boyfriend-maybe-friend’s signature bean bag chair, one hand holding a row of scrabble pieces. The other was surreptitiously burrowing through Hans’ homemade bag of steak flavoured crisps, which famously tasted like dog food to everyone but those two. The curly-headed bag-holder didn’t seem to mind at all.

There was one other girl with them, seated on a folding chair between Briar’s feet and Arthur’s elbow. Merlin gave her barely a passing glance however, taking in a round figure, cherry-pink shorts, and shoulder-length brown hair before he lost interest. 

Maybe you feel as though you personally are liked or disliked for nothing besides how you look.

The counsellor’s stupid voice drove through his thoughts unbidden like an off-rail train. He shook his head and shoved them back down into his subconscious where they belonged, ready to be forgotten. 

The ringing of the words, however, was replaced by his stomach gurgling irritably. A muffin and a salted-caramel hot chocolate were not enough to go on for a whole afternoon. His eyes fell on the Chinese food containers strewn about the coffee table and surrounding floor. A takeaway was a rare occasion in Stanrocc cottage. In the entire county of Essex, there were exactly four fast-food establishments that Hans trusted and respected, and thus, would allow them to purchase from. Two of these were fish-and-chip shops; one- Merlin’s particular favourite- did flame-grilled kebabs; and the last one was the Jade Dragon Restaurant. Very expensive- meaning Jack was probably to thank for it- and very, very good Chinese food. It dawned on Merlin a little late that this uncharacteristic treat might have been meant to make him feel better, judging by the sizeable stack of barbecue kebab boxes that could be seen just inside the kitchen door. Nobody else liked barbecue kebabs.

But he was too tired and too hungry to feel bad for not coming back. He’d been busy.

 The energetic game of scrabble had come to a standstill when his arrival was announced. Now ten pairs of eyes were on him and six of them were concerned. Merlin made for the kitchen, the multitude of expectant faces making his chest knot.

 “Don’t worry about me,” he insisted, half-heartedly when he noticed both Arthur and Hans shifting as if to get up. “I’m going to bed.”

 Noki, the second of the triplets, swept up a container filled with Prawn crackers and extended them in Merlin’s direction. He waved them away dismissively.

 “Really, it’s fine, I’ll grab something from the fridge.” And with that he left the room.

 Much to his dismay, the fridge was a sorry sight, being mostly bare save for half a watermelon and an empty milk carton. It was a Friday, he soon remembered, which meant Hans would be grocery shopping tomorrow. Also, Briar was there.

 Footsteps came thudding along the short passage between the living room and the kitchen. Merlin didn’t have to look up to know that an orange vest with arms was blocking the door.

 “What do you want, Arthur?” Even in the fridge, Merlin could feel the glare in the back of his head. Crossed arms also wouldn’t be a surprise.

 “I want to know where you’ve been, and why you didn’t feel the need to tell us you weren’t coming back?” Merlin finally selected a yogurt cowering at the very back with a best-before date of yesterday. He shut the fridge door with his foot, searching for a clean spoon on the draining board.

 “You know you aren’t actually my dad, right?” He plunged the end of the spoon through the paper covering and started ripping the excess away. “I can go where I want.”

 “No.” Arthur had now moved completely into the room. “But you’re still one of us, mate, and we were all worried. The triplets almost got in the truck to come pull you out of whatever ditch you’d fallen into.” Merlin actually looked him in the face this time. He was scratching his ghost of a goatee the way he always did when he felt in deep water. “You didn’t exactly leave in great spirits this morning.”

 “Lurrk, uum fyrn.” Merlin said through a mouthful of yogurt. The stuff was absolutely repulsive, but it was the best conversation avoidance technique he had without a book to hand. He manoeuvred around Arthur, trying desperately to keep from openly weeping at the foul stuff. The best-before date ought to have been the may-not-kill-you-before date. 

“Yeah,” Arthur sighed behind him. “I can see that. But you’re-“ Merlin dashed up the stairs, discarding the yogurt discreetly in the kitchen bin as he passed it.

Arthur had changed since meeting Gwen. It was like something had been plucked out of him. The thing that had made Merlin feel close to him while everything was happening: The adoption, losing both their parents. It was like Arthur had grown up, changed somehow. And had left Merlin behind.

 And from what he had seen in the other room, Arthur wasn't the only one.

 Merlin emptied the yogurt out of his mouth and gargled mouthwash to get rid of the lingering flavour of overripe strawberries. A knock at his bedroom door interrupted him.

 “What did the counsellor say?” It was Arthur again. Merlin had honestly had enough of today. Why couldn’t everyone just leave him be? He wasn’t hurting anyone.

He poked his head out, startling his friend who still had his fist raised to knock again.

 “She suggested I take up gaming.”

-*-

Hours later, Merlin turned over his pillow again, trying his absolute hardest to fall asleep. He’d tried relaying a movie in his head, but thinking about the ending just made him sad. He’d tried reading his new book, but Neil Gaiman wasn't particularly relaxing. At last he had just shut his eyes and told himself to sleep, with real authority and gumption. That just made him more awake because his brain hated him.

Eventually he sat up and tugged the string on his lamp. The clock on his desk told him it was 2:26. Merlin’s bones told him that he was actually in a void in which time was a construct of society, and he felt much more inclined to believe the latter. Seeing as somebody, probably Hans, had left a plate of reheated kebabs in front of his door, Merlin hadn’t starved, so he couldn’t explain the hollow discomfort that was plaguing him now.

Actually, he could, he just didn’t want to.

Twenty-four people thought he was a self-important, narcissistic idiot.

Walking around his room to clear his head quickly turned into walking downstairs and into the kitchen to get some shreddies. There were still a few chocolate ones left, them mercifully being the one cereal that Briar didn’t love more than life itself.

As he dejectedly spooned the stuff into his mouth, green smoke came unfiltered through his head again, spelling out: I won't have anything to present against a decision to remove you from your course entirely. Merlin groaned and pulled at his bark coloured hair.

Ancient and Medieval History, while not a popular course, was still difficult to get into. Only twelve or so universities in the country even offered it. And even then, Southend alone offered the module on folklore and mythologies. So many essays, so many projects, so much time spent reading about the sordid love-lives of ancient deities. For nothing apparently. All because some people he didn’t know thought he was self-obsessed.

Nothing added up.

And gaming? Really. Podcasts and chat-lines were an instant nope, but gaming. In his entire twenty years, Merlin had played one game and one game alone. And well, that one was…

Next thing he knew, Merlin had left the congealed cereal lonely on the sink and was fighting his way through a wall of cobwebs into the storage room. The lights hadn’t worked in there for years, so Merlin clasped a battery powered torch from Colchester castle like a lifeline.

With his finger and thumb he gingerly shifted bicycles, boxes of DVDs and even a taxidermy rabbit that had gone to holes, until he saw it. The shiny, green corner of a laptop-games-console-hybrid emerged from the darkness. And then was immediately plunged back into it when the torch exploded in Merlin’s hand, the light flickering away with a puff of smoke. Merlin had expected this, but that didn’t stop him from grabbing the game and high-tailing it out of the storage room before the shadows could grab his ankles and eat him. Safe in his own bedroom again, Merlin intrepidly opened the game.

Fairytale Island was created by Avalon Games nine years ago. In its entire run, localised in Southern England, it sold about three-hundred consoles. These consoles were box-like laptops, but a more accurate comparison would be an oversized Nintendo DS. The keyboard-space was taken up by the controls, while the screen was above. Graphics-wise, it was surprisingly ahead of its time. What you did was you uploaded a full body photograph of yourself, lined up the limbs and head, and voila, you had your avatar!

This particular console had been bought by an incredible woman named Igraine, for the eleven year old boy whom she had fearlessly rescued. Merlin ran a finger gently over the sticker, feeling the scratchy remnants of its glitter-glue border. On it was a simple little message, rounded off with a clumsy smiley face and the letter I, in wide swirling print.

For the most handsome Prince on Fairytale Island!!!

Obviously his avatar had to change, lest he wanted to continue with the slenderman-esque creature created by his imaginative twelve-year-old self.

Merlin had to stand on his bed to get himself into the frame of his plug-in webcam. Not really knowing what to do with his arms, he did the only rational thing and T-posed. In his pyjamas. In front of a game for preteens. At twenty past two in the morning. 

If one of his housemates came in now he would kill them and dissolve the body in acid.

The screen counted down, readying the camera.

Three… Two… O-ghlowhfsajfhlsdkhlhdsjfh…………….Error………...rebooting, thank you for your patience.

Well. That seemed fair.

Hopping down as quietly as possible, Merlin watched the static clear from the screen like ghost lightning. He should have expected it. Motorcyclists had long said that ‘Love is when you like someone as much as your motorbike.” Merlin was inclined to disagree, because his bike was the one piece of mechanical equipment that didn’t figure it should explode whenever he dared breathe nearby. No bond would ever be able to trump that kind of loyalty.

Reservedly, he fiddled with a Rubix cube until the screen returned to normal. Nothing seemed that wrong with it.

Until his avatar loaded again.

A brief visit to the bathroom mirror was made so that Merlin could examine both his eyes, but when he came back they found the same sight.

Where there should have been a tall, thin, carrot-shaped, Merlinish mage character, there now resided a tiny, stout- if still Merlinish- one. And it was green. Not even a nice green, like fern or emerald or sage. This was a green that reminded a person of snot and nothing else… Except maybe a dehydrated basil plant.

Merlin bashed his head against the edge of his desk. What had that witch done to him? Why was he concerned about this? 

Giving up on answering that question, he looked up to face the diminutive monster that bobbed in place like an excitable pea with legs. Maybe it wasn’t so bad, he tried to reason. If he didn’t focus, it almost looked like an obese, unwell Gollum. But hey, maybe the other players will like that kind of thing?

Without realising it, Merlin scoffed out loud at himself.

Other players? This game had a range of a thousand kilometres squared and was being handled by a technopollyon (a word that was not a word until Merlin discovered there was no term for a person who inadvertently breaks technology, but there were a multitude of Greek words that he could misuse in its place.)

The chances of another pathetic Englishman within his third of Essex being in possession of and online on Fairytale Island at two-thirty that night, were not worth thinking about. Because they were nonexistant.

With that in mind, Merlin took one last bitter look at his avatar, and continued resolutely on to game.

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

Wow! Thanks for reading that!!! I hope you enjoyed it!

(Btw, Gwen, Viviane and Briar are my headcannons for the end credit characters and Morgan LeFey is the fairy princess)

Again, thanks so much. I’m putting the next chapter up at some point, this one from Snow’s perspective.

[twentiethcenturymoviesandtv]

The Wizard of Oz: The Story

At first glance, the plot of The Wizard of Oz seems pretty simple and chock full of clichés.  A girl from Kansas and her dog find themselves in a wonderful land, and meet a Cowardly Lion, a Tin Man, and a Scarecrow, traveling on a feel-good journey to find the titular Wizard of Oz, the only person who can send Dorothy home.

Pretty straightforward and obvious, right?

Well, there’s a bit more to it than that.  (Spoilers below, so on the off chance you haven’t seen the movie, go check it out and come back when you’ve seen it!)

Here’s the setup:

The film opens with Dorothy Gale (Judy Garland) and Toto running along a road in the dull, brown land of Kansas.  They are running just ahead of their bike-riding, witch-like neighbor, Ms. Gulch, who is trying to have Toto put down for biting her.

Dorothy, in an understandable panic, tries to tell her Aunt Em and Uncle Henry (who she lives with) about the situation, but they blow her off.  She turns for advice instead to three farm hands, who express sympathy and interest in the problem.  It is here where Aunt Em tells Dorothy to find somewhere where she won’t get into trouble, and here where Dorothy sings the most famous song in all of cinema.

Now, we’re already looking at quite a lot of setup that will be hugely important later.

First, the templates for the future characters of Oz.  Ms. Gulch and the three farmhands are introduced immediately with clear personality traits that will be echoed in their Oz counterparts later on.  Ms. Gulch is appropriately antagonistic and witch like.  The three farm hands quietly display the traits upon which their dopplegangers will be fixated: brains, heart, and courage.

Then there’s that song.  Somewhere Over the Rainbow, while being a song with seemingly little to do with the story has a lot to do with Dorothy’s character.  Feeling pushed aside, ignored, and helpless, Dorothy’s famous song is a window into her desires: leaving and finding a place where her dreams will come true.

Long story short, there’s a lot of foreshadowing in this scene.

Ms. Gulch (Margaret Hamilton) arrives on the scene with a sheriff’s order to put Toto down.  When her aunt and uncle do nothing to stop it, Dorothy takes Toto and attempts to run away from home.

She doesn’t get far.

She is stopped in her tracks by a kind, traveling con-artist fortune teller (Frank Morgan).  The fortune teller, by looking through Dorothy’s things to surmise enough about her situation, uses his crystal ball to cause Dorothy to believe that her aunt is in serious trouble.  Worried, Dorothy races home just in time for a cyclone to strike, knocking her on the head and carrying her, Toto, and the house, into the skies, along with Ms. Gulch, who transforms into a witch aboard a broomstick.

When the house lands, it’s in an entirely different place. Gone are the brown-grey tones of Kansas, replaced with bright color and vivid imagery of Munchkin land.  Dorothy emerges from the house to be greeted and hailed as a hero by both the Munchkins and Glinda, the Good Witch of the North. Dorothy has slain the Wicked Witch of the East when her house fell atop her, and freed the inhabitants of Munchkin land.  Cue song.

Dorothy is understandably confused, especially when the dead witch’s sister, the Wicked Witch of the West (Also Margaret Hamilton) turns up to claim the powerful ruby slippers that belonged to her sibling and are currently sticking out from underneath the house.  

Glinda transports the slippers onto Dorothy’s feet instead, enraging the Wicked Witch of the West, and causing her to swear vengeance for her sister.  Not powerful enough to hurt Dorothy in the presence of Glinda the Good, the Wicked Witch vanishes in a flash-bang of smoke.

All Dorothy wants is to get home.

Glinda assures her that she can get home by going to see the most Powerful Being in All of Oz: The Wonderful Wizard of Oz of the Emerald City.  She can do this, of course, by following the Yellow Brick Road.

Cue another song as Dorothy skips her way out of town, down the road, and towards her goal: getting home.

Already we’re seeing some irony here.  Not fifteen minutes ago, Dorothy’s goal was to get Somewhere Over the Rainbow, to be in a magical place. Oz is as magical as they come, and Dorothy was immediately beloved and befriended, and yet, worried for her family (especially her aunt) the goal seems to have flipped; now her desire is to return home.  This is unusual for both a fantasy movie and a coming of age story, and The Wizard of Oz is both.

Even stranger, throughout the story, Dorothy never wavers from this goal, leading directly to the lesson at the end.  But let’s not get ahead of ourselves.

Dorothy comes to a fork in the Yellow Brick Road by a cornfield, where she meets an unusual figure: a scarecrow (Ray Bolger), stuck on a pole. Dorothy immediately goes to his aid, helping him down and listening to his woes: he has no brain, which he explains through song.  (Aren’t musicals wonderful?)

Dorothy has a solution.  She suggests that he joins her, so that he may ask this Wonderful Wizard for some brains.  He agrees, and they continue along into a grove of apple-trees.  Dorothy, being hungry, goes to pick an apple, only to realize that the trees are alive, and aren’t happy about having their children ripped from them and eaten in front of them.

They don’t word it like that, but that’s the gist of it.

The Brainless Scarecrow takes action, enraging the trees to instead pelt them with the apples, no doubt breaking the hearts of several parents who witnessed their children used as ammunition.

Mission accomplished, Dorothy moves to collect the apples when she stumbles on something else interesting: a man made of tin, rusted nearly solid.

Sensing another opportunity to help, Dorothy uses an oilcan to restore mobility to the Tin-Man (Jack Haley), who thanks them and expresses his own problem: he has no heart, and this just about moves him to tears.

It moves him to song, anyway.

In the end, Dorothy suggests that the Tin Man join them in their journey to Oz, so that he may ask the Wizard for a heart, and he agrees.  The Wicked Witch appears again, this time as a more sincere threat, revealed through a demonstration of her fireball-hurling abilities.  She disappears in another puff of smoke, and the Scarecrow reveals that fire is his only fear, as it is the only thing that can truly destroy him.

The group continues on into a deep forest, full of ‘lions and tigers and bears’ (oh my!), and are suddenly jumped by a Lion (Bert Lahr). They scatter in terror before his might, all except for little Toto.  Faced with this challenge of a tiny dog, the Lion pounces after him, to the outrage of Dorothy, who viciously slaps the Lion on the nose and scolds him. The fierce Lion responds to this attack by bursting into tears.

The Lion explains, in a song, that what he wants most in life is courage, sealing out our rule of three.  He too joins the group in the desperate hope that the Wizard will give him the courage he desires, and the three emerge from the forest, across a field of poppies.  There is a brief and pointless attack by the Witch, deflected by Deux Ex Glinda, and the group merrily makes their way to the Emerald City.

The guy at the gate briefly stops them, but lets them in after seeing Dorothy’s Ruby Slippers and hearing that they know Glinda the Good.  Cue another song, this time describing the joy it is to live in Oz, however they are cut short by the main conflict kicking into high gear: The broomstick-riding Wicked Witch of the West blazes a smoke trail in the sky that says simply: Surrender Dorothy.

The lack of comma is a little confusing as to whether Dorothy is to surrender, or if the people of the Emerald City are supposed to surrender her, but either way, the idea comes across pretty clearly.  In the face of this danger, the message returns from the mighty and wise Wizard of Oz: he won’t see them, due to the danger Dorothy has brought.

In desperation, Dorothy starts to cry, mourning her situation, which, despite three new friends, is pretty bleak.  Her outburst convinces the Wizard’s guard to let them in, where they meet the famed Wizard.

He’s pretty scary, all right.  He insults the group for a few minutes as the group stutters out what they want (a brain, a heart, a home, the nerve), and then lays down his deal: He’ll give them what they want if they bring back the Wicked Witch of the West’s broomstick.  

Left with no other option, Dorothy and Co. head into the forest after the witch, and here I want us to pause for a moment and look at where we are in the story.

For one thing, this is kind of a weird structure for a movie. The setup is fine, a girl finding themselves in a magical world is a normal fantasy format.  The main antagonist was introduced quite some time ago, but she hasn’t really been too much of a threat until now.  We got a few reminders to let us know she’s still in the movie, but we’re really just now getting to see the main ‘conflict’, Dorothy vs. the Witch, and we’re really close to the end of the movie.

It almost seems like we’re just now entering third act climax after a very long first act of rising tension/inciting incident.  It feels as though we’ve skipped right over a second act. The quest to defeat the witch, which in other stories would be starting at the end of the first act, is at the beginning of the third.

The ‘quest’ wasn’t even for Dorothy’s own sake.  She’s doing this because the Wizard is giving her no other choice.  Dorothy isn’t a fantasy hero in the normal sense.  She just wants to get home, and there’s no sense of ‘good vs. evil’ struggle in this film.

So where are we in the story?  Where we are right now is a scared, but determined, little girl doing whatever it takes to get home, with three friends and her dog at her side, marching into the woods to kill the Wicked Witch of the West, a powerful woman who’s been trying to get at her this whole movie.

The Witch’s horde of flying monkeys arrives in the forest, carrying Dorothy and Toto off, mauling the Scarecrow, and subduing the Lion and Tin Man.

Once in the Witch’s castle, threatened with her dog’s death, Dorothy agrees to let the Witch have the slippers, but wouldn’t you know it, the slippers won’t come off her feet.  Enraged, the Witch locks Dorothy in a tower with an hourglass that is counting down time until the Witch kills her.  (The reason she didn’t do it right away is that ‘these things must be done delicately’.  Maybe she needed a spell or something to do it with the Ruby Slippers on her.)  During her imprisonment, she is shown images of her aunt, worriedly calling out for her.

Meanwhile, Toto gets away and rushes to fetch help: the Scarecrow, the Tin Man, and the Lion.  After putting the Scarecrow back together and surmising what must have happened, the trio immediately decide to go rescue Dorothy.

In a display of brainlessness, heartlessness, and gutlessness, they sneak into the Witch’s castle to save their friend, beating up three guards and taking their uniforms in the process.  Seconds before the hourglass runs out, the Tin Man finally gets to use his axe and chops down the door to the room Dorothy is locked inside. Their reunion is cut short, however, by the Witch and her guards, who, after a brief chase, manage to corner them.

The Witch gleefully informs Dorothy that the Witch intends to kill them all, one by one, saving Dorothy for last.  Making good on her promise, she sets the Scarecrow on fire, which, as previously stated, is the one thing that can really kill him.

Horrified, Dorothy grabs a nearby Deus Ex Bucket of Water and douses the Scarecrow, putting him out and saving his life.  In the process, the Witch gets soaked too, and let’s be honest, you all know what happens next.

“You cursed brat! Look what you’ve done! I’m melting! Melting! Oh, what a world! What a world! Who would have thought a good little girl like you could destroy my beautiful wickedness…”

So the Witch vaporizes away, leaving Dorothy and Co. stunned and surrounded by the Witch’s guards, who thank Dorothy profusely for murdering their leader.  They gladly give them the broomstick they were sent after, and the gang immediately heads back to the Emerald City, full of joy and confidence.

Once they arrive back in the Wizard’s presence, however, he immediately begins wavering on his deal, telling them to come back tomorrow.

Dorothy, having recently (if accidently) vanquished the most feared person in all of Oz, is having none of it.  She stands up to the Wizard and is just setting in on giving him a piece of her mind before Toto rushes to an ignored corner of the room, pulling back a concealing fabric and revealing a scared little man behind the curtain, working frantically at his machinery in an attempt to draw their attention away from him.

The man (also Frank Morgan) admits the truth: he is the Wizard of Oz, and has no wonderful powers whatsoever, but he does stave off their anger with a few items from our world, where he is apparently from.  To the Scarecrow, Tin Man, and Lion, he bestows gifts that officially grant them the traits they were ‘lacking’.

A diploma, medal, or clock won’t get Dorothy home, however, but the Wizard has an idea.  He arrived in Oz several years ago by a decidedly less fantastic way than Dorothy had: he had come by hot air balloon, and it just so happens that it is in perfect condition.  The Wizard decides that it is time for him to go home as well, and offers to take Dorothy with him.  Of course she accepts.

However, while the departure is taking place, there is a scuffle involving Toto and a cat, and the balloon takes off with the Wizard, but not Dorothy.  The girl is now in complete despair about ever getting back to Kansas, and even though she’d be welcome in the Emerald City, she’s coming to the realization that there’s no place like home.

Cue Deus Ex Glinda.

The Good Witch arrives in their midst and tells Dorothy something that probably would have been helpful before if not for The Plot: The Ruby Slippers that Dorothy has been wearing could have taken her home any time she wanted, simply by clicking her heels and saying ‘There’s no place like home’.

(I wish I had a pair of those.  That’d make social gatherings much less uncomfortable.)

Dorothy tearfully wishes her friends goodbye and with Toto in tow, follows Glinda’s instructions and wakes up in familiar, gray Kansas, surrounded by her aunt, uncle, farmhands, and Professor Marvel.  It was all Just A Dream.

Contrived?  Maybe. Or maybe not.

A lot of people have quite a few problems with the ending of the Wizard of Oz (besides the Scarecrow’s math slipup, which we aren’t addressing today).  For example, if Glinda knew the slippers did that this whole time, why send Dorothy on this dangerous adventure and have her murder a Witch?

(Or maybe it was Manslaughter.  It was accidental, after all.)

For a while, I subscribed to the theory of it just being an easy way to end the story.  In the original book, the Good Witch who sends Dorothy off and the Good Witch who helps her get home are two different people.  I just assumed that the scriptwriters just crammed them into one person, didn’t realize the Adaptation Induced Plothole, and just hoped no one would notice.  (I didn’t like this movie for much of my childhood, and I was rather cynical towards it.)

However, when I watched it again, I had another thought.

First off, this entire adventure was a dream, and if we can accept talking lions, scarecrows, and men made out of tin, we can sure as heck accept the fact that Dorothy’s subconscious wasn’t thinking of a plot-sensible way to get home.

Secondly, and more important thematically, this way home matters to Dorothy’s journey.  In the beginning of the first act, we see Dorothy’s desperation to be elsewhere, somewhere where her dreams come true, somewhere brighter and Better than Kansas. And then she gets her wish.

For any other fantasy hero, this would be amazing.  She immediately is hailed as a hero and makes three good friends, defeats a villain, and has the opportunity to stay behind in this magical land where she has learned so much.  But what does Dorothy say at the end?

“If I ever go looking for my heart’s desire again, l won’t look any further than my own backyard, because if it isn’t there I never really lost it to begin with.”

Right from the beginning, as we’ve mentioned, all she wants is to go back home, to be with her family and friends, and to be content with the life she had.  Her ‘Hero’s Journey’ isn’t learning to strike out on her own and be Independent.  Her ‘Hero’s Journey’ is gaining the same things her friends did: brains, heart, and courage.

She proves her own intelligence, her own caring, and most importantly, her own bravery.  She learns agency.  In the beginning of the story, she is helpless, running away from her life because the adults in her life are unable to help her.  The story of Dorothy is of being able to affect where you are in life, not by escaping, but by dealing with your problems yourself.

By initially going to the Wizard to be sent home and finding out she had the ability to do it herself, Dorothy realizes that she has power and agency in her own life, and that she can’t, and shouldn’t, totally rely on others to fix her problems.  So in a way, it makes sense that she had to go through all of that before she could go home.

By the same token, she’s also learned that she belongs with her family at the moment.  Dorothy is still a child, and does spend a good deal of the movie worrying especially about her aunt.  Where she begins the movie feeling swept aside by her family, Dorothy realizes how much she cares about and needs family and friends in her life.  She has learned to be self-sufficient, but not alone.

That’s a pretty good message for a kid, and indeed, for people of all ages.  With that in mind, it makes a lot of sense that people have kept coming back to this film for its heartwarming story.  There’s a reason this movie is a classic, after all.

In the upcoming articles, we’ll be taking a look at some more of the fascinating facets that make up The Wizard of Oz, so please, stay tuned for next time!  Thank you all so much for reading and feel free to message me with your own thoughts. I hope to ‘see’ you in the next article!

[murfeelee]

The Sims™ 4 Realm of Magic: Official Trailer

______________________________________________________________

MY THOUGHTS:

EA. WHY are your Game Packs more interesting than TS4′s “full” Expansion Packs?! >_<

I like the portal -- thank goodness it’s not a rabbithole. The neighborhood design is awesome. Too bad hoods are so effing SMALL in TS4 -- how much free space is there gonna be?

Is it...like...ALWAYS nighttime/twilight there? Is the moon always out, and full? (Why bother, with no werewolves, but just saying). I hope it’s not always night, come on, this isn’t Sixam. Makes me nervous about the scale and scope of the world’s other possible/inevitable limitations.

[EDIT]

Okay, so the news from the simguru tweets is that Glimmerbrook is the alpine woods world you start out in, with 5 empty lots, and the Magical; Realm is the mini-hood you can visit, with only 1 empty lot. You can’t LIVE in the Magical Realm; it’s like a vacay world. (So you KNOW someone’s gonna mod that, LOL.)

Nice cauldron at 0:30; it’s effing huge. You could boil someone alive in there, muehuehue. I like the rug; is it glowing too? The potions look like plainer versions of the ones from TS3 GEN, rather than TS3 SN, which sucks, cuz the SN potions were freaking gorgeous. That dark beaker is 100% unappealing.

Okay, so Supernatural this clearly ain’t -- it’s not even Makin Magic -- but it does look cute. Very Diagon Alley. I guess Witch is the only lifestate. That slightly creepy lady at 0:24 who guides him around is giving me vibes that there might be good and bad witches from TS2 coming back? (There’s ghosts in 0:19 - 0:20, so necromancy, perhaps? It’s green; is the Haunting Curse coming back?)

At 0:49 the dueling magic looks like Harry Potter, too, the way it drips when it collides. 

Their powers look...ok -- but I’m mad, cuz I don’t see any ELEMENTAL magic! IN TS3 we have Fire and Frost -- all I see here are sparkles. URGH! I don’t want more sparkles and lights, EA, I want SITH LORD LIGHTNING. :( I really liked the magic in TSM, with the long staves and the electricity, that was so cool. My TS3 sims never use wands, and [EDIT] apparently the Magic Hands option is here, too -- thank goodness. I was hoping for some sort of hedge witch mechanic, where you could do cool things with plants and nature and wildlife.

At 0:52 what is she doing? She disappeared, did she teleport? I hope she transformed into an animal. I hope TS1/TS2 animal transformations come back! :( 

At 0:48 that golden bird is obviously some sort of Phoenix familiar/summon, which is nice. PLEASE let them transform into people like an animagus. I hope they talk or do something other than just boosting a sims’ magic with moodlets.

[EDIT]

It is confirmed that there are indeed familiars -- several mystical types. And just like TS3′s SN, a witch’s pets can be familiars, too.

At 0:55 I like the floating spellbook -- that’s a nice change.

0:56 - 0:57: YEET.

Broomstick riding is back -- I wonder if using it will be limited to only within this neighborhood/GP, and if it can even travel (I bloody doubt it) -- in TS3 it functioned like bikes that you could ride around town, but TS4 has no transportation cuz it’s not open world, so I wonder if it will teleport sims instead?

There’s some cool build/buy content in the background.

Not a real fan of any of the CAS stuff, tbh. The Vampire GP had more interesting fashion.(It’s like the reverse of TS3, when I hated the LN fashion and loved the SN ones. XD)

And now, for the most important observation, however:

WHY DO I NOT SEE ANY CHILDREN DOING ANY MAGIC, EA?!

There ain’t a single kid in this teaser/trailer, wtf!? Don’t do this to me. NOT AGAIN!

Omg someone please tell me I missed the announcement that kids will be able to learn AND cast spells. I will throw an entire fit otherwise. AGAIN!? Omg.

TL:DR

All in all? Decent, but a little underwhelming? I remember my eyes bugging out of my dang head when the TS4 Vampires GP dropped. I feel none of that here. But it looks nice! I guess I was just hoping for a lot more than what we’re seeing here. This is why I wanted Magic to be its own EP. You can do so much more than this, EA, come on. I don’t even see any of the stage magic from TS3′s Showtime EP. The fan-made TS4 Witches & Warlocks trailer was more dope.

So yeah, I’m good with Supernatural for now, thanks. :\

[americanhorrorbatch]

Seeing you- Chapter 3

(This Story is part of the Elijah Langdon series. You can say the first book. Yes, this is still american horror story but I’m gonna add my own twists and make it better then how apocalypse went.)

The next morning me and Michael agreed to meet up at my local Starbucks around 3 pm. I was so nervous hanging out with him. I kept messing with my finger. I swear I feel like there is a strange tugging on it. I grabbed Anna’s book Shadow Star and started reading it. What is a Starlight? Anna sees my confusion and chuckles handing me a book. “Starlights for Dummies?” I ask. “Yep, start there.”

A Starlight is a mysterious being often confused as Angels, Demons, Gods, Goddesses, Fairies, Aliens, etc. They are a species of Aliens called Starlights. The first 12 Starlights were first created from God(s)/ Angels reproducing with humans. Starlights are mortals but with powers and age slower then most mortals. These Starlights reproduced with each other and hence is how we have stars in the sky. There are many theories on why Starlights were created but no one knows the truth except for the parent of the original 12 Starlights. 

I close the book and put it away. “Y/N, did you get to the chapter of The Ancient Starlight?” Anna asks. “No, why?” I ask. “Never mind, then.” She giggles and runs off. “Huh, Weird.” I mumble as I walk up to my mom.“Hey, Mom I’m going to walk to Starbucks.” I tell her. “With what money?” She laughs. “I was hoping you’d help me out?” I chuckle wrapping my arm around her shoulder. She smiles at me. “Did you do your chores?” She questions. “Yes, I did.” I smile. “Are you sure you aren’t just telling me you did but actually didn’t?” She questions further. I let out a playful scoff. “Are you accusing me of not doing my chores?”

“Well, if the shoe gits then wear it.” She laughs. “Of course, I did my chores.” I lie. “So, If I checked it would be squeaky like the top of the Chrysler building?” She asks. “Of course.” I lie again. “Darling, you are such a bad liar. Back when I was a kid if I lied my Mom would hit me with a belt or made me pick a tree branch and if it broke I had to get another.” She said seriously then kissed my forehead. “I swore I would never hit my kids. Now, go do you’re chores then come back and ask me for money.” Mom smiles creepily and I backed away slowly. I grabbed my phone and texted Michael I would be running late.

Anna laughed at me as I was sweeping the floors. “Stop laughing at me!” I pout. She giggles. “Sorry not sorry, let me help.” She says grabbing another broomstick. “Let’s make a pile in the middle of the floor.” I say pushing the dirt to the middle. “Hey, Y/N. can I tell you a secret?” She asks. “Yeah?” I ask her. “I know I’ve been here for a day but remember what I was asking you about earlier?” she asks. “Yeah?” I ask her. “Never mind.” She mumbles. “What is it?” I ask. “It’s nothing I will tell you later. Someone is listening.” She mumbles. “No one in here but us?” I ask. “He’s not here, he’s somewhere else. Never mind that, we will talk later. When it’s safe.” She mumbles. 

The rest of the chores were silent. Anna seemed scared of whoever was listening in but she didn’t want to tell me now which I understand. I asked my mom for some money and she handed me $20. I ran out of the house and on my bike. I rode to Starbucks and saw Michael outside on a bench. He gives me a charismatic smile that could just make you melt. “I thought you ditched me.” He says. “Oh no, my mom wanted me to do my chores. You know how moms are.” I giggle. I could tell I said something wrong. “I suppose. My Mother died when I was born.” He mumbles and I felt guilty. “My Grandmother raised me then killed herself.”

“I’m sorry...” I mumble looking down and he grabbed my right hand and placed his hand on my chin. “Don’t be, you didn’t know. Plus, I have Ms. Mead and she treats me as her son.” he smiles softly.  He stares in my eyes. “What is it about you?” He mumbles softly. “E-Excuse me?” I ask. “Why do I feel so drawn to you like I do? We have only just met?” He asks. “I’ve been asking myself the same thing.” I whisper staring in to his blue eyes. I see them sparkling like a star. I notice him looking down curiously at something and my eyes slowly traveled down. There was a red string tied around our fingers. 

“I have to go.” He mumbles running off. The string stretches out until it disappeared from my eyes like magic. I shook my head and stood up. I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned around. I saw a woman with hypnotizing eyes. She mumbled something.

“The one who holds the ancient name must bare the ancient responsibility.”

I started to see strange flashes of outer space and how the universe was made and the truth of Starlights. Who Michael is, who I am. Multiple ways this could end. My head felt like it was on fire. I saw a man he had long silver hair and violet eyes and he was smiling at me with a creepy smile. He sat in front of a chess board that looked like little pieces of witches and warlocks. This man means to start a war between Witches and Warlocks. 

“Your move.” He smirks.

Everything is going so fast last thing I see is my mother rushing over to me before everything went dark.

@lovelykhaleesiii

@queencocoakimmie

@ateliefloresdaprimavera

@buckynlarry

@gracethegeek9902

@athenamalfoywinchester

@mysticalavengers

@lustlangdon

@cosmiclunas

@hadesnewpersephone

@queenie435

@stardxstparker

[ashleigh-luvs-14cats]

A Rencounter Fic

OMG I MADE A 2ND CHAPTER!!! And in short amount of time (not really but short enough)!! This one is really special cuz @ice-cream-kitsunegirl and I work together on this one. She made an amazing intro (in my personal opinion). Once again both of our Ocs are here, I have her permission to use her character, I hope you will like it and please check out her blog if you like bnha x readers fics, I recommend reading her stuff. (She has more experience in writing than I do. XD)

Summary: Ashlen and Amy have been friends online for three months but never knew each other's real names or faces. They are from different countries but feel as if they are very close to one another. Ashlen is on an exchange program to UA High School to Class 1-A for a year. One year away from home in the U.S, will she get along with her new classmates? Why does one of them sound familiar?

Chapter 2: A Sense of Change

Meanwhile at UA…

“WHOO-HOO~!”

Amy whooped as she flew her broomstick up in the air, high enough to run a hand through the clouds, the same place where her head was as she grinned at the bright moonlight. It was the perfect amount of light that she would need to charge her gemstones for when she got down. She looked down to see their brightness…

She wasn’t alone though, she had her dear friend Shinsou riding with her on her broomstick, and he wasn’t crazy about how high they were. They were a little too high near the clouds, he knew that Amy was an adrenaline junkie, but how did he let her convince him to do crazy shit like this?

‘It’s like riding a bike she said… it will be fun she said…’ He thought to himself in dread, but he refused to show that he might have been just a little bit scared of falling since this relied purely on her telekinesis to let her fly.

“Hitoshi! We’re so freakin’ high! I’ve officially gotten better with my telekinesis, and now I can fly this thing anytime I want! Haha~! I want to get away, I wanna fllyyyyy away~.” She started singing as she floated about and let the wind blow in her face.

“You shouldn’t sing while we’re up here… you need to focus, so your telekinesis doesn’t break… Let’s just get back to the ground… I don’t think I really like fly-“ Shinsou nearly screamed when she suddenly descended, and he held on tightly to this broomstick as she whooped yet again, swerving a circle around the Heights Alliance building and potentially disturbing some of the other Class 1-A students with the heavy wind blowing through the windows from her fast flying..

As soon as she reached the ground, Shinsou was happy to be back on his feet where he wouldn’t fall to his death. “HA! Never gets old…” Amy laughed cheerfully as she got down off her broomstick, secretly amusing Shinsou despite what his expression indicated. “You’re setting witches back a hundred years by flying on a broomstick, do you know that?” He asked her sarcastically as she laughed a little bit, “Yeah, but it’s fun~. Now watch this! The moonlight is perfect for my gems~.” Amy sang-songed as she cheerfully went over to the gems she had collected to charge up for the perfect night.

They were gleaming, provided by the brightness of the moonlight that shined upon them, Amy stared at them in awe as she started to sing the incantation.

“Crystal, Gleam and Glow

Let your power return

The full moon shine so bright

Return your state of might.”

A low humming radiated from the glowing gemstones, and Amy’s grin grew and looked somewhat crazy from Shinsou’s point of view as she did her best to not let out a dramatic cackle, and instead just giggled happily. “AH! I can’t wait to utilize their power for later~ I’m just mad about gemstones.” She said excitedly, which Shinsou secretly found endearing. Even if he didn’t know why he was out here in the first place.

“Why am I out here again?” He asked in the most deadpan tone she had heard yet, and he wasn’t surprised to see Amy’s trademark smirk.

“Duh, Mr. Aizawa trusts you the most with me, I need you to back me up if I get in trouble, and on top of that… I need to make up being away from you for 4 years… do you know how sad I was without you?”

Amy explained, her smirk turning into a more somber smile, “But you had the other witches. You certainly think highly of them… a lot more than the other girls here, that’s for sure.”

It was true. Amy often mentioned her sisters from the coven at Miss Robichaux’s Academy for Exceptional Young Girls at New Orleans to her friends and classmates. Her sisters were young witches that had been made public not long ago but were an independent heroine group that followed their own rules thanks to Amy’s Supreme Cordelia Goode demonstrating a heroic attitude despite the witches’ controversial, and some say questionable hero methods. Amy’s dear friends Zoe Benson, Queenie and Mallory lived there, and she missed them terribly, but frequently spoke to them online, along with a new friend she had made in the states. And sometimes she would stay up till the dead of the night talking to them, which had lately been forcing Bakugou to make her ‘go the fuck to bed.’

“I do… I mean the girls here are great… but… my sisters are… pretty badass.” Amy chuckled a little bit, but Shinsou couldn’t help but rolls his eyes. “Yeah, we hear you go on and on about how great they are… Except for Madison… nobody can stand her, I really can’t stand her.” Shinsou reminded her but made sure to remark on his intense dislike for Madison Montgomery, the bitchiest witch who had been ‘taking care of you’ and shadowing a very reluctant Aizawa on Cordelia’s request on most days. But nobody, not even sweet Izuku, Kirishima or Uraraka liked her.

Amy couldn’t help but giggle. Madison was more of her frenemy than anything, compared to Misty, Mallory, Zoey, and Queenie, but Madison was a hedonist who looked out mainly for herself and most definitely NOT a hero. Although, Madison did care about Amy, given that she took her on a wild bender after Bakugou was rescued and was being kind of a distant asshole afterward.

That proved that Madison DID care about her and had a heart underneath the stone-cold bitchiness. “Hee-hee, Madison’s a bitch. But… I can handle her. I mean… look at who I’m dating.” Amy shrugged a little bit and laughed, not fully noticing the look of annoyance on Shinsou’s face.

“But… as much as I talk about how great my sisters are… they aren’t you Hitoshi… they made me feel less lonely… but they couldn’t replace you at all…” She said softly with a warm smile at her childhood friend, who didn’t seem to expect that as he awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck, willing himself to not blush.

“So sentimental…” He muttered a little bit in slight embarrassment as Amy giggled a little bit, unable to stop herself from hugging his arm affectionately as he sighed heavily in mild annoyance. Although, Amy’s hold loosened a little bit as her brown eyes widened ever so slightly, pausing momentarily as she stared upwards into the distance and looked around.

There was nothing in the area, but her senses were tingling and telling her something that she couldn’t really say. Yet, she felt nothing bad, which was surprising to her since one of Amy’s gifts allowed her to sense bad juju and of bad things yet to come. So naturally, Amy learned to be cautious, even if she wasn’t sensing the usual bad juju…

Which was a little bit alarming to her. She’d been used to bad juju, and for some reason, it seemed to be naturally drawn to her wherever she wants, whether it was at Robichaux or UA. She recalled many times she felt it, such as the attack on Robichaux, the Witch Hunters, the Axeman’s attack, the USJ incident, the Hero Killer’s attack at Hosu, to the Summer Field Training trip. All bad incidents, so why was this so different?

Amy wondered what this could have meant. Whatever it was, it was lingering in the atmosphere, and Amy was growing more curious about it by the minute.

As she thought to herself, Shinsou knew that the witch must have sensed something when she was uncharacteristically quiet, so he could tell she must have sensed something, “What is it, Amy? Is something the matter?” He asked her, a hint of concern in his tone as Amy chuckled and shook her head.

“Nothing really… I thought I sensed something but… now it’s gone… it’s nothing.” She replied with a smile and decided to quickly change the subject somehow.

Ding!

“Oh! Hello~. Wonder who that could be~?” Thankfully, one of your friends messaged you, which was the perfect distraction from the weirdness you felt.

Ally-luvs-14cats: Hi! What's up Ice cream!?

Ice-cream-FoxGirl: Oh hey girl! Just flyin’ about with my buddy. Almost died lol

Ally-luvs-14cats: Which one? The Zombie one or the Explodo boi?  

Ice-cream-FoxGirl: HA. I haven’t killed Explodo Boi YET. But I’m with my dear Zombie Boy.

Shinsou looked over Amy's shoulder, "Who are you talking to? And who are you calling Zombie boy?"

Amy nearly jumped, and she flashed him a nervous, toothy grin, “Just a friend… Zombie Boy? No…” She laughed very nervously, “Nobody… definitely not you… I don’t think your zombie-like features make you look like a zombie…” She said, not convincingly at all as she tried to wave it off.

Ally-luvs-14cats: XD i bet he pissed his pants!

Ice-cream-FoxGirl: XD LOL I dunno. Maybe. I didn’t check my broom lolol

Ally-luvs-14cats: you better. Wouldnt want a nasty ride XD

"Who are they? Are they your friends from the coven?" Shinso asked, with a face of annoyance from the 'pissed' comment.

“Hee-hee… not this time… Madison probably would’ve said something like that. But no, this is my bud from the States... She ain’t a coven girl, well… that I know of,  but she’s definitely a friend…” She clarified, for once not saying anything really snarky since she had grown to like this girl, she was pretty cool. A LOT cooler than Madison that’s for sure, the witch Amy was stuck with.

"You know, you really shouldn't be buddy-buddy with people online. They could be a creepy old man from Japan." He warned, he heard creepy tales of how disgusting villains kidnap kids over the internet.

Amy almost chuckled, but Shinsou’s concern touched her. “Hitoshi… I’ve already killed two creepy old men back at New Orleans. I can easily kill another. I’m good at killing creepy old men… I LIKE killing creepy old men.” She smiled a little too wide, intentionally making herself look a bit bloodthirsty, which… she kind of was. “But seriously… I trust this person. Everything I’ve read from her doesn’t strike me as suspicious. No bad juju from her.” This time, that was a bit more reassuring since this girl so far didn’t give Amy any bad vibes. "And besides, we haven't said our real names and where exactly we live, just our countries."

Ally-luvs-14cats: ugh my morning was rough XC

Ice-cream-FoxGirl: uh-oh. O.O What’s the T Christine? What happened?

Ally-luvs-14cats: let’s just say i got my ass kicked by one of my older sisters...mannn i thought today was the day im going to win! 😗

Ice-cream-FoxGirl: Eh?! You didn’t win?! Awwww man… well hey, you can do it next time! This time strike when she least expects it! Go all ‘Surprise Bitch!’ on her! Works every time! 😆

Ally-luvs-14cats: XD if only that were easy. I totally went all out! Even used my special move. But she's just too dang good.. unfortunately the next time will be in a year though…

Ice-cream-FoxGirl: DAYUM! >.< That’s almost like when I didn’t pass the Seven Wonders… I mean, most witches usually die when they don’t pass but I just couldn’t do any Divination… I feel your pain though girl… :/ I can’t beat Madison… that bitch is cray-cray… but hey, you can try again next year at least! ;)

"She only knows that you're a witch?" Shinsou asked as they approach Amy's dorm room.

Amy tried not to look so obvious, but that was just in her nature unless she was trying to manipulate someone. “Yup… that’s… that’s all she knows… she definitely doesn’t know all my friends’ names… just the girls from the coven…” She muttered, not being discreet at all. But… Amy was a risk-taker by nature, it was something she needed to seriously work on.

Ally-luvs-14cats: Also I got some news! Like a future warning...

Ice-cream-FoxGirl: Oh? Future warning eh? I wanna hear that T.

Ally-luvs-14cats: pfft..anyways yea im going to be M.I.A. im going to be moving sooo i wont be able to talk to you for a few days...ill be moving to a new country annnd guess where it will be!?

Ice-cream-FoxGirl: AWWW! >.< Booo! Oh well… will miss u gurl~. Have fun with moving! Aaaaaaaaand… France? Canada? New Orleans~? … Norway?

Ally-luvs-14cats: PFFT! New Orleans isnt a country! XD Also none of those are correct btw..

Ice-cream-FoxGirl: XD Yeah but New Orleans is AWESOME!! Aaaand… Taiwan? … London? Paris? Maybe Tokyo?

Ally-luvs-14cats: Ding Ding! It is JAPAN!~

Ice-cream-FoxGirl: O.O JAPAN?! HEY THAT’S WHERE I’M AT! GIIIIIRL~.

Ally-luvs-14cats: YEA! ill be going to this like fancy school for an exchange student program...ugh i hope this school wont be filled with snobs like the ones here..¬_¬

Ice-cream-FoxGirl:  UGH Tell me about it… I love the lot I’m stuck with, but Robichaux had cooler ladies. Now the guys here though… ;) Ooh la la girl… you’d love the guys here…… I’m licking my lips as we speak~

Ally-luvs-14cats: >u< oh my gosh! Lol! Man i hope soo...i do have a thing for Asian boys..

Ice-cream-FoxGirl: They are only some of the most beautiful men on the planet~. And these guys sure are… I have a picture of this dude I’m dating, took it when he wasn’t aware of it at the pool. Among other photos he doesn’t know I secretly have of him~. Including one of him while he was sleeping... XD

"Is that so? Amy.." A voice came up behind her and almost came out as a growl.

“AHHH!!” Amy’s eyes widened, she managed to read her most recent message, but her furious boyfriend had kind of distracted her as she jumped and screamed when he was getting too close and in a snap, she teleported at least 5 feet away to text as quickly as she could.

Ally-luvs-14cats: XD Well i gttg..I need some breakfast after that defeat..and who knows maybe we'll see other. So bye!

Ice-cream-FoxGirl: Great! Talk to u later! Can’t wait to see you! I’ll show u pics when u do! Girl bai!! I’m gonna try and not die now XD :3

Ally-luvs-14cats: Oops someone found out something XD sorry but...you are on your own!

                                    Ally-luvs-14cats had left the chat!

"AMY! GET YOUR ASS OVER HERE!"

Not many things scared Amy and not even Bakugou, but his rage was enough to raise the hairs on her back as she took off running. “No! Go drink some tea or something and ‘leaf’ me alone~!” If she was going to die, she was going to go out on a really lame pun.

Shinsou couldn’t really do anything except watch his best friend and her dumb boyfriend chase each other. He probably should have stopped Bakugou with his quirk, but… Amy wouldn’t learn anything if he did. That’s what he told himself at least.

That’s what she gets for the piss comment…

[a-corndog-named-schibbs]

Fangs, Fur, and Phantoms - Chapter 9

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8

THE GRAND FINALE!  Keith distributes in-flight snacks, Coran speaks with his supervisors, and Lance is half the man he used to be.

Hope you’ve all enjoyed reading this fic as much as I’ve enjoyed sharing it!

At first, Keith assumed his near-death experience was making him see things.  Surely that wasn’t the actual grendel stalking its way down the street.  Surely it couldn’t be that big.  Surely the screams of terror were just in his head and not actually being made by the festival-goers.

Sadly, lack of oxygen couldn’t be blamed for this one.

His previous encounter with the grendel hadn’t prepared him for how tall it would be.  If anything, it seemed bigger now.  Seeing it in the woods when he couldn’t quite make out its form had been terrifying enough.  Now, in the harsh light of day, the sight of it only froze his blood more.  It made it more profane, somehow, to see it in the sunlight among the brightly colored booths and banners.  More shocking in its wrongness.

The thing waded in among the tables, kicking them to the side effortlessly and reaching out with its impossibly long, gnarled fingers, trying to catch pedestrians as they scattered before it like rats.

Shiro and Allura, to their credit, were valiantly trying to evacuate the crowd, directing people to get indoors, away from the monster.

“You guys need to get out of here!” said Shiro, ushering people into the hardware store.

“Do you even have a plan to stop that thing?” said Lance.

“We’re open to suggestions,” said Allura.

“There’s gotta be some way to stop it, right?” said Keith, “Everything’s got a weakness.  Silver, garlic, that sort of thing.  Pidge, please tell me you came across a weakness while you were researching this thing.”

But Pidge was shaking her head, “If it has a weakness, no one’s discovered it yet.  It’s immune to everything.  I mean, think about it, it’s pure evil.  How are you supposed to kill—?“  She froze.

“You just got an idea, didn’t you?”

Pidge pointed toward her family’s booth, “Those treats we made for the festival.  They’ve got anti-evil wards on them.  They’re pretty low-level individually, but if we got the grendel to eat all of them all together…”

“It’s worth a shot,” said Shiro, “There’s one problem, though.  How are we gonna get this thing to eat them?  I don’t think muffins are on its diet.”

But now it was Keith’s turn to have an idea.  “I think I know what to do.  Shiro, Allura, get as many people out of harm’s way as you can.”

“Already done,” said Allura.

“Mom, Lance, Romelle, I need you guys to distract it.  Run around, confuse it, but don’t let it catch you.  If you see any other pack members, tell them to do the same.”

“You better not be planning on doing something stupid,” said Lance.

“It’ll only be stupid if it doesn’t work,” said Keith, “Hunk, I need you to gather up those treats Pidge was talking about, as many as you can.”

“Got it,” said Hunk.

“And what about me?” said Pidge, “What should I do?”

“Follow me.”

Keith pulled Pidge across the street and into the hardware store.  He pushed past the people huddled in fright near the door and into the cleaning supplies isle.

“You mind explaining to me what we’re doing in here?” said Pidge.

“Looking for something that will let us get close to the monster without being eaten.”

“Somehow I don’t think Windex and toilet brushes are gonna do that for us.”

“No, but this might.”

Keith reached up and pulled a broom off the shelf.

Pidge groaned, “Are you serious?  A witch making a broomstick fly?  That’s such a stereotype!”

“Can you do it or not?”

“Of course I can do it, I’m the most talented goddamn witch in town.”

Keith and Pidge pushed their way through the crowd once more and raced back outside.  Hunk was hurriedly gathering muffins, donuts, and tarts onto one of the trays.

“I think this is all of them,” he said, “Let’s hope it’s enough.”

Keith flipped up the front of his shirt to make a pouch and Hunk poured the treats in.

“Pidge, how’s it coming with the flying broomstick?”

“Almost there,” said Pidge, taking a small piece of chalk out of her pocket and drawing runes on the handle of the broom.

The grendel, meanwhile, was thankfully preoccupied, distracted by the many wolves now running circles around its feet.  Keith recognized Kolivan, Antok, and of course his own mother, with Romelle riding along on her back.  Lance seemed to be holding his own too, darting in close to the monster and then scrambling out of reach once it spotted him.

“Over here!” he yelled, whacking the beast with his umbrella, “Kiss my ass, you ugly fucker!”

But as quick as he was, the grendel was just a little bit faster.  It scooped him up in its claws and lifted him up to eye level.

“Come on!” Lance spat at the monster, “You want a piece of me?”

Apparently it did.  The grendel gripped Lance with both hands and ripped him in half, tossing the two halves aside.

“Lance, no!” Keith screamed.

“Keith, we gotta go!” Pidge yelled, now standing astride the broomstick.

“No!  No, Lance—!”

“He’s a vampire, he’ll be fine!  But we gotta stop this thing!”

She was right, of course.  There was no time for fear or even anger.  Keith adjusted his makeshift pouch of baked goods and swung a leg over the broomstick behind Pidge.

In a way, riding the broomstick was a bit like riding a bike.  If that bike had no seat and would lead to instant death if you fell off.  Keith gripped Pidge’s shoulder with one hand while trying to keep treats from spilling out of his shirt with the other.

“How do you want to do this?” Pidge shouted above the noise of the wind whistling past them.

“Just fly directly above it.  I’ll figure it out from there.”

In truth, he didn’t have much of a plan.  His first idea was to dump the treats as they flew over the mouth, but the risk of missing and losing the pastries was too great.  A more direct approach was needed and Keith didn’t like what it entailed.

Pidge steered the broom upward.  She circled the grendel’s head once, twice, to get its attention, then hovered over its massive head.  The beast craned its neck up to get a good look at them, growling lowly in its throat, its head pointed straight up.

“Now what?” said Pidge.

“Now your job’s done,” said Keith, slipping off the back of the broom.

Pidge’s cries for him to stop were lost as the air whistled past his ears.

Somehow, he managed to land on his feet.  The beast’s mouth was still closed and Keith had landed on the tip of its muzzle, his legs straddling its lips.

He swayed, the vertigo of being up so high making him dizzy.  The grendel glared up at him with its glowing malicious eyes.  It opened its mouth slightly, nearly causing Keith to lose his balance, and snarled, its long, sinuous tongue unfurling from its jaws and reaching up for Keith.

Keith let go of the hem of his shirt and a cascade of muffins and donuts fell into the creature’s mouth.

The effects were immediate.  The grendel writhed in pain as it realized its mistake.  The motion knocked Keith off balance and he flew a good distance through the air before landing hard on the street below.  He had the good sense to roll as he landed, minimizing the damage, but it didn’t prevent him from hearing a loud snap! and feeling a sharp pain in his ankle.

He rolled onto his side, facing the grendel just in time to see it fall to the ground.  It squirmed on the pavement and screeched in pain as wisps of smoke escaped its mouth.  Finally, it gave a great groan, shuddered once, twice, three times, and was still.

Keith rolled onto his back and closed his eyes, exhaustion catching up to him.

Shiro was the first to reach him.

“Keith.  Hey, Keith.  Come on, wake up, this isn’t a great place for a nap.”

Keith groaned.  He didn’t feel like moving from this spot ever again.

“Come on, buddy, I need you to stay with me.  Are you okay?”

“Yes,” said Keith, “No.  I think my ankle’s broken.”

“I’ll get you some medical attention, Keith, don’t worry.  Here, give me your arm.”

Shiro slung Keith’s arm over his shoulder and helped him hobble off to the sidewalk where the injured were being gathered.  He set him down next to Lance, who was lying in the shade.  Or at least most of him was.

“Did we win?” said Lance, who seemed to be just regaining consciousness himself.

“Yeah, I think we did,” said Keith, “How are you feeling?”

“I feel fine,” said Lance, but he then frowned and wriggled a bit, “Why can’t I feel my legs?”

“Well…”

Lance propped himself up on his elbows and looked down at where his legs were supposed to be, “Well, shit.  That’s no good.”

Meanwhile, Pidge had landed her broom and was now rushing over with Hunk close on her heels.

“You dumbass!” she snapped, hitting Keith over the head with the brush end of the broom, “Dammit, Keith, warn me next time you’re about to do dumb shit like that!”

“Hey, when you’re done abusing my poor brave heroic boyfriend, do you think you could go look for my legs?  I seem to have misplaced them,” said Lance.

“I gotcha, buddy,” said Hunk, turning and searching the nearby tables for Lance’s other half.

“In all seriousness, though,” said Lance softly, placing his hand over Keith’s, “I do think you were very brave.”

Keith was about to reply when he was nearly tackled by his mother and Romelle, who pulled him into a hug.

“Ow!  Mom, watch the leg,” he groaned, which earned him a bit of personal space.

There were tears spilling out of Krolia’s eyes.  “My brave pup,” she whispered, stroking his hair, “I’m so proud of you.”

“As am I,”  Keith looked up and saw Kolivan smiling down at him, with most of the pack gathered around him, “What you did was heroic.  An action worthy of an alpha.”

“I don’t know about that,” said Keith, blushing and looking away.  Lance squeezed his hand and gave him a reassuring smile.

Krolia helped him lean back so he could lay his head in her lap, “The others will find a medic to look at your leg.  Just relax now, sweetheart, okay?  You’ve earned it.”

***

In his time on earth, Lance had survived many things.  Being burnt, stabbed, hanged, drowned, shot at, bludgeoned over the head, and even, thanks to an ill-timed vacation to France, decapitated.

Being ripped in half was a new one for him, though.

Eventually, Hunk did find his legs. They were on the next street over, wandering around in search of a torso.  Shiro held him still while Hunk lined them up so they could be reattached properly.

Once he was all in one piece again, Lance got up to look around for a medic to look after Keith.  It had been a while since his fall and his ankle was still very obviously broken.  Not that he blamed the first-responders for their inattention.  Sadly, there were many, many injuries to be tended to.

He noticed Shiro standing near an overturned booth and waved to get his attention.  “Hey, do you think someone could—“  But Shiro held a finger to his lips to shush him and pointed.

Coran was standing a few feet away, talking to a very tall…someone.  It hurt for Lance to look at them directly, like staring into the sun too long.  All he could really make out was that the person was easily a head taller than anyone else in the crowd, had six enormous wings unfolding from their back, and had about a thousand eyes on every available surface of their body.  The being put a hand on Coran’s shoulder and said something Lance couldn’t hear.  Coran nodded and the being disappeared in a flash of light.

Lance blinked the spots out of his eyes, “Was that…?”

“A messenger,” said Coran, “I guess you could think of them as my supervisor.”

Shiro was also rubbing his eyes to get his vision back to normal, “You’d think they’d choose a more…user-friendly appearance.”

“That was their user-friendly appearance.  But the good news is, they left me a few gifts!  For one, I now have the gift of divine healing.  They figured I’d need it with this crowd.”

“Okay, cool,” said Lance, “‘Cause Keith’s ankle is still hella broken.”

“Right.  I’ll get on that.”

“What was their other gift?” said Shiro.

“Oh, right,” Coran reached into his coat pocket and pulled out Lotor, who looked about as unhappy as a teddy bear could, “They also put a sacred seal on our fuzzy new friend here.  He won’t be getting out of this form for quite some time.”

“You cannot do this!” Lotor protested, “This is cruel!  It’s inhumane!”

“You should be used to it then,” said Coran, just as the group reached Keith, “Ah, there you are, my boy!  How’s the ankle?”

“Uh…not great,” said Keith, “I mean, it’s feeling a little better but it still—“

Coran placed his hand on Keith’s ankle.  There was a loud pop! and Keith gave a yelp, more out of surprise than pain.

“Now how does it feel?”

Keith held his leg up in the air and rolled his ankle a few times.  “Better.  Much better.”

Pidge and Hunk, who were helping to clear away the tables and debris, came over to join the group.  “You feeling better, man?” asked Hunk.

“I am now,” said Keith, getting to his feet.

Coran tossed Lotor to Pidge, “I believe your mother bought this for you?  Something about putting him on the counter to encourage tips.”

Lotor crossed his stubby arms, “I will not be put on display like some tacky knick-knack.”

“Are you sure?” said Pidge, “I could always donate you to a local preschool otherwise.”

“Oh, all right, I’ll take the lesser of two evils.”

“Are you guys doing all right?” Lance asked Hunk and Pidge.

“Well, I just watched all of yesterday’s hard work get dumped down the throat of a giant man-eating monster,” said Hunk, “but on the bright side, we did defeat it and save the town, so that’s cool.”

Coran nudged Shiro’s arm, “See?  I told you they’d be useful.”

“When…did you say that exactly?”

“When I was telling you about my vision,” said Coran, “Remember the four individuals?  The leader,” Coran pointed at Keith, “The protector,” he pointed at Hunk, “The scholar,” he pointed at Pidge, “And the wanderer.” Finally, he pointed at Lance.

“Huh,” said Shiro, thoroughly baffled, “Well, how about that?”

Allura was just wrapping up a phone conversation as she wandered over and stood next to Shiro, “Just got off the phone with headquarters.  They’re sending over some agents to clear away the body.”

“So I guess you’re leaving soon,” said Lance, unable to hide the disappointment in his voice.

“We still need to do some debriefing, but yes, we should probably leave soon so we can report back to our superiors.”

“We’ll really miss you,” said Keith.

“I wouldn’t feel too sad about it,” said Shiro, fishing around in his pocket and pulling out a business card, “Considering all the weird stuff that happens here, this is probably not the last time we’re called out to this town.”

He handed the business card to Lance.

“Give us a call if you see something strange,” said Shiro, “Or if you just feel like catching up.”

Lance smiled, “Will do.”

[paulhudd]

Spindlefreck Book Two: Pt Three: Swamp Witch

Gilray Residence, Mount Merrion, Dublin

April 21st 1989: Things were getting unbearable. Niamh felt as if she was losing her mind. Literally.

They were estranged now and Oona was having difficulty accepting the new situation. There was an increase in telepathic intrusions and Ni had to be constantly on her guard; they could come at any time, day or night. Oona was using everything in her power to make her life a misery; from childish name-calling to full-blown cerebral shouting matches, there was no end to it. Ni had given up driving into town when yet another psychic episode forced her to perform an emergency stop on one of the busy, city centre ring-roads, almost causing a pile-up. At her wits end, she took the bus to the central library and researched anything she could find on telepathy and psychic phenomenon. None of it was any help; the things described didn’t come anywhere close to what she was experiencing; it was a futile exercise that only served to antagonise her constant companion: <Why is we here? Why is ‘ee readin’ books?! I ‘ate books! Why isn't we in Top Shop or a shoe shop or somethin’ noice like that?> When Ni tried to reason with her, Oona repeated everything she was thinking in the whiny voice of a defiant 5 year-old. It got so bad that Ni had to get out her old Walkman and play tapes of obscure avant-garde music to drive her away, but she couldn't do that forever. The lack of sleep had affected her appetite and it was wearing her down; she was too tired to exercise; she looked drawn and gaunt. So, before heading over to the Somervilles that Thursday to report for babysitting duties, she broke her promise to herself and called Rossington’s private number:

“Rossington.”

“She’s still in my head. Why? How do I get rid of her?!” she cried, at the end of her tether.

“Good evening to you, too, Miss Fitzgerald, so nice of you to call...” he replied, cool as a cucumber.

“Don’t piss-me-about, James –- she still has 24-hour access and it’s been over a week since I had the last jab!” She had to lower her voice lest Paddy hear her, but she was so furious it took all her strength to keep it down, “I researched the effects of psilocybin hallucinogens and fungal toxins -– they’re more likely to get weaker over time, not stronger! Have you been injecting it into our milk-bottles or something?!”

“Piffle - and I don’t take kindly to that sort of accusation, Miss Fitzgerald,” he said, glibly. “You walked out of an experimental drug treatment at a crucial stage. My advice is return and complete the course you were contracted to take -- if the answer is no -– then you’ll have to live with the consequences --!”

She slammed the phone down and shouted at it, “What good are you anyway?!”

<That’s roight, ���e’s uselass, ‘e ‘is.>

Ni tore at her hair and stomped both feet, “CHRIST ON A BIKE!!”

08:01pm: Somerville residence, Malahide: “Do fairies get pregnant?”

Ni slid the Bumper Book of Fairy Stories back into the little pine bookcase at the foot of 6 year-old Caitlin’s bed and said, “Cate, as I’ve told you before, your mommy will answer those sorts of questions -- I’m just the storyteller!” She went to lift little 3 year-old Cathy from Cate’s bed, but she rolled into a ball and refused to be withdrawn, “C’mon now Cathy, story’s over, sweetie, back in your cot...”

“Cathy wants to sleep in here with me,” said Cate.

“Is that right Cathy? Would you rather sleep with Cate tonight?”

Looking frightened, Cathy sucked her thumb, pulled the sheets over her face and snuggled close to Cate.

“Is she OK?” asked Ni, concerned, “she looks as if she’s afraid of me?”

“Not you. She’s scared the Wicked Witch from Wizard of Oz will come on her broomstick with her flyin’ monkeys ‘n take her away.”

Ni replied in an upbeat baby-talk voice, “Oh Catheeee, the Wicked Witch of the West was a nice lady called Margaret Hamilton dressed-up ‘n made-up to look like that. She was sitting on a broomstick suspended by wires with a fan blowing on her hair to make it look like she was flying – it’s only a film and she’s only an actor, silleeeee!”

But Caitlin was adamant, “There’re real witches, though – we see ‘em all the time on Perkin’s Road.”

She tried her best not to laugh, “That’s St Brigid’s -– it’s an old people’s home -- those aren't witches, they’re very old ladies! Sure, if they were witches why would the nuns be pushing them round in wheelchairs and fetching them tea-‘n’-biccies? Anyway, if there really were witches –- the sky would be teeming with ‘em –- air traffic control would be a different thing entirely!” she joked, pulling a funny face.

<Aww, ain’t that luvverleeeeeee...? They’s so cute when they’s that age, ain't they...?>

Ni kept smiling, Go away -- this isn’t the time!”

<Oi enjoyed that li’l story.>

So did I -- it kept you quiet for half an hour!

Cathy whispered in Cate’s ear. Cate passed it on, “Cathy says there’s a light round you.”

The comment made Ni’s blood run cold. She had to get out of there before things got weird, “Look kids, there’s no such thing as witches, they only exist in folklore tales and fairy stories....”

<Are ‘ee gonna tell ‘em there’s no Santa Claus nor Toof-Fairy, then?!>

Oona, I won’t tell you again, not in front of the children!!

Ni kissed them goodnight, switched off the lamp and turned on the night-light. Cathy whispered something in Cate’s ear. Cate passed on the message, “Cathy says ‘who’s Oona?’”

Ni fell to her knees in a mock-faint. Oh God... will this hell ever end...

She sat on the bottom stair, rocking back-and-forth, jiggling her leg, rattling her keys, constantly looking at her watch and sighing, 11:11? Where are they? She was playing Trout Mask Replica on the Walkman at a low volume (a definite no-no as far as Oona was concerned: Oi never ‘eard such clattery-blattery bollox!), when someone tapped her on the shoulder -- she jumped a foot into the air and dropped her keys.

Caitlin stood a few steps up, looking troubled and armed with what appeared to be a child-sized tennis-racquet; Cathy was lurking on the landing above, watching through the bars of the baby-gate. Ni pulled out the ear-buds, “What’s the matter? Bad dream, was it, honey?”

Holding the little racquet in front of her as if she was about to swat a fly, Cate explained in shaky voice, “Cathy says she saw a wee girl standin’ at the bottom of the bed.”

“A wee girl?”

“A wee girl with long-shiny-black-hair. But her head is all lumpy and wrong.”

There was something familiar about the description but she couldn’t think about it now. She whispered in Cate’s ear, “Listen honey, there are no such things as ghosts and remember, Cathy’s only 3 -- she thinks Barney the Dinosaur is a real dinosaur!”

“But she doesn’t make up stories. Mommy says we shouldn't tell fibs -– and if it’s true what would you do if she came in here now with a big knife?! You’re only a girl –- <she’d sloice you up like a well-‘ung ‘og!> cried ‘Cate’, pulling a knife from behind her back, jumping down and sticking it into the centre of Ni’s chest, laughing insanely as they tumbled head-over-heels down the last few stairs...

-- Ni awoke-with-a-start on the Somerville’s couch, those last 8 words still ringing in her ears!

Oona you bitch! What did you do that for?!

The voice in her head laughed uproariously.

Nevertheless, there, standing at the end of the couch, was Cate, little tennis-racquet in hand and a fearful look on her face. “Cathy says she saw a wee girl standin’ at the bottom of the bed.”

“A wee girl...?” said Ni, pinching herself to make sure she still wasn't dreaming.

“Aye, a wee girl with long shiny-black hair. And...?”

“... and?” her head is all lumpy and wrong?

Cate whispered instead, “... Cathy wet my bed. My jammies got wet, too.”

Ni wanted to scream.

A few minutes later -- 11 to 11 to be exact -- just as she was putting a fresh sheet on Cate’s bed, incoming headlights lit-up the windows in the hall. Shite! 20 minutes later and they’d never have known! No comment from her talking head, though. Well, at least that’s one thing I don’t have to contend with. In spite of her repeated apologies, it was as bad as she expected. Phil wasn't talking and that was always a bad sign. Pat, heavily pregnant and puffing with exhaustion, put on a strained smile, told her to go home and went about bathing the girls. Ni was mortified. Somerville waited until she’d said her goodbyes and approached her as she was unlocking the car. He had a very serious look on his face. Leaning on the roof, he casually and quietly enquired why his kids were too frightened to go back to bed.

“Phil, the movie scared Cathy, she’s seeing witches everywhere... she just has an amazing imagination. She wanted to sleep beside Cate and I couldn't see the harm... I’m sorry...” Her failure to keep eye-contact and the tremor in her voice made it look like she didn’t really believe what she was saying, and that only made matters worse.

He crossed his arms, shook his head and said, “I love you to pieces Niamh. You’re like one of me own, but you’re scaring me, never mind the weeuns. OK, you looked a bit rough after you came out of SCICI, but I thought you’d’ve come-around by now -- and look-atcha –- ye’re shakin’ like leaf, yer eyes are like two piss-holes in the snow -- yer as pale as a bottle of milk. Are you sure that bastard Rossington wasn't giving you something stronger than magic mushrooms?! - cos I’ve seen junkies livin’ in skips who look better than you!”

Ni bowed her head and burst into tears, “I dunno what to do anymore... I just.... I just can’t get her out of my head... I can’t get her out of my head...” she sobbed, utterly defeated.

Now that he’d unburdened himself and she seemed to be genuinely upset, he felt like a heel for taking the heavy-handed approach. Paddy had mentioned she was smitten with a married woman and he supposed they must've fallen out. He put his arms around her and squeezed her tight, “I didn’t know. I’m sorry for bein’ so tough on you. It’s just where my girls are concerned I get overprotective. Look, don’t drive. I’ll take you... huh?”

As she’d reached up put her arms around his neck, she’d rubbed her crotch against his suggestively; she’d put her tongue in his ear and moaned seductively. Somerville reacted immediately -- he did what he always did when a prozzie tried it on -- he spun her around so that she was facing away from him, grabbed her wrists and bent her over the bonnet of the car -- but instead of cuffing her, he whispered angrily in her ear, “I don’t ever want to see you again.” He pushed her away and walked back to the house, calling out without looking back, “Tell Paddy I’ll see him at the club. Get outta here.” A light went on above. Pat was closing the bedroom curtains, and by the look on her face, she’d seen what had happened. It was as if everything was synchronised to send her over the edge -– she needed to get away!

She was all–thumbs trying to unlock the car. What the fuck is happening to meeeee? What the fuck am I doing? She quickly got in --- the seatbelt wouldn't unwind –- it was caught in the door; she opened the door to release it -- fumbled and dropped the keys on the driveway, then banged her head on the steering wheel trying to pick them up!

The voice in her head laughed uproariously.

Fuck you Oona! Why did you do that?!

<I thought ‘ee wanted ‘im? It were one of ur fantasies, wannit? Oi was just givin’ ‘ee a li’l nudge in the roight direction.>

Ni slammed her hands against the wheel and yelled “NO!” Then she paused, took a deep breath, closed her eyes, slowly exhaled and regrouped. She started the car, calmly let off the handbrake and deftly manoeuvred around Phil’s Audi. She reversed out onto the street, all the while trying not to think about what she’d done, but as she got into the rhythm of the gear changes and slipped into autopilot, the implications slowly seeped to the front of her mind and she started shaking again. Then, just before reaching the main road, she looked in the rear-view mirror and glimpsed the top of someone’s head in the backseat –-

<This has to stop.>

It was the crackly, androgynous whisper again -- she instantly slammed on the brakes. Trembling like a leaf, she turned slowly and looked over her left shoulder...

There was no one there, of course, nevertheless she parked the car, turned off the engine, got out and sat on the kerb under the unforgiving amber glare of the street-lamps. She let it all out. She wept uncontrollably with her head between her knees, unmindful of who might see her. Luckily, like all suburban roads after 11pm, the area was deserted, and like all suburban areas after 11pm, any unusual behaviour was treated with suspicion. So when a light went on across the street and an old lady, hands on hips, watched from the parlour window, Ni couldn't have cared less. She’d reached her limit.

A minute or two later, Somerville’s Audi drew up. The passenger window wound down and he called out, “C’mon, Twink. I’ll take you home.”

She didn’t look up and let her hair hide her face, “S’OK. I’m OK. I’ll be going in a minute.”

He pulled up behind her little Fiesta, pulled a wad of tissues from the glove box of his car, got out and sat on the kerb beside her. “Pat saw what happened. She thinks I overreacted,” he said, in a kind voice, “I explained the circumstances, and we agreed: you’re not at yourself. You’re actin’ out of character and if anybody deserves a second chance, Ni, it’s you.” He gave her the tissues, “C’mon now, dry yer eyes ‘n I’ll take you home. I’ll get the local patrol to pick up the car and drop it over later.”

After a little coaxing, she eventually agreed and they walked to his car. The old lady was still watching from her parlour window. Somerville waved as he got in. She smiled, waved back and closed the curtains. “One of the many advantages of having a famous face!” he joked.

“It’s because people trust you, Phil. Just like you trusted me, and now I’ve sullied everything...” she sobbed.

“Sullied? See that’s why you always beat me at Scrabble!” He paused, then patted her knee and assured her in a low voice, “Nothin’ will change, Ni. It’ll be like it has always been. It’s forgotten. Let’s never mention it ever again.”

Oh God, Phil, if only that were true...

She’d never felt so ashamed, but Big Phil, ever the diplomat, couldn't let her stew in her own juices. He put on his ‘Thought for the Day’ hat and explained why she should forget it: “... Ni honey, 70 percent of the things we deal with are crimes of passion of one sort or another, spur of the moment madness – like road rage and domestic violence -- it’s all just all ordinary people who just snap. Somethin’ clicks in their heads and for a split second they lose their minds -- they lift a knife or a hammer and it’s all over. I mean, look at the ‘Head in the Microwave Murder’ as their callin’ it now -– those two fellas had been great buddies for 14 years –- inseparable, according to friends. Then one guy does something out-of-order, could be anything –- an insult, an insinuation, an affair, we don’t know yet -– but it sent the other guy over the edge. He sees red, lifts the oul’ Habitat meat cleaver from the counter and -– whump! You should see that poor fella now –- the murderer, not the victim -- he’s on suicide watch under heavy sedation cos he can’t live w’out the fella ‘e killed. And it’s all over the head -- if you’ll excuse the expression -- of something that coulda been sorted-out over tea ‘n’ biccies.”

He leaned over and nudged her, “Sorry, is any of this makin’ sense? I never know what to say in these situations, I tend to ramble...?”

After a sizeable pause she thought it best to clarify, “I love you Phil, but not in a sexual way, you’re like an uncle -- you’re Uncle Phil,” she said, earnestly, “I lost control, and that’s what makes this so awful...” what makes it worse is the fact that I know who’s doing it and I can do nothing to stop her...

Somerville pretended to be slightly insulted, “Well, I don’t know whether I should be glad to hear that or not, but I know what you mean. And truth-be-told, I’d be really concerned for your sanity if you thought of me that way...!”

She shook her head, “I can’t tell you what caused it, but I swear it was an aberration...”

“Aberration!” Somerville bumped his brow with the heel of his palm, “That’s the feckin’ word I was lookin’ for! T’was an ‘aberration’! See you, ye’re a walkin’ thesaurus!”  

“Oh, Phil.... I feel as if I’m dangling by my fingertips over a creek full of snapping alligators... I’m this close to jacking it all in, becoming a nun and dedicating my life to missionary work in the jungles of Central America.”

“Have ye thought about Social Work in North Dublin...?”

Somerville didn’t come in, but instead of doing a u-turn and driving back the way they came, he drove on. She had a pretty good idea where he was going, but by this time she was too exhausted, physically and mentally, to care. Paddy welcomed her home and chanced to jest, “I don’t know... lesbianism, psychedelics, nymphomania...? Who is this vampish seductress in our midst?”

“Oh, please, Paddy! Too soon!” Ni took the hankie from the breast pocket of his waistcoat and blew her nose. “How did you know?”

“Pat called. She explained what happened. She thinks it has something to do with you and this married woman,” Paddy said, regretfully, “she doesn’t know about your stay at SCICI or the drugs study, so you don’t have to worry about breaking your NDA.” He frowned and looked toward the door, “And speaking of NDAs, you know who Phil will blame for this, don’t you?”

She put her handbag on the occasional table, looked toward the door and said, “Maybe a little shake-down will shake-him-up...” Then -- out of nowhere -- “Owww!” -- she yelled, as she felt a sharp pain on her cheek -- her head swung to the right, her body swerved to the left -- her flailing arms toppled the crystal vase on the little table by the stairs -- it smashed on the tiles, spilling lupins and water over the floor! Still reeling, she slipped and fell forward -- Paddy caught her before she landed face-first on the shards!

He straightened her up and plonked her on the bottom stair, “What the hell just happened?” Then he noticed something on her cheek, “Where the hell did that come from?” She staggered to the mirror in the hall and looked; there was a scarlet welt across the pale skin of her left cheekbone and it seemed to be getting darker.

Paddy’s face went a pale shade of grey, his ‘tache drooped and his voice faltered, “Ni...... Tell me truthfully, did somebody do this to you?”

“Oh God no –- you saw me when I came in --” she thought twice about finishing the sentence when images of Oona flashed through her mind, “this just... showed up...”

“What do you mean ‘just showed up’?” he asked, exasperated.

“I dunno. It must be an insect bite from when I was sitting outside...?”

“An insect bite? That’s a contusion, my dear...” He turned on the main light and brought her closer to the mirror, “Look, you can see the impression of a wedding-ring on you cheekbone. I’ve seen this particular wound many times, on the same place on many a battered wife.” He sighed, “Dear God, Ni, what fresh hell is this...?”

I am going mad...

5 minutes ago, at the Nevin Residence in Bogmire, Co. Kildare: The door suddenly opened. The bedroom light went on. Startled, Oona wriggled under the duvet and pulled it over her head.

“What’re ye doin’!” Craigy yelled. “I’m sittin’ downstairs watching TV on me own –- again –- and you’re up here sleepin’ as usual!”

A muffled voice said, “Oi’m feelin’ poorly, me ‘ead’s sore an’ oi needs to loy down. Go ‘way.”

Craigy grinned. He turned out the light, took off his trousers and crept up to the bed, “How ‘poorly’ are ye...?” he said, sliding a hand under the duvet and groping her,

She threw off the bedclothes, her face screwed up in a hateful snarl, and squared-up-to-him, “Get ur fuckin’ ‘ands offa me, Craigy Nevin!! I told ‘ee before -– I ain’t in the mood! - and raised her hand to strike him, but before it even began its downward-arc, he caught her wrist and slapped her hard across the face, knocking her sideways -- he caught her by the arm as she fell, roughly pulled her to him and yelled into her ear “Don’t you dare ever lift a hand to me again, right?! Ye wee bitch?” and threw her down. She landed face first on the pillows, her silver hair splashing across the chocolate-brown duvet cover. She curled into a ball to cover her nakedness and began crying.

Craigy stood over her, unrepentant, snorting, hissing through gritted teeth, “Ach, don’t start gurnin’ ‘n playin’ the martyr, now! Ye drive me to such things! Ye’re always up to somethin’! You either come up here and ‘lie down’ or sit on the settee night-after-night like a feckin’ zombie off in a world of yer own! I asked you three times – three times -- to get me a cuppa tea tonight and you grunted somethin’ and I got nuthin’ -– then you go upstairs to take yer face off and you don’t come down again! Well I didn’t get married to sit on me own in a house in this shithole village in the middle of nowhere!!”

Oona snivelled like the child she really was. Her auntie Ella – who most people treated like a man, anyway – was always slapping her around, but that was kids-stuff compared to this. This was delivered with genuine spite. When he grabbed arm, she felt his loathing, she tasted the true bitterness of his words. Her castle was crashing down around her ears; her Prince Charming was an ogre and her Fairy Godmother had all but abandoned her.

It’s all her fault! She’s filled moy ‘ead wiv all these notions ‘n they do nuthin’ but get me in trouble!! Because the main thing she took away from their psychic connection was that No Man Is Better Than a Woman -- and under no circumstances should a man strike a woman. It was a doctrine that went against her upbringing, the Supplicant ethos and hundreds of years of tribal misogyny; it made sense, but this was the Real World not an Ideal World. She has me livin’ in Cloud Cuckoo Land ‘n I swallowed it up whole!!

Oona sat up, wiped the tears away with the heels of her hands and said “A cuppa tea... is that all ‘ee wants? You clobbered me fer a cuppa tea...?”

“That’s the tip of the iceberg!” He began pacing the room as he zipped up, ‘Iceberg’ being the appropriate word!” He kicked the dresser in a fit of frustration, forgot that he was wearing his slippers, and almost broke his toe, “Ahh!!” He hopped around holding his foot, “Now look at what ye’ve made me do, you silly bitch!”

She didn’t giggle or poke fun. She didn’t think it was funny at all. She feigned empathy, got up onto her knees and beckoned him hither with open arms, “You’s all toightly-wound-up, that’s all.” She patted her lap, “Come ‘ere and oi’ll give ‘ee one of moy special massages,” she said, in a sympathetic voice.

He regarded his naked wife, her pale skin glimmering in the moonlight, a beautiful sight marred by the crimson welt rising on her cheekbone. He sat on the bed with his back to her and groaned remorsefully, “Och, Oona... I’ve never hit a woman in me life... not even in the course of me duties...”

Kneading and squeezing, digging her thumbs into his shoulders, she did something she swore to herself she would never do: she read his mind. It wasn't pleasant. She saw a wishful daydream: Craigy packing his bags and moving back to Sligo. She felt the hole in his heart. The loveless sex; the disappointment; the regret. He was looking for a way out, just like Niamh.

“... I’m beginning to think this was a big set-up between your aunt and Marchant to marry-you-off! They virtually pushed me into this,” he suggested, presciently “and if that’s not bad enough, yer aunt’s got a wee network of spies watchin’ everythin’ we do! The other day I caught that auld doll across the lane, Crombie -- lookin’ through our feckin’ bin!”

“Lemme make ‘ee a noice cuppa cocoa ‘n we’ll go to bed,” she whispered in his ear, softly and nicely.

“What are you after?” he asked, suspiciously, looking over his shoulder, “I just hit you -- the next thing I know you’re all massages and cocoa...?”

She came close, looked into his eyes, cupped his cheeks, and spoke in her ‘inside voice’, the one that Ni found so alluring, “I know what’s important now. You’re right, I was off in a world of my own, but you brought me down to earth.”

He fell for it. “Oh, you’re using that voice again... I like it...”

“You stay here and I’ll bring up a little tray and we’ll have supper in bed.” She kissed him on the lips, got up and took the dressing gown from the hook on the back of the door.

“Hmmm... and you’re not gonna stick a few spoonfuls of rat-poison in it?” he asked, half-joking.

She grinned, “Don’t be silly. I’ll be 10 minutes.”

Oona went down to the kitchen and filled her new electric kettle. While it was boiling, she crept to the cupboard under the sink, reached into the back and retrieved the little bottle hidden behind the cleaning stuff. She turned it in her hands, watching the grey liquid inside flow to-and-fro, and contemplated using it. She desperately wanted to use it. If it was anyone else she wouldn't even think about it; or rather, she would think about it. She’d just have to think it and they’d dance to her tune. She could turn them all into puppets with no strings...

The kettle clicked off.

Something told her it wasn't time. Craigy was her husband, after all, he deserved a second chance. Besides, she’d promised to love honour and obey him. It don’t say nothing about killin’ ‘im, though. No, she wanted a baby, that’s all she cared about. As soon as she had a kiddie, she’d sort everything out. She’d show them all.

She put the little bottle back and made the cocoa.

SCICI; 12:38: “Well, then Barry, according to the good doctor here, you can hear me! So, howerya doin’, me auld mate?” Somerville, hands in his trouser pockets, stooped and put his ear to McKee’s cracked, unmoving lips. “What’s that Baz?” He stood up and addressed Rossington, “He thinks you’re scamming us. He thinks you’re a chancer.” He returned to the patient and shouted in his ear as if he was stone deaf, “Do you know he has cameras all around you, Barry?! You’re on more screens than Bruce Willis!” He looked around, “It’s more like a mad scientist’s laboratory than a hospital room!”

Rossington took a Georgian fob watch from his waistcoat pocket and flipped it open with his thumb, “We've enjoyed your little visit Detective Superintendent, but it’s way past Mr McKee’s bedtime, so...”

“You know something, I hate him,” said Somerville, taking one last look at the frail wretch on the bed before turning his attention back to the good doctor, “but I hate you more. He can’t help what he is and whatever he’s done he’s paid a heavy price for it –- because even if he is ‘conscious’, he’ll never have the use of his body again. He’ll still have to piss into a bag and get his dinner through a tube. Then there’s you -- a parasite living offa him. That’s how far down the food-chain you are.”

Matron Stranks, a hatchet faced harridan with terrible teeth, was champing at the bit to let rip -- she’d obviously been told to keep it shut but Big Phil’s attitude was too much to take. With every jibe and slur, her eyes got fierier, her ears got redder and her dentures clacked like arrhythmic maracas. Rossington sent her away before she exploded altogether. As her sneakers squeaked off down the corridor, he humbly apologised, “My staff is very loyal, Mr Somerville, they hate to see me suffer an indignity or injustice...”

“Bollocks. They hate me because I represent The System, not because they’re sweet on you, Jimmy boy.” Somerville chuckled, mordantly, “I had a look at your ‘staff’ file. Most of ‘em have criminal records or extremely dubious résumés; your photo-ID parade looks like a rogue’s gallery. That’s the sorta thing that makes my antenna buzz.”

Rossington sighed heavily to express his ennui and said, “Number one: I have a policy of employing ex-prisoners as part of my Restart Programme; number two: What are you doing here, detective superintendent? You come in here demanding to see Mr McKee at this unholy hour, then go on an undignified, libellous tirade...?”

Somerville walked around the bed and looked him in the eye, “A friend of mine was working for you and ever since they came outta this hell-hole they've been a shadow of their former-selves! I wanna know why!”

“If you are referring to Miss Fitzgerald, she is no longer in our employ. She signed a comprehensive NDA, and we will sue if she breaks it,” Rossington informed him, somewhat smugly.

Somerville exploded, “Fuck that! You listen to me, Jimmy boy: you stay away from Niamh Fitzgerald. I don’t care if she’s got the secrets of the universe tattooed onto the back of her eyelids –- leave her alone or I’ll nail your arse to the wall!”

Rossington smiled, “I’ll be sure to tell the commissioner about this visit when I talk to him later this morning.”

Somerville came closer and whispered, “That’s good, and while yer on the blower with ‘im, tell ‘im a blind-eye will no longer be turned to your little peccadilloes -– i.e. the frequenting of certain clubs to procure under-age persons and supplying said minors with proscribed substances. From now on you will be fair game, old chum, so it’ll be in your best interest to keep your nose -– hahaha -– clean!” He walked away, shouting over his shoulder, “Give the boss my best!”

A few days later, in the Wetlands of Bogmire, Co. Kildare, in the grounds of Pagham House: Clad in scuba gear or hazmat suits and waders, Paddy and his little expeditionary force were meticulously excavating the exact spot Ni had specified via a very detailed sketch. Using a weight-and-pulley system that was as laborious as it was awkward, they toiled undeterred. They knew something big was in the offing and everyone wanted to be the first to find it, not even the foul smell of the slime could deter them. Ni had stayed behind to pick up Emil from the airport; Paddy thought it would be best if they got started a day early before he had time to ask too many questions or raise any objections.

Scanlon the groundskeeper and Sergeant Marchant [Laphen and Gorringe were still in Europe shooting a movie] sat on a low bough a few feet from the bank and watched with binoculars as they ate their elevenses. Holding his waterproof Pentax aloft, Paddy broke away from the others and waded through the mire, put a boot up on the bank, looked up at the spectators and asked, nicely, “Ahem, would either of you men like to take photographs for me? You've got a good view from up there and I have to supervise the last bit of unearthing... Would you mind?”

The men put down their binoculars and stared back with blank expressions. Eventually Scanlon responded officiously, “We were told only to observe. Carry on as if we’re not here. Thank you.”

Paddy sighed at the obvious disdain in the man’s tone and turned away, “OK. Sorry to have bothered you... I’ll just put this on a rock and set the automatic shutter. Careful you don’t knock it down when you dismount. Thank you!”

“Dickhead,” said Scanlon under his breath as he watched the big scientist wade away. He nudged his companion and hissed, “That’s Gilray. Keep an eye on him, too. He’s the uncle of the Fitzgerald girl. She’s due to get here sometime later today, so remember -- keep her away from Oona. That is yer No.1 priority, got it?!”

The sergeant nodded, “For the hundredth time – aye! OK, OK! Jesus, you wanna watch yerself, this sorta stress isn't good for your heart!”

Scanlon watched Paddy convene with the students and grumbled, “...bloody Oona Umbert... You be sure and tell that husband of hers to keep her indoors til this blows over,” he mumbled though a mouthful of sandwich, “... first the Roxboroughs sell the house –- and now -- just when things were settling down nicely, my new lord ‘n’ master decides it’s time to dredge up the past...”

“What could there be down there that would cause you any trouble?” asked Marchant.

“... why would he give them permission to do this?” said Scanlon, angrily, ignoring the sergeant’s question; then his tone took an ominous turn when he said, “Maybe we should ask Dr Jimmy, eh?”

The Sergeant carried on eating and pretended he hadn't heard.

Scanlon pressed on, “Because when I met with him the other night, he seemed to know an awful lot about what’s been goin’ on around here.”

The sergeant reached for another sandwich, “How would I know about that, now...?”

“He pays you to keep him abreast of developments, sergeant, isn't that so?” Scanlon’s face clenched into a scowl.

The sergeant returned the glare with frightened eyes.

“I’ve turned a blind eye to it so far because it might work to my advantage. So you can keep in touch with him, find out what he’s up to and relay it back to me, alright? Or I’ll have you transferred outta here so fast it’ll rip the ‘tache off yer face!”

The sergeant resumed chewing, a look of horror on his face –- then he almost fell off his perch when the big groundskeeper’s walkie-talkie exploded into life.

A garbled, hissy voice screeched: “... ROGER OVER, COME IN COME IN... SCANLON... MR SCANLON YOO-HOO... COME-IN ROGER-ROGER COME IN...” It was Ella Sparkes.

“Bloody woman...” Scanlon unclipped the receiver from his belt and pressed the button, held it well-away from his ear and tried to keep his voice under control, “... I’m here! There’s no need to shout!!”

Silence.

Scanlon’s voice got a little louder, “Press the button when you want to speak! Over.” There was a pause, then he almost dropped the handset when the voice roared: “ - etter get up here, you’ll never guess who just showed up - roger-out-over... click.”

Scanlon’s voice got ever louder, “Who? Over.” Pause. He sighed and pressed his button again, “Press the button!”

Mrs Sparkes was confused: “What? What pullover? Roger...Over?”

“WHO IS IT – OVER?!” Scanlon barked.

Prolonged silence; crackling static.

Scanlon lost it: “Press the fucking button! Over! ... COME IN!” Nothing. He raised the handset above his head as if he was going to throw it – then thought better of it and shook his head, “Feckin’ woman is useless when it comes to electrical appliances. It took us 30 years to get her to use a vacuum cleaner. Well, I suppose I may go and see who tis,” he gave the walkie-talkie to Marchant, Give me or Charlie a shout on this if they find anything.” Scanlon poured the dregs from his cup onto the mulch below, then capped his flask, jumped down and landed with a squelch; he shouted one last command before setting-off, “And remember what I said about Oona -- alright?!”

Marchant bit off another mouthful... and as he chewed, he took a deep breath – and quickly spat it out as an unholy stench filled his nostrils! “Eeeuggh! What the fuck is that?”

There was always a peculiar smell around this place, and over the years they’d become accustomed to it, but this was something else entirely! It was strong enough to stop Scanlon in his tracks. He covered his nose & mouth with his handkerchief, looked back and reiterated the sergeant’s exclamation, “What the fuck is that?!”

The little pulley on the frogmen’s raft was winding up, dredging up mud and slime, unleashing an ungodly stench none of them could stomach. It was so pungent, the students who weren’t gagging and vomiting were falling over each other in their efforts to get away...

A hundred yards or so further down the bank, Oona watched the proceedings from behind an oak tree. The smell didn’t bother her none; she knew how to shut it out. She was more interested in what was coming up. She’d looked in Ni’s mind and this is exactly how she’d imagined it, but she had no interest herself. It’s just an ol’ bog. Who cares what’s in it? Nonetheless, she felt drawn to the place -- she felt this was something she had to see. But why...?

<Because it’s your destiny, Oona. >

It was that strange voice again. She took the little compact from the pocket of her apron, opened it and stared into the misty glass; <What do you mean?>

<The mortal remains of two people have emerged from the swamp. One is an evil seed unearthed to germinate in the open air after thousands of years of marinating in bog water and peat. The other is a little girl who met with an unfortunate end years later. She will be your Spirit Guide for a while.>

<What does that mean?>

<She’ll be your little friend. A constant companion, like Niamh, only she’ll control your... urges.>

She didn’t know how to take this. She didn’t want another voice talking in her brain, especially the voice of a little girl who died years ago. It would be like having a ghost living in her head.

<If it’s any consolation, your boyfriend’s back.>

This news put everything else out of her mind -– she knew exactly who he was talking about! <Kris?! Kris is back?! >

She began to run in the direction of the big house, but stopped in her tracks when the voice reminded her, <Ahem, excuse me, but besides the fact that you’re married, they've kept you apart for seven years for a reason –- they’re not going to let you see him now. Not now that you’re a fully grown Silver Siren. You’re too powerful. And by the way, that gash on your cheek makes you look like a battered wife... which, quite frankly, is what you are. I mean, what would he think?>

She looked at her own reflection in the little mirror and touched the welt, <Oi could put some foundation on it, oi s’pose...?>

Her attention was broken by a rustling in the bushes, “Hey there girlie – what are ye up to there?” shouted Sergeant Marchant, staggering through the brush. He wasn't too steady on his feet and he didn’t look too good.

Oona put on her little girl’s voice, “... just takin’ a shortcut to the orchards ‘n oi ‘eard the rumpus ‘n wondered what wuz goin’ on...?”

Marchant was extremely green around the gills and sweating profusely, but tried to continue the conversation, “You’re a bloody liar, the orchards are on the other side of therrrrrrrrreeeeeeeeugh!” and duly threw up.

She tiptoed around him and ran for home to put on some make-up, her ‘good clothes’... and Ni’s big blue ‘ bipperty-bopperty hat’...

Midday, at a pick-up-point in Dublin airport: Watching in the wing-mirror, Ni spotted him coming out through the arrivals door. She pumped the horn, wound down the window and yelled, “Emil!”

She’d almost forgotten how much she fancied him. Salt-and-pepper, well-trimmed beard, greying hair tied in a ponytail, he was certainly showing his age, but no less handsome; more so, actually. With his customary well-worn khakis and cargo shorts, tatty lumberjack shirt over a faded Allman Brothers tee-shirt, he always reminded her of a scruffy medico from the MASH movie. She touched the welt on her cheek and frowned. It was going to be hell trying to keep it from him.

He waved back and trotted across the busy concourse toward the car, threw his backpack onto the backseat and climbed in, “Nice to see you, Li’l Twinkie!” He tried to kiss her cheek -– she felt the fronds of his whiskers brush her skin -- but she kept her head turned and kept watching the traffic in her wing-mirror. He was a little surprised by her lack of reciprocation, but unconcerned, “I was expecting Paddy in one of his vintage saloons with a roomy interior – good job I’m travelling light...” Before he had time to say anything else, Ni took off -– they bounced over the zebra-crossing speed-bump (Emil’s head hit the sunroof several times) -- she sped around a busy roundabout with scant regard for road safety and sliced across 3 lanes of traffic on her way to the exit ramp whilst a cacophony of angry horns blared behind them. The manoeuvre had Emil clutching the dashboard for dear life, “Jeeeeeeezusssss Niamh!”

“I’m too afraid to take one of Paddy’s old cars. If I was to get a scratch on one of them, he’d have a conniption,” she said, indifferently, zipping through a steady amber and taking a sharp right. Also, I have to get this over with before the madwoman in my head starts her shenanigans again.

As the car swung onto the centre lane of the motorway, Emil slid the seat back as far as it would go and attached his safety belt, his big brown knees pressed against the glove-box. Eventually, he felt it safe enough to make with the smalltalk (he still hadn't looked at her, he couldn't take his eyes off the road – which was just how she wanted it), “I nearly didn’t make it –- Fran was on the warpath -– she’d told friends we’d go jet-skiing in Maine this weekend. We had to cancel, so I had to do the whole ‘it’s a tradition with my best friend’ routine... But her mother has been poisoning the well again, telling her that I do nothing for her, and so I get it in the neck every time I wanna do something for Me...” and off he went on one of his maudlin diatribes about the injustices of having an angel for a wife and the Mother-In-Law From Hell™, but, hey, maybe that’s why he married Fran in the first place, because opposites attract... she represents everything he resists: conformity... button-down, middle class life... conventions of society... blah, blah, blah... as was his wont when he’d had a few. She didn’t mind; she loved the sound of his voice.

<‘E’s a borin’ twot, ain’t ‘e?>

Go away! I’m driving!

<And ‘e smells of booze! >

He’s had a few on the plane -– now go away! You’ll get us killed!

But it was worse than usual. Every jibe was delivered in the spiteful tone of an immature jilted lover. Ni immediately pushed a tape of Neu! into the cassette player, “Sorry Emil, I need to listen to this. I find it helps me concentrate,” she explained in a strained voice, as the atonal buzzsaw-guitar of Negativland blasted out of the Fiesta’s little speakers. Emil was too ‘cool’ and tipsy to object, although judging by the uncomprehending frown and exaggerated grimace, he didn’t like it (he was more of a Dylan/Beatles/Hendrix fan), so she turned it down.

Oona was irritated but too intent on causing trouble to be deterred, <‘e’s quoite dishy, in ‘e? You think so anyway. I ‘ad a look in ur fantasies ‘n ‘is name is top of the list, you dirty gurl! >

Ni gritted her teeth, her knuckles white on the wheel, Oona, this isn't the time or the place, I’m on a busy motorway -- we’ll talk later -- go and do some chores!

But Oona wouldn't let it go, <‘e still hasn’t even looked at you yet!! ‘E’s witterin’ on ‘bout ‘is bloody woife ‘n there’s you -- this doyno-moite blonde -- sittin’ roight besoide ‘im! Wot’s ‘is problem, then?!>

He’s a 53 year old married man, Oona. He has no interest in me...

<Ur picturin’ it though, aintcha! I can see ‘ee! You ’n ‘im in a tent in the woods -- that’s the big fantasy, innit?!>

As the psychic dialogue escalated to a full-blown telepathic brawl, the speedometer climbed to 73mph.

Oh – and how’s your knight in shining armour?! Been smacking you around has he? Please warn me when he decides to knock you about again and I’ll be sure to keep a first aid kit handy!

That shut her up, which was a good thing since Emil had reached the end of his list of grievances, “... well, that’s my trials and tribs out of the way -– how is Paddy? How come he’s already at the site? He usually rings the night before I leave, but not a word. I called his service and left a message, but as of yet, no reply. What gives, Twinkie?”

Ni un-gritted her teeth and tried to sound chirpy, “Erm, Paddy didn’t know what equipment you might need so he went down a day early to do a recce with some of the students...”

He was very surprised, “Really? What’s with all the mystery? Where is the dig?”

“All will be revealed once we get there,” she said, without ceremony.

“You don’t seem so excited,” he said, still confused.

She sidetracked him, “Look, Emil, I have to call at the house -– I forgot my wetsuit. Shouldn't take more than a few minutes...?” This was true, but it was also the ideal opportunity to get him to drive the rest of the way.

She was aware of him shifting in his seat and looking at her. She turned her head away slightly so that the welt on her cheek was well hidden. “I must say, you’re looking well.” She heard the gratified surprise in his voice. She felt his eyes appraising her.

Oona tittered, <’ere we go...>

Get lost! She glanced sideways and said, “Well, I don’t look so good day, I’m knackered. Up all night with a... headache.”

Emil continued to pile on the compliments, “No, I mean, you look so... what’s right term? Blooming? All grown up. You’re usually hidden under an oversized sweater and baggy pants!”

<See, I tol’ ‘ee them jeans look good on ‘ee!>

Yes, thank you. “Och, don’t tease me, Emil, please, you’re gonna.... make me...”

“I’m not teasing! You look great!”

She suddenly felt very light-headed. The world was awhirl... the road ahead became a starlit blur

and just before the darkness descended, she happened to glance in the rear-view-mirror and once again saw a someone sitting in the back behind her. A figure dressed in a black motorcycle jacket with long, jet black, straggly hair hanging down over its face so that only its mouth and lower jaw were visible, but the cleft in the chin, the clean-shaven, alabaster skin were unmistakeable, it was a youthful, fully functional Barry McKee...

or was it?

The inside of the car brightened and everything went white

isn’t it a little girl?

12 or 13, long black hair...

That smell,

it was overwhelming, like every bad smell you could think of rolled into one nauseating miasma, filling her nostrils, filling her lungs, filling her mouth

she couldn't breathe.

Panicking, thrashing, gasping for air

sleep came down

her hands let go of the wheel and fell limp at her sides, her head lolled onto her shoulder and thudded against the driver side window.

“NIAMH!” Emil immediately unclipped his belt and lurched for the wheel -– simultaneously, he slowly raised the handbrake -- the Fiesta veered onto the hard-shoulder and skidded on the gravel, spun around three times before settling in a circle of tyre tracks shrouded by a terracotta-tinted dust-cloud -- half-in-half-out of the inside lane! A deafening horn blasted and a huge freight truck missed them by inches! He shouldered the car back onto the shoulder, then ran around to Ni’s side and opened the door...

Back at Paddy’s kitchen:

She’d begged him not to take her to hospital and told him she desperately needed some sleep. It was obvious that she was mentally and physically spent, so Emil reluctantly capitulated but insisted that he drive the rest of the way. Luckily, during the melee he hadn't noticed the mark on her cheek, so she kept her face covered with her hair until they got back to Paddy’s. They went to the kitchen and Emil checked her vitals and everything appeared to be sound, “You’re a very lucky girl. I don’t know what might’ve happened if I hadn't been there.”

“Oh, stop Emil, it doesn’t bear thinking about,” she said, groaning, sitting down at the table and thinking about it.

There was some beer left over from Gourmet Night, so he cracked-open a bottle and took a long slug and delivered his diagnosis: “Your blood sugar level has crashed and you need sleep. I prescribe a Labatt Club Sandwich with plenty of straight Coke!” he cracked open a can, put it in front of her and began buttering bread.

She answered absentmindedly, still contemplating what might have been, “I skipped breakfast... I overslept... the last week has been a nightmare. Literally.”

“Burning the candle at both ends, are ya?” He flashed that dashing, devilish grin of his and winked, “Sex? Drugs? All night raves?!”

“No, I’ve been working at SCICI: St Cedric’s Institute for the Criminally Insane. I was an intern, but I... I volunteered to do a drugs test. It didn’t agree with me. I’m still recovering, really.”

“What sort of drug was it?” he asked, opening a pickle jar and popping one in his mouth.

<Tell ‘im the truth. Go on –- tell ‘im ee spend ur days dozin’ ‘n playing wiv me -- playin’ wiv urself!>

“Fuck off, you sick bitch...!” Ni hissed, aloud.

Emil stopped chewing, “Sorry...?”

Shit! Think of something -- answer the question!! “Umm... Sorry, I can’t talk about it, had to sign an NDA.”

“NDA? Is that right?” He took another slug of beer to wash down the pickle, stopped for a minute, then asked with an inquisitive frown, “SCICI? I’ve heard of that place. They take in psychos from all around the world and study them, don’t they? Does it have something to do with the treatment of psychopaths or...?”

“Please, don’t ask Emil, it’s ultra-top-secret...”

“’Ultra-top-secret’ is it?” he reiterated, sardonically. He looked at her, “Whatever it is, it suits you, but in a... strange way. You look different. Older. Paler. Your eyes look darker, your hair looks blonder... you look very...nice...” he stroked her hair.

<Oh ho, ‘e’s got that look in ‘is eye!>

Get lost!

“What the... where the hell did you get this?” He’d finally seen the weal on her cheek! Shit. “It was an accident...” she said, weakly.

He put his hand under chin, raised her head and examined it closely, “Don’t bullshit me, Ni. This is a classic contusion associated with domestic violence –- commonly known as a backhander. In fact, I can see the impression of a wedding ring. Has Paddy seen this?”

“Yes. He was there when I got it,” she said, getting up, too tired to think of an excuse.

“He was there?!” he said, shaking his head in astonishment.

“Look, Emil, I’ll explain later, I’m absolutely shattered,” she sighed, “I’m going to bed for a couple of hours.”

He looked her in the eye, his voice half-angry-half-troubled, “Somebody’s been knocking you around, haven’t they? And a married man of all things?!”

“Emil, I really need to sleep...?”

He backed up, “I get it. I get it. None of my business,” he said, putting his hands up in an exaggerated gesture of surrender. He picked up the sandwich from the counter, plonked two straws in the can of Coke and gave them to her, “Go on -– eat, sleep -- I’ll chill-out with a beer or two and sleep off the jet-lag in front of the TV. Set your alarm for 5pm,” he said, waving her away.

She went upstairs, ate the sandwich, got undressed and got into bed. As soon as her head hit the pillow

<He’ll come to ur room wake ‘ee up ‘n do ‘ee.... >

Shit, shit, shit! The Walkman was in her case in the car, there was no way of shutting her out!

C’mon Oona, enough is enough, I’m totally drained. You of all people must know that. I’ll be down there soon; we’ll talk about it face-to-face --

<’Ee just wanna do ‘im while oi’m gone! Oi wanna watch ’ee for a change!> There was a heavy hint of jealousy in her tone. This wasn't going to end soon.

Ni put a pillow over her face and screamed a muffled scream. Then she sprung up, pulled on her dressing gown and marched across the landing to the phone by Paddy’s bed.

<Go ahead, call ‘im, it won’t do ‘ee any good.>

She sat on the bed, put the phone on her lap and stabbed the number into the key pad.

<I ain’t goin’ nowhere ‘n ‘e can’t make me!>

“Rossington.”

“It’s Niamh.”

“Oh. I thought you were off dredging the swamp.”

“She’s out of control and I’m at my wit’s end.” She explained the situation quickly while Oona chimed along with every word, “She’s at it as-we-speak! She’s fucking driving me insane! Tell me what to do -- I’ll do anything!”

He heaved a world-weary sigh, “Did you show her the door?”

“The door is permanently open and I can’t close it!! She’s too powerful now. I almost died on the motorway today! Not only that, but I’m starting to experience physical phenomenon! I’ve got a welt on my face from where her husband hit her!”

Rossington seemed genuinely interested, “Really? That’s a new one. Must make a note of that...”

“Fuck you, James! I’m serious!”

“Have you been talking about the project? Your friend Detective Superintendent Somerville came to see me. He threatened me because he thinks I’ve been, in his words, ‘screwing you up’?”

“Oona was plaguing me when I was babysitting his kids –- they picked up on it somehow, and it frightened the life out of them. He knows about the drug test, but not the details, he blames you for my.......?”

The hand holding the receiver dropped to her side. Silence. She listened to her thoughts. The chiming had ceased. No fuzziness. No tinnitus-like ringing in her ears. No incongruous mirages suddenly flashing through her mind. No bridge of clouds, no beach, no door, opened or closed. She felt unburdened. Her mind was her own.

Oona was gone.

“Niamh?.............. Miss Fitzgerald .......?”

“Niamh?”

“Niamh...?”

Emil was standing at the door, “Ni? I heard shouting. I thought you were in distress...”

“Niamh, are you there...?”

She put the receiver back to her ear, “It’s OK, James, everything’s OK. See you soon.” She rang-off and stared into space, listening to her thoughts.

Emil, hands in his pockets, loitering in the doorway, stared daggers at the phone, “’James?’ Is that the guy responsible for the gash on your cheek?” he growled.

In a way, yes. “No. He was my boss at the institute, and he’s gay.”

She looked at him. All her old fantasies about him replayed in her psyche, only this time no one was watching.

Emil was looking through his fingers, “Twinkie, um, adjust your robe, babe, I’m getting quite an eyeful here ....”

She didn’t adjust her robe. She gave him more of an eyeful when she walked to the window and pulled the curtains, took off the gown, slipped into Paddy’s big four-poster and pulled back the sheets invitingly. “Please. I need this and it has to be now.”

Wide-eyed and opened mouthed, he visibly baulked as he took it in, “What?! NO!”

She pointed out the burgeoning lump in his shorts, “I know you want to and I want to too.”

He was contemplating it. He came in and sat on the edge of the bed. Then he looked at her again and had a change of heart. He stood up, shook his head and refused to give in to his baser nature, “No. It would ruin a beautiful friendship.”

“One time offer,” she said, in all seriousness, “I’ll never feel this way again, and we will never ever mention it again. It’ll be like it never happened. Just switch off for half-an-hour, enjoy the ride, then we’ll sleep-it-off in separate beds.”

She knew the resulting pause for reflection and overt inner-conflict was all for show: a respectful pause before he did what he really wanted to do. Finally, he said, “This is madness” and tore off his shirt, revealing his trim, hairy body; he opened his belt, unbuttoned his shorts and jumped in before she changed her mind...

Afternoon delight my arse.

It had been one of the most horrifying experiences of her life – clothes on or off. It wasn't that he was bad at it or inattentive, it was the fact that during the intercourse, she found herself unwittingly locked into his psyche: as soon as he penetrated her body, she found herself penetrating his mind. To her amazement, she could read his thoughts, and it wasn't a pleasant experience, not at all. It became clear that he regarded young women as little more than talking dolls -– and with each buck of his hips, a succession of previous conquests, usually his students, mimicked her grimaces; blondes, redheads, skinny girls, chubby girls, girls with glasses in various states of undress, flashed before her eyes. But the creepy thing was they all had Niamh’s mother’s face! He was in love with her mother! That made it even worse! She stopped groaning and writhing, looked up at his reddened, straining face, and waited for him to finish. He was too wrapped-up in his own trip to notice her inertia. When he was done, she stayed for a few minutes as a courtesy and listened to his apologies for succumbing to a moment of madness, the inner-monologue forever contradicting the words coming out of his mouth. Once the clichés were done with, he fell asleep inside three minutes. She hadn't uttered a word for the entire twelve and a half.

He was right about one thing, though: It had ruined a beautiful friendship.

She had a hot shower and let the water run through her hair, wishing it would seep through her scalp into her brain and wash away the memory of what just happened. And as she rinsed the suds from her eyes, another swirl of dizziness swept over her –- her knees buckled –- she stumbled backwards into the wall and slid down the tiles until she was sitting on the floor. She wiped the soap out her eyes, and as they focused, she gazed through the frosted glass of the cubicle door and saw a dark shadow against the stark whiteness of the bathroom; it appeared to be standing on the mat by the bath. “Emil...?” she muttered, even though she knew it couldn't possibly be him. Putting one arm across her breasts and the other across her lap, she crawled closer to the glass, wiped it clear and looked out, “Who’s that...?” She reached up and slowly slid the door back...

It wasn't in the room; it was a reflection in the mirrored tiles of the wall along the bath. The glass was steamed up, the little figure was a blur, however, it was plainly a little girl with long black hair, dressed in a filthy nightdress standing straight-backed with her head bowed, her hands folded in front of her, as if getting a dressing-down from the headmistress: Is this the girl that little Cathy Somerville saw...?

“Who are you...?” she said softly, as she stepped out, snatched a towel from the rack, wrapped it around her and slowly approached. The closer she got, so the little figure got much taller and more masculine until it grew to the size of a fully grown man, only the long black tresses remained. She recoiled and lifted the only available weapon to hand: the loo-brush; she brandished it in her shaky hands; when it became clear the creature wasn't going to speak, she asked in a tremulous whisper, “... are you Barry McKee...? Or are you the demon that possesses him...? Or am I suffering from a new form of schizophrenia...?”

The crackly voice resounded between her ears: <I’m here to give you peace of mind.>

8 minutes later, she was pulling the sheets off the bed and informing the former man of her dreams, “C’mon, get up and get dressed. I wanna get down there before dark.”

Emil sat up and watched her tidy-up around him, a look of disbelief on his face, spouting superlatives like a besotted teenager, “What a trip that was. I haveta tell ya, and I’m being honest, that was the most amazing thing... It felt as if  we were locked together -- body ‘n soul -- it was like we were flying! It was like: Woah!”

She ignored him, “Please get up, I have to strip the bed and change it.”

He staggered to his feet and pulled on his shorts, “Didn't you feel it? It was like we were sharing a dream... Awesome!” He continued in this vein for a while until it became clear she wasn't similarly impressed. He watched her with narrowed eyes, as if sizing her up. “You've changed, you know that?” he said at last.

“I always change after a shower,” she said, impassively.

As she locked up the house and they made their way to her car, it was introspection time again. Gone was the cock-sure, intelligent adventurer with a witty quip for every occasion, instead, he trudged along behind her, moping, grumbling in a self-pitying groan about how big a deal it was and how much trouble he’d be in if anyone found out. “Your mother will kill me! My wife will divorce me! Oh God -- and we did it in Paddy’s bed! I won’t be able to look him in the eye ever again...”

She spun on her heel, “Shut the f --” she began to shout, before remembering it was the weekend and the neighbours were likely to hear, and lowering her voice to an angry whisper, “it’s forgotten. Didn't happen, remember? Speak of it no more, please!”

They exchanged suspicious looks then got into the car.  She adjusted the seat and tried to put the keys in the ignition, but her hands were too shaky, her head was too fuzzy, and in spite of the mystery voice’s assurances, she couldn't be sure Oona would make a comeback, “Can’t drive, still a bit groggy. You’ll have to do it.” She bounced over into the passenger seat, pulled up the hood of her hoodie and assumed a foetal-position turned away on her side, looking out of the window so she didn’t have to look at him. She felt him get in, readjust the seat and try to get comfortable. He had difficulty getting it started, “Fucking piece of shit car,” he yapped, as the engine spluttered twice then stalled, “It’s like a goddamn downhill-racer!!” He pounded the steering wheel with his fists. The car rocked and boomed. She didn’t lose her temper or shout him out, instead, without turning toward him, she told him exactly what he was thinking, “...’she’s over eighteen’ ‘it was her who invited me in’ ‘I’d been drinking on the plane’ ‘no man could refuse an offer like that’ ‘What if she spills the beans?’ ‘Oh my God, what if she gets pregnant?’...” she iterated, dispassionately. 

She was numb to it all. She just accepted the gift of telepathy as the latest in a series of incredible events set in motion when she first visited Bogmire and met Oona Umbert. It was getting boring now.

Emil was dumbfounded, “How do you do that? It’s like you’re reading my mind! Jeezus – you are just like --”

She turned, dug her elbow into his ribs and marked his card, “Now you listen to me, mister -– I am not my mother. This has nothing to do with her. I wasn't using you to settle a score or get one over on her. But I did use you. I was horny. It could've been anyone. You were the nearest thing with a pulse. Does that make you feel better?! Don’t get hung-up-on-it -– just drive!”

He gaped at her with uncomprehending eyes and said without irony, “I think I might be in love with you...”

Meanwhile, in the grounds of Pagham house: Wearing her nicest summer frock and her best shoes, one hand holding onto Ni’s big floppy blue hat to stop it from blowing off in the strong breeze, the other clutching her silvery clutch-bag, Oona crept along the path that led from the edge of the woods to the rear of the house. She planned to enter via the old disused servants’ door, she could get to the kitchens from there and sneak through to the main house. She got as far the old courtyard where the moss-covered graves of the 8th Dukes’ wife & child lay, when Charlie Noble, the bespectacled, beer-gutted head of security, pulled up and blocked her path with his jeep. “Where do you think you’re goin’, Mrs Nevin?” he enquired, in his dense North Antrim accent. He got out and walked toward her. She tried to run around him, but despite his size, he was quite agile –- he turned and deftly caught her by the arm, “Hey, hey, hey – where’s the fire, now?”

“Kris is ‘ere! Oi know ‘e’s ‘ere - oi can sense ‘im!”

“Well now, you can’t see Kris, Oona, he’s talkin’ to Mr Scanlon.”

“So ‘e is ‘ere!” she cried, excitedly, jumping up and down.

“You can’t see him! C’mon now, I’m takin’ you home!” he said, pulling her toward the jeep.

“That will not be necessary!” She replied in her poshest voice, as she squirmed out of his grasp and made to walk back the way she came, “Oi’d rather walk –-” she said, took a few steps then suddenly veered to the left towards the path that led to the front of the house –- the manoeuvre caught him off-guard -- he slipped on the mossy cobbles and fell on his arse, “Bollocks!” She bolted, “KRIS!!” she yelled repeatedly as she ran along the path “KRIS!!” Unfortunately her new shoes weren’t built for speed and it wasn't long before Charlie caught up with her and grabbed her from behind. He tried to reason with her as she struggled in his arms, “Now c’mon! Home with ye!!” He took the walkie-talkie from his shoulder and waved it in front of her face, “I’ll call yer auntie, I will! I’ll tell her ye’re out here tryin’ to get in!” She tore away from his grasp, spun on her heel and headed back down the path, “I can go home on me own!” she said, haughtily as she walked off into the trees.

He thought for a moment then walked after her, “Oona! Waitaminnit! Please listen to me!”

His voice sounded sympathetic so she stopped.

Charlie walked up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders, “Don’t come lookin’ for young Kris, Oona. Ye’re playin’ into ol’ Scanlon’s hands, darlin’. Nuthin’ would please him better than if you wuz to do somethin’ stupid.”

She shrugged off his hands, turned and shouted, “Why would oi do somethin’ stoopid?! Why won’t they let me see ‘im now we is all growed up?! We’s ol’ friends for ‘eaven’s sake!”

“You know why, Oona, you’re not like other girls, you’re... special,” he explained, pointing to his head, “and we haveta be extra careful where Kris is concerned, he’s the boss’ favourite grandchild, he can’t come to any harm.”

“But I don’t wanna hurt ‘im -- I luv ‘im!” she cried, tearfully.

“That’s what they’re worried about,” said Charlie, dolefully.

She gripped the hem of skirt, fell to her knees and screamed in frustration at the top of her voice -– the trees around them shook -- an ivy-covered branch snapped loose from the upper boughs of a dead chestnut tree and crashed to the ground, missing Charlie by inches! He backed up, scared out of his wits. “How the hell did you do that?!”

She was just as shocked. Something had snapped in her head -- there was a terrible rushing in her ears -- she saw fireworks exploding in front of her eyes -- it felt like her bones had turned to jelly! She toppled onto her side, eyes wide open, twitching and drooling...

Suddenly, just as they were driving along the dirt track that led to woods, a wave of nausea surged in Ni’s tummy, “Pull over -- gonna be sick!”

As soon as Emil slammed on the brakes -- she threw open the door and threw-up the sandwiches he made her earlier that day. He got out and shouted across the roof, “You OK...? Want me to hold your hair or something...”

She spat out the last of the chunks and shouted over her shoulder, “No! Go on ahead... it’s just round the corner, I’ll walk... need to get some fresh air...” Not that the air here could be described as fresh. “OK, then. See you at the bog!” He said, giving her a glum look before driving off.

What’s happening now? She took a few minutes to recover and wipe her mouth with a tissue, when a jeep came hurtling down the dirt track, and as she stood back to let it pass, she glanced inside -- and saw a familiar face propped up against the passenger side window -- Oona! -- for a split second she looked straight at Ni, or to be more precise, she looked through her. She was like a beautiful zombie, her deathly pallor and deathly stare making it impossible to tell if she was dead or alive. Ni ran after them shouting “STOP!”, but the driver was in too much of a hurry to hear her. She stopped running, buckled in two and threw up again. When she eventually stood up, she espied a diminutive figure standing in the long grass that bordered the woods.

It was the same little girl she’d glimpsed in the bathroom. The same little girl the Somerville girls described: long, shiny-black hair, but at this distance it was hard to make out her features. “Hello... Are you lost?” Ni called out, as she climbed over the wall and slowly approached, “Are you a local, honey? Do you live in Bogmire...?”

The little girl turned, ran into the trees and disappeared from view – “Come back!” shouted Ni, running after her, until she got to the edge of the wood and had to stop to throw up again...

In the east wing of Pagham house: The old infirmary hadn't been in use since the late 1950s, when Laphen bought the house. It had been originally intended as a hospital for the Redmen, but since they rarely got ill or endured an injury that required medical assistance and a sick-bed, it had been left to gather dust. But this was an unprecedented occasion, so they called on the services of a doctor.

Ella Sparkes opened the windows and shutters to allow rays of late afternoon sunshine to flood the room, turning the yellowing net-curtains into shimmering golden clouds, and unsettling a dust cloud that made the attendees cough and splutter. They composed themselves, gathered around the gurney and looked down at the patient.

[it was so bright Oona thought she was in Heaven looking up at the face of St Peter and the angels]

“Her eyes are open. That’s odd,” said Dr Morgan, an 83 year old GP originally from Anglesey who’d retired to a cottage in Carlow in the late-70s. Affable and slightly detached, Morgan ministered to the villagers’ medical needs, kept them stocked with painkillers and penicillin and dealt with any emergencies, such as the one in hand. He was partial to a pot of poteen, hence no stranger to blackouts himself, but this was a new one on him, “Are you sure she hasn’t been using drugs or alcohol?” he asked, in his melodious Welsh accent.

“No. Drugs is forbidden by our religion, and ‘er ‘usband’s a gard, so I very much doubt it,” replied Mrs Sparkes. Her eyes narrowed – she looked at the trio of men around the foot of the bed, “Unless theseuns know any different?”

The Dr Morgan looked to the men.

They shook their heads, “As far as we know she’s clean,” vouchsafed Scanlon.

“... No history of epilepsy, fits, sleepwalking or anything like that?” asked the doctor.

The old woman chewed her cheek and looked and looked at Scanlon, “Lemme think, now...”

Scanlon glowered.

She lowered her head, “No, but, umm... but she ‘as a lot goin’ on in her ‘ead all the toime.” She looked Oona and asked in all sincerity, “Could she‘d’ve blew a fuse or somethin’?”

Charlie chuckled.

Dr Morgan smiled and said, kindly, “Well, we’ll just have to have a look and see, won’t we.”

It was getting too much for the sergeant; he loosened his tie and mopped his brow with a sopping cotton handkerchief, “It’s so friggin’ hot in here... even with them windows open... Jeeesus, I can’t get a breath, and I’ve still got that stench from the bog in me nosterls...” he smelled the sleeves of his shirt “I think it’s got into me clothes. Ugh!”

“Ack, catch a grip, ye big girl’s blouse,” grunted Scanlon, “you’ve been livin’ with that stench for years, you must be used to it by now.”

“I never smelt anythin’ like the reek that came from that excavation. That was strong enough to make a skunk run for cover!” Marchant said, a little too loudly.

Scanlon nudged him, “Ssshhh -- the auld doctor is talkin’!”

Examining her unblinking, dazzling grey eyes, Dr Morgan asked Charlie, “And you say she just dropped and started twitching?”

Charlie lit up a cigarette and explained, “Aye -- she lost her temper, see, and let-out this almighty shriek like you wouldn't believe --”

Everyone but the doctor nodded and said in unison, “heard it.”

“-- and the next thing I know is the trees start shakin’ and (he pointed up) –- this bloody huge branch falls down and misses me (he made a tiny space between his thumb and forefinger) by that much!! Bleedin’ miracle I wasn't cleaved-in-half!” He shook his head, took a long drag and blew it out, sending spiralling clouds of bluish smoke into the shafts of sunshine.

“She can do that...?” the sergeant gasped.

Charlie shrugged, “Nobody knows what she can do, least of all her.”

Scanlon arched an eyebrow, narrowed an eye and nodded toward the door, “Ahem, maybe you should smoke that out in the corridor, Charlie?”

“With pleasure,” said Charlie, sneering, but just as he went to walk away, “Excuse me -- but when did she get this?” asked the doctor, pointedly, turning Oona’s head to the side. Charlie stopped in his tracks, “What?” The doctor pulled back her hair to reveal the purplish weal on her cheek.

“Looks like somebody’s hit her a quare slap,” the sergeant said, looking at the doughty security man.

Charlie protested his innocence, “Hey, hey, hey, now, now! I wouldn't hit a woman –- and look -– it’s not fresh!”

“That’s true,” said Dr Morgan, “it’s at least a day old.”

“Nevin’s been hitting her!” said Scanlon, almost smiling; he had a distraction and exploited it immediately, “Is it any wonder she’s fainting? She’s probably got a concussion, poor girl.”

Marchant covered his eyes in shame, “Ah, Jaysus, no...”

“It don’t surprise me none. If oi’m honest, oi can ‘ardly blame ‘im,” said Mrs Sparkes, with a dispassionate what-can-you-do shrug of the shoulders, “she’s as thick as shit ‘n she can’t cook. It’s enough to drive anybody round the twist.”

Scanlon glared at Marchant and said, “Where is that big shithead now?”

Slowly losing the will to live, the sergeant stepped back, took off his cap and wiped his brow with the back of his hand, “I left him ’n his partner to keep an eye on things down at the bog...” The pang of regret quickly turned to rage, “I’ll feckin’ kill the fecker!”

“AHEM!” Dr Morgan cleared his throat to take back the room, “A slap wouldn't cause a condition the like of this. I’d say this is a psychological rather than a physiological condition.” He turned to Mrs Sparkes, “In other words, something has upset her to such an extent that she’s put herself in a trance.”

Scanlon stooped and studied Oona’s glassy-eyes, “Pretendin’ is she...?”

Outraged, Ella Sparkes put her hands on her hips and shouted, “C’mon, get up ye lazy bitch!”

The doctor winced and put out his hands to quiet her down and put her right, “No, no – she’s had some-sort-of an episode. It could be stress-related. She’ll have to see a psychiatrist, and if there’s no joy there, we’ll have to send her for an MRI scan.”

Mrs Sparkes’ ears pricked up under her ginger wig; she didn’t trust modern technology and interjected every time she heard something she didn’t understand, “Emmer Eye-Scan? What’s that?”

While the doctor explained the rudiments of magnetic-resonance imaging, Scanlon grabbed the sergeant by the lapels and dragged him into the corridor, “Get that bastard Nevin up here ASAP! I want that string-o’-piss to take her home ‘n keep her there. She’s his responsibility!”

Marchant had a perturbing thought, “But what about ‘Is Nibs? What about Herbie?! Should I phone ‘em...?”  

Scanlon tightened his grip, pulled him close and whisper-shouted into his face, “The old man ‘n Herbie must NEVER find out about this or we’ll all suffer!” There was a gentle hubbub coming from the room. He shoved the sergeant away and told him to get on with it, then smiled broadly, went back in and clapped his hands, “Is that us? Are we done?”

Dr Morgan wasn't happy, “Look here, I’ll have to report this. If her husband’s been knocking her around -- a policeman, by God -- it’s my duty to inform the relevant authority.”

“Doctor, you know the Supplicants are protected by the laws on religious tolerance and are entitled to practise their own form of worship,” the groundskeeper reminded him in his most gracious tone of voice, “and they have different laws, different customs. If they want to treat her with toadstool-juice and frog stew, they’re perfectly within their legal rights to do so -– as long as it doesn’t endanger life -- and as you can see, aside from a wee turn, she’s perfectly healthy!” He turned, winked and whispered in the doctor’s ear, “Leave it with me – I’ll see that she gets what she needs...” and slipped him an extra £20. As Charlie escorted him off the premises, Scanlon took Mrs Sparkes to one side and had a quiet word.

“She’s dangerous now, Ella. What Charlie says is true. I saw the branch myself – it was ripped from a dead tree alright – the join was splintered and ragged. And today, right-around-the-time of her little temper-tantrum, the cutlery on the dish rack started tinklin’, the pots ‘n’ pans rattled on their hooks. Remember? You thought it was an earthquake...”

No sooner had those words parted his lips, than her niece’s eyelids flickered, her dark lashes fluttered like the wings of tiny rooks...

“It looks like she’s wakening...”

[she was awake the entire time. She couldn't hear their voices, just murmurs; she saw their blurred faces through a kaleidoscope of illuminated colours. 

Now the room was getting brighter -- everything faded into the background until there was silence and shining white... nothing but silence and shining white...

The light was pouring in from the mirror above a wash-hand-basin at the back of the room. She watched the little girl with the lumpy head, luminous and translucent, climb out of it and come to the foot of the bed.]

The little ghost girl looked down on Oona with a pitying-frown.

The other voice explained

< I’m so sorry about shutting you down like this, but you needed reining in, and since your mentor is proving so indispensable, I’m afraid I have no further use for you at this point in time.

This operation is on hiatus...>

Ni was making her way through the woods toward the site. It was dusk and the darkening skies made it difficult to negotiate what could be loosely described as the pathway to the bog. She’d just fought her way through a particularly dense hawthorn bush, when the voice that sounded like nothing on earth crackled in her head:

<How does it feel to be free?>

She stopped. Oh God. How bad is she?

<She’ll live. But she is temporarily telepathically-impaired. >

So, is that it? She’s out of my life?

<For now.>

So... What do you get out of all this?

<I may call in a favour at a later date.>

That sounded ominous. She paused before repeating her previous enquiry, Is that you Barry? Or am I talking to your ‘demon’? What’s your part in all this?

...........................

Hello...?

<Goodbye, Niamh. It’s been a pleasure working with -->

At that very moment, at SCICI: “... happy Barry? Well, you’ve got what you wanted. Your friend Somerville has seen to that!” chimed Rossington, hands on his knees, mock-smiling, yapping like an overbearing schoolmistress, “We’re taking away all the mirrors, wires, gadgets and spotlights and we’re going to put you in one of the older rooms: drab, dreary, padded walls, tiny windows, a plain white ceiling to stare up at all day. See how you like that, eh?!”

Matron and Matthew Cromarty were disconnecting the electrodes from Barry’s head while a pair of technicians on stepladders dismantled the mirrors, all listening as Rossington ranted at the insensible wretch on the bed, “But don’t worry -- I haven’t given up on you just yet,” he took out a large roll of print-out paper, unfurled it and pointed to various highlighted sections on a wave line, “I’ve had a look at your readings  -- dates and times -- and a very interesting pattern emerges: for instance, when Niamh nearly crashed the car -- when Oona had a fit,” he indicated a row of numbers in the highlighted section: “increased brain activity! This proves your mind is active! What do you say to that?!”

Matron put a hand on his arm, “James, c’mon now, you’re gettin’ upset, you haven’t slept for days...”

“Get your fucking paws off me, you damn silly bitch,” he said, calmly. He made sure the technicians were out of earshot and took the pair to one and berated them, “Matt Cromarty (sniff), phew -- stinking of liquor as usual, and Matron Stranks, Ireland’s answer to Nurse Ratched.” He pointed at the CCTV camera above the door, “Do you have any idea what would happen if Somerville got hold of those tapes?” he looked at Cromarty, “For instance, I have video of you pinching his genitals!”

“I was just testin’ his reflexes!”

“What? Like this?” Rossington slapped him full in the face with an almighty smack.

The technicians stopped unscrewing and gawped.

Once he’d recovered from the shock, Cromarty burst into tears. Matron put her arms around him and let him sob into her pillowy bosom while Rossington rounded on her, “and as for you, you gormless old trout -- I have footage of you lighting candles and saying prayers over him!”

“I spoke to my priest and he told me to do it because...” she began to protest.

Rossington wagged his finger to cut her off, stooped and stared into her eyes, “... because you think it’ll protect you from the demon from McKee’s in Soul, huh? I warned you about talking to clergymen, didn’t I?!” He took her crucifix in his hand and tore it off, “And you of all people should know that the wearing of jewellery is not permitted in the institute!!” and plonked the trinket in the palm of her hand.

“Ask Peter Sinclair what he believes,” Cromarty cried into matron’s chest, referring to Rossington’s ‘flatmate’.

It was a cheap shot and the good doctor dearly wanted to lash out again, but the technicians were watching, so he made do with giving Cromarty the evil eye. “This is your last warning, shithead. Now get out of my sight.”

As they exited, two burly orderlies entered. They picked up the long, frail shape of Barry McKee and carefully deposited him onto a gurney; as they passed, Rossington looked into Barry’s unblinking eyes and said, “Life is about to get very boring for you, Barry.....”

Back in his office, he walked straight to his desk, turned on the reading lamp and lifted the phone with the intention of calling the flat to talk to Peter, but before he could dial the number, someone in the darkness at the back of the room said, “So, your li’l experiment’s gone tits-up, ‘as it, Jimbo?”

“Jeez! Herb? I thought you were in France...?” said Rossington, gulping, putting down the receiver.

There was Herbie, in full chauffeur uniform, driving-gloves-and-all, leaning on the bust of St Cedric at the back of the room, “I came back to check-up on fings,” he said, shaking his head regretfully. “I hear Oona’s put herself in a trance cuz the boyo you chose to be ‘er ‘usband ‘as been knockin’ ‘er abaht, ‘n the Fitzgerald gal you brought in to 'elp ‘er is due to leave the cahntry in a coupla weeks. All this after you wuz told to leave ‘er alone? It’s a right-old balls-up, innit Jimbo?”

Rossington backed up slightly so that he was touching the handle of the top drawer of the desk.

“Lookin’ fer this?” Herbie took Rossington’s beloved Magnum .357 from his belt; it glinted in the half-light as the big chauffeur advanced on his prey, “You've cost us a blahdy packet, Jim, and for what -- a psycho we can’t control?!”

“Oh shit, no, Herb...” The good doctor put up his hands and backed up toward the door, “I warned you -– I told you Oona is uncontrollable -– I told you she’s a sociopath -- she was driving Miss Fitzgerald crazy! She almost killed her!” His back hit the door with a thud -- Herbie grabbed him by the tie and growled into his face, “She wuz perfectly awright until you got yer fackin claws into ‘er!” He pressed the muzzle of the pistol against the ball of Rossington’s nose turning it into a porcine snout.

The good doctor kept his head steady and answered nervously, “She wasn't ‘alright’ -- she was locked in a room shut away from the world and she would've rotted in there if not for me! If you want to blame anyone -- blame Scanlon -– he’s the one who spread malicious rumours to get me taken off the case! He’s the one who’s plotting to get rid of her!”

Gorringe ran the muzzle along Rossington’s cheek and growled, “You can squeal all you like, Jimbo, but this time there’s no escaping yer fate.”

“Don’t do this, Herb. We go way back -- at least 20 years -- and I’ve always done my upmost -- I got Ollie off booze, I got Annelise off smack --”

“Ollie’s fallen off the wagon loadsa times since then and your ‘treatment’ nearly killed poor li’l Annelise! Not only that -- - you then proceeded to exploit ‘er!”

“Hardly! We wrote a book together! She made a lot of money and she’s fully recovered!”

Herbie pushed the muzzle hard into Rossington’s cheekbone, “That’s the reason the boss can never bring isself to pull the plug on ya. But the boss ain't the geezer ‘e used to be, see, ‘n ‘e leaves it to me to make all the Life or Deaf decisions.” He grabbed the good doctor’s tie, pulled him across the room, thrust him into his swivelling, leather throne and put the gun against his temple, “Now, sit still. This hasta look like suicide!”

Eyes squeezed-shut, Rossington begged for mercy in his native New Jersey accent, “Christ no, don’t do this!! Look, Scanlon is your guy -- he’s your loose cannon –- he’s always hated her...!”

There was a long pause, then he heard Gorringe say “We know.”

The muzzle was withdrawn, the pressure on his Adam’s-apple eased. He opened his eyes. Herbie was sitting on the edge of the desk, grinning, “That’s why yer off the ‘ook, for now,” he said, matter-of-factly, and in one deft movement spun the pistol around his finger like a six shooter, caught it by the barrel, ejected the magazine and put it in the breast pocket of his tunic, spun it again and handed the disarmed weapon to Rossington. “The boss ‘n’ me ‘ad a powwow ‘n you’re the lucky winner, Jimbo. Scanlon is indeed ‘a loose cannon’ and ‘e will be dealt wiv in doo course, but we ain’t pleased with yer work, so from now on you go back to doin’ yer normal business  an’ we leave Oona alone to get on wiv ‘er life. OK?”

Rossington took the gun with a trembling hand and carefully put it back in the drawer, “Whatever you say.”

Herbie nodded, “Good. Until we decide wot to do next, this operation is on hiatus...”

The Wetlands of Bogmire, Co. Kildare, in the grounds of Pagham House:

12:45am: The clouds had opened, and as the raindrops hissed through the trees and strafed the canvas of the little shelter, the amateur archaeologists, some holding lanterns, gathered around to see what they’d found. Paddy knelt by the tarp and shone his torch on the entwined skeletons, now carefully washed down, relatively mud-free and finally exposed to the air. Shaking his head with incredulity, he turned to Ni and held up her little sketch, “You were right on the money. 100%. Exactly where you said they’d be, in the same position; one an ancient adult male, the other a child with a fractured skull -- you got it exactly right,” he said, utterly awestruck.

Ni, holding a handkerchief dipped in perfume to her nose, answered efficiently and unemotionally, “This lends credence to the legend that an ‘ancient magus’ was placed in the bog and cursed so that his evil wouldn't spread after his demise,” she explained to Emil, who was still too busy crapping his pants to take it in, let alone adopt his usual casual, cooler-than-thou attitude. But instead of raising any objection about despoiling a scene of natural beauty, he asked, tremulously, “And... you just had a dream... what...?”

Paddy tried to coax her into a confession, “C’mon Ni, did someone tell you about this? Is there someone out there who knows something about this?”

“I just had a vision, that’s all I can tell you. I can’t explain it. It could've been a side effect of the drugs Rossington gave me, but for some reason I knew it was true,” she said, equivocally.

“Well, I’m flummoxed,” said Paddy, standing up, pulling down his hood and scratching his head, “The older mummy is perfectly preserved! It’ll take some time to date it, but I’m pretty sure it’s thousands of years old. I don’t know whether to feel elated or afraid!”

“It’s very... exciting,” said Emil, very uncomfortable in his own skin, not knowing how to behave.

Paddy made a face and said, “Is that all you have to say? This is a monumental find! I thought you’d be overjoyed?!” He looked from one to the other and twigged something was wrong, “Did you two have a row on the drive down?”

“Oh, a disagreement over something insignificant,” said Ni, glancing at Emil.

Emil swallowed hard, looked away and said nothing.

“What about the little girl?” she asked, sparing his blushes.

Paddy hunkered down again and examined the smaller, whiter skeleton closely and shook his head, “Well, we’ll have to identity her, poor thing. In my opinion, she was definitely killed in this century; at least 50 years ago, so there must be a record of her somewhere. The murderer or murderers could still be alive.”

It struck her like a thunderbolt. She put the handkerchief over her mouth to stifle her gasp and stepped back. This time it wasn't the smell that made her recoil.

This is the little girl in the Somerville kids’ bedroom. This is the little girl she saw in the mirrors. This is the little girl she saw at the edge of the woods. This is her. There were tresses of black hair still clinging to the skull and the remains of a little nightdress clinging to the skeleton, but Ni didn’t need to see the physical evidence, she knew in her heart it was true. But why did McKee/his demon want her found?

Meanwhile, “... the question is: how did she come to be resting in the other’s arms? 5000 years apart and they’re positioned like Madonna and Child? It doesn’t make sense,” said Paddy, looking to his colleague for an opinion, “What do you think, Emil? Ever seen anything like this?”

Still distracted by guilt and embarrassment, nevermind the potential explosiveness of the situation, Emil answered diffidently, “Umm... yeah... sure looks like murder to me...”

Piqued by his friend’s semi-detached attitude and his niece’s apparent lassitude, Paddy stood up and gruffly announced, “Sorry folks, but this place will be a crime scene for the foreseeable future. Until we get this mystery sorted out, this operation is on hiatus...”

The Ivy House, Downpatrick, Northern Ireland:

01:45am: Ogden Castle, the Lumb’s rotund butler -- counsel to the New Master of the house and newly-installed leader of the coven, Jamie Jameson Lumb -- crossed the tiled lobby and waddled up the hall to the drawing room. He’d called a house meeting, although there’ll only be two members present; Lady Beth was off to her ranch in Connecticut leaving them to sort out the ‘hocus-pocus shit’. The housemates and household staff were under lockdown and warned not to venture out of the estate ‘until the Barry McKee business has been sorted’. Puffing and panting, he knocked the door and entered. “C’mon, Oggy,” said Jamie, “what’s the news? I had to put off a meditation session for this!” This was true; he was dressed in a Persian kaftan and beaded slippers, his brow and shaved head daubed with ancient runes peculiar to the coven.

Puffing and wheezing, Castle took a seat and explained, “Sorry, sir, I was waitin’ for word from the Council, it takes ages now, what with the Psychosphere still out-of-commission.” He took a deep breath and told them, “Anyway, according to the lads in Namibia, there’s the slightest hint of violet in the sunset. He’s definitely not weakening. He’s getting energy from somewhere. There are also traces of him in the Mirror World.”

Guy ‘Goz’ Gosling, Jamie’s school friend, ex-band mate, former rock star and now a successful movie actor, was slumped across one of the leather armchairs. He was also shaven-headed and bare-footed, but in his case it was a fashion choice, like his black Bowie tee-shirt and tight-fitting leather trousers. He was sick and tired of the whole affair and desperately wanted to get back to Hollywood to resuscitate his acting career, “That’s it then. Go to SCICI and unplug him. How hard can it be?”

“You know how hard it can be, dickhead, he has to die a natural death,” snapped Jamie, shooting him a dirty look. “If we kill McKee the demon will just migrate to the nearest lifeform, I don’t need to tell you that. We have to tackle him while McKee’s still alive, and to do that, we need to get close, and Rossington has him locked up safe ‘n sound in a secure unit in a high-security prison. That’s how hard it can be.”

They were at an impasse. It was times like that Jamie dreaded. Making decisions that could drastically affect the coven. It was the only time he doubted his abilities. Castle read him, “You've nothing to fear, sir, it’s only a setback. We’ll get him.”

“There is another option we haven’t explored,” said Goz, sheepishly.

Jamie read his mind without the aid of telepathy, “No. Not him.”

“But he can travel in the Mirror World and he has the energy to cast spells, he could tackle him from the inside...?”

Castle and Jamie considered it for all of second and then gave him a firm, “No.”

“Master Bernard is more likely to make a deal with the demon than try to stop him,” said Castle.

“That’s if he hasn’t already!” said Jamie.

Goz threw up his hands in anger and despair, “Well, what other choice do we have?! We can’t get close enough to him to curse him! We can’t attack him in the Mirror World...?”

Jamie paced the floor in front of the fireplace and bemoaned their lot, “If only Carla wasn't resting. She’d get into SCICI and no one would bat an eyelid.”

Castle was quick to correct him, “Aye, she may be able to beguile a lot of people simultaneously, sir, but she can’t beguile security cameras. And besides, Rossington’s already met her [See Book One Part 9]; he knows she’s one of us.”

Jamie heaved a heavy sigh, “Then, what the hell are we going to do?”

The prospect of enlisting Bernie Pritchard to do the dirty work was looking inevitable until there was a knock on the door and Fordham the footman entered, excused himself and whispered something in Castle’s ear. The butler nodded and Fordham left.

“Well, Oggy, what is it?!” said Jamie, impatiently.

Castle explained that an archaeological dig in Kildare had unearthed the mummy of an evil magus and broken an ancient curse releasing a cloud of dark energy into the air, “It’s so virulent that it’s rendered the entire area unapproachable for psyches like us. And it would account for the sudden surge of dark power.”

“How come we didn’t know about this? An evil magus buried in a bog? An ancient curse? I don’t remember any of this being mentioned in history class,” said Goz, getting more irritated with each development.

“It must've happened before our ancestors came home to Ireland,” offered Castle, “the curse put on his earthly remains must've been strong enough to cover all trace of ‘im. They mustn’t’ve felt anything at all when they arrived or they’d’ve dealt with it...” Castle’s voice dropped as he realised something relevant to the conversation.

“What is it now, Oggy?” said Jamie, getting evermore anxious with every disclosure.

“I dunno, it could be nothin’.” Castle told them of a residence in the immediate vicinity of the bog; Pagham House. It was built to the same specifications as the Ivy House at around the same time, “The 8th Duke of Roxborough -- Thaddeus Ravenhill -- a one time friend of Sir Arnold’s [Jamie’s grandfather], commissioned it. They were as thick as thieves back in the day, but he wasn’t one of us. He tried everything, y’know, the usual hokum: satanic rituals, virgin sacrifice, that sorta bollocks. He was executed in 1795, but Sir Arnold had nuthin’ to do with ‘im by then. He was off his rocker on mind-bending drugs. Anyway, I think the bog is in the grounds of his estate.”

“You think he could have something to do with this?” asked Jamie.

“Seems unlikely. If he did know about it, he didn’t mention it to Sir Arnold. And if anyone could see through Roxborough it was Sir Arnold. Still, it’s a bit of a coincidence them finding the mummy on his land....” said Castle, pensively.

“How dangerous can this mummy be?” said Goz, confused, “I mean, he must've Ascended when he died? If he was a ghost we’d know about it by now.”

Jamie looked to Castle, “He has a point.”

Castle sighed with fatigue, “It’s not his Soul that matters, sir,” he said, mopping his neck with his handkerchief, “he musta been beholden to the demon; only a disciple would have access to that sorta dark power. And that energy never dies; it lives on in the body. In other words, he’s as dangerous dead as he was alive.” He offered them some consolation, “On the other hand, it could take years for the demon to access it, especially in an isolated, incapacitated body. McKee could die a natural death in that time, ‘n if that’s the case, the demon will die with him ‘n none of this will matter.” Castle took a deep breath, “In the meantime, the witches can keep an eye on things. They’re the only ones who can be around dark energy and only suffer minor effects. I’ll give ‘em a call on the auld crystal ball, I just hope they’re agreeable. They can be a fickle lot at the best of times.”

“I just thought of something,” said Jamie, in a troubled voice, “as the crow flies, it’s only around 80 miles from Odin’s Inn.”

“Shite, I forgot about that ...” said Castle, groaning, putting his head in his hands, “... will it ever end?”

Goz looked from one to the other, “’Odin’ Inn’?”

“It’s in Brodir, a deserted seaside town on the coast of Wicklow,” Jamie told him, “it’s where Calvert and the Lindsay woman live; they were the couple involved in the capture of McKee. Danielle’s Soul migrated to the woman during the encounter. They’re due to have a baby at some time in the near future.”

Goz was suddenly very interested and sat up, “Jeezus! Dani? Dani’s coming back?! How do you know for sure?”

“Witches,” said Castle, tapping his temples with his index fingers, “they’re never wrong.” [See Book One, Part 21]

“But if the demon gets wind of it while all this shit’s going down, she could be corrupted all over again,” said Jamie, shaking his head at the enormity of the task ahead.

“Well, you’ll have plenty of time to work on a solution, sir,” Castle informed him with a regretful frown, “cos a few of us older ones are drained after the events of the last 6 months. We need to go down below ‘n get some rest or we’ll be no use to anybody.”

Jamie was aghast, “You’re hibernating?! For how long?”

“At least a couple of years. The witches can handle things while we’re away. As far as we’re concerned, this operation is on hiatus.”

2 years later...

ODIN’S INN, BRODIR, Co. Wicklow:

Sunday, May 2nd 1991

The bar resounded with a loud banging: there was someone at the front door. Zindy shouted from the kitchen, “There’s somebody at the front door, Mal!”

Malky looked over the banister and yelled back, “...And here’s me thinkin’ the woodworm were using heavy machinery!”

“I’m laughin’ but the door’s still bangin’!”

“I’m wasted in this place,” he muttered, put down his paintbrush and got to his feet, “Ooow, me back!”  He’d been sitting on the stairs varnishing the handrail for the past 90 minutes and his vertebrae had settled into an awkward curve; it took him a good few seconds to stretch-out the kink.

Meanwhile, in the parlour, Brooster was enjoying his Sunday; there was always plenty to watch: a film in the afternoon and documentaries on BBC2 at night -- unless there was sport on, in which case he’d watch Channel 4 or RTE2. He felt a little guilty lazing around like this, but after 10 years working as a RUC cadaver dog, going for runs every day at dawn and getting up at all hours to sniff for corpses in the dark, he felt he’d earned his rest. Anyway, today’s matinee featured an Alec Guinness double bill (one of Broo’s favourite actors) on BBC2: Kind Hearts and Coronets followed by Bridge over the River Kwai; just his cup of tea. He was enjoying Dennis Price committing the first murder when he heard a robust knock at the front door. It was very unusual to get visitors at this time of year, especially on a Sunday. He struggled to his feet, whimpering intermittently as his old bones ached with the effort, staggered across the floor and put an ear against the door.

The banging began again.

The kitchen door opened and Broo winced as Zindy’s voice shrieked in the hall, “Malky! The door!! I’m up to me tits in derv!” Evidently her pregnancy had not affected her vocal cords.

“RIGHT!” Malky shouted back, muttering under his breath about the abolition of slavery as he lurched through the bar and into the vestibule, and taking care not to touch the recently varnished woodwork, slid back the bolts and opened the door to a tall, sturdily-built man in his mid-to-late 60s looking up at him from the bottom step.

Clad in a neat, well-pressed, double-breasted grey uniform topped-off with a peaked cap and patent leather knee-boots, he had the bearing of an ex-military-man, and although it looked familiar, the uniform didn’t belong to any militia or security force Malky had ever seen. Then he looked across the cobbled concourse and saw an unoccupied Rolls Royce Silver Shadow parked at the kerb and realised that the caller was in fact a chauffeur. He wasn't a handsome man by any stretch, but he was tall and thick with wide shoulders; he had a long, horse-like face and teeth to match, but the tanned, heavily-lined and ruggedly earnest features lent him a certain charisma, like a US army general, or a well-travelled bouncer; tough but canny: someone who won’t take shit from anybody. And although Malky was certain he wasn't looking for a room, nevertheless he pointed out the inexpertly rendered homemade sign taped to the outside of the door that read Closed for Renovations, “Um, we’re not open til the autumn, pal. Try Arklow, 6 miles that-away.” He pointed due north.

The chauffeur looked at a piece of paper, then looked askance at the paint-spattered individual in the doorway, “Malcolm Calvert...?”

It has to be said, his misgivings weren’t without foundation: Malky was not a pretty sight at that particular moment -– unshaven with greying, uncombed collar-length hair, wearing Zindy’s ex-boyfriend’s outsized Hawkwind tee-shirt and emulsion caked M&S pyjama pants -- he looked like a hobo that’d really let himself go. “Who wants to know?” he asked, charily, well-used to uninvited attention -- usually pressmen waving cheque books or ghouls and geeks in search of the ‘truth’ about Barry McKee -- and normally, he would have slammed the door shut by now, but today he was intrigued: Who would send their chauffeur...?

The big driver took off his peaked cap revealing a dark, bog-brush silvery crew-cut (another tick in the ex-military column), put it under his left arm and moved-up-a-step so that he could shake Malky’s hand.

“Hello, Mr Calvert, ‘Erbert Gorringe. Pleased to meet ya,” he said, in a croaky, cockney rumble...

 To Be Continued Next Month in Ha! Ha! said the Clown

[thorne93]

The Newcomer (Part 13)

Prompt: You’re Y/N Beauchamp, daughter to Wendy Beauchamp. When you’re sent away to Spenser Academy, you have no idea what waits for you there…

Word Count: 2548

Warnings: language, violence, anger…

Notes: This is for @xx-multi-fandom-imagines challenge! Crossover of The Covenant, and the show Witches of East End. Beta’d by @like-a-bag-of-potatoes and @carryonmyswansong​. Wouldn’t be possible without brainstorming with @carryonmyswansong​, so thank you for that, darlin!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next day, you were at swim meet, with all the guys. All of them. Including your dangerous boyfriend. Was he still even your boyfriend? After nearly choking the life out of you and picking you up by your hair, you weren’t entirely sure this was exactly a romance to die for.

You got in the water, did your thing, and got out, trying to stay away from Chase and the other boys. You assumed they would figure out something was wrong but you couldn’t face Chase right now. You had to figure out a way to stop him, and you couldn’t do that if you were near the guys, or near him.

Next, Chase and Caleb were up. They launched into the water, both going spectacularly fast, only to notice that as they reached the final part of the lap, Caleb suddenly slammed into the wall in the pool.

“Caleb!” you shouted, your personal fears evaporating. You pushed two students out of the way to get over to him. Before you could jump in the water though, Chase was already on his way out, lifting Caleb up where Reid and Tyler came over to lift him out. “Caleb? Caleb!”

The guys were huddled over him.

“Get out of the way!” you demanded and they obeyed, knowing better than to argue with you right now. You put your hands on the side of Caleb’s head. To onlookers, it might look like you were stroking his hair and whispering his name, but you were actually casting a healing spell. Within a few seconds, he was coughing up water, but looking a hell of a lot better than he had.

“Hey, there,” you greeted with a sweet smile, relief flooding you as he looked up at you.

After that, the guys began talking to him, telling him what happened but Chase was staring at you, so you quickly got up and left, without saying another word.

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

You waited outside the school for Caleb to come out and meet you. Chase passed by you on the steps, giving you a grin with a sinister shadow over it. The look gave you chills, making you shiver just as Caleb came up behind you.

“You aren’t going to Chase’s house?” he asked.

“Uh, no, homework, you know…” you lamely replied. “Ready to go?”

“Uh, yeah, yeah, after you,” he said, gesturing with his arm toward the car parked out front. The two of you got inside and he barely left campus when he said, “Have you ever noticed anything weird about Chase?”

Your eyes slid over to Caleb’s face, a cold sweat breaking out all over you.

“Other than his weird fashion sense, no,” you muttered. “Why?”

Caleb shook his head slightly. “I don’t know… Just now… in the pool. I saw his eyes… they were black.”

When you didn’t say anything, he looked over at you.

“Earth to Y/N? Did you hear what I just said?”

“Yeah, I did, but that doesn’t even make any sense, Caleb. His eyes going black would mean he has magic.”

“No shit, I’m aware of that. That’s why I’m confused.”

“How would that even be possible? The last family died out decades ago,” you remarked.

“Unless they didn’t,” he offered thoughtfully.

“Okay, so Chase just happens to be one of you and he shows up at the same school around the time you’re ascending?--” You were going to go on, but suddenly, you realized that was it. That’s why Chase said he needed bait to get to Caleb. He was going to force him to will him his power.

“Y/N?” he asked, noticing that you stopped mid thought.

“What? Yeah, just, seems weird, don’t you think? Like what are the odds?”

“Yeah...And if he was one of us, why was he hiding it? Why keep it to himself he knows what we are?” Caleb wondered aloud.

“I don’t know,” you lied again. You hated this, but right now there was nothing you could do. Chase threatened you and everyone you loved. If you betrayed him, he seemed capable of anything and right now you had no way to know how to protect them. It was best if you just didn’t say anything at all.

Caleb drove you home but then said he was meeting the guys, so he left. Only ten minutes after you got in the door, your phone rang.

“Been keeping our little secret?” Chase wondered when you answered.

“Yes. Chase, please, you don’t have to worry. Please don’t hurt them.”

“I won’t, so long as you keep up your end of the deal.”

“I won’t tell a soul, I swear.”

“I know you won’t. You love those guys too much… a little too much if you ask me. This is just a reminder to keep your mouth shut and all of this will be okay.”

“And what about us? I doubt you want me around you now that you’re threatening me.”

“On the contrary, I need you as close as possible until I can figure out how to make you forget what happened. Even if that means toying with some brakes…”

Your blood ran cold. In a strangled whisper, you begged, “Don’t. Chase, please don’t. If anything happened to me, it would kill my mom. Please. I won’t let your secret out. I’ll do whatever you ask, just don’t hurt them.”

“Keep your broomstick steady, I’m not going to do anything as long as you stay in line, babe. I’ll talk to you later.”

A click was all you heard before you fell onto the bed and began crying.

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

It seemed like days later when Caleb suddenly called, but it was actually only a few hours.

“Where are you?” he demanded as soon as you answered.

“In my room, why?”

“I’m coming to get you, be ready,” he instructed.

“Caleb, what’s--”

“It’s important,” he stated firmly. “I can’t tell you over the phone, just be outside and wait for me. I’m almost home.”

You said your goodbyes and made your way down the stairs and out the front door. Only for Caleb to show up less than one minute later. You jogged down the stairs and jumped in.

“What’s up?” you asked as calmly as you could.

“We’ve got some reading to do,” he informed.

“What? I don’t understand,” you said, shaking your head.

“You’ll see.”

The two of you rode quickly through the autumn night, the chill in the air making you feel isolated. Leaves blanketed the road as Caleb whipped through the streets. You knew this way he was taking -- he was headed to the First Putnam House.

When you got there, Pogue’s bike and Tyler’s Hummer were there. You looked to Caleb but he didn’t look back. Instead he made his way down the path, into the house, and down into the basement, with you in tow. Tyler, Pogue, and Reid were already there.

“I told them everything,” Pogue informed as the two of you reached the bottom of the stairs. “About the darkling, what we found in his file…”

You wanted to ask whose file, but at this point, it would be a really stupid question, so you remained quiet, just following Caleb’s lead. Caleb magically pulled a book from the shelf and hovered it over the firepit before sitting down. You sat down next to Reid, seeing as he was closest. He nodded one polite nod to you and you offered a small smile in return.

“It’s a list of names,” Caleb informed as he opened the book and turned it within the firepit so everyone could see. “A list of names of who brought charges against John Putnam and his family during the Salem hunt. Pope was one of them. Goody Pope. Widow of Jacob, mother to Hagen.”

Reid interjected and asked, “So what?”

“So she claims that John Putnam came to her as an incubus in her dreams, after she was widowed. The Book also records births and deaths during the damnation.Goody Pope’s husband, Jacob, died June 4th, 1692. Her son Hagen was born April 11th, 1693. That’s ten months and twenty-four days later.”

The book closed and fell to the center of the stone firepit, making you jump before Reid reached over and took your hand, lacing your fingers with his supportively.

“If what you’re saying is true, and Hagen Pope is the bastard of John Putnam…” Tyler noted, “then the fifth bloodline in the Covenant didn’t end in Salem.”

“And Chase is one of us,” Caleb confirmed.

“That’s crazy,” Reid retorted. “He can’t be.”

“The night after the party at the Dells, someone was using. The Power was enough to wake me. It happened again later.”

“I felt that,” Pogue confessed, nodding.

“See, I told you!” Tyler added, his attention on Reid. “I felt it too.”

“When you said it wasn’t you, were you lying?” Caleb asked point blank to Reid.

Reid stared at him with angered disbelief but answered an emphatic, “No.”

Caleb took a deep breath before his gaze switched to you. “And you? Were you lying when I asked about Chase?”

Suddenly all eyes were on you and you felt sick to your stomach as your heart hammered in your chest.

“I… uh… “

A call came in just then, it was Sarah, telling Caleb about Kate.

“He’s put a spell on Kate,” Caleb informed when he ended the call. The reality of the news hitting them made your gut sink. You hoped maybe, somehow, Chase had rethought his devious plan. But apparently not.

“What are you talking about? What kind of spell” Pogue asked as he jumped to his feet.

“Creation,” Caleb solemnly informed. “Spiders. They’re taking her to a hospital in Gloucester.”

“Wait, don’t do anything until we know more,” Caleb begged.

“We’re talking about Kate!” Pogue said before jogging up the stairs.

“Pogue!” you called, going to the bottom step. You wanted to follow him but Caleb called you back into the circle.

“Let him go. We can’t have both of you out there,” Caleb stated. After that, the four of you regrouped, only to hear less than one hour later that Pogue had been in an accident.

The blood in your veins felt like ice when Caleb got the call.

“What happened?” you asked, hoping it wasn’t Chase.

“Chase happened,” Caleb said as he stood up. “Okay, Y/N, you go with Reid and Tyler to the hospital. I’ve got to go see Sarah, she’s pretty scared. I’ll meet you guys after, alright?”

You nodded as Tyler and Reid escorted you from the basement to the Hummer. Your stomach was nothing but knots.This was your fault. This was all your fault. How could you let this happen? Pogue wasn’t supposed to be touched. Why did you have to date the crazy one?

The ride to the hospital was agony. When you got there and you saw Pogue scratched and bruised, and laying in a hospital bed, you nearly broke down. Chase lied. He said he wouldn’t hurt anyone you cared about if you kept quiet. You’d done your part of the deal, so why wasn’t he keeping his?

Pogue hadn’t come to yet, so you went out in the hall and paced, chewing your nail. Reid and Tyler tried to calm you but you just got more antsy by the second, any possibility or solution running through your head. Yet nothing came. You didn’t want to be stupid or foolish and face Chase alone. You weren’t sure if your power matched his.

Finally, Caleb showed up.

“Everything alright?” you asked when you saw him. He seemed more conflicted than when you last saw him.

He shook his head. He gestured for the three of you to follow him to the stairwell where it was quiet and empty.

“Chase was at Sarah’s dorm when I got there. He used a spell to look like me and he got Sarah to let him in. He threatened me and told me unless I give my power over to him the night I ascend, Sarah, my family, and all of you will die. He’ll keep coming after us,” Caleb informed. “Pogue just told me to not go after him. He said he’s too powerful.”

You shook your head, unable to keep the tears at bay now.

“That son of a bitch said he wouldn’t hurt any of you,” you muttered angrily to yourself, not expecting them to know what the hell you were talking about.

The guys frowned and stepped closer to you.

“What do you mean?” Tyler asked. “Did Chase tell you he was going to do this?”

You shook your head. “No. Not in so many words… I… may have lied when I said I didn’t know Chase had any power. I did know.”

“You knew?” Reid exclaimed, taking another step toward you. “How long?” he inquired, demand in his tone.

“Almost three months,” you shamefully responded.

“Three months?!” Reid said, anger and shock mingling in his tone. “You knew about his for three months? And now Pogue’s in the hospital?” With that, Reid started to advance on you, but you didn’t even back up, ready to take whatever he was going to dish out. However, Caleb stopped him. He held out his arm.

Caleb calmly asked, “Wait, wait…. You knew, why didn’t you tell us?”

“He asked me not too,” you explained. “Look… I had a hunch, okay? All of these things happened around Chase that weren’t normal. We’d find great deals on stuff, we’d get special treatment, we’d get really lucky when we were on dates… Eventually, one day we had a really bad wreck, so bad that I almost bled out. I asked him to heal me because I was too weak to heal myself. He saved my life… and in return he only asked that I didn’t tell anyone, that meant you guys. He knew you had power, and I begged him to tell you all but he said there was this long rivalry between the families.”

You stopped, seeing if the guys were less pissed. They were a little, so you continued.

“At first it was fine. I mean what's the big deal if he has magic, right? He wasn’t hurting anyone… But then… a few nights ago, I caught him putting that spell on Kate… He threatened me. He told me he’d kill you all and my family if I told anyone what he was doing.” Finally, the sobs broke all the way through. “I’m so sorry,” you cried. “I wanted to tell you… I just… I was so afraid. He said if I did he’d hurt you.” You looked at each one of them. “Please, you have to believe me. I’d never hurt any of you, I was trying to protect you… but now… he’s broken his half of the deal. He said no one would get hurt, and he’s hurt two people.”

You started to walk away before Caleb called after you. “Hey, where are you going?”

Staring him in the eye, you informed, “You ascend in one week.”

Caleb shrugged, looking around like he didn’t know what the hell that had to do with you leaving. “Yeah, so?”

“So I have one week to fix this.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Forever Tag:

@cocosierra94​

@essie1876​

@magpiegirl80

@letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked​

@iamwarrenspeace​

@marvel-imagines-yes-please​

@superwholocked527

@missinstantgratification​

@thejemersoninferno​

@rda1989​

@munlis​

@thefridgeismybestie​

@bubblyanarocks3​

@igiveupicantthinkofausername​

@kaliforniacoastalteens​

@feelmyroarrrr​​

@kaeling​

@friendlyneighbourhoodweirdo​

@damalseer​

@heyitscam99​

@yknott81​

@sorryimacrapwriter​

@glitterquadricorn​

@xxqueenofisolationxx​

@little-dis-kaalista-pythonissama

@bittersweetunicorm​

@alyssaj23​

Sebastian Stan:

@nedthegay

@lostinspace33​

@alwayshave-faith

@elleatrixlestrange

@buenostardissherlock​

@lenawiinchester​

@the-red-world-of-jess-chibi​

@memory-of-a-goldfish​

@shamptain-shmerica

@crazybutconfidentaf

@esoltis280

@alwayshave-faith

[musubiki]

Damn I might have to make aesthetic boards of mochi and lime like what I did with quinten bc they’re so cute!! 💖💖 do you have like headcanons + personality traits for them?

GOD THANK YOU SO MUCH IM GLAD YOU LOVE THEM TOO!!!!!!!!!

➞

Mochi:

16 years old

limes childhood best friend/next door neighbor/lowkey rival

secretly a witch (under her moms mentoring). her family represents the house of the black cat (theres 4 other houses: the crow, the snake, the spider, and the toad)

the witches dont do evil though!!! they used to be public protectors (way back) but now they just help people from the shadows. her mom runs a sweet shop where theres special curses laced into the item to help the people who buy them

because of this their shop is a cryptic local superstition that eating their mochi will heal you/bring you luck/solve your problem/etc (it doeshjks its not superstition or chance) 

yes their shop sells mochidsjk thats why shes named that (for now)

Pom is her black cat familiar, primarily responsible for her training as a witch. shes very kind and supportive!! she can talk. but does very obvious and fake meows when theres other people around. everyone thinks shes the weirdest fucking cat

“Did….did your cat just..say meow…..?” “[Sweats] Haha yeah she has defective vocals so it comes out weird.”

Mochi would have that kind of aesthetic pinterest bedroom with a lot of hanging lights + pictures on the walls with low lighting and chillhop playing in the background

Lime comes over to her room a lotjdksd she has the biggest crush on him but she never tells him because her mom advises against relationships (as a witch ofc)

he like fucdkf climbs up the side of her house through her window like “I brought snacks and movies so can you help me with my homework now”

they fjk have every class together and neither of them do it on purpose it just ends up like that

she DOES have a broomstick!!! and its kind of a bitch. it behaves eventually. she rarely uses it though because. its too high profile. she mostly uses her bike to get around

they live in a really nice like studio ghibli style port town!!!!!!!!!! and its very nice

she LOVES PINK!! and has a thing for hearts and flowers (mostly pink roses)

big fan of skirts and sweaters

shes a very kind easily embarassed girl, hardworking and stubborn but she can kick some serious ass in a fight (shes like how i pictured leaf)

likes the golden oreos better than the original. shes one of those people who takes it apart and licks the cream off first before eating the cookie

has a greenhouse + garden in their backyard with a lot of flowers. its usually a good place to make spells/potions/practice magic

Lime:

also 16. 

mochis childhood best friend/next door neighbor/lowkey rival

hes lowkey oblivious to her enormous crush on him. like he sees that she gets all embrassed and flustered when he teases her but he assumes “hey im amazing who wouldnt be??” 

she doesnt obviously swoon over him like. literally almost every other girl in school (just bc shes know him for so long shes past that) so he thinks shes just a flustered girl (which is also true)

crown jewel of like every sports team hes in. he likes baseball the best though. weapon of choice is a baseball bat dkslajds

hes like mr perfect. he gets good grades. good at sports. super hot. social. tall. hes the whole package

but hes an arrogant jerkdcjskfnj

DESPITE THAT HES FRIENDS WITH LIKE EVERYONE THOUGH…hes well liked

hes snarky and kinda rude sometimes and teases a lot just think greens kind of personality

mochi is his best friend. he never openly refers to her like that but she is. he hangs out with her a lot more than he shoulddjkdf hes closer to her than like anyone else

kind of reckless. does dumb shit like go 40 mph down a steep hill on a bike. with mochi on the back. clinging to him for dear life hoping they dont eat shit. “I-I-I HATE YOU” “No you don’t.” and SMIRKS

he knows when shes lying. she has a tell where she doesnt look at him and/or stutters. only he seems to pick this up

favorite color is yellow. usually pairs yellow shirts with some blue jeans and everyone swoons

likes the double stuff original oreos. ends up buying 2 packages bc mochi likes the other ones. just throws the whole thing in his mouth like a barbarian. doesnt even dip it in the milk. mochi thinks he doesnt respect the cookie.

lives with his grandparents and older sister. his parents are usually on business trips and/or absent or..dead…his grandparents are great and they love mochi though. 

he has no idea that mochi is a witch. he knows something is up though. theres something that shes not telling him and it bothers the fuck out of him because why is she lying to me???????????

“Thats a weird fucking cat.” “[angry] MEOW.”

thinks of mochi as his lucky charm. sometimes he calls her that and shes super happy shes a mess. he wants her to come to all his games so they win. they usually do

He flirts with her to tease her hes a huge fjckfidj jerk 

he thinks shes hella fucking cute. hed never tell her though

“no i dont LIKE her its just an.,. observation..an objective fact.,.” “sure.”

mochis mom loves him hes like her sonsjk

his older sister works at the local hospital (name pending)

ILL PUT MORE AS I THINK OF IT FOR NOW THIS IS SOME OF WHAT I GOT FOR THEM!!!!! THANKS FOR READING IF YOU GOT DOWN HERE!!!!!!!

[metaphoricalplutowrites]

Roman’s Delivery Service - Chapter 1

ao3 link   |   Masterlist  |  Some art i did for it

Authors note: So i’ve had this idea of a 'Kiki's Delivery Service' au for a while and as im such a huge Studio Ghibli nerd i thought i’d make it anyways. It’s had a while in the making but i finally managed to finish it and i hope you like it as much as i do :) 

Summary: When a witch or wizard turns 13, on the night of a full moon they must leave home for a year in order to train in which ever skill they choose to persue. Roman is no different. At 13, he must go away with his black cat, Virgil, to train a year away from home as is customary to do so with his family’s and village’s traditions.

Pairing(s): Platonic pinxiety

Warnings: witches/wizards?

Words: 3454

Tags: @novagalaxy4real  @tree4life25 @ultimate-queen-of-fandoms2  @say-no-to-this-but-its-laurens @magicmapleleaf @moxiety--sanders101 @vrexemi @theresneverenoughfandoms  @patchworkofstars @iris-sanders-athena @virgilssweaterpaws @ravenclawicecream

“-we’ve been receiving so many calls from people, asking about this marvellous airship called ‘The spirit of freedom’ which may or may not be passing over our area soon. I’ll let you know more as soon as we have more information available to us. But first, here’s the weather forecast; skies are clearing up, thanks to a high pressure front, moving in from the mountains. Mild winds will be blowing in from the west, pushing the clouds out by this evening. There will be a beautiful full moon lighting up the night sky, so if you’ve been planning something special, tonight might just be the night to do it. Tomorrow also looks good with more clear skies and sun-”

Roman switched off the portable radio with a ‘click’ and sat up from the lush grass he had been laying in previously, cloud gazing.

He stood up and brushed the grass which had gotten stuck to the back of his trousers off, bending backwards till his back cracked.

“Virgil! Wake up!” He said excitedly to the black fur ball who had curled up and was asleep, basking in the summer sun.

“Hmm?” The cat replied sleepily, only half awake.

The young boy then started to walk through the flowers of the meadow and back towards his house’s – making sure his black cat, Virgil, was following behind him. He could be a little sarcastic sometimes, well sometimes was an understatement, but Roman still loved him anyways.

“C’mon Virgil, let’s go tell mum and dad!” Roman shouted back to his cat as he started to race down the dirt path that lead home.

“Yeah, yeah, sure, just slow down already!” the dark fur ball shouted back. “Not all of us have long-ass legs like you!”

“Oh hush, let’s just go!” the young boy kept on running.

“Good afternoon, young Roman! Where are you off to today?” one of his neighbours called to him as they passed on their bike.

“Good afternoon, Mr Hamada! Just off home for now.” Roman slowed down ever so slightly and greeted him.

“Rightio, don’t let me be in your way now!” then he started to cycle on again.

“Have a good day sir!” Roman called and then continued running home, thoroughly tiring his cat out in the process.

“Slow down!” Virgil whined as he tried to keep up with the fast pace, but Roman paid no attention to his complaining, he was well used to it at this point in his life.

Soon enough, he could see the driveway of his house, the plants in the front garden coming into his view. He then picked up the pace only slightly, dodging and swerving in between all the pots and leaves. Once he got to his house, he went straight into their conservatory where his mum was busy making a potion for another one of his neighbours – an old lady he knew as Ms Flora.

She was a nice old lady, a neighbour he had known for as long as he could remember and she was also a regular customer of his mother.

“Hey mum-! Oh hi there Ms Flora,” Roman greeted the old lady when he saw she was there. “Hey mum, it’s gonna be a clear night tonight! And guess what?!” he continued, “The radio had said there is going to be a full moon too!” He finished a little too quickly, but that just showed his enthusiasm over it

“Did you go and borrow your father’s radio again without asking?” His mum scolded, raising an eyebrow as she concentrated on the potion she was making.

“Oh don’t worry, he doesn’t mind about that.” He waved off the concern and returned back to the topic he was talking about. “Please excuse me Ms Flora. Mum it’s going to be the perfect midnight to leave home! I can’t think of another night id want to, and it might not be like this again!” He half begged.

Roman’s mother was surprised, and momentarily paused in her potion making, but then continued as there was a timeframe she had to meet with the ingredients. Roman didn’t really understand why, but then again potions always seemed to bore him to no end.

“You mean tonight? Next month is what you told me!” She said, voicing her surprise as she mixed ingredients together.

“Yeaahhhhh, but the next full might well be on a cloudy night! And I want to leave on the perfect midnight! It is a special occasion after all!” The boy tried to reason, it made sense to him after all.

“Huh? But Roman-” said Roman had already to rush up to his room to start packing his back to be able to leave. “Wait!” She yelled after him, but little did she know her potion was beginning to bubble over and burn, and soon enough it exploded. Once the smoke cleared from around her, she could see that the glass tube had cracks down the side, and that the potion she was making had been ruined. She sighing, she started to go through and remake the potion again.

There was a chuckle from her guest who sat at a table in the room which had all sorts of different plants around it. “My oh my, what’s this all about hmm?” she laughed light-heartedly.

“It’s one of our oldest traditions, when a witch or wizard turns 13, they must leave home for a year in order to begin their training to become a witch or wizard.” She explained while making the new potion.

“Your little boy is 13 already? Goodness me how time flies.” Ms Flora smiled.

Roman’s mother agreed, “He seems so young to be leaving home now…”

Ms Flora sat back in her chair. “Well, I remember the very day you came to this town. A little girl flew down from the sky on a broomstick. And I was certain she was much too young to have such an important job as the President Witch.” They both chuckled.

Once she’d finished making the potion, Roman’s mum went and sat down across from Ms Flora with the potion.

“Yes, but at least I could actually fly, Roman barely knows how to do that! And every time I’ve tried to teach him how to make potions he gets too bored or I just never even have enough time to even teach him.” She said, worry hinted in her voice.

The old lady considered this for a moment and then spoke again. “Young people these days are all the same. They all want to do something different to what others want them to do. But I do hope at least that you get to teach him the potion that cures my Rheumatism.”

They both laughed at that and Roman’s mother was left with a tad less worry than she had before.

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

“Hurry up!” Roman rushed around his room, grabbing clothes out of draws, throwing them onto his bed and then shoving them in to his trusty red bag. “We had always said that we could leave on the perfect night, didn’t we?” He said to his cat as he sorted through a draw of socks.

“Nuh uh. Our plan was to stick around for another month and play it safe. I like that plan.” Virgil deadpanned and hopped aside to avoid his tail being trodden on by Roman as he ran around.

“And then if we put it off for a month and I find some wonderful boyfriend then what will we do?” Roman pulled shirts out of his chest of draws and without folding them very neatly, put in them into his bag, pushing them down to make them a little smaller.

“Uh oh…” Virgil said worriedly.

“Come on Virgil!” Roman then decided that unless he folded things then everything wouldn’t fit so he emptied the bag and then started rolling all his clothed up – a trick he learnt from his father to make clothes smaller.

“I’m going to put my paws together and pray you’re not serious about this princey.” The black cat had to dodge a shirt which was thrown his way, the boy deciding it wasn’t worth taking. Virgil didn’t blame him, neon orange wasn’t really Roman’s colour.

“Of course I am!” Roman replied a bit crossly and paused in his packing to look at his cat. “You very well know that ever since this prince has turned 13 I have been excited to make this trip.”

He swiftly finished off packing by taking his savings tin down from his bookcase and shoving it into the middle of his bag, so that it wouldn’t easily be lost. But then he remembered the prince outfit hanging up in his wardrobe and then folded that neatly, packing that too, he couldn’t leave it behind after all.

“There.” He said once he was happy with how things fitted. It was then that he heard a car pull into the driveway. “Dad!” He exclaimed and then ran over to the window, which, when he looked out, showed it was indeed his father who had pulled in.

Roman’s father looked very much like Roman, and Roman looked pretty much like his dad did when he was younger, except for the fact Roman had freckles, brown hair like his mother and he didn’t wear glasses.

“Dad! Guess what?!” He yelled out of the window. “I’ve decided that I’m going to leave tonight!”

His father was surprised to hear this, much like his mother, and paused in undoing the rope which was attached over the top of his car, keeping all sorts of different things in place.

“You’re going away tonight?!” he shouted up to Roman.

“Yeah! There’s gonna be a full moon tonight!” Roman called back.

“Well yeah, I guess so, but what happened to the camping trip we were supposed to take this weekend?” Roman’s dad managed to get the rope free from the top of the car. Pots, pans and other camping supplies were held atop the car. He sounded rather down about the fact that they may well not be able to go on the trip together as a family.

“Sorry dad!” Roman apologised and then went from the window back to his bag to check he had packed everything he needed.

“Oh, uh, Roman, wait-!” Being a tad distracted with talking to Roman, he didn’t notice the rope that was on the floor in front of him, so when he went to run inside, he tripped on said rope and then caused a lot of the equipment to come crashing off of the top of the car. He hesitated, looking back and forth between the house and the car trying to figure out what to what to do, but decided it would be best to at least sort out some of the things from the top of the car before he went inside.

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

Roman’s mother had finished up working on her potions and had gone up to Roman’s room. She had gone up to make sure all of Roman’s robes fit him correctly and to make sure the hem lines were right and fit right. His outfit was simple, a black shirt and trousers that matched. She had originally wanted Roman to wear what wizard’s usually wore, an outfit which was just one piece and was like a dress, but wasn’t a dress. Roman had protested against it and she ended up giving up on fighting him over it and they settled for a shirt and trousers. It wasn’t what she would have preferred but at least Roman was somewhat happy with it and it was traditional colours.

“Very handsome.” She remarked as she sewed up a hem on his right trouser leg.

Roman looked into the full length mirror they were in front of and frowned. “White would look better on me, or even my prince suit!”

“Listen, wizards and witches have worn this colour for a very long time Roman, you know that.” His mother reminded him.

“Oh but mum,” Roman continued, “I look really… dull.”

His mother finished and then stood up, putting her hands comfortingly on his shoulders as she grinned into the mirror. “It’s not really important what colour or style your clothes are dear, what matters is the heart inside.”

The boy smiled at this, “well I’m going to be the very best wizard that I can be mum! And I know that having a good heart is very important. But I do wish I could wear something different…”

His mother ignored the second half of his statement and replied, “Just follow your heart and keep smiling.”

Roman smiled at her in the mirror and agreed. “Yeah.”

“And be sure to write home as soon as you are settled.” She said as she packed up her sewing kit and proceeded downstairs from his room.

“Okay,” he called after her. When Roman saw his dad coming up the stairs he gasped and ran over to him. “Dad! Oh can I take the radio please?” he then proceeded to shout downstairs. “Mum, didn’t you say I could take the radio?” He looked over the banisters and saw his mother give him a nod as a yes. “Yay!”

His father chuckled. “Oh alright, it’s yours already!”

“Thank you!” Roman thanked him and smiled widely.

His father sat on his bed, he’d just come upstairs from calling all their family and friends to inform them of the date change of Roman’s leaving, they wanted people to be there for when he left after all.

“Well now,” he looked at Roman’s outfit. “You certainly look very grown up, Mr Wizard Prince.”

“Well I’m glad about that! One can’t be a prince if you don’t look grown up enough!” Roman beamed. “Hey dad, would you be able to lift me up high like you used to do when I was little?” he asked, holding his arms out.

“Well…” with a little struggle, Roman’s dad managed to pick him up and hold him up above him, spinning around a few times causing Roman to giggle, before dropping him back down, catching him and hugging him close while still carrying the boy.

“How come you never told me you were growing up so fast?” he murmured to Roman quietly. He then let Roman go from the hug but still held him. “You know, if this don’t work out, you can always come back home?”

Roman looked a tad taken back and smiled. “And come back a failure? No way!” he then made a face and stuck his tongue out, making both of them laugh.

“Will you write to us, if you have the time?” his dad asked him.

“Mhm,” Roman made a sound of agreement and then snuggled closer to his father. “I love you dad.”

They stayed like that for a little while longer before they had to double check Roman had got everything packed and then get ready for that evening. It was going to be a big event after all.

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

As the weather report had said, it was indeed a clear night, not a cloud was in sight and the full moon was up high in the sky. There were various groups of Roman’s friends, his parent’s friends, family members and neighbours gathered around outside of their house, ready to wave Roman a goodbye when he leaves.

Roman himself was joking around, or as some would say, having banter, with a group of his friends from the village.

“Ooh, so are you going to find a city by the ocean?” One friend asked him.

“Or maybe even a town?” Another added.

“Well, at least that’s what I’m hoping to do anyways!” Roman grinned, and his friends agreed on ‘how cool that would be’.

“Man I’m so jealous, you’re gonna have so much fun!” one of his friends remarked.

“I’m not going just for a good time though,” Roman stood up straight and held a finger up. “In order to become a good wizard, I have to train a whole year away from home.” He told them.

“Yeah, be sure to tell that to the boys,” his friend elbowed him in the ribs and the group all laughed. It was a well-known fact in the village that Roman had an attraction to boys, and they were all very accepting of it, those who weren’t were shunned however. It wasn’t really that big of a deal to anyone there, they just saw him for who Roman was and nothing else.

Their joking was cut short when Roman’s mother called him over, saying that it was time.

“Kay!” Roman waved to his friends, the broom he made earlier that day clutched in his grip as he ran over to his mother, who was also holding her broom.

“That’s going to be the broom you’re leaving on Roman?” she questioned, looking at his broom uncertainly.

“Yup! I made it all by myself this morning actually!” Roman said proudly, holding it out so she could see his handy work. His mother had other ideas however.

“Honey, that broom is too small to be truly safe, I’d much rather you took my broom instead, I know it better,” she insisted, not backing down.

“But mum that one’s so old! It’s pretty much ancient!” he protested.

“And that’s why it’s good!” his mum explained. “You can rely on it time after time and in any kind of weather too. Roman, do this for me please?”

“But I put so much effort into making this one,” He said, downcast. He then turned to Virgil, hoping for the cat to back him up. “Right Virgil?”

The cat paused from licking his paws from where he was seated on Roman’s shoulder. “Your broom is nice, but let’s take your mother’s.” He said flatly.

“Well you’re no help.” He pouted and glared at the black cat.

Ms Flora spoke up from where she was seated, “Now Roman, wouldn’t you be able to make yourself another fine broom once you’ve found a place and settled down?”

Roman sighed. “Yeah I guess so.”

Soon enough, it was time for Roman to leave. He went around and said goodbye to each of the guests there and hugged his friend’s goodbye.

“Be careful,” his mother told him as he hugged her.

“You be strong okay?” his father asked when Roman hugged him.

“I will!” Roman said to them as he made his way out into the middle of the clearing and then mounted his mother’s broomstick.

Flying took a lot of concentration for taking off and landing, so Roman had to focus. In not much time, the dust beneath him had spread around him and he levitated. This caused many cheers from the people around him, making him smile and become a little more confident.

“Oh dear,” Virgil muttered from where he was clinging on to Roman’s shoulder. “You know I hate flying,” but no one heard him say the second part as it was lost in the cheers.

The broom levitated off the ground for a few seconds before slowly falling back to the floor, much to Roman’s dislike. So, Roman did the only logical thing and gave the handle a good whack before he touched down again, which caused to broom to fly off rather suddenly upwards and then forward, making the crowd gasp. Roman hit a tree on his way out, making the little bells which were hung up there ring as he bounced back from that tree. Virgil, however, was screaming at Roman and could be heard well.

“VEER RIGHT! Go left go left go left-” Virgil yelled at him.

“Okay!” Roman yelled back and they hit another tree, making a sound of surprise, making more bells sound.

“Aim your broomstick…” Roman’s mother held her hands together and wished for Roman to be safe.

After a few seconds of nothing happening, Roman’s voice could be heard again.

“Farewell all of you! I’ll miss you!” He shouted and everyone sighed in relief.

“He’s okay,” one of Roman’s friends said thankfully.

“May our little prince be well and have a safe trip,” Roman’s dad said as he listened to the bells which kept sounding, the only sounds left from Roman’s exit. One of his neighbours said he would miss the sound of the bells.

And just like that, Roman flew off, away from home, under the stars in the clear night above him and the light of the moon guiding his way. But that was only the beginning of his trip, for there was a long time ahead of him, but for now he was happy and flying up high in the sky, excited for what adventures might come in the future.

Next