#swindler ink

[unagidevi]

Whimsical Dreamswap paintedwings art.

[lara635kookie]

Ship Analysis pt. 3:

Red Crackle, Carmivy and Carulia:

Skipping to the Himalayan lab, he is under someone's control and influence:Maelstrom. If y'all read my three part character analysis about Maelstrom and his fandom wiki, you know how manipulative he is. The Himalayans is the first time we see Maelstrom leaving V.I.L.E. island(castle, at that time), but why? You would think that Doctor Bellum, because of having Gray as her favorite operative, would have been enough to convince Gray to come back to V.I.L.E. right? But we don't see doctor Bellum interacting with Graham not even once, which is a rather strange fact, since Gray was her teacher's pet. You could argue that she was busy with Roby the Robot Robber(this will never not be funny to me) but she could have gone to talk to Gray at least ONCE. But no, Maelstrom has to leave the castle because it has to be him to take care of that matter. Why was that? For me, it's because Maelstrom was the one that made the application interview with Gray and probably was the one who approved him to enter V.I.L.E. He wanted to do the same thing he had done before all over again. At some point, Bellum asks what they are going to do about Gray and Maelstrom says they have to accept him back before the "red swindler" (I'm not sure that's the term he used, probably wasn't but anyway, you got it) can convince him into her side. He literally implies he manipulates Gray. He was basically saying:"Before Carmen can manipulate him, we will manipulate him first." Carmen Sandiedo is a pretty good "show, don't tell" series and Maelstrom definitely showed what he's capable of. He KNOWS how manipulative he is. He doesn't even look surprised when he realizes Gray was still there. He doesn't even smile or say much. He didn't have to. He KNEW that once he stepped up into the game, it was going to work. If there's something to appreciate about Maelstrom is his confidence and self-esteem("A Crime Genius, with a lunatic" he said something like this when incarcerated in a cell in front of Mime Bomb) He's too good at being bad and bad at being good. Maelstrom is the personification of V.I.L.E.:Charismatic and seemingly appealing but it's just manipulating you, using you and take advantage of people to achieve his own personal goals. Just like Chief, it's the personification of A.C.M.E.:Good, but not perfect and make mistakes too big sometimes(like killing Dexter Wolfe and indirectly almost killing Carmen in The Stockholm Syndrome Caper). Gray says to Carmen that he had time to connect the dots and think a lot about stuff but he never mentions that it was ALONE time. And we barely see him alone compared to the time he spends with Maelstrom seeing videos and photos of his past, doing the ink test or even just talking. He is his V.I.L.E. self because all agents of V.I.L.E. are under V.I.L.E.'s control and influence all the time. It is revealed to us in the dia de los muertos episode that Sonia appear that she fits V.I.L.E.'s profile:"Young(Gray was 18 when he joined V.I.L.E.), talented(Gray was an electrician almost getting a promotion to become stage lighting tech) and orphan("not that I would know of, I'm an orphan). V.I.L.E. targets young individuals that feel lonely and abandoned in this world and are emotionally vulnerable and mentally immature, easy victims, manipulating them into doing whatever they want.

To be continued...

[princess-of-the-corner]

Toontown: Corporate Clash Recap: The Director's Cuts

Recently, the Chairman released a notice that the Boardbot department would be overhauled, with most of its workers being laid off as new employees were hired to replace them.

Desperate to save their jobs, the soon-to-be fired Boardbots invaded Toontown and worked with a mysterious informant to try and get access to the profiles of the incoming Boardbots.

They even started showing up to provide back-up to the other Department’s Bosses to try and kiss up to the higher ups.

As more and more Boardbots were defeated, Winn Dos (a Yellow Koala in the Toon Resistance) of the Toon Resistance was able to uncover the log-in credentials of all of the new Cogs, with the final Cogs’ credentials being recovered at 1,000,000 Boardbots defeated.

In the final day before the new employees would be onboarded, the Boardbots launched a full-scale invasion of Toontown, taking over every Neighborhood except Toontown Central, replacing most of the Cogs you could find in any context, with a handful of exceptions covered in the ARG’s article.

However, it wasn’t enough to save their jobs, and with 2,313,734 Boardbots defeated over the course of the event, they were all fired, with the new hires replacing them for the remainder of the event’s runtime (and no more in-game milestone tracking).

We now have a whole new variety of Cogs to go over, as the Con Artists, Conoissuers, Swindlers, Toxic Managers, and Big Fish (the former Tier 7 Boardbots, I never got to introducing them), have all been fired and replaced with new Cogs.

Bagholder

Levels: 1-5

Department: Boardbot

Position: Employee

Honorifics: Mr.

Likes: Pettiness, Speculation, Hoarding

Dislikes: Playing Fair, Letting Go

The Bagholder has a face and mustache that looks kinda like a green Wario with a 5 o’ clock shadow, and also wears some kinda bowler hat/derby hat/I don’t know hats okay. He’s also, like most Tier 1 Cogs, short and fat.

The Bagholder also has access to the following attacks:

Pickpocket: Yoinks a dollar bill out of a single Toon’s pocket, dealing damage.

Sacked: Throws a stack on top of a single Toon, squishing them to deal damage.

Rubber Stamp: Inks up a stamp on one of those stamp ink-pad things and then stamps the air in front of him, sending the stamps impression towards a single Toon to deal damage.

Short Squeeze: The Bagholder makes a grabby motion at the air in front of him to telekinetically grab a single Toon, then moves his hands up and down to shake a lot of coins out of the Toon’s pockets, dealing damage.

Levels: 2-6

Department: Boardbot

Position: Employee

Honorifics: Mr.

Likes: Exit Strategies, Folding

Dislikes: Risky Ventures, Water

Paper Hands

The Paper Hands is a lanky Cog who looks kinda like someone decided to make Octodad out of wads of paper and then slapped a pair of glasses on his face.

His attacks are as follows:

Short Squeeze: See above.

Fountain Pen: Sprays a single toon with a stream of ink.

Write Off: Takes out a pad of paper and scribbles a checkmark that he then flings off the paper and at a single Toon.

Rolodex: Fingers through all the cards, sending them flying at a single Toon.

Market Crash: Takes out a newspaper reporting on a market crash and throws it to crush a single Toon.

Levels: 3-7

Department: Boardbot

Position: Employee

Honorifics: Mx./Mr./Ms.

Likes: Newspapers, the Dark

Dislikes: Tin Foil, Chat-chat

Insider

The Insider is a small, thin Cog who’s features are obscured by shadow, save for their eyes. Their suit has a high color and fedora that almost completely covers their head. It’s like they’re a living shadow with eyes who decided to put on a Boardbot suit.

They also served as the main antagonist of the Director’s Cut ARG, having tricked the offboarded Boardbots into violating company policy in order to guarantee their termination and secure the new Boardbots their position, so they’re clever in spite of being a low-ranking Cog. They were the last new Boardbot design revealed at the end of the ARG, while the rest were introduced in order of rank.

Their attacks are as follows:

Pick Pocket: Same as when the Bagholder does it.

Blue Chip: The Insider takes a blue poker chip out of his pocket and flips it towards her target. As it soars through the air, the chip grows large enough to crush the targeted Toon on impact.

Power Trip: Insider wiggles their fingers to send sparkles that’ll trip up all the Toons.

Hang Up: The Insider takes out a phone, presses several keys, and then hangs up, dealing damage to a single target.

Levels: 4-8

Department: Boardbot

Position: Employee

Honorifics: Mr.

Likes: Wire Cutters, Power Surges

Dislikes: Tangled Wires, Blackouts

Circuit Breaker

The Circuit Breaker is uh…

Let’s see, he looks like he’s wearing glasses, his neck and lower jaw combined look like a screw. There’s a coil of yellow cables where his mouth should be. The top half of his head looks like a cross between a top hat and a battery. He appears to be wearing glasses. He’s got angry eyebrows. There’s a screw with a wire coiled around it sticking out of the top of his head.

Y’know what, I’ll just link all their wiki articles at the end of this submission and we’ll see if you can make sense of how weird they all look.

Anyways, ATTACKS:

Power Trip: Already went over this.

Falling Knife: User throws a knife into the sky. It comes down, point first, on a single Toon.

Brain Storm: User conjures a storm cloud and sends it to a single Toon, where it thunders and every raindrop is replaced with the phrase “Outside the Box”.

Quake: The user hops in place several times, shaking the ground to damage multiple Toons.

Levels: 5-9

Department: Boardbot

Position: Employee

Honorifics: Mr./Ms.

Likes: Getting His Way, Standing His Ground

Dislikes: Opposition, Letting Things Go

Deadlock

The Deadlock’s name is pretty self explanatory. She’s got a patchwork head that’s shaped like a padlock, tiny eyes, a little keyhole on his little nose, sealed latch atop her head that indicates he is locked, and a massive underbite that takes up the lower half of her rusting head. He’s also got a chain dangling out of her mouth.

She’s a big one, and pretty dang intimidating at that.

As for his attacks?

Red Tape: Throws a roll of red tape at a single Toon, binding them for a few seconds to deal damage if it connects.

Short Squeeze: We’ve been over this before.

Evil Eye: Glares at a single Toon to summon a giant, evil, disembodied eye that flies right at the target.

Guilt Trip: Same as Power Trip.

Glower Power: Literally glares daggers at a single target.

And that covers all of the Boardbots that can be encountered in Toontown Central and Barnacle Boatyard. The remaining three will be covered in future neighborhoods. Next time, we cover three Sidetasks from Barnacle Boatyard. See ya then!

Bonus: Wiki Articles

Bagholder

Paper Hands

Insider

Circuit Breaker

Deadlock

The Director’s Cuts

-

Paper hands absolutely looks like octodad oh my god

[morimakesfanart]

Sindria's Prophet #29

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13] [14] [15] [16] [17] [18] [19] [20] [21] [22] [23] [24] [Intermission] [25] [26] [27] [28]

[AO3] [wattpad]

*more self-indulgent gender affirmation

*CW-implied past sexual child abuse ((paragraph marked like this))

~POV Mori~

The scribes that produce Sinbad's books spent most of their time working with the members of the Black, and White Towers to copy documents and research notes for record holding, The also create teaching material for the Black Libra Tower, and books to sell to other nations in the Alliance. Because of this, they were situated in a building next to the Black Libra Tower. It was an unmarked building in any of the supplementary material I had found for Magi. Most of the rooms in it were full of writing desks, and shelves to dry the new work on. There was a room for creating and storing ink that I would have liked to investigate if I had time. There was another room for storage of all the needed supplies.

As soon as we entered King Sinbad called a meeting where he put the production of his book on hold. He made a point to apologize to those who had been working on it, and offered a boon for the extra work they would need to do once he fixed the manuscript. At least one of these diligent scribes excused himself for an early lunch, and another requested the rest of the day off. Honestly, I would have wanted to do the same if I found out I had basically wasted half a week of work. I was surprised that it was allowed without question.

Watching King Sinbad be a better boss to his people than most of the authority figures I'd experienced through my life felt strange. I reminded myself that although Sinbad was a capitalist, he wasn't ruthless. All throughout the franchise we see constant examples of the people living and working under him being happy to do so. They respect Sinbad, and feel that their own work has value. He isn't tyrannical by nature, nor does he want to be. Even in the final arc, he immediately stopped his plans once he was able to see how war like they were. Sinbad was definitely devious, and manipulative, but he hadn't become conniving or cruel yet. There was still time for him to walk down a different path and realize a different Fate. I was relieved by this just as much as it caused a disconnect in me. I was going to need time to process this, so I put the feeling in a drawer in my heart to examine later.

When the scribes went on break, Sinbad started going over the next issue of the story with me. It was the most cheesy, over the top, self indulgent, hype story I'd ever read -and I've consumed more than my fair share of action shonen series. It would be right at home in a Saturday morning block. I wanted to read it from the beginning, so I'd definitely have to get my hands on the past installments later.

An upside to ink and parchment compared to is that you can remove and fix a mistake without damaging the parchment with an ink knife-if you're skilled enough. All the same, I was definitely going to reinvent the printing press next. I had worked with an old fashion printing press in school, so I understood the basic design and process. And I knew I wouldn't have the same problem that Europeans did when they tried to bring the printing press to Arabian countries. Industrial printing was originally refused by Arabs in the 1500's because the people that were known for using it were seen as magicians and swindlers (for good reason). I don't think I will have as hard a time getting it accepted compared to reality because I was a Prophet respected by these people -and this was fanfiction.

Most of the changes to the next issue were just my pronouns, but there were a few spots that would need a full rewriting. Since Sinbad had never written about someone like me he had me read over his changes for approval. As long as the changes wouldn't leave major gaps in the text, then the scrolls that were already made wouldn't have to be scrapped.

I sat in a wooden chair and leaned onto the desk Sinbad was using as I watched him rewrite another section. Being on the receiving end of his professionalism brought that feeling from before peeking out of the drawer. "When I read Fate, it seemed like most nations don't recognize people outside of the binary." What did this Sinbad think? HIs character is chauvinistic at his worst when it comes to gender, and well meaning but rude at his best. Could he really understand people outside of the binary? And even if he could, why would he care enough to write about one of them accurately? He gave all of the Eight Generals traits that made them virtually unrecognizable. Sure his books gave an eye into other countries and inspired his readers, but their biggest influence was making King Sinbad look better.

The King's smile widened slightly and his eyes seem to acknowledge my concern. "My books are more than exciting adventures. For many, they are the first time they will ever learned about life outside of their own countries. I want to make sure those first impressions are positive for everyone." It was like he read my thoughts. "My Generals have become representatives of their home countries not just here in Sindria, but world wide through my books, and now you too will be the introduction to sides of humanity most wouldn't even think to question." Sinbad looked up at me from the scroll. "There's no need to look so shocked."

I wasn't aware of my expression. "I'm just surprised you are using your books like this intentionally."

He chuckled. "Even with reading my Fate?"

"My visions didn't show much about them after King Rashid suggested you make them. I did get to see their positive reception with the next generation though -like how they have the confidence to change the world too after reading someone else do it."

"I see."

Sinbad only started writing these books because of King Rashid's encouragement. It was clear from the extras that he came to enjoy writing them very much. I knew he was smart, and understood the marketing and propaganda aspects of his books, but somehow it didn't occur to me that he would intentionally use them like this. Hearing him say it reminded me of how he talked all throughout his life. "It's a lot easier to convince a people to go to war if they can demonize their enemy. Your stories humanize the people of every country that appears in them." Sinbad is anti-war; it's the entire reason he became a King's candidate, and why he stopped with the 2nd Calamity once he actually listened to outside perspectivs. "That's the part I wasn't sure was on purpose since I know it didn't start that way." Considering I had hyperfixated on his character for half a decade I was a bit embarrassed that I hadn't realized it.

The drawer holding those feelings opened a little more and I was able to recognize some of them. I was frustrated that Sinbad was easily able and willing to care about the people under him, including minorities, unlike the leaders of the country I grew up in. I was frustrated that Sinbad was the one to do it when he had such obvious greed, and hurts so many people because of it. I was frustrated with myself for wanting to deny the very kindness and thoughtfulness that made me like him in the first place -for wanting to demonize him, and boil him down to only the mistakes that even he regretted. And I was mourning my situation back home that made me not want to accept that better treatment was possible all along.

Sinbad watched me back with a softening expression. It reminded me of the times when he would say- "You're amazing." He said it like I expected then seemed to scoff at himself. "Most only comment on how much good publicity I'm writing for myself."

I joked along with him, "It does do that exceptionally well." My heart swelled so much it hurt. Sinbad is exceptionally good at making people feel valued even when he doesn't actually consider them special. And even though I hadn't felt safe getting into another relationship for a few years, his treatment made me feel like it might be okay again someday. That was more than enough for me. But it did remind me of something that I shouldn't wait to address any longer. "I'm going to miss playing that flirting game with you."

He eyes went wide just as his voice raised in octave with his hum of confusion.

Something like shock or confusion flashed across Sinbad's face, "Ah," before it was covered with a comforting smile. "I see what you're worried about." He put his pen down. "It's only been one day since you found out that people like you exist in this world, let alone in Sindria. It seems you haven't read about my experience with them." ((It's been a few months for writer me, obviously.))

I explained, "Since you know I'm not a woman now." The Magi Character Encyclopedia says explicitly that Sinbad's type is all women. If he was still flirting with me while knowing I'm not a woman it would eventually feel extremely dysphoric for me.

((Reminder: This is a fanfiction I am writing for me, and people like me which includes nonbinary and trans identities. I have been hurt by partners that refused to accept my gender, so this conversation in the fic is very important to me. Mori will not be able to continue to see Sinbad as a potential romantic partner if he cannot accept their gender. If you don't like the idea of Sinbad being extremely attracted to feminine non-binary people, nor trans women, you don't have to read it. Don't comment about it "not being historically accurate" when Magi isn't historically accurate, and this is a fanfiction. This part isn't for you, and you don't have to post anything hurtful for trans people to read just because you can't relate to this experience. I will block you if you do.))

"Yes. That's right."

"Now I know for sure that your visions didn't include my bedroom habits."

"!!" I felt my face ignite, and rested it in my hand. I mumbled a response through my fingers, "No, they didn't." Magi isn't 18+; I had to go to fanfiction for that.

Sinbad's laugh sounded genuine. "I admit that it took me a while to understand people like you -though most of my experience is thanks to the red light district." That didn't surprise me. "Eventually, I realized that I didn't want to deny myself the pleasure of such beautiful company just because they don't match my expectations." He put a hand close to my arm but didn't touch me. "I spent a while talking to them and experienced many things I wouldn't have otherwise." At least he wasn't going into detail about his sexscapades. "Thanks to them, I know that as long as a person doesn't make me think I'm with another man then that's enough for me... regardless of the type of body they have." ((This Sinbad says trans rights.))

My face was still too warm and I broke eye contact again. "I see." My embarrassment was one part realizing I was worrying over nothing, and one part curiosity at what he had experienced.

Something warm tapped my arm; I knew it was Sinbad without looking. His voice purred. "Does that mean I quelled your fears?"

Was this something the me writing this changed so I could feel comfortable flirting with the Womanizer of the Seven Seas, or was it like how straight, gay and lesbian are supposed to include attraction to nonbinary because for allos it's about the physical or something? I don't fully understand it. I do lean into my feminine side, and enjoy passing as a woman, so I don't fault anyone who is attracted to women being attracted to me -it tells me I'm pulling off my costume well. But it's different when they know I'm not a woman and pursue me anyway, as if they're expecting me to become one. I've been openly denied my gender more than once by such people. That's not what Sinbad said though. He found a way to explain his attraction without claiming he only likes women; it's that he's attracted to feminine traits. All of the male leads in Magi that visit the red light districts are shown being unattracted to hyper masculine women. It's played as a joke, but it fits in line with this, and I can see the me writing this stretching that joke like they did with the pink Rukh. I guess I'm suppose to accept that his strict use of words for women was merely because that's the most common type of person that looks this way. ((Not to mention publishing and censoring restrictions.)) Perhaps, I was too worried about something that could be explained away with head canon, fanfiction, and wish fulfillment.

"For now," was the answer I gave. If he invalided me later that would be gameover.

"That's good." I heard the devilish grin in Sinbad's voice before I looked up to see it. And when he spoke again he definitely had his charms cranked up to 11. "Although, I'd still like to do more than play this flirting game of yours if you'd let me." He was earnest, and yet it didn't feel like he was asking with that statement.

I answered -just in case- while giving the hand he put near me a flick. "You'd have to give me your heart before I'd even consider it." And we both knew that would never happen.

The King pulled his hand back with a fake sigh. "Then it looks I'll have to be satisfied with those adorable expressions you always show me."

I looked away from him again, stuck in my unrequited infatuation. The metal tip of his quill made small sounds as Sinbad got back to rewriting the scroll.

In order to fall in love or have physical cravings for another person I have to know them well. I know I'm ace, and have been questioning if I'm on the aro spectrum for years. If I hadn't read the original, if I didn't know Sinbad's Fate I wouldn't be struggling like this.

"Now, I hope my Beautiful Prophet didn't forget the promise they made yesterday." The King commented from behind me.

((CW in next paragraph))

No, it's more than that. Because of those six months when I was 12, I've struggled with trusting my body with anyone until well into a romantic relationship. I have to know that they actually respect my boundaries and care about me.

---

I stepped outside while King Sinbad turned in the revised manuscript and said his goodbyes. The mid-day sun was hot and made my skin start to prickle. If I stayed in the sun my cholinergic urticaria was going cause worse than just rashes. I headed under the overhang of the path connecting nearby buildings. I'd only been able to avoid this problem so far by staying in doors in the middle of the day. I only realized after recovering that it was my fever that made the heat in Sindria not overwhelm me when I first arrived.

That nickname was gender neutral! How serendipitous. ((all according to kakeikou)) I looked back at him to see his arms crossed. "I didn't forget." Okay, I kinda forgot; I didn't know when he would make due on that promise.

Sinbad stepped into the shade where I was. "I've decided to let you pick out some items from the Treasury for the thank you I promised. And since I commissioned pieces -under a misconception- I want to make sure you have options that you chose for yourself."

'I'm gonna to see the Treasury in person!' "Thank you." No take backs!

The King smirked. "I know that expression. You had the same one when we boarded the ship back in Balbadd. I was surprised you didn't start examining my office the same way."

Being called out sobered me up a bit. "I have enough self control to not do something like that during an important discussion." I couldn't tell if he was actually just flirting with that tone.

He laughed. "Is that so?" Oh, okay, he was definitely teasing me.

I closed the gap between us as I played along. "It is."

King Sinbad narrowed his eyes but his smile didn't change. "Alright then. I believe you." He gestured with his closer hand towards the courtyard, and starting walking that way for me to follow him.

((Firstly: I am okay. What happened when I was 12 was more than half my life ago at this point. I've done a lot of therapy, so I can be sexual with a partner without having problems. It just takes me a while to get there. I still have one trigger to work through and I have a plan for slow exposure therapy to get past it :3 (It requires a partner that is willing and able to do that and I've been basically single since 2016, so I don't have a way or reason to do it.) I do still have PTSD dreams about it sometimes which really sucks, but it isn't something causing problems in my day to day life. As I explained on Tumblr a few times, I have multiple types of PTSD, and started writing this fanfiction to help me work through some of blocks I've encountered in my recovery.

One of the reasons posting takes so long is because many of the early drafts of chapters are basically grief letters. I then back track and rewrite with a better understanding of my own personal biases and fears, so I don't project as much on the canon character. It also helps me get an idea of how I look from an outside perspective. The waves ain each draft are influenced by the previous drafts as well as the character motivations, and that helps me change things too.

Secondly, and on a happier note: About a year a ago I started seriously researching the fashion and proper names for things shown in Magi intentionally (I have researched things by accident), so I can write and draw about them better. It's been eye opening now that I know what a lot of the anime and manga designs have been simplifying -the way I draw certain clothing items has been changing as I know better.

I'm at the point where I think I know enough to start using the names too, but I could still get things wrong since I'm still learning the nuance -I'll be taking it slow. I'm also bad at spelling so get confused easily whenever I learn new words. (I know this sounds shocking from how I write now, but reading didn't really click until I was around 8. I struggle with learning written language in general.) There's also the issue of words from different letter/character systems not having exact equals, so I have been finding different spellings in romaji for some of the same words. Please let me know if I end up using the wrong name or spelling for something. I will start using the names in future chapters. I already have up to chapter 32 drafted and I don't remember exactly when I start using the new words, but I wanted to give a heads up.

I wish I had learned about some of these when I was little. I'm on the autistic spectrum so I'm not comfortable with a lot of types of clothes. When I was little I would often wrap and tie sheets around myself at home instead of wearing normal clothes. I'm finding out that some of the ways I tied them (or tried to but didn't have the right cut of fabric or skill) have official names and standard/suggested fabric lengths and materials that are better, and/or cuts of clothes that are close to what I have tried to do. Child me wouldn't have had to reinvent the wheel if they knew about these things, and they wouldn't have felt shame for not wearing "real" clothes (even if they still wouldn't have worn them out of the house).))

[baura-bear]

When I’m writing Newsies fics sometimes the hardest part is finding headlines to put in so I’d like to share some a couple things! 

The first is this link it’s the library of congress’ archive of American newspapers 1777-1963. It’s very handy. You can sort by state, year, and even by which newspapers articles were published in! You can also search for key words or phrases. All of the articles about the actual strike are on there and you can also just see what else was happening at the time. I usually use this to find headlines to include in fics haha!

The second thing I wanted to share is all the headlines that are in papers from UKsies! I got Crutchie’s cast paper and the Seize the Day “New Newsies Price” paper. I’m just going to include headlines on the post, but if you want to know more about any of them or want the full article just message me and I’d be happy to send it :)

Crutchie’s paper front page:

The World. New Jersey Edition

Vol. XXVII., NO. 9,230  12 Pages.  Saturday, November 27, 1886  12 Pages. Price Two Cents

“NEW YORK AND LONDON. Number of columns of Advertising Printed During the Month of October:

 London News... 631 Columns

London Standard... 863 Columns

London Times... 985 Columns

London Telegraph... 1,049 Columns

New York World... 1,648 Columns

LORD CAMPBELL IN COURT. A Sensational Divorce Case Which Stirs London Society. Terrible Charges Against the Brother of the Maquis of Lorne-Meeting of Husband and Wife-The Painful Details of the Latter’s Story-The Duke of Argyll Unable to Bear His Son’s Disgrace. [Copyrighted by the Press Publishing Company (New York World), 1886.]

A MELANCHOLY HONEYMOON. The Story Told in Court of Miss Blood’s Courtship and Marriage [Associated Press Despatch.]

DAVITT’S CANADIAN TOUR. Rousing Reception at Montreal-Hot Shot for  O’Donovan Rossa.  [Special To The World.]

The President and the Statue. [Special To The World.]

A Hurricane and Cold Wave. [Special To The World.]

England’s Prosecution of Dillon.

Drank Aconite for Whiskey.

BALKED BY THE PRESIDENT. He Orders Chief Walker Discharged. -Overhauling The Commissioners. [Special To The World.]

ANOTHER BIG RAID. Harry Hill, Billy McGlory, Tom Gould and Other Shining Lights Arrested. 

RASCALITIES OF REED. Boston’s Defaulter Discovered in More Over Issues of Stock. [Special To The World]

Telegraph Ticks.

FORTY-TWO MINERS BURNED. Explosion of Mine Gas Caused By Disregard Of Warnings. It Happens Before All the Men Have Entered the Working-The Very Air About Them Seems Turned to Flame-Rescuers Overcome-The Bodies Almost Unrecognizable-At Least Twelve Will Die. [Special To The World.]

ABBET HAS IT NOW. The Recount at Camden Elects Turley (Dem.) Instead of Haines (Rep.). [Special To The World.]

THEY DISAPPROVED OF M’NEILL. Nominated for Mayor of Boston on the L- (from here the ink didn’t print well and I can’t make out the headline) [Special To The World.]

A Rioter’s Queer Excuse. 

Texas and the Cholera Scare. [Special To The World.]

Confessed to a Bogus Friend.

Stabbed by Her Insane Husband.

Jim Cummings, the Letter-Writer 

RESCUED FROM THE ROCKS. Gallant and Thrilling Feat Of The Life-Saving Heroes. After Lightning Dash by Rail of a Hundred Miles They rescue Twenty-four Men from Certain Death-An Incident of the Recent Storms on Lake Superior-Steam and Courage Carry the Day. [Special To The World.]

BELLIGERENT BAKER. Uncle John, After Beating Morrison, Beats Reporter Too. [Special To The World.]

Her Great-Grandchild at Her Wedding. [Special To The World.]

Canada Exchanging Swindlers. [Special To The World.]

Three Human Beings Roasted. 

(Those last five are also In the Seize the Day Pape but I won’t be repeating them)

Weather Indications 

Vogel Brothers’ Perfect-Fitting Overcoats 

Crutchie’s paper second page:

THE COMEIE FRANCAISE. Domestic Arrangements At The “Home Of The French Drama.” Mrs. Hooper’s Investigation of the Inner recesses of a Famous Historic Temple-Spacious Greenrooms and Artistic Loges-Manager Claretie’s Sanctum-Court-room of the Official Dramatic Jury. [Special Correspondence Of The World]

DEAD LETTER DRIFTWOOD. Annual Sale of Stray Trinkets in Uncle Sam’s Curiosity Shop. [Special To The World.]

NORRISTOWN NIPPED. A Clever Swindler Bluffs and Borrows on Large Bogus Drafts. [Special To The World.]

RECOVERING FROM HIS FRIGHT. Patrick Loughran Almost Ready to Begin Digging Another Sewer Trench. 

The George W. Cable Insult. [Special To The World.]

Assassinated for $65

Who Will Succeed Mr. Hoxie?

HOW WILSON PAID HIS DEBTS. His Accidental Acquaintance With The Engle Family. Various Facts Bearing on the Theory the He is Moon’s Legitimate Son-His Sudden Blossoming as a Capitalist-Pretense of a Marriage With Hattie Englee Kept Up- The Cemetery Lot. [Special To The World]

Cutting’s Mexican Colonization Scheme. 

Methodists Extending Their Work.

Stabbed by a Drunken Customer 

THE TEST OF THE ATLANTA. Lieut. Bacon Says She Is As Good A Ship As She Floats. The Trial was Not a Fair One, He Declares, Because Her Machinery was New and She was Kept at High Speed Too Long-He Says that She Can Make Twenty Miles an Hour.

A CHINESE GAMBLER FAILS. Two Hundred Infuriated Celestial Policy-Players Clamoring for Their Winnings.

Printers’ Union Nominations

General Railway Notes

THE AMSTERDAM MILL PICKETS. Meeting of the Strikers in Their Behalf-The Trial Postponed. [Special To The World]

Organizing A Cavalry Squadron

Great Excitement on Broadway 

New Publications (this section includes ads for subscriptions to magazines and newspapers and such, also a few ads for books and toys)

Seize The Day Paper Front Page:

(this one actually has a headline unlike Crutchie’s!)

NEW NEWSIES PRICE: SIXTY CENTS PER HUNDRED

CLOSE CONTEST FOR MAYOR. Four Candidates Will Struggle For The Honor At Plainfield. Some Sharp Republican Practices in the Deal for the Party Nomination-The Secret Caucus-The Fourth Ward Ignored-Inside History of the Campaign-Democratic Prospects Favorable. [Special To The World.]

WAKING UP OLD MORRISTOWN. Orange Soldiers Create Great Excitement in a Theater-A Plucky Spaniel.

NEWARK SCHOOL MATTERS. Change of Teachers and Dispute About the Site of a New School.

ONE STRIKER FOUND GUILTY. He was a Member of the Paterson “Escort” and Too Officious.

The Police Want New Quarters.

Wanted to be Sent to Snake Hill.

KILLED ON HIS WEDDING DAY. Sad Circumstances Attending The Death Of Charles F. Gocker. He is Supposed to Have Met the Fatal Accident at the Erie Tunnel, Jersey City, While Temporarily Insane-His Death Announced to an Assembled Bridal Party-Interview with the Bride-Elect’s Mother. 

REDUCTION OF TAXES DEMANDED. Jersey City Householders Object to Paying Too High Prices for Privileges. 

Last Night of the Fair.

DRINK MADE HIM A DEMON. Richard Dixon Went on a Thanksgiving Spree and Stabbed His Wife. 

THOSE RED BANK SLOPES. They Will Arrive in Jersey City To-Morrow Evening-Warrants Ready. [Special To The World.]

AT THE POINT OF DEATH. George Mackay Fatally Injured on a Coach When Driving Under a Bridge. 

IMPRISONED BY HER HUSBAND. A Wife Complains the She was Locked up for Two Days and Her Arm Broken.

IT WAS ALMOST A PANIC.  A Can Of Naphtha Explodes And Injures The Forewoman. Fifty Girls Get Scared and Rush Into the Street-Five of Them Faint and Are Sent Home in Carriages-Miss Cumming’s Face Neck and Breast Badly Burned-Beyond This Little Damage is Done.

THE BONDSMEN COMPROMISE. Settling with the New Brunswick Insurance Company for Applegate’s Deficit.

DELANY TRIAL DELAYED. Convicted of Atrocious Assault Yet Still Retains His Liberty. 

To Establish a Principle.

TALKING ABOUT WATER. Newark Officials Considering the Question of Filtering the Passaic.

CRIMINAL TRAILS CONCLUDED. Petit Jurors in the Essex Quarter Sessions Complimented and Discharged. 

EDWARD RUTH’S FUNERAL. Many Organizations will Turn Out to Do Honor to the Dead Chief. 

SUNDAY DRUG TRADE IN DANGER. Asbury Park Commissioners Are Making a Dead Set to Stop it. [Special To The World.]

Sentence Day in Court.

(Front page ends with the repeated five articles from crutchie’s pape)

Seize The Day Paper Page Two:

BUILDING NEW WAR SHIPS. Completing The Contract For Constructing The Cruisers. The Union Iron Works of San Francisco Secure the Heaviest Work-The Firm Fully Responsible-Terms Imposed by Secretary Whitney on the Contractors-Names and Dimensions of the New Vessels Ordered.

BICYCLES IN THE PARK. Wheelmen Want to Know Why The Cannot Use all the Drives.

The Women G.A.R Veteran Rescued Him.

The Workingman in Politics.

TALLMADGE TALKS OF ARTHUR’S DEATH. And He Says All Ministers’ Sons Do Not Turn Out Bad. 

A VERDICT OF $48,861 28. The Nice Little Bill that the Third Avenue Surface Road will Pay. 

Hayden’s Slayer Loses His Bravado.

A Cannibalistic Murderer.

MADE NEGROES HIS HEIRS. Peculiar Will Of A Wealthy White Farmer Of Georgia. His Daughter by a Negro Woman Gets Most of His Estate-Surrounded by His Former Slaved and Dominated by One of Them-White Relatives Avoid Him-They Contest the Will. [Special To The World.]

THE CHICAGO HOTEL FIRE. Narrow Escape of Many Guests-Railroad Shops Burned-Other Fires. 

Theatrical Men’s Hobbies [From The News Letter.]

A MUNICIPAL FARCE. The Grotesque Situation of a Divided Seaside City. [Special To The World.]

FRATRICIDE AND SUICIDE. Tragic End of the Prolonged Debauch of Two Atlanta Brothers. [Special To The World.]

THE RELIEF OF THE LYCOMING. Towed to Fort Disabled After Severe Lake Storms.

A New Woodbridge Industry.

The Heir to Millions. [From The Philadelphia Call.]

Obituary Notes

California Wines (Strictly Pure).

THE CRIME OF CLUVERIUS. Three Of His Jurymen Want The Death Sentence Commuted. They Contend that They Did Not Know a Verdict For a Less Offense Could be Rendered-Some Contradictory Attitudes-Juror Jowell Stands Firm and Carries the Others With Him for Hanging. [Special To The World.]

CHANGED COLOR. A Blonde Victim of “Addison's Disease” Becomes Black. [from The Cincinnati Enquirer.]

Poor Brignoli’s Daughter. [New York Letter to Boston Globe.]

STRAY BERLIN NOTES. Death of an Eccentric Character-New York Enterprise. [Special Correspondence Of The World.]

Pittsburgh Stove Moulders Strike. 

Lamson and Kilrain Matched

(The rest of the paper is ads for government bonds, calls for money donations, and shipping news)

[ponderhope]

List of films watched in 2022

Extremis (Dan Krauss, 2016)

Children of Darkness (Ara Chekmaya & Richard Kotuk, 1983)

Cops and Robbers (Arnor Manor & Timothy Waare, 2020)

Derrida (Amy Zierning & Kirby Dick, 2002)

One Piece Film: Red (Gorō Taniguchi, 2022)

To Be Of Service (Josh Aronson, 2019)

Candyman (Bernard Rose, 1992)

Canvas (Frank E. Abney III, 2020)

Into the Deep: The Submarine Murder Case (Emma Sullivan, 2020)

Black Friday: Dark Dawn (Jason Ferrell, 2012)

If Anything Happens I Love You (Michael Govier & Will McCormack, 2020)

Our Father (Lucie Jourdan, 2022)

Pray Away (Kristine Stolakis, 2021)

The Last Blockbuster (Taylor Morden, 2020)

Final Account (Luke Holland, 2020)

The Tinder Swindler (Felicity Morris, 2022)

Burnt (John Wells, 2015)

Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark (André Øvredal, 2019)

Eternal Ink: Tattoos From the Spirit Worlds (Maellyn Macintosh, 2020)

The Cave (Bruce Hunt, 2005)

The Last Stop (Todd Nilssen, 2017)

Premonitions Following an Evil Deed (David Lynch, 1995)

Mean Creek (Jacob Aaron Estes, 2004)

Freedom Writers (Richard LaGravenese, 2007)

[ao3feed-undertale1]

Whimsical Dreamswap

read it on AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/54819574 by unagidevi Whimsical Dreamswap is a fantasy au of Dreamswap, every creature with a species is either an elf or a real-life creature of some sort. You follow the story of Ink, and Blue – known as Swindler and Cobalt, and lead into a great big world of elves and monsters alike. The JR is named The Valor Affiliation, or VA. I hope you enjoy the new world of WHS DS. Explore the vast world of creatures and the fantasy magic that follows them. Words: 1674, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English Series: Part 1 of Whimsical Dreamswap Fandoms: Undertale (Video Game) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Categories: F/F, F/M, M/M Characters: Sans (Undertale) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Fantasy, Whimsical Dreamswap, Alternate Universe - Dreamswap (Undertale), Dreamswap Sans | Dream (Undertale), Dreamswap Nightmare Sans (Undertale), Alternate Universe - Underswap (Undertale), _____tale Sans | Ink (Undertale), Alternate Universe - Errortale (Undertale), Xtale Sans | Cross (Undertale), Inspired by Art, Elves, Half-Elves, Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Monsters, Angst, Fluff and Angst, Drama, Boredom read it on AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/54819574

[omegarising]

sitting in my room, going through the Tool playlist because these days, other songs don't hit the spot the way Tool does.

There is a reason why e-commerce picked up the way it did in this country. The brick and mortar stores are mostly assholes that are only out there to swindle any customer that has the misfortune to walk in through their doors. They will jack up the prices, they don't have the right information about the products in their store and most of the times, they don't even stock the products, but they'll try to rope you in by saying, aap mood banao, mangwa denge. Of course, they will ask their fellow swindler shopkeeper friends to get the product in question. Absolutely despicable behaviour by the shopkeepers. I can open up amazon on my phone and have everything delivered to me in 11 hours, so why should I buy something from the local shops, unless it's a fucking emergency, which it isn't.

----

On a sidenote, i refuse to take receipts from the shops these days, because as reddit nutjobs have told me, the thermal ink has BPA in it that can leech through the skin. I just say no, keep the receipt. Less I tough these things, the better.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

I am feeling some kind of way today. I don't know why. Something is off, but I can't put my finger on it. I am forgetting something for sure.

[matiassotolopez]

Another early #sketch for the #indievideogame #project we worked with @pixel_javi a few years ago. Trying to nail down the #girls #characterdesign . #indiegame #womanfighter #indiedev #gamedev #illustration #inks #fantasyart #adventure #game #rpg #conceptart #swordandsorcery #Swindler #rogue #assasin #thief #dungeon #blackandwhite #artwork #ninja #pixie #petitegirl (en Uruguay) https://www.instagram.com/p/B610LXgA0__/?igshid=1ozazzfsqgkui

[djarrex]

Hi I was wondering if you will write a Hunter x F!reader nsfw? I just love how you write!!

Hi!! Hell yeah I can :') thank you for the kind words ♡ here you go!

Quick lil smutty drabble | Hunter x f!reader | 18+ | gagging, incorrect use of Hunter’s bandana, oral (f receiving), hair pulling

***

You're not sure how his signature red bandana ended up in your mouth, but... it's there. It's there, muffling your moans as they try to escape through the thick cotton lodged between your lips - wrapped all the way around the back of your head to keep it in place. Your shaky fingers thread through Hunter’s thick locks, tangling between the roots at the crown of his head and you pull with every hard pass of his tongue across your clit. He groans into your molten pussy - his lips suckling your folds before releasing with a lewd pop. His dark irises flick up to watch how your chest heaves and lids widen from his sinful ministrations; you notice how his eyes crinkle with satisfaction at your body’s reactions to how his mouth plays you like a swindler plays a perfect game of sabacc. 

You’re so close to soaking Hunter’s pretty, half-inked face as heat blooms within your core at an unstoppable speed. He’s showing no signs of slowing down, especially not when his tongue begins to prod at your clenching entrance - it slides in and circles slowly around the muscles, dipping in as far as it can go - his face practically suffocating in your heat. Everything tightens all at once when Hunter goes back to flicking your clit, and seconds later you’re hitting that shattering peak. You’re mewling and whimpering behind the bandana, but it all comes out so muffled and gargled, making Hunter chuckle into your quivering thigh as he plants sloppy, wet kisses along your flesh. 

After your body has calmed and your chest has slowed its rise and fall, Hunter climbs up on top of you - his lips, chin, and nose glistening with your juices. You’ve almost forgotten about his headwear gag until he’s pulling it from between your lips and tugging it gently off of your head completely. You involuntarily lick along your lips to get some moisture back into them; Hunter smiles down at you before tilting his head forward and catching your dry lips with his tangy, wet ones. 

***

Tags: @bvcketfvcker @deewithani @chromia7567 @threevie @letitrainathousandflames @latenightsthoughtsnstuff @thefact0rygirl @justanothersadperson93 @ohtobeamoth @14mcmd1122 @tacticalsparkles @cheesemachine44 @damerondala @buckethead-over-heels @kriffclone @purgetroopercody @socially-anxious-fangirl @cloneygoodness @marya-komar @beskarprincessjenny @awkward-katiesaur @katiebits1 @kawaiitimecharm @shiny-mando @sapphichorrorpictureshow @fat-zygerrian @foodandbooksplease @the-siren-writes-it @ken-obiwan @parkotedarasuum @ladykatakuri @bjm2020 @dinner-djarin @501stgirl @99squad @chewychewyque @obiwan-djarin @zazzysseoul @blackrose4242 @quantumowl @sugarpuffstuff

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[unagidevi]

swindler / whs ink - civilian design

[i-r-readcomics]

Superman

Volume: 1 #30

Superman Alias Superman

Lois Lane: "The Arch-Swindler"

The King's Substitutes

The Mysterious Mr. Mxyztplk!

Writers: Don Cameron, Bill Finger, Jerry Siegel

Pencils: Ira Yarbrough, Ed Dobrotka

Inks: Stan Kaye, George Roussos, Ira Yarbrough

Colours: Liz Berube, Anthony Tollin

Covers: Jack Burnley

Featuring: Superman (Clark Kent), Lois Lane, Mister Mxyztplk

DC

[spookyspaghettisundae]

Yet the Light Refused To Die

Whispers from the intersection between worlds are a strange thing. They are soft and enticing, yet alien, and quick to breed fear.

The fear of death.

The sun that mankind praises casts a long shadow. Most look to the bright light and the vibrant colors that it illuminates. And they turn their backs on the shadow, fearful of that which they cannot see. Like the air of a graveyard, and the dust that collects in abandoned places, such whispers are not death itself, but its quiet heralds.

Shouting and even thinking loudly works well enough to drown them out. To deny that creeping reminder of the inexorable cycle of life and death, the final destination of every mortal's road. The madness of life is filled with distractions, of fleeting moments that occupy human thought. As such, only rare individuals can hear whispers from beyond the grave. Among them, even fewer pause… and listen.

When most do hear the whispers, they question their sanity or close off their minds. Not so, a young girl aged merely fifteen winters. Magdalene heard those whispers and has always listened. Understood.

And sometimes, she even answered.

Connected to the essence of dust and shadow itself, death spoke only in those sibilant sighs.

Magdalene feared not death. Many she had known now gone, taken by age, disease, war, famine, and murder. From a young age on, the specters of death always haunted her.

So much so, that she never really questioned the strange or inexplicable. She never struggled to accept things that others would deny, even when only the implausible remained the alternative.

Where one might think they had displaced a trinket in an empty room that no other living soul had entered since, the girl already knew at a delicate age that something else had moved the trinket.

One year prior to the dire straits she now found herself in, a young man had threatened her life. With little understanding of such ephemeral forces as sorcery, she called upon the power of disembodied spirits that refused to move on. To help kill that man before he could kill her.

Not because she feared for her life. No, she had summoned those ghosts because she had feared that he would escape justice; the just desserts he should have faced for slaying so many before her. More importantly, because she felt guilty; she felt like his killings were her responsibility, as his obsession with her had led him to commit such atrocities.

As a wee girl, she had always found it confusing when others could not see those figures at which cats hissed, or hear their whispers where wind swept through cold and forgotten places. Sometimes, she would awaken, with blood lining her fingernails, and a shadow standing in the corner of her room, watching and looming.

Not all of them were evil. Not in the way most people meant it when they used that loaded word.

More than once, driven by a desire to punish the wicked and deserving, she had called upon the spirits of the lost. They always answered. As if they recognized and served anyone who could sense their presence—and pay them the proper amount of attention.

Undeterred by those chilling gasps that lingered like memories of lives lost, she would sometimes speak with them when not in the company of the living; when removed from the company of those who would question her sanity, if only they saw her speaking to empty corners and cold spots where common eyes could only perceive that dust and shadow.

She would ask them what they remembered.

Not all of them retained their memory. For some of them, the shreds of who they once were just made no sense; perhaps as misremembered identities bled into one another, leading to eternal confusion and endless, aimless wandering between the worlds.

Some of them got angry and blew out candles or slammed doors shut. One even cracked every mirror and window of a room after becoming enraged. Others bore dark obsession in their whispers, attempting to sway her with deception, hoping to merge with her and do unbelievable things if only they had a body once again.

Beyond death, they all shared one thing in common. All of them feared what lies beyond the thin veil between worlds. Though none of them ever answered:

Why?

Yes. Why, asked the necromancers of yore, were they so afraid of moving on?

A mystery that never concerned Magdalene. When it was finally her time to go there, she would find out herself. Exposure to death had inured her to the fears that it brought. She welcomed it, just like she did her best to warmly embrace the cold presence of the disembodied dead.

What curdled her blood now was something else entirely. A debilitating helplessness, spawned by her current predicament, and a crippling fear of failure.

More than that, though, Magdalene feared the absence of the whispers.

For the first time since she had noticed their presence, they were gone. Leaving only a deafening silence in their wake.

Rope chafed against her tied wrists, resting on the clothed tabletop in front of her. Her captors had made a mockery of setting the dinner table, haphazardly tossing cutlery and empty plates in front of them before going off to ransack Bennet mansion.

Her captors must have worked some sort of sorcery that she could no longer sense any phantoms. And likely, she feared, the things that dwelt in the intersection between worlds no longer heard her, either. Where her role model wielded sword and pistol to hunt and combat the evils of this world, Magdalene's communion with the spirits were her blade and bullet.

And as her frail body was weak, that absence rendered her more helpless and meeker than ever before.

Jenny Fisher's nostrils flared with a shuddering sigh. Her fellow captive—a thief and swindler, a grown woman she had met only this very day—sat to her left. Bound as she, mouth also crudely gagged with silk napkins from Lord Bennet's belongings.

Their eyes met.

Jenny's eyes glistened, wet and red, yet she had not succumbed to tears. Fear gripped her, perhaps, fears of fates worse than death, perhaps. A quiet despair, maybe. But no tears.

Their captors had left them alone. Not like there was much of anything they could do to get away with bound wrists and ankles and gagged thus.

The question of the absence occupied Magdalene most. A mystery that she wanted to solve. And its solution may yet prove key to their escape from this awful predicament. She would not leave Jenny Fisher alone or to any dread fate that may await her in the clutches of these scoundrels.

The whispers had told her that Jenny was important. The phantoms sometimes knew things that humans did not. Saw futures that had yet to unfold. Understanding why was never that interesting to Magdalene. Much more tantalizing was the lacking explanations as to why Jenny had a significant role to play in their conjoined fates. The spirits often would not—or could not—provide any conclusive answers.

Jenny's eyes now darted to and fro, the swindler's mind likely hatching one fruitless escape plan after another. Magdalene, on the other hand, harbored no hopes of escape. Not until she solved this mystery.

Boots thumped upstairs. The rogues searched, conversed, sometimes argued; always muffled through layers of carpet and floors and wallpaper and walls. Claws scraped against hardwood in Bennet's halls. Inhuman growls resounded from where those claws scratched and tore fabric, eerily twisting handles and opening doors with an intelligence that exceeded that of mere beasts.

Just like Magdalene conversed with spirits, the leader of these robbers consorted with unclean creatures. Fentin McLachlan, he had named himself. A name that sent chills running down Magdalene's spine, even just thinking about it.

Could he be her missing uncle? The one her mother had shied from ever speaking about after father's demise?

Did calling otherworldly powers simply run in their family's blood? More than anything, the prospect of damnation frightened Magdalene. She suspected dark things to be awaiting her at the end of her road, a balance for her meddling with these forces. And what might await one as this Fentin McLachlan, who summoned these awful creatures that manifested in flesh and blood, with bat wings and claws, and too many eyes, and slavering maws?

She had read of them in the book in Nora's cabin. Eerie sketches inked upon yellowed pages and documented in the occult writings of the Bestiarium Nox. As far as the long-dead authors were concerned, these things all shared a simple name.

Demons.

Jenny's breath shortened and she trained her eyes on the entrance to the opulent dining hall, past the chaos and disarray that the robbers had left in their hasty search.

Maggie followed her gaze. The thundering and thumping of boots neared. The men dragged something. Something that thudded against another something, cascading into something else—something ceramic, perhaps—shattering upon impact.

The three men entered. Two of them dragged the body of Lord Bennet. Blood stained the late lord's face, having flown from now emptied eye sockets. His corpse flopped against the end of the dinner table where they tossed him, breaking a wine glass under a lifeless arm smashing down.

Magdalene winced. The shrill sound of shattering rang almost as painfully as their blatant disregard for the dead.

Fentin grinned triumphantly, displaying a set of eerily white and perfect teeth. His eyes glinted with a fierce and cold air. Like staring into a shark's eyes.

He sauntered past the bound women, carrying a bottle of wine in one hand, and a large wheel of cheese in the other. The buckled boots on his feet, baggy pants, and dirty shirts underneath his wet long coat, altogether lent him the air of a pirate. A strange sight, so far inland, and so close to King Michael III's castle.

The other two men dressed in similar attires. A cutlass clattered on the table as one of them took a seat across from Magdalene, leering at her and Jenny until he cocked his head back, and chugged several greedy gulps from a bottle of hard liquor.

The third man slammed down a stack of old tomes, causing some of the nearby plates to bounce under the impact. The top books slid from the stack, fanning out. They all looked old and the leatherbound cover on one of them featured strange symbols.

Magick symbols.

Blood from Bennet's gouged eye sockets and other lacerations upon his person slowly seeped into the tablecloth. A deep crimson blot grew at a snail's pace, creeping down the length of the table as the dead lord's lifeblood drenched it.

When Magdalene met gazes with Jenny again, she read a mixture of despair and defiance in the woman's eyes. Her nostrils flared again, with a snort of frustration. And fury.

The pirate captain poured himself a glass of wine. Then he carved some cheese from the wheel, using a vicious-looking knife from his belt. Boots thumped again, glass clinked—he swung his feet up onto the table as he slouched into what was likely once Lord Bennet's chair, holding the wine glass in one hand, and a hunk of cheese in the other.

He sampled the creamy treat and shot Magdalene a smirk as he chewed, studying the faces of their two living captives, sloshing the wine around in his glass before taking a thirsty swig.

One of the other men guffawed, grabbing their attention.

"We keepin' them alive for some pleasure before the business?" the guffawing man asked. He sounded different from the leader. Like he had grown up in the city of Crimsonport.

"Keep it in yer pants," replied the captain in his thick northern accent. "These ladies are a little bit too interestin' to give them the usual rough treatment. Besides, Mister Witts. I don't like to damage the product, especially not when they can earn us some good coin overseas. Ya don't think very far do ya? S'that why they used ta call ya Witless Witts?"

Magdalene almost expected a retort. Even an angry glare. But "Witless" Mister Witts' face contorted to reflect the mien of a beaten dog.

The chair creaked underneath the pirate captain's weight as he shifted. He pointed the cheese in his hand at Maggie and said, "This one especially. You're a very interesting little lady, aren't ya?"

Magdalene offered no response. She just met his gaze. Studied his features. Every gesture carried an air of constant calculation. Everything he said aimed to provoke reactions, allowing him to probe the depths of the people in front of him.

And not a single trace of mercy or goodness lurked behind the mask of his eerily familiar visage. This she sensed.

He washed down the cheese with another sip of wine, then growled, "Remove their gags, Mister Hoskins. It's time for the ladies to talk."

The third pirate, Hoskins, had never sat down. He had been hovering behind Jenny and Magdalene, leaning against a cupboard in wait. First, he removed the cloth from Maggie's mouth, then from Jenny. Maggie made no sound, nor did she put up any fight. She simply welcomed the cool air upon her gums.

Jenny also displayed no resistance, but she rolled her jaw to stave off the ache of having the napkin stuffed in there for so long.

"Please, sir," Jenny immediately rattled away. "I'm sure we can work something out. I'm sure we—"

She stopped. The shark-eyed captain shushed her, tapping his lips with a finger.

"I'll admit," he said. "I didn't deem you very interesting at first, but you are a bit of an enigma, Miss—"

"Lady Amelia Hanbury," Jenny Fisher lied, correcting him. She spoke with such confidence and authority that Magdalene intuited how long she had been using this identity as a mask in front of Lord Bennet.

He asked her, "You don't really know what Bennet was up to, eh?"

This must have caught her off-guard. The fast-talking thief remained silent.

In lieu of any answer, the pirate captain's mouth twitched. His lips curled into a devious smile, and he pointed to the stack of books that Hoskins had dumped onto the table.

"Member of a little occult society that calls 'emselves the 'God's Hand'. Bunch o' mystics and mountebanks that dabble in the secret arts, practicing in the shadow of the aristocracy wherever the inquisition can't cast their prying gaze."

Nobody interrupted him when he paused, savoring his ruminations as much as the expensive import wine lingering on his tongue.

"Mighty close to the king's castle, don't ya think?"

He chuckled and sniffed his wine.

Witless Witts leaned over the table, closer to Magdalene. His lips smacked as he chewed on jerky, which took longer than usual, partly owed to some of his missing teeth. He radiated utter contempt.

Magdalene spoke, "So you sought Lord Bennet's library, for secrets it holds. Secrets common folk do not comprehend." She meant to ask, but it rolled out in her monotone. She, too, studied Fentin's face for a reaction.

He smirked again. Pointed two fingers at her. Kept his eyes locked onto hers. There was something magnetic about his gaze. Something unnatural. It slowly peeled away layers of the world around her and froze her into place. Some form of wicked sorcery.

"See, Miss Hanbury. That lass sittin' next to ya—she's a bright one. Quick on the uptake."

"Please, Mister McLachlan, I am begging you," Jenny-not-Hanbury said. "If you tell us what you want, I promise I will help you as long as you don't harm the girl—"

"Name," he said.

"What?"

He had never taken his eyes off Magdalene.

"Your name. Names hold power. And power is what I take. Give me your name."

Ignoring her bondage, Jenny leaned over and hissed at her, "You don't have to answer hi—"

"Magdalene," Magdalene said. "Magdalene McLachlan."

His lips parted and the air about him shifted. He masked a stronger reaction from surfacing.

"Little Maggie," the syllables playfully rolled out. He clicked his tongue. "You prolly don't remember me, but I remember seein' you as a wee lass."

He held out a hand flat by his side, low. Never breaking eye contact. Never blinking.

Shark eyes.

"About yea tall, you were. I knew I remembered your big brown doe eyes. Color me surprised that my useless fuck of a brother's loins produced such a clever girl. But you're not looking too healthy. All skin and bones. What is that prick been feedin' ya?"

He licked his lips, took his feet off the table, and downed the remaining contents of his wine glass in one shot.

"Father is dead," she said. The sentiment flashed in her eyes, finally eliciting a more tangible reaction from him: his eyes widened, even if only subtly so.

"Mister McLachlan, sir," Jenny interrupted them. "I do not mean to interrupt this, uh, touching family reunion of yours, but I would like to stress that there is no need to keep us helpless women tied up like this. It's barbaric, and I swear—upon all that is holy—that—"

"I don't give a rat's ass about anything holy. I commune with powers from beyond this world," Fentin "Shark-Eyes" McLachlan dismissed her, casting a sidelong glance at Jenny.

Witless Witts stifled an awkward giggle. It died in his throat, but he could barely contain his excitement. Hoskins also audibly shifted his weight again.

The rest of the mansion had fallen deathly silent. But the demons—the creatures they had seen earlier—they still lurked, somewhere out there, just out of sight. But far from being out of Magdalene's mind.

"I will not beat around the bush," Jenny said.

Hoskins repeated the last word and chortled behind them.

"We are at your mercy, and I don't care whom I have to swear any oaths to, I only vow to do as you tell me, as long as that guarantees that Maggie and I are not harmed."

She sighed deeply. Her words carved through the air with expertise, timed just before anybody could respond again.

"I will be absolutely honest with you," she said. The lies came so naturally from her mouth and felt like silk brushing softly over skin. The way she spoke transformed a bit more by the end of every sentence.

A different accent emerged. It sounded more like it stemmed from the fog-strangled streets of Crimsonport's lower city wards, blended with foreigners and sporting a hint of the northern accent to match Fentin McLachlan's own. For a split second, Maggie wondered if this was Jenny's real manner of speaking.

"My real name is Marie Cook. I am nobody of grand standing, I am merely someone who was lookin' to make some quick coin off o' Lord Bennet."

She shot a nervous glance in the round, met by arched brows and befuddlement all around, then she flashed an uncannily confident smile before she continued to keep the ball rolling.

"You gents seem to be working somethin'. Somethin' lucrative. I can smell good game seven miles 'gainst the wind, and I know that Lord Bennet's riches can't be the end-all be-all of it, yeah? It's gotta be a bigger score awaitin' you lot here in the Hold, innit?"

Witless Witts guffawed again and slapped the table.

"She's a smart one too, eh cap'n? Yeah, woman. We are gettin' mighty close to the king's—"

"Shut your stupid fuckin' hole," Shark-Eyes growled at Witts. He then sneered at Jenny. "And you must think I am balmy on the crumpet, ya thievin' strumpet. Fuck off."

Witts shrugged and shuddered, growing nervous, then he chugged more liquor.

"I am not stupid, woman. I know you're anglin' for somethin'. Your kind always does. No, we have no use for you and yer yappin'."

"I am also adept at forgin' papers and paintin's, and—oh, even blowin' glass," Jenny quipped, rounded off with a smirk and a playful wink that projected a growing air confidence, which stood in stark contrast with how they had bound her to a chair like Maggie.

The dread captain's lips were wet with wine and oozed a deviousness as they curled into a smirk of his own.

"Where we are headed, what we are doin'—you'd need a much stronger stomach than I fathom you've got, Miss Cook. If that's even your real name. You'd need to be willin' to pact with powers beyond ken. And I don't particularly sense a familiarity with the preternatural on you. How long have ya been here in Bennet's home, oblivious to the treasures he and his ilk are sittin' on?"

"I don't know, but I know enough to know that you are far more clever than you let on. You are far more educated than a man of your station ought to normally be. You are a man who defies conventions, and I am a woman who maneuvers outside of 'em."

The pirate captain awaited more.

He replied, "Unless you're willin' to sell your soul to strange powers, to commune with things from other worlds, Miss Cook, then I have no fuckin' use for ya."

Maggie's attention bounced back and forth between them, like watching a duel of wits. Jenny narrowed her eyes at Fentin.

"Aren't ya afraid of the wrath of God, toyin' with forces o' the devil like that?"

Another smirk from Shark-Eyes. Never blinking.

"In truth, there are no gods nor devils in this world. Those are words that small-minded men have used to make sense of things that resist definition."

A sweeping gesture between Witts and Hoskins segued to his next speech, "These fearless men here are willin' to do what it takes to grasp and embrace such power. They are not blinded by crusty old traditions."

"Hear hear," Witts said, raising his bottle in a crude toast.

"Which takes me to the most interestin' person sittin' at this very here table," Shark-Eyes concluded. Locking eyes with Maggie again. "My dear wee niece, hell forbid I would have expected to ever meet ya again, but here we are. And I want to know what you know. Where ya learned your sorcery from. You summoned a fuckin' psychopomp. I know some necromancy, but that shite is unheard of. Ripped ten sturdy men to pieces without so much as a fuckin' warnin'. If I hadn't had some sigil to deal with our fanged friends gettin' unruly, we would have had an even more serious problem on our hands."

Maggie took a deep breath and swallowed the lump in her throat. Stayed calm. Nora had taught her to stay calm in the face of monsters. They always fed upon fear. No need to feed them. No need to lend them power.

"No need to share," she said. "You will kill me anyway—just sooner, if I tell you."

Fentin glowered at her. Struggled to conceal another sneer.

"I had a look at your bags, lass. Found some interestin' reagents in there. Satchels of dust, I'm guessin' from gravestone and bones and pig iron? No writin'. How long have you been practicing? You're so bloody young."

Maggie clenched her lips shut. They formed a thin white line upon her already pale face. Jenny's gaze burnt upon her, but she maintained eye contact with her evil uncle.

"Can't be too long that you're at it. I suspect you're a little bit more intuitive, aren't ya? Wouldn't be a surprise, it's gotta run in the family," he said.

Feeding the sinking feeling in Maggie's stomach, he might deduce more as time went on, even if she stayed silent.

"You and I are not that different, lass. People like us are like doorways. We are vessels for the darkness, as it slowly makes its way into this world. Takes root and grows. Now is the age of darkness, Maggie. The age for it to engulf the world—and transfigure it."

His gaze.

His gaze was truly paralyzing. Rooted in magick. Some power he worked; some demonic power, it suffused his gaze. Could he read surface thoughts? Could he corrupt minds and control weak minds? She dreaded all the possibilities.

"Things like vampyria, wolf-men, fiendish abominations—all real, as you well know if you're workin' necromancy. You should embrace it if you do have that preternatural awareness that so many people lack. Not resist."

Jenny scoffed. She interrupted him, earning a fiery glare from Shark-Eyes. "I know what I saw. Those—things. They were quite real, and if you had told me about 'em just a few days prior, I woulda laughed at ya and said you were out o' your bloody mind. But how much of this is superstition, how much is real?"

Everybody stared at the swindling thief. The confidence in her countenance crumbled.

"What?"

Shark-Eyes bared his teeth again in a hideous, wicked grin.

"All of it, woman. All of it. You're in the presence of experts, folk who have sliced through the shite of obliviousness with blades of knowin'."

Ignoring her again, he said to Maggie, "You and I could accomplish great things. You must hear whispers."

A shiver shook her spine and blood ran cold in her veins. Colder than Bennet's blood, still soaking the tablecloth beside them.

"I, too, hear whispers. They are probably different from the ones you heed. The ones you hear, they come from a place where our kind goes to rot and sleep forever."

Shark-Eyes lost his cool in that moment. The fervor gripped him; droplets of spittle sprayed from his mouth as he whipped himself up into a fevered frenzy with his own speech. He pointed to the ceiling, but all people present knew that he pointed to the stars.

"They are the opposite. The ones I hear, they come from a place between the celestial bodies in the heavens. They are not remembered by the livin', they are the forgotten ones. They have slept long enough, and they stir in their slumber. They ready to awaken. And we can be the heralds of the new age. God-kings that erect our own, new empires on top o' the ruins of an already forsaken world. Have you not felt how the nights grow longer each year? The winters colder? The fog thicker?"

The hairs upon Maggie's nape bristled. She knew what he said was true. Or at the very least, it was one of the few things he genuinely believed in.

"Yes," Maggie said. Nodding slowly. "I admit, our connection to such forces is not that different. But you and I are very different people. We may share blood, and perhaps even madness. Yet I would never join you in your pursuit. I have friends who hunt your kind—"

"My kind? What is that supposed to mean?"

"Monster."

Uncle and niece glared at each other. Murder in both their eyes.

His voice quaked with cold, seething anger, "And what fuckin' friends? Where are they now?"

She kept silent.

The glass in his hand cracked under the growing pressure of his fist clenching around it. Jenny gasped, and even as much as she pretended to stay calm, Maggie shuddered when the glass exploded into a rain of brilliant shards and wine. Fentin slammed his palm onto the tabletop, leaving a red handprint, where blood and wine admixed.

He spat, "It's those fuckin' hunters from the city, isn't it? It's that Merry fuckin' bandit ponce, Johnn Von Brandt. Isn't it?"

Then, with another, more violent slap that caused all cutlery and plates and glasses to rattle, he yelled at the top of his lungs, "I will kill 'em all!"

Jenny's nostrils flared again as she forced herself to display calm, and Maggie shared the same inner struggle.

"Mister McLachlan, sir," Jenny spoke up. Her voice trembled, likely more than she preferred to project. "I have a sudden and dire need to make use o' the restrooms. If you would be so kind to untie me now?"

He thrust out an index finger, pointing it at her face. Blood dripped from his hand.

"Aggressive mimicry, Miss Cook. I have sailed many seas and heard many tales of creatures strange and distant, from all around the world. I have heard of predators that pose as prey, of true wolves that don the sheep's wool and wait until the bigger wolf turns inattentive—then strikes."

"What?"

"I'm sayin' that you can soil your undergarments for all I care. Reckon I already told ya. I am not fuckin' stupid."

"Please, sir. I sense you are not that barbaric. Have one of your fuckin' men escort me, or both for all I care. Hell, I'll piss right in front of 'em, I swear. No funny business."

He began picking glass shards from his hand, not flinching even once. Displaying the same detached coldness that guised the fiery hot rage he had just displayed at his own mention of Johnn Von Brandt.

"Fine. You are right. I am no savage."

He smirked. Nodded at Hoskins.

The pirate standing behind Jenny stepped away from the wall and began working the knots to release her. He knelt to free her legs, then moved to release her hands from the simple bindings made of coarse rope.

"Thank you. Despite what you may be thinkin' right now, I believe we'll find a great way to cooperate in the future," Jenny said, rubbing her wrists as she rose.

She stifled a gasp as Hoskins forcefully grabbed her by the arm.

"Fuck off," Fentin said without looking up.

While Hoskins dragged Jenny out of the room, the captain continued plucking out piece by piece and dropping the bloodied little shards of glass onto the plate before him with soft little clinks.

Clink. Clink.

Several heartbeats after Jenny and Hoskins had left the dining room, and the muffled voices of them reached the chamber from a distance, Shark-Eyes said without looking up, "I have dabbled in necromancy myself, lass. I could learn a thing or two from ya. And you could learn a lot from me. We are not limited to crusty old traditions. We can walk as many roads as we please. How did you call upon a psychopomp, I wonder?"

Maggie squinted and refrained from admitting anything. Nor did she want to revisit the moments of desperation when she first called upon the messengers of death.

"The first necromancers spoke the language of the dead. And contrary to common misconception, they never commanded the dead directly. They bargained with 'em. Where man defies fear of death by embracing the illusion of life, the necromancers defy the illusion. They embrace their fears, and in doing so, understand."

Clink. Clink.

Maggie finally spoke up with a question of her own, "What have you done? Why can I not hear the whispers?"

Another cruel grin marked his face and rested there. He needed not even look up to instill dread upon Maggie in doing so, focused still on removing the last shards from his hand.

"Thorathoth. Zhaal," he hissed, maintaining that grin all the while.

Click. Scrape. Scratch. Click.

Things approached unseen, lurking in the corridors just outside the dining room. Witless Witts' face turned white as a sheet. Claws heralded the creatures nearing.

A set of sharp black talons slid around the corner of the doorway. A hideous head poked inside. Dozens of eyes, like those of an insect or a spider, stared empty into the chamber. The blood drained from Maggie's face as she saw herself reflected in those eyes—too many eyes—and not a shred of humanity, not an ounce of mercy in them.

As it prowled into the room, four bat-like wings furled closely around its lithe body, it made only few sounds. Even Witless Witts inhaled sharply, masking a gasp. Even the pirates in Shark-Eyes' company must have felt fear in the presence of these abominations.

Following the first, another crept inside, ducking through the doorway. Its two heads looked almost like pyramids, with no eyes to see but slavering maws. Its four equine legs stepped silently, and its claws rhythmically opened and closed, as if ready to slash necks and rend human flesh at the drop of a hat.

"I'm sure your moment of glory was born of desperation. My path was the same. I was willin' to sell my soul to survive in this dark world of man, this forsaken world. It is doomed, ya know? Whether we do anythin' about it or not. We can only choose to be the angels of its destruction and rebirth, or to perish alongside the rest of the apes. I chose to stand a cut above the rest of regular men. And they responded."

Clink. The last glass shard landed on the plate. Shark-Eyes folded his hands before him. His voice had fully calmed again.

"I believe not in God nor devil. The things here, the things I speak with—their whispers—I know they are not 'demons', but somethin' else entirely."

The creatures remained conspicuously silent.

Thumping. Footsteps neared. Witts arched a brow as they closed in on the dining room.

Hoskins shoved Jenny through the doorway. She stumbled, tripped, fell to the floor but caught herself. Looked up at the two creatures flanking the entrance as they studied her. One with too many eyes, the other somehow sensing her with no eyes whatsoever. Dark mucus dripped from its fangs and the lustful way it inhaled caused Maggie to shudder.

"The bitch was tryin' somethin' funny," Hoskins said.

"Funny what?" Shark-Eyes snarled.

Hoskins crouched down next to Jenny, grabbed her by the hair and yanked her head back, eliciting a sharp cry of pain.

"Talked me into closin' the door but a crack, then tried climbin' out the window. You are not as clever as ya think," he sneered into her ear. And with a wicked smile, looking up at Maggie to lock eyes with her. "And leavin' the girl to us, no less. What was it you were sayin', again?"

The creature with too many eyes hissed. Even though nothing about it looked even remotely serpentine, it emitted sounds like a rattlesnake. From where exactly on its horrendous form, Maggie could not discern.

"She might be cleverer yet than you think, ya dumb shit," Shark-Eyes said, tilting his head. The constant grins and smirks faded from his face, and he glowered at Hoskins with displeasure. "Zhaal here tells me that she set fire up there. And you are goin' to go right back up there and put it out now, aren't ya? Too many books in this fuckin' house that Bennet probably did not keep hidden in plain sight."

Everybody paused, frozen.

Eyes closed; Jenny smiled to herself. Maggie almost cracked a smile of her own.

"Go," Fentin growled at Hoskins.

His underling scrambled off.

The pirate captain sighed and nodded his head at the door, shooting Witts a glance.

"You too, help him. Prove to me you aren't as witless as the name, Witts. Earn your keep and earn that power ye've been promised."

Witts nodded slowly, then with more zest. He quickly got up and stormed out of the room. Leaving Jenny and Maggie alone with Shark-Eyes and the two demons.

Bound as her hands were in front of her, they allowed Maggie still to fold her hands. Like the legs of a spider, her thin fingers interlocked and clasped.

Like praying hands before her.

She focused and released the powers she had gathered in weeks past. Spells she had studied and meditated over for countless, sleepless hours, to the point of exhaustion. Unleashing forces that would fan the flames and feed them with pure essence.

Her own essence.

Maggie spoke, "Tell me, uncle dearest. You know as well as I that our kind can make fire—or make it grow. But do you know of any way for magick to put it out?"

She narrowed her eyes and could not help but smile at him like a cat. Like a cat playing with its food.

His face fell through various stages of frowning until it turned into a hideous grimace, contorting with boiling rage.

Maggie said, "Even if I cannot hear the whispers, I can still wield other forms of thaumaturgy."

"We truly are of the same blood," he snapped. "Are we not?"

The smile already gone, embracing the darkness she harbored in her heart, Maggie said, "Touched by shadow, and touching it." And in a whisper, "Always."

Shouts echoed from elsewhere in the mansion. Hoskins and Witts struggled to quench the growing fire. Jenny had started it, but Maggie's spell had rendered it unstoppable.

She almost jumped up in her chair—Fentin slammed the table with his bloodied fist, leaving another vermillion print. He thrust out another finger at her. Swallowed a remark.

The chair behind him went flying away as he flew into a rage, storming out of the dining room. His footsteps thudded, heavy with fury. He growled at the two demons.

"Watch them. If they run—kill 'em."

Maggie's chin crinkled. She refused to let him get away with this.

Undeterred by the looming threat, Jenny made her way to Maggie and started untying her.

The creatures did not leap. They started inching, creeping closer.

"I will distract them, and you make a run for it," Jenny whispered, so faint that a mouse would have sounded louder, so close that Maggie felt her breath upon her skin more than she heard her.

Her dainty and dexterous fingers trembled as they swiftly untied the knots binding Maggie's hands together—and froze in place.

"We hear you," said Zhaal. Its mouth did not move, but its voice sliced through the air, calm and menacing.

"We understand you," said Thorathoth. It had no eyes to watch, but Maggie felt watched by it.

Jenny started slipping the ropes out of the knots even faster. Clearly not her first time working with rope, but Maggie perished the thought.

The creatures crept closer, four clawed feet each that touched the ground and emitted only subtle little clicks and scraping sounds, drowned out by the rising cacophony outside, caused by three men struggling to put out a raging fire that now threatened to devour Bennet's mansion—and all his precious occult books.

"He is right, you know," said Zhaal. Its many eyes never blinked, like Fentin's. Cold, dark red. Evil.

"We are not so different," said Thorathoth. Its claws cut through the tablecloth as it took the long way round.

Maggie had no time to register the sensation of finally being released from her bonds. Jenny rose to her side and hugged the girl close to herself. More to comfort herself than protect her, probably, but a hint of selflessness hid beneath that cloak of self-preservation. The woman's head whipped back and forth, trying to keep eyes on both the creatures as they encircled them.

"The one you call God does not love you," said Zhaal.

Said Thorathoth, "He has abandoned you. Forsaken your world. But we—"

"We love you," whispered Zhaal.

"We love your world," breathed Thorathoth.

Maggie began whispering.

Incantations.

The occult words spilled out of her mouth. Jenny looked at her with growing dread.

Maggie knew the risks. If this went wrong, she would draw something far worse than these creatures into her world. Something ancient. Something beyond good and evil, something that could swallow thousands of souls in an instant and with little hesitation to annihilate another world in its wake.

But the monsters crept closer. And the whispers—they had told her that this Jenny was important. Even in their absence, she deigned to heed their warnings. Follow their prophetic call.

"We are but shadows of our true selves, stirring in our slumber," said Zhaal, having crept so close that the monster could pounce.

Its claws dug into the floor, like daggers piercing thick oriental carpets with ease and boring into the wooden boards underneath.

"We love your world so much, we wish to fully awaken in it," said Thorathoth, sounding raspier.

Hungrier.

The closer it got, the taller it looked. The greater the shadows it cast. As if it grew with each step, now towering over Jenny and Maggie.

"A valiant effort to banish us," said Zhaal.

"But we are not your enemy," said Thorathoth.

Their claws spread, poised to strike. Ready to slaughter.

"We are your salvation," said Zhaal.

The maws of its two heads opened wide, with spittle dripping from long, sharp fangs.

"We are the future," whispered Thorathoth.

"Inevitable," hissed both.

Inhuman, deafening shrieks left a ringing in Maggie's ears as both monstrosities lunged at them, then retreated several steps, hissing and snarling like feral beasts. The creatures reeled, as if having struck an invisible barrier.

All pretenses of playing nicely had dropped. The slavering beasts now growled and roared, staying just close enough that they could kill as soon as Maggie's spell even so much as waned.

She glowed. With an otherworldly light. Some would have called it a halo, but all definitions are cheap in the realm of the incomprehensible. Maggie could see her bright emanations in the reflections upon Zhaal's many horrid eyes.

"Stay close to me," she murmured, voice trembling.

She felt weak. It ate at away her very being. It taxed her so much. But it worked.

For now.

Jenny gripped the girl with great force, bracing her and keeping her from stumbling even as Maggie's knees buckled.

"Move," Maggie said. Then she shrieked at Zhaal, "Move!"

Jenny took the cue, stepping forward with Maggie, clutching the girl close to her bosom as they advanced. The creature retreated by the same measure. Defiant of abandoning its master's orders, but incapable of piercing that barrier, no matter how sharp its claws, no matter how deep it could cut into human flesh.

Jenny shuddered as Maggie uttered more words of power. They spilled forth from the girl's mouth—like pure instinct given sound. She did not even understand them, serving only as a conduit for something else.

The alien words stopped flowing from her mouth, followed by another shout, "Move!"

Jenny advanced with her, craning her neck to look behind them as Thorathoth followed, the two demonic predators staying as close as they could in defiance of whatever force kept them at bay.

The woman holding Maggie gritted her teeth and drew upon her final reserves of courage. Maggie felt it shining brightly, like a bonfire suddenly set ablaze. The light about her matched its incandescence.

They advanced more steps, and Zhaal shrieked again. Furiously.

Pained. It retreated more than an equal number of steps, suffering terrible agony. Its gnarled and blackened skin sizzled like drops of vitriolic acid landing on wood. The creature's form cringed, rearing back more and more and eventually—reluctantly—allowing them to pass.

The two backed out of the dining room, facing the two demons. The creatures followed every step. Both burned with malice.

"Whether or not you join us, we shall awaken," Zhaal snarled.

"Whether or not you live or perish, we shall outlast," Thorathoth growled.

"We shall rise," they hissed in unison.

Though fear still wracked her visage, Jenny barked at the creatures, "Fuck off!"

She backed away further with Maggie, cautious step by incredulous step, shoving the girl behind her but still holding her close, wary that the demons might tear them to shreds at any given moment. She understood not how any of this magick worked, acting purely on instinct.

Maggie clasped her hands together. Like praying hands. She had long stopped praying to the one the church called God, but now, more than ever, at the end of her wit, and possibly the end of their luck, they needed a miracle.

She needed the strength to work one last spell.

To break whatever kept the whispers at bay. The whispers—their only hope of egress from these monsters. And from the raging fire. The biting sting of smoke began to creep through the corridors, as Bennet mansion turned into a living hell, populated with monsters to match.

To escape from Shark-Eyes and his smoldering wrath.

"Every door your kind opens," said Zhaal, prowling after them like a wildcat.

"Every path your people pave," said Thorathoth, spreading its arms as if welcoming them for a deadly embrace.

"We come closer to our awakening," they said in unison.

And with that, the miracle happened. Coming from the most unlikely place. The creatures lent her the insight she needed.

Maggie imagined a corridor. A narrow, meandering hole. A place of fog and living darkness. Where the whispers reigned. Where the spirits swirled like mists. A place where the veil was weakest. A bridge between all worlds that ever were, and all worlds that ever would be.

Like these demons somehow entered the human world, so did the spirits somehow. And now, she needed to use that same road to escape.

"There," Maggie gasped.

She unclasped her hands and tugged at Jenny's arm. Pointed to a nearby door.

Jenny must have recognized it, confused over how such a useless room may grant them escape. But she trusted Maggie's directions, left with no other options in the face of such deadly horrors.

The woman ripped the door to the kitchen open but froze upon seeing what lay beyond it.

Went slack jawed.

There was no kitchen there, but a yawning darkness. A narrow corridor, roughly hewn into stone. Mists roiled in a deep and infinite, coiling passageway. Inhuman shrieks of spirits reached them from deep within.

And whispers.

The hair on Maggie's nape bristled once more. Not with fear, but an excited solace.

This—this was their salvation. A dark embrace that would grant them escape. Yet a pit of great peril itself.

She swallowed the growing lump in her throat, worried more about Jenny than herself.

"We must enter," she told the woman.

"What? No. What is that?"

"We must enter," Maggie sighed, growing weak, slumping against Jenny's grip.

Darkness encroached from all sides upon the field of her vision. A deep sleep threatened to overwhelm her. And she dreaded the thought of losing consciousness, of this spell of hers ending, and exposing them to the mercy of the claws and fangs of Zhaal and Thorathoth, the demons that still followed, only two steps away at bay. Or worse: to the mercy of Fentin "Shark-Eyes" McLachlan.

The swindler propped her up and groaned, "No! Alright. Fuck!"

Jenny clamped her eyes shut and plunged the two of them into the depths of that corridor.

Light engulfed them.

The demons refused to follow. Consciousness slipped further and further away from Maggie. The deeper Jenny carried her—eventually truly carrying the anemic girl in her surprisingly strong arms—the mists of this impossible corridor swallowed all sounds. Jenny's shoes created no echoes, as if she walked upon thin air.

And perhaps she did.

Even as the whispers gave Maggie comfort, the spirits here were anything but benevolent. The terror in Jenny's face justified, for if the spell ended prematurely, the entities here would claim them. Swallow them whole. Sever their ghosts from their bodies, making them disappear from their world in an instant, never to be seen again.

Only the light that shone from Maggie, mysterious, and bright, and warm, guided the way. Allowed Jenny to carry her deeper and deeper down the corridor.

A speck of light appeared at the end of this infinite and reality-defying hallway. Bennet's mansion had long disappeared behind them, molten into the pool of darkness, taking with it the dread pirate and his demons—Maggie glimpsed as much as she fought to keep her eyelids open.

Spirits all around them yearned to feast on their life force.

To drink their memories and fool themselves into thinking these were the lives they had lost, distorted through the confusion that grew with each passing moment in the intersection between worlds. More afraid than living mortals of the afterlife, whatever it truly was.

A place that bled outwards, seeping, and soaking the fabric of what humanity considered to be… reality. A growing wound.

Only the faerie light that shone from Maggie kept all these hungry, angry, confused spirits at bay.

Eventually, the girl fully slipped from consciousness, long before Jenny even reached the end of the corridor.

Yet the light refused to die.

—Submitted by Wratts

[cfs-melkire]

Feckless

"Again."

"Leviathan spat me out after gorgin' his own self on Titan's ramrod, that what you're wantin' t'hear? Piss 'n' shite, this ain't complicated, you've the letter--"

"Yes, the letter. We have the letter… the forged letter."

" ...don't know what you're on about. Gave it t'me, he did."

"Impossible."

 "Why's that impossible?"

"I meant you, but if you're going to insist on these charades, then I'll tell you why. Cenric of Thanalan passed from this world nine turns ago. Our best men and women date the ink and parchment of your letter as not even half that old."

"Bullocks."

"It's the truth, and you know it is."

"Recognized the signature, though, didn't he? That Peak fellow."

"Yes. Yes, he did. Curious, how flawless that signature is."

"That's 'cause he signed it, y'daft cull."

The man across the table sighed. He tugged at the collar of his uniform to adjust it, drummed the fingers of his other hand against the manila folder that held the letter in question.

"Cenric Evans--"

"He weren't no Evans, he was a Melkire--"

"Cenric Evans was not a man to hand out his signature on blank parchment. So you've either spent a great deal of time with the man before he passed, or else you're a swindler. Which is it?"

"He was m'father."

"...of course he was."

[downywrites]

Bird is back, but bird wrote not funny stuff. It is Sap.

random angst, no tickles LMAOO tw: death, blood, losing control?? RIP y’all have all the angst for now HAHA

Don’t worry though, I will be back with tickle stuff eventually lol

Sapnap is not happy with the rain.

Sapnap always knew he was different from the others. Everytime they would scream when a smolder of flame erupted from him in a fit of fury. The snarls of rage that sent people cowering, even when he furiously apologized. The feeling of animosity that was mutually shared between him and everyone’s pets. (“Don’t you dare hurt Squeeks!” “He looked at me funny!”) The fact that he couldn’t sleep in the same bedsheets as the others. The sound of the pouring rain framed his thoughts perfectly. He stared up through a hole in the roof of the cave, hissing when a few stray drops landed on his face. Paying them little to no heed, he moved closer. The stinging feeling felt grounding, calming almost. He sighed. ‘When had my life come to this?’ When had it, really?

Unfortunately, he could not recall. Life was a blur outside of training, outside of sparring, outside of pain. Out of all the memories, his best ones were full of pain. Pain from losing one he loved, dull and muted behind the curtains of affection from another. Pain emanating from his right side, rippling throughout his body, when that loved one finally left his mark forever, tears rolling down his face, his pickaxe scar. A ring, broken. Water pouring over his form, hissing as it bubble on his skin. The bittersweet memories reminded him of when people failed to see him as a hostile mob, as an outsider. No, they saw him as the enemy- the human enemy. “What a twisted way to see things.” The rain pattered on, unknowing and uncaring of the hissing, burning tracks rolling down the blaze’s cheeks. “Since when did my life revolve around...them?” He had never noticed. The subtle way Dream manipulated him into leaving his husbands’ sides, the way he pocketed his ring ‘for safekeeping'...the tears burned white-hot marks. And Sapnap loved it. He loved every bit of it, almost too much. “Wh-what...is wrong with me?”

Claws gripped at his hair. Was it his? A zombie’s? He didn’t care. He wanted the pain, craved it. The grip tightened. Sapnap sobbed, a fake (not fake) smile coming to his face. Stone dripped, making a harmonious noise on the floor next to his ripped up shoes. Sapnap didn’t care. For once in his life, he didn’t feel any resentment over the rain. He wanted more, more pain, more suffering. He wanted it to end. He stumbled towards the mouth of the cave, muted sounds roaring to life in his ears. A voice in the back of his mind wondered where the zombie beside him went. At the mouth of the cave, the difference in noise was enormous. Water rained down like a never ending torrent, washing away the torches. Mobs struggled to their feet, trying to move towards the hybrid. He winced at the sound of the chaos. ‘It’ll do.’ Crazed eyes met empty hollows. He surged forward, rain pouring onto his skin, ripping and melting like acid to a human’s flesh-

“-ap. Sap?”

“Ay, hombre. You good?”

“He’s not waking up...No, he has to.”

“Por favor, mi tesoro. Please…”

A gasp. Eyes, red-orange like the fire he was born from, snapped open, wide in shock, fear, and maybe a little bit of disappointment. The sudden movement was certainly not expected. Marigold wings fluttered in shock, flapping up and down quickly in rapid succession and making the whole room feeling like a miniature air tunnel. Sapnap felt that first. The high-pitched, almost feminine shriek came second. The whine of tinnitus pierced his eardrums. He clutched at his ears, appendages twitching like mad and trying to fold in (as if they can). Soft, gentle hands rubbed at his temple, carding through his hair. The blaze, unknowing who or what it was, pushed into it, low purr catching in his throat through the noise. “Sap, are you okay?” A quiet whisper softened the whining for a moment. Memories flashed through his mind. Calming words. Soothing stories. Ticking. Stopwatch….

“K-karl?” Sapnap regretting the words the second they came out. His throat screamed bloody murder. Both of the people in the room froze, deathly still. “Sap, you re-remember us?” A small blossom of hope bloomed in his voice. Confused, Sapnap pulled away from the hand, a small seed of disappointment adding flavor to his frown. “Of course I do...did I do something?” His senses, dulled from the tendrils of sleep, snapped awake. Nomad instincts sparking to life, he eyes his surroundings warily, mapping everything out with careful planning.

As far as he was concerned, it was his room. Everything was perfectly placed, perfectly positioned as if it was his room. The posters of random bands stuck up on the walls, the trash that he couldn't always bother to pick up, the slightly-charred journals he kept just in case of emergencies- all there. The boards full of hints to items- famous red string dangling precariously atop their pushpin perches- all there. The only thing that felt off then, was.. He looked down to the bedsheets, clawed hand massaging the fabric. It was soft, textured gently, as if someone had kept it with care and weaved it with the nimble hands of a spider. The texture underneath his fingers was heavenly. It felt lush, fresh, as if nobody had ever used it before. And that was what made him worried. Since when did he have sheets this soft? Karl gave him a quick peck on the cheek, eyes glancing down quickly to assess a possibility of what he was thinking. “Ah, the sheets? Well, we thought you’d like them. Those old fireproof sheets weren’t very nice, after all.” Quackity, finally calming down from his birdlike startle, snorted obnoxiously. “Yeah right. Karlos over here just wants to bed you in comfort.”

The resulting slap earned a loud yelp and a “Rude.” from the avian. Sapnap’s guard stayed up, even as he chuckled. The lightness in his chest clashed with the iron feeling of his emotional walls. He ignored it, focusing on the way his husband’s rings glimmered in the soft fairy lights. Their rings...He pushed himself up further. When had he pushed himself up? Prime, he didn’t know. But that didn’t matter. “You...you have them on? The rings?” Against his will, his tail wagged behind him, pitch black on the red-white sheets. Karl and Quackity turned back to him, confusion inked on their faces. The time traveler tilted his head, dangling clock earring swinging from side to side like a pendulum. “What? Sap, did something happen?” He strode back over to his side, cradling his face gently. He rubbed a single finger on the edge of his chin, getting a slightly giggly purr from the blaze. “I know that Dream said you had an injury out on that really long mission, but-” The purr stuttered to a halt. His vocal chords rumbled, as if he was speaking deeply. The alarm in his voice, however, raised the pitch by a few octaves.

“He said what?” Hesitantly, Karl pulled his hand away from his face, using it to shift a watch on his wrist aimlessly. “Dream said that you had a concussion and you passed out in the middle of the battlefield. He said he took the ring off of you to keep it safe from any pilferers in the hospital...do you remember that?” Alarm set his walls on fire. In a fit of emotions, the lava that filled his soul roared to life, filling the nooks and crannies of the stone and melting it back into the state it originally formed in. He growled, a noise that sent shivers down the other’s spines. Steam rolled out of his mouth like a pot at a roiling boil. He gritted his teeth, letting it escape in two twin trails of steam. They curled and lapped at his lips. “That’s not what happened. He told me that he would have it for safekeeping. He told me and- and-” All at once, the fire stopped. The lava slowed, rolling back to where it came from. The cracks in the walls stayed put, though, crumbling in places it was weakest. Sapnap’s focus snapped back to Karl and Quackity. Fire flickering and lapping on his fingertips, he growled again.’What did he do to me? Something’s wrong…” “Sap, it’s okay. Memory loss and replacing is normal for this type of injury and-”

Sapnap cut Karl off with a snarl. “I didn’t get a concussion! He’s tricking you, all of you! I can’t believe you’re falling for this!” Losing control, he felt himself whisper under his breath. Karl recoiled, a look of fear flashing across his face. Genuine fear. The tension of the scene cut though everyone like ice. The feeling of fire lapping at his skin did not feel comforting to the others at the moment. Karl scrambled to get away from the snarling hybrid, eyes wide as saucers. He ran to Quackity, hugging him tightly. Wings enveloped his form, hiding him from sight. “Sapnap. What are you doing? We’re only trying to help-”

“Liar. Dirty cheating liar.” Wing-ears pulled backwards, a look of shock glazing over his countenance. Never, in all of the years they had been lovers, had Sapnap ever called him a liar. He called him a swindler, a casino junkie, sure. All jokes. But a liar? A cheater? Tears pricked at his eyes. Luckily, his casino skills saved the day. His face morphed from sadness to neutral in an instant, albeit a little more guarded than before. “What are you talking about? I-I never cheated on you-” “Liar!” Sapnap’s look of fury silenced his usually timely retort. The flames that had danced on his fingertips were no longer small, nor were they gentle, like they usually were. They spiraled all over his arms now, morphing into him naturally. The underparts of his skin glowed, veins pumping glowstone-colored blood throughout his body. The mere sight of this form, this unfamiliar man that sat in front of them, sent their heartbeats into a frenzy. But this wasn’t the man they loved. No, his eyes burned with a rage better left to rot.

His teeth, yellowed from eating a little too much junk food, no longer looked like a part of Sap. It looked like it came straight from a horror movie. His fangs dripped with malie, looking more and more like the maw of a great, angry dragon rather than their seething husband. A small wavery voice came from the mound of feathers. “S-sappy? It that you? O-or-” A sob. Tears. It meant tears. Tears meant pain. Pain… Sapnap struggled to rein his emotions in. It felt like a cage he could never close, an animal he could never herd. He pulled at it, struggling to hold it back from doing the thing it wanted to do the most.

‘Kill. Revenge. Death. They will pay.’

‘No, no, no! It’s Dream! Dream made them think this, they didn’t do anything! Please!’

But no matter how much he begged, the fury never wavered. It never stopped flowing. Little, by little, by little, the dam broke. The wall that he took so much time to build, so much effort to keep safe, crumbled beneath the onslaught of fire and beast and blood and hostile within him.

“Sappy, please!”

A final cry for help, from the person who could save them. A final cry to the person inside of his body. But Dream’s puppet strings remained, keeping him trapped. The very strings that held his hostility back held him back. Tears sprung to his eyes. The burning, hissing steam blurring his vision. He closed his eyes. He didn’t want to see it.

Blood splattered on the floor. Whose was it? He didn’t want to know anymore. A broken sob ripped out of his vocal chords. He hung limp. What had happened? He didn’t know anymore. He wanted help, needed help. The strings tugged gently at his arms, as if to comfort him. The hissing of tears running down his face kept him awake.

And on the floor, two hands laid side by side with one another, clutching at each other and laying on top of each other. It was almost as if they were simply lying still. But the glimmer of blood on their matching rings said otherwise.

On the day of discovery, Sapnap was nowhere to be found. But the rain, oh, the rain kept on pouring. After all, nature cares not about what happens to the poor blazes who get caught in it, do they?

Bruhhh this is so bad and so random help LMAOOO

[catvicddlm]

The Mystery Research Club

AKA: It was time to give my TW OCs a proper introduction.

Deep in the halls of Night Raven College, on the most intricated place, you’ll find an unknown club. A club that hides away from the most glamorous clubs. A club that was disbanded until a new group of students brought it back to life. This is the Mystery Research Club.

Like the name will tell you, this club consists on investigating mysteries and archiving them. That’s right, they don’t actually SOLVE any of them, just gather information. However, members are welcome to solve any case if they please.

Benefits of joining include:

Being able to interrogate other students.

Being able to collect personal information from other students.

Access to the school archives.

Access to the students archives.

Access to the club’s full library of cases.

Guaranteed protection against certain individuals.

Your own personal cushion.

Your own personal mug.

The right to contribute to the club’s decorating.

Current members

Suha Koinor:

Dorm: Scarabia

Year/Class: Year 3 Class 3-C Seat 12

Birthday: 13/08 (Leo)

Age: 18

Height: 1,80 m

Dominant hand: Left

Origin: Land of Hot Sands

Best subject: Alchemy

Hobby: Kickboxing

Bad with: Creating passwords

Favorite food: Banana pie

Disliked food: Fried food

Special skill: Metal manipulation

Unique Magic: Hidden Treasure

One of the new funders and current president. It’s pretty obvious she competes with Reappina, but she would never admit such a thing. Despite her appearence, she’s actually pretty level headed and prefers using democracy and the power of the masses to solve problems. However, she’s not above using some persuasion to gain her goals.

A very intimidating individual not only for her muscles, but also for her connections. Back at her home, she leads a quite feared gang, which has some members at NRC. The club can enjoy of the protection of these people. Suha also like to inculcate her values into the groups she leads. She strongly belives that you need to gain your possitions and despises nepotism.

Her Unique Magic, “Hidden Treasure”, is one of the responsables of the club’s security. Hidden Treasure  creates a golden coat thas able to seal anything. The seal’s can range from a simple conteiner to a small house. Despite it’s color, it isn’t gold but a tougher material, as the coat is nearly undestructible. Aside from this, Suha isn’t particulary skilled with magic. However, she compensates most of the lack of magic ability with her brute force.  

She seems to have a somewhat tacky taste, with an obsession with golden things.

Reappina Delroy

Dorm: Octavinelle

Year/Class: Year 3 Class 3-C Seat 21

Birthday: 26/08 (Virgo)

Age: 18

Height: 1,77 m

Dominant hand: Right

Origin: Unknow, currently living in The Sea of Corals

Best subject: Magical pharmaceuticals

Hobby: Fashion desing

Bad with: Receving destructive critisism

Favorite food: Crab salad

Disliked food: Shrimp tempura

Special skill: Wig making

Unique Magic: Negation Bubbles 

The second deputy along Suha and one of the new funders. She mostly posses as some kind of secretary and is a great listener. But she’s also known to be a huge diva and can show some really nasty behaiviour.

She prefers the land over the sea and wishes to become famous and travel around the world. Currently, is somewhat famous on teather circles for reviews and song covers.

She has a childhood friend named Benedict who she met when they both moved from their origin land to the Sea of Corals. He has declined to be in the club but would come from time to time to drop stuff.

Her Unique Magic “Negation Bubbles” is specially usefull for gaining information. It creates bubbles that are able to isolate sounds and record them and can be used to silence others.The only way to deactivate them it’s either she vanishing them or using a more destructive magic to destroy them. Like Suha, she isn’t that great in magic and neither cares.

Dahlia

Dorm: Ignihyde

Year/Class: Year 3 Class 3-B

Birthday: 21/09 (Virgo)

Age: 19

Height: 1,86 m

Dominant hand: Right

Origin: Unknow, currently living in Village of Harvest

Best subject: Ancient incantations

Hobby: Gardening

Bad with: Staying up late

Favorite food: Pomegranate

Disliked food: Mint

Special skill:  Ambientation

Unique Magic: Breath of Life

The last of the new funders and the only one without an official rol. Ironically, she’s the one most of them go for advice.

Despite claiming have no sides, it’s pretty obvious she became best friends with Grenetine.

With “ Breath of Life “  Dahlia is able to give, take and store vital energy from other beings. For now, it only seems to work with plants and technology, but she’s experimenting with celular regeneration. She can´t to give energy to things that are uncapable of working. Out of all the members, she’s the most powerful on the magical field.

Grenetine D'Chessur

Dorm: Heartslabyul

Year/Class: Year 2

Birthday: 06/10 (Libra)

Age: 17

Height: 1,55 m

Dominant hand: Right

Origin: Dukedom of Tulgey

Best subject: Magical analysis

Hobby: Reading

Bad with: Seasoning savoury dishes

Favorite food: Sweet and spicy food

Disliked food: Bland food

Special skill: Puzzle solving

Unique Magic: Soupy Love 

One of the club’s most important members. This is due to 1) her family’s influence, and 2) actually trying to solve cases. Her most important case, however, is breaking the family curse that will turn her into a pig. 

Besides the club,  she has to deal with the responsabilities as a heir to an Earl. She’s kinda infamous for having some bad blood with her dorm leader.

Despite it’s name, “Soupy Love” is actually one of the most destructive magic’s. It releases potent clouds of a strange red dust that erodes magic. Other effects of this dust go from numbing senses to fatal injuries. Due to it’s impredictable behavior, she uses an item, the Pepper Grinder, to have better control of it. It’s one of the few Magic’s able to dissolve “Hidden Treasure” or “Negation Bubbles”

Chausiku Sacmis

Dorm: Savannaclaw

Year/Class: Year 2

Birthday: 26/10 (Scorpio)

Age: 17

Height: 1,78 m

Dominant hand: Left

Origin: Afterglow’s Savannah

Best subject: Protective magic

Hobby: Reading stage plays

Bad with: Not holding grudges

Favorite food: Marbled red velvet cake

Disliked food: Rock candy

Special skill:  Identifying family members

Unique Magic: Eye for an eye

The “Why Are You Even Here?” member.  She mostly uses the club as an excuse to gain information of others. Another reason seem to be her amusement of Grenetine.

She has one of the most troublesome magic’s;  “Eye for an eye” makes any attack received will be returned with the double of damage. However, a side effect is that the more damage, the more bloodthirsty she becomes. Thankfully for everyone, this ability is sealed on her mouth guard named Anti Mouth Guard. Whenever she puts it on, it realeases the magic.

Rumour says that she gets paid to watch over the second prince.

Calamaria Ghiacco

Dorm: Octavinelle

Year/Class: Year 1 Class 1-C Seat 10

Birthday: 19/09 (Virgo)

Age: 16

Height: 1,73 m

Dominant hand: Right

Origin: The Sea of the North

Best subject: Arts

Hobby: Ink painting

Bad with: Expresing her feelings

Favorite food: Hot chocolate

Disliked food: Anything with squid

Special skill: Sneaking into parties

Unique Magic: ???

One of this year’s new members. Joined the club in hopes of trying something new that would keep her away from her cousin (and getting an actual group of friends but you’ll never get her to admit it).

She hasn’t developed a definitive Unique Magic since she spent most of her youth on several boarding schools.  Even though she was born with very powerful  ice magic, she lacks in almost every other magic.

If there’s one thing she good at, that would be arts. She also seems to be fond of grotesque or broken plushies.

Mudira Adder

Dorm: Scarabia

Year/Class: Year 1 Class 1-C Seat 2

Birthday: 20/05 (Taurus)

Age: 16

Height: 1,59 m

Dominant hand: Right

Origin: Unknow, currently living in Land of Hot Sands

Best subject: Flying skills

Hobby: Collecting hats and hair accesories

Bad with: Making people take her seriously

Favorite food: Cooked chickpeas

Disliked food: Dried fruit

Special skill: Playing the flute

Unique Magic: Practical Swindler

The other new member who joined this year. Due to her energy and ability to lay low, she’s mostly sent to “field” missions.

Her new favorite hobby is to tease Calamaria due to an extremely obvious chrush.

“Practical Swindler” is able to recongnise any magical item, how it to use it, secondary effects and, most importantly, how to steal it. The whole complete analysis takes up to five minutes but a simple one may take up to two. For some reason, she seems allergic to control types of magic (mind control, love spells, etc).