#the secret of convict lake

[petersonreviews]

Gene Tierney and Glenn Ford on the set of The Secret of Convict Lake, 1951 

[carygrant]

Michael Gordon’s The Secret of Convict Lake (1951)

[erstwhile-punk-guerito]

[directorsnarrative]

The Secret of convict Lake • Director Michael Gordon

[luna-azzurra]

Eye Color to Define Your OC

Blue Eyes 💙 Blue eyes often evoke a sense of calmness and tranquility, like the peaceful surface of a still lake. Characters with blue eyes might be seen as trustworthy, reflecting an inner serenity that makes others feel at ease around them. There’s something introspective about blue eyes, suggesting that these characters are thoughtful and reflective, often contemplating the deeper meanings in life. They might be dreamers, or people who carry a quiet strength, drawing others in with their gentle and soothing gaze.

Green Eyes 💚 Green eyes are often linked to mystery and a touch of mischief. There’s an intriguing quality to them, almost like they hold secrets or are constantly plotting something fun and unexpected. Characters with green eyes can be seen as creative and curious, always looking for new adventures or ways to express themselves. There’s a vitality in green eyes, a sense of life and vibrancy that suggests a character who is full of energy and imagination. They might be the ones who are always up to something, keeping others guessing with their enigmatic gaze.

Brown Eyes 🤎 Brown eyes are often perceived as warm and reliable, embodying a sense of earthiness and approachability. Characters with brown eyes can be the dependable ones, the friends who are always there when you need them, providing a stable and comforting presence. There’s a grounded quality to brown eyes, making these characters seem down-to-earth and relatable. They often exude warmth and kindness, making others feel welcome and understood. With their steady gaze, brown-eyed characters might be seen as the anchors in their communities, the ones who keep everything together with their unwavering support.

Hazel Eyes 🟤🟢 Hazel eyes are a captivating blend of brown, green, and sometimes gold, reflecting a sense of adaptability and versatility. Characters with hazel eyes might be seen as complex and multifaceted, with personalities that can shift and change depending on the situation. They are often intriguing and dynamic, drawing people in with their ever-changing aura. There’s depth in hazel eyes, suggesting a character who is always evolving, never quite fitting into one category. These characters might surprise you with their hidden talents or unexpected insights, making them endlessly fascinating.

Gray Eyes ⚪ Gray eyes often carry an air of wisdom and intelligence, like a stormy sky full of untold stories. Characters with gray eyes can be perceived as thoughtful and calm, often observing more than they speak. There’s a mysterious quality to gray eyes, suggesting depth and a quiet intensity. These characters might be the thinkers and philosophers, the ones who are always pondering the mysteries of life and seeing things from different perspectives. Their gaze can be penetrating, making others feel like they’re looking right into their soul, uncovering secrets that no one else can see.

Amber Eyes 🟠 Amber eyes radiate warmth and intensity, often associated with strength and passion. Characters with amber eyes might have a fiery spirit, with a magnetic presence that draws others toward them. There’s something fierce and determined about amber eyes, suggesting a character who is not afraid to go after what they want. They might be bold and courageous, standing out from the crowd with their distinctive gaze. These characters could be leaders or warriors, driven by their convictions and unafraid to face challenges head-on.

Violet Eyes 💜 Violet eyes are rare and ethereal, creating a sense of otherworldliness and mystique. Characters with violet eyes might be seen as enchanting or magical, with a spiritual quality that sets them apart. There’s a softness to violet eyes, almost like they belong to someone who exists between worlds. These characters might be the dreamers or the visionaries, with a connection to the mystical or the unknown. Their gaze can be captivating and otherworldly, leaving others wondering about the secrets they hold and the magic they might possess.

Black Eyes ⚫ Black eyes are intense and powerful, often conveying a sense of mystery and depth. Characters with black eyes can have a gaze that is both captivating and intimidating, making others feel like they are being drawn into a deep, dark abyss. There’s an allure to black eyes, a sense of danger or intrigue that keeps people guessing. These characters might be seen as mysterious or enigmatic, with an intensity that makes them unforgettable. They could be the ones who hold their cards close to their chest, revealing little but knowing much, their black eyes a window into a soul that is both deep and complex.

[ameagrice]

Capsize

Percy Jackson x fem reader

chapter thirty-two I see trouble on the way.

There wasn’t an exact word to describe the way Chiron looked at you, that summer. Months and years down the line, you still couldn’t place it. That weary look, like watching something play out that you can’t really put a stop to. Of course, then you couldn’t have known. Not amongst friends, at your cabin table.

“Barbecue chicken wings!”

The food sprouted on the plate, a magic you’d never grown used to seeing. Newcomer Clarissa, a girl with extravagant blue hair, blinked, jaw-dropped.

“Twenty barbecue chicken wings!”

“Greedy-guts,” Annabeth chided beside you, munching on a side of lettuce.

You shoved three wings in your mouth at once, side-eying her. “You’re eating rabbit food.”

Your eyes lifted to the head table, where Chiron talked with an expressionless face to the new guy beside him, in an orange colour of the fruit itself. “I don’t like him.”

“You haven’t even talked to him,” Annabeth stabbed her fries with a fork.

“I don’t have to. Something’s off.”

Your sister groaned at your side, reaching for one of your chicken wings. Your mouth gaped, a sound of protest that she ignored. “Don’t start with ‘the vibes are off’ again.”

“Vibes are very important!” You rebutted.

He happened to be a man in at least his early to mid-fifties, short as anything and skinny, too, with a mess of dark-grey stubble around his jaw and a thin layer of hair on his head. Talking to Chiron, he might have looked like any random convict. But you weren’t convinced he was harmless.

“Seriously, though. The vibes are off. Don’t you think? You’ve been here all summer with him haven’t you?”

Annabeth’s bright eyes raised to the man in question for a fraction of a second, before lowering to her food, pushing fries around with the fork in her grip. “Quintus is…difficult. You should be careful with what you say around him. Especially you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?!”

“It means,” she lowered her tone, as if it was a super-secret secret. “I don’t trust him…particularly, and I know you always have a lot to say. Besides, something’s happening, can’t you feel it? Nobody trusts Quintus the way we should, since he came out of nowhere. Somebody mentioned the Oracle and he went crazy, he shut ‘em down. You have to keep your mouth shut this year, okay? Don’t disrespect the Gods, and don’t talk back to him.”

Being serious wasn’t in your nature, but you tried, for your sister’s sake. “Sure.”

“I’m serious.”

“No, you’re Annabeth.” Clarissa choked on her food, while Annabeth rolled her eyes.

It was a total pain that, not long after arriving, you had cabin inspection. A bore, grinding your nerves that you had to clean a cabin full of mess that wasn’t even yours—but Annabeth told you to quit whining, so you did, figuring you’d annoyed her enough already. Every afternoon for the first week, a senior counsellor came around with a checklist for every cabin. Thanks to your team efforts, you got the hot, clean showers first every time. Unfortunately for Percy, he fell somewhere around the middle-bottom league. You asked for snacks in return for your cleaning efforts, putting your home skills to use. Your best friend carried through on his promise—goods from the cabin store delivered promptly to your cabin every week.

Somewhere between the end of the first week and the weekend, you dipped your fingers in the lake water, watching the dark trailing swirls as you moved. Your ankle gently tapped Percy’s in the water, sitting at the end of the walkway. You can’t help noticing how much more grown up he looks this year. Older than you—you can’t seem to shed your baby face and freckles. Eyebrow waxing and tinting can only do so much.

“You know,” you say quietly, into the evening stars. “I think the Oracle wants to see me.”

Percy remains quiet at your confession. In the water’s reflection, you watch him nod. Maybe he thought this was a continuation of your want to see the future, carried through from last season. This time is very different, you want to tell him. Because this time, you feel it in your body that your time is here.

Dark curls gently sway with the movement of his nod. Even at fifteen years old, Percy respects your wishes, even if he doesn’t agree with them. “Want me to come with you?” Just being there is enough for him. There are no questions, with Percy. He understands you, and the way you talk. There is a mutual understanding that he’s there if you want, and there anyway. There is an underlying message in his words: I’m here if you need me to be.

“Yeah,” you dip your head, to your fingers laying just beside each others, not touching. “I’d like that.”

Intuition as a demigod means a lot. It can help the demigod avoid dangerous situations, or get them to act appropriately in time. In a few years from now, walking, lonely, along a shoreline yearning for someone who isn’t there, you’ll remember this moment, and question your own sanity. On the other side of the water will be a boy, sitting and praying on his knees in the sand, for your return. You’ll feel a million miles away yet so close, just the way you do now. This moment, in the present, feels so prominent and so odd that you commit it to memory, for later. Later always comes too soon. You shouldn’t get so caught up in the past, you hear a woman’s voice telling you. You want to scream until your throat feels raw; so why is the past always catching up to me? We live in memories; they shape you, they guide you—maybe that’s why you eventually feel so lost.

The next day, you kick yourself into action. You set about making a sword from scratch in the armoury (and bribing some Hecate kids to charm it for you, to a bracelet, or something. You haven’t quite decided yet). Something in the style of Percy’s sword would be beneficial.

“Do you think there’s a reason why my sword works so well with you?” The boy mutters, hanging upside down on the dock at night, cicadas singing all around. “Back at the school, I mean. You just…used it like it weighed nothing. It came to you.”

There probably is a reason. Chiron would know. But for now, you’re young, and you don’t care.

You go down to the training arena the next evening and watch newcomer Quintus fight against Percy—practicing. The older man might try to come across as harmless, and friendly, but there’s something you really can’t place your finger on.

“Good try,” the man nods. “But your guard is too low, Percy.”

Said boy parries back, undeterred. “Have you always been a swordsman?”

“I’ve been many things.”

And if that wasn’t strange enough, the purple insignia on his neck was. In the shape of a bird, the symbol sat against his stark skin like a terrible bruise. A reminder, he called it, when Percy asked. You decide you don’t want to know much more. You’ve made your mind up about the man.

The evening that you’ve made up your mind on going to the Oracle, something strange is in the air. It feels different, like it had when Ares met you in the diner your first quest, and the way it had when you ran away from home. Something was changing—had changed. When you raise your eyes to Chiron, talking with an animated Connor Stoll at his table, he raises his gaze like he’d been expecting you. He knows that you feel something is wrong, and you know that he understands what you mean. It’s a sure sign that this isn’t you being paranoid—this is real. Something is coming, and you wish you could avoid it with all your heart. Chiron shakes his head, curls jostling at his shoulders, a silent warning for you to be quiet—to let it be. He’s handling it.

In the middle of the dining place, striking across the floor, sits the crack where Nico di Angelo brought forth the dead. Since then, he’s been missing. And nobody will let you look for him. His grief showed his true colours, a hidden talent buried deep down. If Bianca hadn’t have passed, poor Nico would be here, and happy. He’d be safe.

Annabeth jokingly digs her hand into your side. Ticklish, you almost elbow her. “Shift it! I’m starving!” You draw your eyes away from the past, though it’s staring you right in the face.

You fall asleep that night with your fingers still against the edge of the curtain that stops right above your pillow, playing with it to watch the stars above camp. When you manage to drift off, feeling heavy and tired, you only hear words in the darkness.

“An exchange. A soul for a soul. A soul that should have died already. Someone who has cheated death.”

You can’t help but think, that’s you.

So you pull on a jacket and shoes, and slip from your cabin, trailing across camp in the quiet of night, taking in the sheer silence. In the distance, Festus snored and the Golden Fleece glowed, but that passed as you took the steps to the Big House, creaking under your feet. The lights inside are on, as they always are—the Big House is never closed. And somebody is always awake.

Unfortunately, tonight, the someone you want is not awake. Mr. D. is. You’re about to turn around when he blinks up from his magazine at the table, and waves his hand briefly. The door flies open, whacking the wall unapologetically. You stand, in mismatched socks and a saggy jacket, unimpressed.

“Where’s the manager?” You ask, folding your arms.

“That would be me.”

You scoff, stepping inside. “Bullshit.”

Inside, the lights are on, the house like a beacon. It smells of alcohol and coffee, though Mr. D. can’t drink ethanol. The scent lingers with him, like the smell of Cola. He sits in a too-big, starry shirt with red cheeks and bright orange pants. A fashion icon, on a different planet. A warm breeze drifts in from the open doorway, brushing your bare legs. The animal on the wall, above the chair where a clock also sits, stares at you, judging.

“I really need to speak to Chiron.”

“Not Quintus?” He lazily raises his brows. You laugh through your nose, shoving your hands inside your pockets. As you begin to walk the space, you blink at the dirt on your shoes, thinking.

“No. I’d rather jump off a cliff.” You stop. Pulling out a chair at the table, you sit heavily, legs outstretched, an arm over the back of the chair. You don’t look up. “I had a dream about that kid, Nico. He isn’t lost—he’s following someone’s orders. And we need to go get him. Someone wants to exchange lives—a soul for a soul. They said, someone who has skipped out on death.”

Silence fills the space. You look up, from your shoes. Mr. D. shrugs. “Okay?”

Fury fills you. “Okay? That’s all you got? Call for a quest!” You exclaim, getting to your feet. “Help Nico! A soul for a soul clearly means me. Did you just ignore the last quest altogether? How many times did I nearly die?”

His watery eyes blink, face unbothered. Mr. D. leans back on the sofa, flicking his magazine again. He hums. “How should I know?”

“You should! You should know these things. Please just…help me out, here. Get Chiron to call for a quest. Let me talk to the Oracle. We can save Nico! We can fix this! He’s a kid…he shouldn’t be out there alone. Someone is clearly controlling him. And personally, I think it’s a god.”

Now, he looks up. Those eyes harden. He doesn’t do anything, but the air shifts, changes, and you hate it. “Do you, now?”

“Yes,” you sigh slowly, watching carefully. Men can be unpredictable, you’ve learned that. Gods? A little bit more so. “Just…let me do this. Let me fix things before they get worse. Please.”

You plead the same way with Chiron, later that morning. “I know this is meant for me. This is my quest. My chance. Chiron, I swear. I feel this in my bones. We have to do something, because something big is happening. Nico needs somebody to help him, and someone powerful has risen. I’ve dreamt it. I feel it. And I know that you do, too. If you don’t believe me, let me talk to the Oracle! Talk to Percy. He knows about this. He knows how I feel about it all—!”

“Stop.” Chiron utters quietly. He cuts your rising tone in half, and you fall silent, waiting. He looks at you the same way that he has since you arrived—like you’re headed for your grave, and he’s trying to stop it. He sits looking out across the porch, across camp. “Go back to your cabin. Inspection’s due to start, is it not? I’m sure Annabeth would like your help—”

And…you finally snap. You swipe a hand over your hair, tugging on the ends. “Why does nobody listen to me?! I know that you can feel something is wrong. I know. If you’d just let me talk to the Oracle. Just this once. And I’ll stop. If nothing happens, I’ll leave it all alone,” you step forward, so you’re leaning on the railing, breathing deeply, waiting for his reaction. “We both know, though, that something will happen. You’re just scared of it.”

Later, you’ll realise, looking at a young boy on a rooftop, just why Chiron was scared. He was scared for all you heroes, then and always. Heroes die terrible deaths; they get hurt, and they don’t recover. They live difficult but happy lives. It’s the hard parts, he doesn’t like.

“We don’t all die,” you urge. “We don’t all suffer. If you let me do this, I’ll come back from wherever I’ll go. I’ll bring Nico back. I’ll fix all of this! You have to trust me on this one. I’ve had dreams. Nightmares. I know what’s coming, and what will happen if I don’t do something. You’ve always said that intuition is right, as a demigod. Isn’t that one of the first things you told me? Told Percy? Right now, my intuition is telling me that I have to do this! Please believe me.”

Waiting for his response is more nerve-wracking than spilling your thoughts to him at a million miles an hour. He holds a thousand-yard stare, like he’s seeing past you. Who is he seeing, you wonder? Which hero do you remind him of?

Chiron inhaled heavily, exhaling slowly. He looks tired. “You remind me…so much of your mother. So persistent to do the right thing. Not always the good thing, but the right. You young heroes…I will think about it. We have more pressing matters, right now. An Aethiopian Drakon was spotted this morning walking the camp border. We know Luke has made plans to invade, and my guess is this is the start of that idea. Quintus has suggested we have a round of war games tonight. You should tell Annabeth and Sienna, they’ll want to prepare no doubt…”

At breakfast, Quintus announces the war games after dinner. Annabeth yaps about how long it’s been since the last one. Clarissa tiredly asks what the war games are like. The conversation with Chiron plays on your mind while you scrape your offerings into the fire. A bit of toasted bagel and strawberries. The brightness of the flames reflect off your plate, grateful that you’re late to breakfast and there’s nobody waiting behind you.

“Help me get what I want, mom. We both know I’m meant for this. Let me save Nico. Let me save us.”

Whether she’ll listen—whether she even heard—is one thing, and carrying out on your wishes is another. A part of you wants to think about all the times she didn’t help you. But another part thinks of all the times she did, and you have a slither of hope that Athena will hear your desperation and help you out.

You remind me so much of your mother. You have lots in common, then. Maybe she’ll realise you’re more alike than either of you thought.

You turn and cast your gaze across the pavilion. Connor and Travis are throwing food across the table, so you’re not going there. At your table, Annabeth is staring at the sky like it’s the answer to all her problems. Silena Beauregard is sobbing her heart out at her haircut, so you’ll avoid her today. Finally, Percy and Grover. Percy in typical fashion of creased blue tee and jeans, and Grover chewing on lettuce, his horns poking through his curly hair. At the head table, Chiron is standing, not in the wheelchair, tall and…already watching. Maybe he does it on purpose—he just leaves. Campers shouldn’t sit at other tables, sitting with your own cabin is a where you should be.

You approach Percy, anyway, slinking onto the bench. Grover smiles at you, and you can’t tell if you’re paranoid or if Chiron has mentioned your talk this morning. Maybe you’re losing it—because you swore, hands down, that you talked to Mr. D. last night, and according to Chiron, he isn’t even at camp.

“What are we talkin’ about?” You pick at your bagel, eyeing Percy’s much more appealing chocolate pop tarts.

“Chiron wants Percy to convince me,” Grover utters, spearing his breakfast with a fork.

“Convince you of what?”

A plate smacks down on the table, rattling the dishes already there. Annabeth climbs over the bench and plonks down, reaching over you to steal one of Percy’s pop tarts. You have half a mind to snatch it back.

“I’ll tell you what it’s about,” Annabeth said. “The Labyrinth.”

You look between the three of them. “Labyrinth? Are we talking, like, Theseus’s Labyrinth? Ariadne, and shit?”

“Exactly that.”

“You’re not supposed to be here,” Percy hushes. “Either of you.”

“We all need to talk!” Annabeth insists.

“But the rules…” he frowns.

You shove the rest of your bagel in your mouth. “Rules-shmules. Cut to the point—I had a dream about Nico di Angelo, and he’s working with some psycho to exchange souls. He’s being controlled by someone. Last night, the Apollo kids went out to get rid of the drakon in the woods. I’ve had a weird feeling for weeks now that something’s coming and something has changed, and all of this is happening after Luke came up with the plans to invade and take over. Coincidence? I think not. We need to do something.”

Annabeth hums. “When you pair all that with the fact that Grover’s in trouble, and the Labyrinth we found this summer over in the woods? It’s all connected. It has to be. I think the only way we can figure it all out is by going into the Labyrinth. It didn’t appear for no reason, right? Clarisse found it by total accident, and we’ve been trying to investigate it all summer. We only get so far, though…”

“So,” Percy prodded. “It’s not under the king’s palace in Crete anymore. It’s actually under some random building in America?”

“It was never just under the palace, though,” you think aloud. “It was sprawling. It existed for so long before Theseus went inside that it just…adapted. Changed. If it grew there, chances are it isn’t just under some building in America. It’s probably everywhere. Just like Olympus moves with societal changes, and how an Underworld entrance is in L.A.”

“So, is the Labyrinth a part of the Underworld?”

It’s Annabeth’s turn to be confused. Grover shook his curly head. “No. There are probably passages leading down to the Underworld in the maze, but they’re not totally connected. Think of them as…alleys between streets. The Labyrinth is basically just under the surface of the mortal world, like a second skin. It’s been growing for thousands of years. It’s connected everything everywhere. You can get practically anywhere using the Labyrinth.”

It only occurs to you, then, that, “The Labyrinth that opened in camp…is Luke’s way in. It’s how he’s going to invade everywhere. He’s got it all planned to a T. Luke must have connections in camp, because the entrance to the Labyinth wasn’t here a few months ago. Someone has to be feeding him information on how it works, where it starts and ends. How to get inside. But who?”

It all clicks into place perfectly.

You’re your mother’s daughter, alright.

As it so happened, Chiron wanted Grover to explore the maze. Clarisse spent the summer inside of it, trying to get a feel for where it led to, the entrances and exits. It’s always changing, according to her, and she got lost a couple times. Chris Rodriguez went insane down there, says Annabeth. He’s still insane. But no other advancements have been made. Because nobody can find the entrances outside, or the exits inside. Grover still wants to find the god, Pan, and believes that the maze might be the only way to find him. But Grover is Grover, and he knows how he feels, so the maze isn’t a match. Annabeth urges him to go and keep looking. But…everyone knows something is wrong. Off.

When Quintus cleared his throat far too many times to be a sore throat, Annabeth got the hint and took you over with her to your own table.

“Convince him, will you?” She asks Percy, linking her arm with yours to pull your unwilling self along. “Talk to him.”

You eye Quintus and try to decide whether you’re a paranoid schizophrenic. Mr. D. would tell you straight. But he’s not here, and so says Annabeth, he never was. There’s excitement and unsettlement buzzing in your body, like you’re gearing up for something you don’t know about just yet. Sometimes, the body knows before the brain does, and it’s never wrong.

That evening, Quintus ordered the Capture The Flag armour to be handed out. Suited up and waiting for his orders, everyone crowded as the sun began to set, burning orange over the treeline. The mood among the campers was a lot more serious than when you played Capture The Flag.

“Right!” Quintus said, standing on the head table. “Gather round.” He dressed in black leather and bronze armour, like something from the past and the future mixed into one. Throwing in his greying hair into the mix was like seeing a ghost. The giant puppy (supposedly dangerous) that was Mrs O’Leary bounded and barked around Quintus, eating scraps off the floor. “You will be in teams of two—WHICH HAVE ALREADY BEEN DECIDED.” People began to grab at their friends and scream names, until he yelled over them.

“Awwwww!” Came a chorus of disappointment.

“The goal is simple: collect the gold laurels without dying.”

You lean over subtly to Percy, though you can’t just whisper in his ear anymore, he’s got so tall. “We do that every day.”

“The wreath is wrapped in the silk package tied to the backs of the monsters. There are six of these monsters, each has a silk package. Your goal is to find the wreath before the other teams. And…of course, you will have to slay the monster to get it, and not die.”

“Neat,” you mutter. It sounds straight forward enough. Around you, people agreed.

“I will now announce your partners. There’ll be no switching. No complaining. And NO trading.”

He went on to list the pairs, from a terrified Grover and spooked Tyson, to Clarisse and Joan, to Annabeth and Mason, to Connor and Travis, and you and Percy.

Percy grinned at you. “Nice.”

You shoulder-barged him so hard his armour turned ski-whif. You twirled your dagger between your fingers with what you could describe as utter skill, heading into the woods. The teams spread out, some walking, some sprinting. Percy held his sword at his side, and you were almost jealous of it. It was still light when you got into the woods properly but the height and density of the trees made it darker and colder than it really was.

“I spy with my little eye,” Percy spun in a circle. “Uhhhh…something beginning with T.”

“Trees.” You side-eyed him.

“Smarty-pants. Your turn.”

“I spy with my little eye, something beginning with P.” You hone in on the distant scuttling.

Percy gasps dramatically. “It’s a Percy!”

Your hand flies for his sword-side wrist. “No—package. Run!”

If this were a fun game, you might have run after the package strapped to the back of the creature. However…you were really quite scared. These creatures were huge, bigger than normal monsters, scorpions altered with huge pincers and poison dripping from their sides. When one came, three more followed. How on earth were you supposed to fight them all off? You nearly tripped over backward as Percy yanked on your armour. You scrambled to keep up with him, dirt flicking up off the ground. Another creature came out from that way, too, leaving you back-to-back with Percy.

“They don’t look happy,” he said.

“Absolutely not,” you agree.

You move slowly to be side-by-side instead, moving in the one direction the monsters aren’t keeping you stuck in. Your feet shift back, the ground declining. Percy, in front of you, trusts you to guide him, deflecting a hiss of poison with the flat of his sword just in time to catch it before it landed on your face. You exhale slowly, reaching your dagger hand behind you, catching on the side of a large rock, taller than the both of you, and one on the other side. The space between the two is slim, but with the creatures closing in on you, any sort of coverage is better than none.

“Bit tight there, no?” Percy suggests nervously, reaching his free hand up to his shoulder where your hand rests up on his armour, guiding.

“Cover is cover, man. Oh, that’s a bit steep—”

Before you can say another word, the ground under your feet gives way. All the breath leaves your lungs in the sudden, unexpected fall. Percy yells, shocked, falling backward into pure darkness. You land on hard ground, your armour taking most of the impact. Slightly winded, you sit up and rely on Percy to help you up, staring at the hole you fell through, the light sky and scorpions peering down to you. The boy next to you breathes frantically, panicking.

It couldn’t get any worse, right?

Wrong. You watch in total disbelief, the hole knitting together and closing up to leave you both in the pitch black. The make of Percy’s sword provides a tiny glimmer of a glow, casting between your faces—his wide-eyed, unblinking and yours terrified.

“Percy—”

“Don’t panic. It’s—it’s fine.”

Your voice rises to a high pitch. “Where are we?!”

“Well, we’re in a hole.” His voice shakes in response.

It’s freezing down here, and damp. You take a step back, dropping your dagger. It clatters and echoes in both directions. Your palms fly back as you lean and hit a wall, sliding them across dewy concrete. A breeze blows from one direction, whistling, all the way down to the other. The space doesn’t feel tight. When you reach your hand out to find Percy in the darkness, you can’t feel him.

“Are you there?” You whisper, throat tightening.

“Right here,” he gulps, and warm fingertips land in your hair. You slide your hand up to meet his wrist and don’t let go. His pulse flutters furiously under your tight fingers. “The whole woods, and four monsters come right to us. We’re like magnets.”

“Just you, man. Son of Poseidon ‘n all.”

“Glad you find this funny.”

“I’m glad you’re glad.”

As the two of you calm down ever so slightly, you push off the wall, still holding Percy, and reach for his sword, turning the material’s dim light this way and that. It doesn’t do much. “What is this? Maintenance tunnels?”

You want to laugh. But something weak and nervous has settled on your chest. “Percy…I think we’re in the Labyrinth.” The ground beneath your feet feels like brickwork, jolty, uneven. “Safe from scorpions, anyway.”

“This is new. Has to be. We would have known if there were caves here. Surely?…”

You nod, sniffing. “Definitely.” You thought of the crack made by Nico in the dining pavilion. Had the two of you made this? But how? It didn’t seem right. You lower your hand from Percy’s sword, and he slides his hand down…into your own clammy palm, off his wrist. Eyes widening, you don’t question it. He keeps his hand there. Percy shifts the sword light.

“It’s a long room,” he mutters.

“It’s not a room,” you realise. “It’s a corridor.” The darkness felt emptier in front and behind, and you had the terrible, crawling feeling that something was watching. If this was the maze, it would make sense: the maze is alive, after all.

He took a step forward, slipping your hand away. “Don’t!” You cried, a little too loudly, partially out of worry for danger but mostly so as not to be left alone. “Don’t go down there. We need to just…find an exit. We need to get out.”

If he sensed your panic—which, being Percy, he definitely did—he tried to calm you. “It’s okay,” he tried, somewhat soft. “It’s right—there…oh.”

You tried to think rationally under the rising terror. If this really was the maze, who was the maker? You sift through hours of books and facts and history mentally in seconds, working at a thousand mental miles an hour. The original maker, would have been Daedalus—the father of Icarus. Ancient Greeks and their creations…

“There has to be some sort of exit here,” you utter, trailing your hand up the wall. You let go of Percy’s and brush both across the dewy walls. “A mark, maybe? Daedalus was a creator. All creator’s leave their trademark, I think. If we’re talking Ancient Greece then it’s probably a Greek letter or…sign…something.” You liked to assume the trademark would be something to feel, and close by. You heard Percy copying you without question. You know one another by now, and how each other works. You often lead—Percy often follows. It’s a level of trust you’ve had no choice but to build on over the years. Act first, question later.

His unsure tone came forth in the darkness. “I’m not—”

“Got it!” A eureka! moment brings relief, and a bit of weight falls from your shoulders. A dented brick in the wall, in the shape of the ancient Delta—a small L. It began to glow bright blue when you pressed into it. You’d have smiled if you weren’t so worried. The roof slid open, dirt falling in atop of you. You’d been expecting scorpions and sunlight, not…stars, and the dark sky. Elatedness turns into sheer and utter bafflement. Metal ladder rungs speared out of the wall, to the opening in the ceiling. People were screaming your names, some distantly, some close by. Percy glanced nervously to you, and nodded to the ladder.

Humid air greeted you. Up on the surface, the ground closed over again, like it had never fallen open in the first place. Percy, crouched, brushed his hand over the place there should have been a gash. Nothing.

“Where the hell have you two been?” Clarisse rounded into your space, face like fury. “We’ve been looking forever!” She demanded.

Maybe it was how you shook, leaning against the rock. It might have been the paleness of Percy’s face.

“We were only gone five minutes,” he said.

Chiron trotted up, followed by Annabeth and a new camper. “You guys okay?” She asked, breathing deep.

“We’re fine,” Percy got to his feet. “We fell into a hole.” People looked skeptically to him, but you opened your mouth.

“Honest.” Chiron looked like his worst fears were coming to life. “We were out here just fighting those scorpions and then the ground just opened. Didn’t feel that long down there, but obviously…”

“You’ve been missing for nearly three hours,” Chiron ran a hand over his face. “The game is over.”

“Yeah,” Annabeth piped up. “We nearly won. Until Tyson fell on me.”

You eyed the golden laurels Clarisse wore. Usually, she’d brag and flaunt in typical Ares-kid fashion. This time, the girl stood judging. “It just opened?” She repeated.

“Chiron, maybe we should talk about this somewhere else? At the Big House?” Said Annabeth.

Clarisse pushed further into the circle. “You found it, didn’t you? You went into the maze!”

You turned your head in a short tilt, scoffing. “Yeah. Yeah, we found it…”

Campers grew rowdy, yelling questions and firing anxiety. Chiron held his hand up and it grew quiet. “Tonight is not the right time, and this is not the right place.” He stared at the giant rock formations like they were dangerous. “All of you, back to your cabins. Get some sleep. You played well, but it’s well past curfew!”

There was a lot of complaining and mumbling, but campers dwindled and retreated to their cabins, no doubt going to talk about your missing evening with Percy.

“That explains what Luke is after,” Clarisse shrugged.

You froze. “So I was right, this morning—we found Luke’s invasion route into camp?”

If looks could kill, you’d be back in that hole. Annabeth nodded, staring at you. Clarisse popped off on a spiralling theory, and Percy pressed his hand into your shoulder. Chiron had turned grey, face stony.

You didn’t know, then.

You’d just just started digging your own grave.

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[voicesknewmyghosts]

Jealous Jealous Jealous

Jenna gets a little jealous of you and Melissa (Anon Prompt)

You can feel her eyes boring holes into the back of your head as you walk onto set. You know what’s coming; the script has slowly been building tension between yours’ and Melissa’s characters over the weeks and months you’ve been shooting, and today is the day they finally realise the feelings they have for each other. 

To say Jenna is particularly enthusiastic about watching you make out with someone she considers her sister is far from the truth, to say the least. 

She decided to stay to watch, even though she was done for the day. Whether it was out of curiosity; or a way to torture herself; or to ensure no funny business occurred; you weren’t sure. Besides, having her there always made you feel more secure in your abilities: her presence alone, whether on the sidelines, in a scene with you or simply just being in the same room always fills you with a hidden confidence only Jenna can make appear. 

However, feeling the daggers she’s currently shooting into your back, you feel a little more nervous to film this scene than you did before you and Jenna confessed your love for each other at the beginning of shooting Scream 6. 

You two had met on the set of Scream 5, quickly becoming inseparable after discovering you shared the same dark, dry humour the smaller girl had become famous for. Over time, you had grown closer and closer, until, on the second day of shooting for Scream 6, Jenna had taken you for a moonlit picnic by a lake, where she soon told you the feelings she’d been harbouring for you from the day she met you. 

She was nervous, that you could tell. She’s always been quiet around those she feels comfortable with and like she doesn’t have to perform for, but that night she looked smaller than usual.  She looked like the weight of the world was on her shoulders, and only after you kissed her gently did she look strong and confident again, almost like you were the one with the power over her; capable of making her feel like she could take on the world. 

Ever since that night you two had tried keeping your relationship a secret, at least until filming was wrapped up. 

That was until you had to kiss Melissa, and Jenna decided all bets were off the table. 

The scene was simple. Your character walks into the empty apartment - save for Sam - and confesses their undying love for her, how the Ghostface killings made life seem too short and vulnerable to be keeping a secret that big and important to yourself. 

And, with this being a movie, Sam moves in and takes your head in her hands and kisses you with a ferocity so powerful the scene ends with you falling to the ground, the aftermath left to the imagination. 

You thought you were prepared.

You were not. 

You said your lines, delivering them with as much conviction as you could, even shedding a tear or two as your character describes the hell the group have been through with Ghostface. Melissa is staring at you with a soft gaze, the corners of her mouth slowly turning into a small smile before she’s moving, grabbing your head in her hands and telling you she loves you too. And then her mouth is on yours, her hands forming a tight grip in your hair like she’s scared you’re going to leave, and then you’re falling to the floor, dragging Melissa down with you and then, mercifully, the Director yells cut. 

It was a good take; but you had to repeat it 4 more times for the Director to finally be happy with the camera angles, much to the chagrin of the figure in the corner of the room, unable to keep her eyes off of the scene in front of her. 

5 times she watched Melissa attack your face. 

5 times she had to keep her mouth shut every time the Director called for “just one more, I want the cameras moved more to the left.” 

5 times she wished she could just drag you away and claim you as hers. 

She’s not angry with you nor Melissa; that would be insane. No, she’s angry with the little goblin inside of her that makes itself known any time someone shows you attention only she should be giving you. 

And that little goblin is certainly making its presence known today. 

Jenna sees the relief in your face as you finally finish for the day. She knows how tired you are; mentally and physically, from how hard you work here. She doesn’t want to make your life harder or make things awkward with Melissa, but when you start walking towards her, that cute sleepy smile on your face? She can’t help it. 

She rushes you. All of her 5-foot-nothing body comes barrelling towards you out of the darkness, slamming you up against the wall and smashing her mouth with yours. 

You don’t have a second to breathe; Jenna is all over you like an animal; claiming what’s hers and reminding you who you belong to. 

Not that that was in any doubt to begin with, of course. She just can’t help the goblin inside of her egging her on to show you just who you belong to, no matter who sees. 

You can feel the bruises forming on your lips from how hard Jenna is kissing you. You don’t fight it, even though you know the whole cast and crew are probably trying their hardest to get out of the room as quickly as possible lest anything unsavoury happens in front of their eyes. 

As much as you wish that Jenna had perhaps saved this little show of jealousy for inside the privacy of your bedroom; you’re not complaining. The fierce show of dominance over you is enough to make you want to drag her home so you can continue this escapade in private, no holding back.

A cough from beside you startles you both out of your daze. Jenna quickly lets her tight grip on your shirt go and steps away, embarrassment evident in her body language. 

“Don’t worry Jen, i’m not stealing your girl.” Melissa chuckles before grabbing her stuff and walking towards the exit. “Carry on.” 

You can hear Melissa laughing to herself all the way down the corridor, breaking the awkward silence that had fallen between you and Jenna as you both start to giggle at the situation. 

Giggles turn into full belly laughs as you slide down the wall, Jenna following, and laugh until it hurts, tears stinging your eyes. 

It takes a while to calm down, what with every time you think about what the crew must have looked like when Jenna grabbed you setting you off again, but eventually, calm silence falls between the two of you. 

You both catch your breaths before you turn to the girl next to you. 

“So, want to finish what you started?” 

A dark smirk replaces the smile. She stands and offers her hand to you. 

“First one home gets to top.”

[descendantsramblings]

I have a little idea for Male!Reader x james Hook and morgie

-

Male reader (son of Rapunzel maybe?) Went back in time with Red and Chloe, Hook and Morgie took a certain interest in him cause the boy is a stubborn little thing with a big mouth.

The Reader is mostly annoyed/amused with Hooks flirting and finds Morgies teasing Interesting. Reader is interested in morgie (sorry hook) but the Reader knows he cant put a move on morgie even if he wants to cause that could cause problems with the timeline and the future

Its all just a mess for the reader but he may or may not become weak at one point cause lets be honest- who can resist a Dork that acts like a golden retriever.

Having the Morgie boys be some of the main people in my inbox is literally my favorite thing. I love him so much, this is wonderful.

In Another Life

Morgie le Fay x Time traveling!Reader/James Hook x Time Traveling!Reader

Pronouns Used: He/Him/His

Summary: When Rapunzel’s son is dragged back in time by his childhood best friend he finds himself the object of two villains’ affections.

Warnings: suggestive comments, crying technically, minor swearing, a few words in German, bad ending, mentions of death, the reader is kinda mean to Chloe in the first paragraph

Word Count: 2.9K

Translations (I don't speak German so I hope this is correct)

hau rein - "see ya", mein sonnenschein - "My sunshine"

    “How was I supposed to know that I’d get us sent to the past when I grabbed you? You have to forgive me at some point!” The blue-haired girl looks nearly animated in her movements as the argues with him. Chloe had managed to get him thrown into every single negative situation she’d gone through the entire time they’d known each other. But this? This takes the cake. “I can’t believe you! How dare you act like this is just a little spill, we’re stuck here Chloe. Stuck, no going home until some Wonderland kid we just met decides we can. This is not something I’ll just ‘forgive you eventually’ for! I should be at home with my family, not here in a point of time where our country doesn’t even exist yet!” His arms move wildly in the air around him as he yells. The last day with his parents until family day and now he had to spend it with someone else? And he was supposed to, what? Trust a kid who just convicted his best friend’s mother of treason? This was ridiculous. Everyone should know not to trust the person who got your mother sentenced to death to help save their mother. “What about my family? If we didn’t come back then my mom would for sure die.” “No Chloe, not we. If you and Red didn’t. This doesn’t involve me. I don’t want to be here!” “And you think I do?” 

    He turns on his heel, storming off towards the woods behind him. “(Y/n) Fitzherbert! You don’t even know where you’re going!” The boy huffs, waving a hand at her as if to brush her off “Well, guess I’ll just have to get lost!” Normally he wouldn’t be so huffy. But normally normal things were happening to him. Being the first person to experience time travel was not part of his bucket list, he could promise you that. He just needed to clear his head, regroup. That would fix him, surely it would.  The woods felt no different to the ones in his own part of the timeline, though then again, how could they be? They were just woods, just trees and grass and morning dew. It smelt fresher though, as if the air was cleaner somehow. Perhaps it was, the past couple decades had the time to affect the air, would they not? (Y/n) would never tell his friends about where exactly he went when he was alone in the woods, they all assumed he spent his time at the enchanted lake, and he  assumed it was better that way. Some things should get to be secrets, if not he’d never be alone again. He deserved to have his secrets. Everyone did, didn’t they? 

      And there it was, the old shell of a hideout that looked newer now, nicer. Not that it looked nice per say but it wasn’t what he was used to back home. The boy slowly makes his way to the side of the lagoon, jumping from rock to rock as he approached his slice of solitude. It felt like he was where he was supposed to be for the first time in the four hours he’d been stuck in the past. Listening to the familiar thump of his converse on the large flat pieces of stone put him at peace. Maybe for only a few minutes he could be at home, that’s all he wanted. Home, god Red better be able to get them back there. He just needed his taste of it, then he’d go put on a pretty face for Chloe and Red and apologize to his best friend for yelling at her. Of course he would, he always did.

   At home, he was pretty much the only person who even knew about the black lagoon, no one else was ever there. So why would he expect someone now? The two boys sitting in the hideout were a shock to him. How had he never thought about who would have used the place before him? He was smarter than that, surely he was. Had the boys been facing away from him, he would’ve just left. Actually gone to the Enchanted Lake or maybe just turned back to Chloe. That wasn’t his luck though, instead they stared at him nearly challenging him.  Silently but visibly questioning what made him think he was allowed to be in their space.

      “What have we here?” The boy with the darker hair steps towards him, hook swinging towards him in a manner that almost felt playful. “We don’t get many Princes around here. What a surprise,” he slides the dull end of the golden hook down the boy’s cheek, smirking at him, “Come here looking for something, did you?” The seductive tone of the pirate was so thick you’d have to be a fool to miss it. Something similar to how he’d spoken to Chloe earlier when she was more than ready to fight him. No doubt the pirate was just like that. His eyes go over the boy, giving him the up and down twice before scoffing, “Not for you.” Hook drops his arm, stepping back slightly with a brow quirked. “Oh really?” The other boy comes up behind him now, hands resting on Hook’s shoulders as he peers over him at the Prince. “So you’re here for me then?” His lip slots between his teeth as he looks at the boy. Something about the teasing tone Morgie used had his stomach flipping. The smirk on his face was softer, an almost hopeful twinkle in his eyes.  “Come on, Darling, we both saw how you were looking at us back in the courtyard. Who’d you come to see?” Hook crosses his arms as he speaks, shamelessly checking out the Prince. 

    “Actually,” (Y/n) steps away, heading over to that old seashell chair he  adored and falling in it, “I was hoping the place was empty. Shouldn’t you two be in class?” Morgie’s brows furrow, that was his seat, why would he take his seat? “Shouldn’t you be in class, Darling?” Eyes roll back in their sockets as he runs his hand down the fabric of the chair. It was so much nicer right now, going back to the way it was in the future was going to suck now that he knew its potential. “You don’t need to worry about where I should be.”  “Oh no,” Morgie waltzes to his side, perching on the chair beside him, so close their thighs brush as he sits, “Well, you’re in our space and my seat. So I think we do get to worry about where you’re supposed to be.” Morgie's seat, huh? He hums, a smirk on his lips, “If you say so.” “I do,” Morgie lets his eyes shamelessly linger on his mouth, taking in the smirk that seemed to tease him back. This was the closest he’d ever been to a royal without actively harassing them. He thought the stranger would pull away, maybe move from his chair all together, but he didn’t. He simply adjusted in the seat, their legs getting closer as he did, now pressed to each other, solidifying his stance on moving. “Listen boys, you can pretend I’m not here, I don’t really care. I just need a piece of home and this is as close as I can get.”  

     Hook and Morgie share a look, seeming to communicate through their eyes. This exchange student didn’t fear them in the slightest. It was new, almost a rush for the both of them. And in that moment they seemed to silently agree on something. This was going to be their new little game it seemed. Who could get the new boy’s affections first? May the odds be ever in your favor. 

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      Pretending he didn’t know exactly where they were going while walking with Red and Chloe to the Black Lagoon was harder than he thought. Surely if he was too obvious they’d get suspicious. And he couldn’t imagine how they’d react if they knew he’d spent a whole class period with two boys who would help lead to the mess they’d been facing back home. Not that he’d meant to spend time with them, of course not. Why would he? They were villains, or at least they were supposed to be. He wasn’t so sure he could call them that though, not after the way he saw them. How would those two boys, the ones who were teases as best, go on to end up on the Isle of the Lost? How would Morgie end up there at all? Surely it would have to be similar to how the VKs from his part of the timeline did, wouldn’t it? Just a victim to his family line, nothing more. Not that he knew him. Of course one afternoon wasn’t enough to know a person, but the way he spoke, the innocence in his eyes when (Y/n) had confused him a few times, that seemed a little hard to fake. 

     He lags behind the girls as they walk away from the Lagoon, lost in his own mind. Not that they’d notice, too wrapped up in talking about the prank that was meant to be pulled in two days. Chloe being a touch too distracted by the red lipstick painting the other princess’ lips. He took a mental note to tease her for that later, some point where they could all laugh about all this. He could feel eyes on him from behind, pausing to put more space between the girls before him and himself. Whoever was trailing them didn’t need to bother the princesses, he could handle them alone for sure. Left hand reaching for the sword on his hip as two bodies collide with his back. Chests to his shoulders. “Are you following us now, Darling?” “Miss us that much already?” (Y/n) turns to look over his left shoulder first, smiling at Morgie and sending him a teasing wink before turning the other way to look at Hook. Hand falling away from his sword, he wouldn't need it against them. “It seems to me you’re following me, Captain. Considering you ran into my back when I stopped walking and all.” “Touché,” he smirks, putting his hook under the boy’s chin with a smile, “Can you blame me? Watching you walk away is quite the view.” 

   He laughs, stepping away from the pirate and slightly running into Morgie. “You pirates are all so shameless. Ego’s bigger than your ship isn’t it?” “Oh wouldn’t you like to know? You should come ride it some time.” He winks at the Prince, words obviously holding a double meaning that should've brought a blush to his cheeks. (Y/n) laughs, taking notice of the gentle hand that had found its way onto his shoulder from behind. “Oh, I’ve seen the Jolly Roger, she’s not that impressive.” Hook raises a brow, “Oh you have? How haven’t I seen you before, then?” Shit, he hadn’t seen the Jolly Roger while Hook was the Captain. He shouldn’t have let that slip. “I’ve visited Neverland a time or two, guess you just aren’t that observant.” Hopefully it was convincing enough, he turns to the sorcerer behind him, the boy looking down at him. “You would’ve noticed me, wouldn’t you?” He hoped it would help make his earlier words more convincing or at least serve as a good distraction from them. If it hadn’t been so dark, the boy would’ve seen the pink hue drawn to Morgie’s cheeks and ears. The villain silently thanking Uliana for wanting to wait until dark to discuss their plans for revenge, had they done this earlier he would’ve been caught for sure. “Of course I would. Look at you.” It wasn’t as smooth as he’d hoped for, nothing like the line delivery he’d had in the daylight but he could still see a smile play across the Prince’s face, teeth and eyes sparkling in the pale moonlight. 

    “I’d hope so, I like the attention.” He knew better than to play with him like that. Who knew how they’d be changing the future just from a small interaction. Though it seemed that Chloe and Red hadn’t, (Y/n) did learn a thing or two about the Butterfly Effect. He could only hope to all things good that he wouldn’t ruin his own future by just being between the two boys. If he was stronger, maybe he'd move. It was hard not to linger there though, with that sweet look on Morgie’s face and the burning feeling of the pirate’s eyes on him. Boys back home never looked at him like this .Never stared at his lips the way Morgie did, it felt good. And if he wasn’t so scared of changing things, he might have just given in to those half lidded eyes that were locked on his lips and leaned up. Were they as soft as they looked? It was like the other boy could read his thoughts, Hook turning him to face away from Morgie with a teasing smirk playing on his lips,  “If it’s attention you’re looking for, I know a great source.” (Y/n) laughs, shaking his head as he pulls away from both of them. “You don’t know when to quit, do you, Captain? Well, hau rein boys, have a good night.” 

     Morgie hates to admit to how hard he was staring as he watched the prince walk away from him. Eyes locked on the royal strut, he knew Hook’s would be too. It was nearly impossible to look away from him. “What language was that?” He spares Hook a look when the darkness swallows the boy’s receding form, brows raised in confusion. “I,” Hook stops, turning to look at his friend with an equally confused face, “I’m not sure.” 

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    Two days in the past shouldn’t have this effect on him. It’s embarrassing, how did he let a boy he just met get him so wrapped up like this. A boy he couldn’t even have, and yet he was begging for an extra thirty minutes in the past to just say goodbye. Running through the halls of Merlin academy just hoping to see a flash of black and green. He had to say goodbye, he just, he had something he had to do. For himself. Where would a sorcerer whose friends all just got frozen by a magic cookbook be hiding? Where would he be if Chloe had just been frozen? 

    Looking for whoever did it to her. Without a second thought he’d be looking for whoever hurt her. And if Morgie was anything like him, that's what he'd be doing too. So that means, he needed to retrace his steps from the office to Red’s dorm. Running back towards the dorm and straight past it he ends up slamming into a solid chest. Two strong hands grabbing his arms and stabilizing him as the impact almost sends him falling backwards. He looks up to see a pair of hazel eyes that had plagued him for the past two days. He assumes they’ll be haunting him for the rest of his life now. The boy being forever unattainable.  The thought was nauseating.

    “Hey! Careful there, you almost wiped out,” Morgie’s hands slide down his arms, ghosting over the bewildered look on his face, “You okay, (Y/n)?” He didn’t know the boy well, Morgie couldn’t deny that. But he could feel in his heart of hearts that the way the boy laughed at his question was out of character. “I was looking for you actually, lucky me that you were,” he looks at those pretty eyes again, letting out a shaky breath, “Right here.” A pale pink lip slides between his teeth, disrupting the smile that was trying to spread across his face, “Lucky I was, someone had to catch you.” (Y/n) shakes his head, breaking eye contact, “People don’t tend to catch me very often.”It makes Morgie place a single knuckle under his chin, tilting his face back up so he has to look him in the eyes again. “I’d catch you every time. I actually was looking for you too. I needed to ask you something.” 

     The sorcerer had that hopeful look back in his eyes, the one he'd had back in the hide out. It made (Y/n)’s chest hurt. “You did?” He nods, smile stretched across his face as he pulls his hands back to himself, fiddling with his fingers as he speaks. “Listen, I know that it’s super late, considering it’s tomorrow and all, but I was wondering if you’d go to Castlecoming with me? I know we just met and all but there’s no better time to get to know each other right?” He knew from the way the Prince’s face fell that there was no way he’d get the answer he wanted. If he was smarter, maybe he would've run away. 

     “Oh, Morgie, in another life I’d be able to answer that the way I want to.” He frowns, brows furrowing, “Well, why can’t you?” He lets his palm rest on Morgie’s cheek, and despite the fact that the boy’s heart was visibly breaking, he nuzzles against his hand. “You could never understand how us being together would effect where I’m from,” it’s shaky, a slow breath following his words. His voice was weaker than he wanted it to be. “Is it,” he takes a shaky breath, eyes growing a little blurry as he looks at the prince. He thought he was different, that maybe his family wouldn’t matter to him, how silly he was to believe that. “Is it because I’m a villain?” (Y/n) knew better when he leaned forward, he knew better than placing his lips on those pretty pale pink ones. It was a kiss he’d compare to every one that followed. Soft, sweet and sad, a poetic moment that would only ever get to be a memory. He knew he’d regret it when he went home and nothing felt like the lips of the second generation sorcerer. Forehead resting on the other boy’s as he lets out a sigh, eyes still closed because he knew he couldn't look at the boy and get his words out. The way he caught feelings for the first person to show him attention was embarrassing. “Mein sonnenschein, I didn’t get to know you well, but I know you are no villain. In another life I’d be your happily ever after.” Morgie frowns, pulling away from him, “I wish it could be this one.” Eyes opening at the loss of contact, (Y/n) looks up at the boy, his words were doing more harm than good. He knew he should turn away, he needed to get back to Red - to his home-, but tearing his eyes away from the boy would hurt. “Yeah,” he wipes a tear he didn’t mean to let slip, “Yeah, I do too.”

Yeah, there was no way he'd just "forgive Chloe at some point" over this one. No one is supposed to break their own heart.

Find Part 2 Here

[cherrypikkins]

Here is my contribution for today’s prompt for @fe-oc-week ! Oct 11 - Backstory

Today I will be providing more context about Kitt's life before Garreg Mach!

(cw: blood, death, injury, body horror)

Below the read more is more lore! :3

The Village at Lake Annwen - Part I Deep within the mountain wilderness lie the ruins of an ancient city not unlike Zanado. Here, the villagers of Annwen venerated Gwyn - the Unsung Hero - honoring their life and deeds through unique traditions passed down with each generation. In particular, the villagers safeguarded unique stones said to bear ancient magic. Each villager, when they were near adulthood, would endure a series of trials testing their bravery, skill, and conviction in order to inherit their own stone. The most prized of these stones was the Heart of Annwen, from which all stones of its kind originate. It was said to have been left behind when Gwyn entered their final rest. The youngest and last-known bearer of this stone was Kitt Burgess, who passed all their trials with success heretofore unseen.

Like their predecessors, Kitt was responsible for protecting the stone with their very life, and was provided secret tutelage on how the Heart of Annwen may be used. The most forbidden knowledge of all was the Rite of Awakening, in which the stone may be used to call forth Gwyn from their endless sleep. Though this would supposedly allow the hero of legend to return to life, such a course of action would have irreversible consequences for the villagers of Annwen.

By invoking the ritual, whoever carried the Heart of Annwen would serve as Gwyn's corporeal vessel. Those who carried its fragments close to their hearts would be offered up in sacrifice and reborn as Gwyn's retinue of warriors. And so, such a ritual was to only be used in desperate circumstances, when the village faced no chance of salvation and Gwyn was needed to avenge their people and protect the outside world from greater disaster.

Though the story of Gwyn and the former ancient city of Annwen is not widely known across Fodlan, the village received occasional visitors in the form of traveling merchants, pilgrims, and scholars who wished learn more of Gwyn, one of the more obscure figures in Fodlan's ancient history. In recent years, an envoy of mages began to make frequent visits to Annwen, dressed in dark cloaks and claiming to be affiliated with the Church of Seiros. Not long after, the disaster of Annwen unfolded…

Today, there is nothing left of the village - save for corpses and monsters among burnt buildings. Only Kitt emerged as the sole survivor, a familiar red stone embedded in their neck, and a knife clutched in their hands. The Church of Seiros conducted an investigation, but failed to determine the exactly what had transpired. At the desecrated site of Gwyn's final resting place, near the ruined village of Annwen, there is evidence that a ritual did in fact take place. But if it was indeed the Rite of Awakening, then something must have gone horribly awry - for the villagers have all transformed into Demonic Beasts… and the hero Gwyn is nowhere to be found.

The Capricious One - Part II The Capricious One lived in a time when the humanity began to turn jealous eyes upon the Children of the Goddess. Hoping to instill a sense of purpose in their wayward child, The Progenitor God sent The Capricious One to barter peace and diplomacy with the Agarthans when the first sparks of conflict appeared.

Instead, The Capricious One began to spy upon their own brethren in earnest for the benefit of the Agarthans, revealing the secrets of the Nabatean people and their physiology.

What was the reason for this?

Some say they held a grudge against their own family for past slights. Some say they desired a fair fight between the Nabateans and the Agarthans, fearing that the humans were far outmatched and in danger of being annihilated.

In any case, the Capricious One was genuinely invested in helping mankind advance their craft and innovation. They offered their scales and blood to the Agarthans, which would be used to fashion the first prototype Umbral Steel weapons - early predecessors of the Heroes' Relics.

Their contributions were enough to shift the tides of war, causing the conflict to escalate greatly. Soldiers wielding magical weapons of unknown make began to appear, sending the Nabateans on the backfoot and causing widespread destruction throughout the land. The Children of the Goddess whispered of a fearsome Agarthan warrior who shadowed their every step and harried them at every turn like a demon who knew their weaknesses, laughing and reveling at the violence that tore the beloved land apart.

The Umbral Weapons looted from the fallen Agarthan soldiers were brought to Sothis herself and examined more closely. It was then that the treachery of the Capricious One was finally exposed. They were the one responsible for these horrid new weapons, and they were the true identity of the Agarthan warrior who took joy in tormenting the Nabatean people.

Confronted by their brethren, the Capricious One prepared to explain themselves. But what the Immaculate One did next ensured that they would speak not one word more.

(to be continued…)

[daughter-of-melpomene]

𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐃𝐔𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐆… 𝐌𝐘 𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐄𝐑𝐀 𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑, 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐋𝐀 𝐆𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐙

❝ Ever since she was a young witch, No Maj-born and new to this magical world, being taught in the halls of Ilvermorny School, Mariela had longed to see Hogwarts. She had heard the stories her teachers told about it and listened to the tales spouted by her classmates who had magical family in the United Kingdom, her attention fully focused on the descriptions of the huge castle in the Scottish highlands with its constantly shifting staircases and huge lake that housed a giant squid. And though she loved her own school, loved being in Thunderbird house and learning all about this secret wonderful world that she’d been unaware of for the first eleven years of her life, there was still a significant part of her that wanted to experience Hogwarts’s magnificence someday.

And so, many years after she’d graduated Ilvermorny and become a teacher at it herself, Mariela was unable to resist when she heard that Hogwarts was seeking a new teacher for their Muggle Studies course. She’d put in her application, packed her bags, and moved to England, and blessedly found that not only was Hogwarts all she’d dreamed it would be, but that she took to her new position like a fish to water. She got along well with her students, who loved the amount of respect and consideration she had for them (as well as her seemingly endless supply of American candy) and having grown up in a non-magical household, it was agreed among both students and her fellow faculty that she was incredibly well-suited for teaching her subject.

Mariela also managed to get along quite well with her fellow teachers, in particular the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. (And with the exception of the surly Potions professor, since Mariela never hesitated to take points away from any disrespectful students from his house, but she didn’t think much of him anyway.) Remus Lupin, as quiet and withdrawn as he was, was also kind and intelligent and incredibly interesting to talk to, and Mariela liked him instantly. He seemed to like her as well, which was always a bonus, and with all the nights they spent together chatting in her office, sipping tea and talking about everything and nothing - or, well, Remus sipped tea, Mariela sipped coffee and refused to even have a drop of what she called “hot leaf water” - it wasn’t exactly a surprise that Mariela found herself developing deeper feelings for him.

But then Mariela discovered two things that forever changed the way she saw Remus. First, that he was a werewolf, which wasn’t a problem for her at all; second, that he apparently knew the supposedly crazed and murderous fugitive the whole of Hogwarts had been fearing all year, and was definitely in love with him, which was a problem. Mariela did her best to not be crushed by this knowledge; after all, she had no claim to Remus and really just wanted him to happy, and Sirius Black actually seemed like a pretty good guy, despite what everyone seemed to think about him. Plus, it turned out that he was actually innocent of the crimes he’d been convicted of and was in fact the Savior of the Wizarding World’s godfather, so there was also that.

And though Mariela was understandably upset when Remus was forced to resign and leave Hogwarts, she made a promise to him that she would look out for Harry Potter and his friends, since she would have done almost anything for him. But in an unexpected turn of events, it turned out that making that promise also wound up tasking her with looking after Sirius Black in the form of a large dog as he hid out in a cave close to Hogwarts, bringing him food when she could and occasionally just popping in to check if he were still alive and hadn’t yet been found by the wizarding authorities. It wasn’t always an easy task, but Mariela wasn’t complaining; it soothed Remus’s anxiety, which was her goal, and besides, Sirius was actually very funny and nice to talk to, when he was in human form.

The only thing is, the more time Mariela spends in the cave talking to Sirius, the more she finds herself feeling something deeper for him. The same something she felt about Remus, and still feels about Remus. And all this in the midst of a growing darkness in the Wizarding World, a war ended over a decade ago potentially coming back for a second act, and Mariela trying her best to keep an incredibly selflessly reckless young man and his two friends from getting themselves killed every other week.

Mariela never thought she’d say this, but she’s starting to wish she’d left Hogwarts alone. ❞

Wizarding World Taglist: @manyfandomocs, @of-asters-and-roses.

General Taglist: @hiddenqveendom, @foxesandmagic, @artemisocs, @reyofluke-ocs,

@endless-oc-creations, @stanshollaand, @ginnystilinski-reblogs, @luucypevensie,

@ginger-grimm, @arrthurpendragon, @fakedatings, @impales, @claryxjackson,

@dancingsunflowers-ocs, @eddysocs, @lucys-chen, @ocappreciationtag.

[willtheweaver]

OC questionnaire tag

TY for the tag @theink-stainedfolk @drchenquill

My questions are:

1. What is one thing from your past you wish you could change?

2. If you could master one skill instantly, what would it be and how would you use it?

3. Who is the most important person in your life and what have they taught you?

4. If you had the power to erase someone’s memories, who would it be and why?

5. Do you have a habit that would be considered weird by other people?

6. If you had to choose just one drink to drink for the rest of your life, what would it be and why?

Answering again is Fen from A Feather in the Forest

1. What is the one thing from your past you wish you could change?

Fen: I would find a way for…for… for my mother to avoid getting the sickness. I still miss her.

2. If you could master one skill instantly, what would it be and how would you use it?

Fen: One skill? Well, as someone who wants to know what lies beyond the wall and the lake, I would like to fly. I know, what do you mean, you’re a crow. Thing is, I need to keep my true identity a secret. I have no idea how to fly, and I dare not leave my flight feathers unclipped.

3. Who is the most important person in your life and what have they taught you?

Fen: That would be my mother. From her I learned that family is more than blood, and that I should stay true to my convictions, and that dreams are worth pursuing.

4. If you had the power to erase someone’s memories, who should it be and why?

Fen: Erase someone’s memories? I don’t know if I should be given such a power. Well, if I had to choose, I would remove all the pain and sorrow from my father. The loss of my mother hit him harder than me, and he has been so listless and unresponsive for the past two years…that is no way to live.

5. Do you have a habit that would be considered weird by other people?

Fen: Well, I need to ingest grit and pebbles every so often to help with digestion (Hey, I am a bird after all).

6. If you had to choose just one drink to drink for the rest of your life, what would it be and why?

Fen: an easy one at last. I would be quite happy with drinking only ginger tea.

NP Tag @i-can-even-burn-salad @paeliae-occasionally @fractured-shield @mk-writes-stuff @words-after-midnight

@bookish-karina @thepeculiarbird @literarynecromancy @winglesswriter @agirlandherquill

@phoenixradiant @winterandwords and open tag

Your questions are:

1. What was your happiest memory?

2. When was the last time you got sick?

3. What are your hopes for the future?

[thatsmybook]

Gif by @leojfitz

One of my favourite things about episode 6 of season 3 is that it almost has a complete-movie feel about it. To me, it makes sense that it was released seperate to the first five episodes of the season, because its structure is so unique, and it screams finale with the same weight that a pilot episode tells you what a show is about. It's like a "Picture Perfect Movie", while underneath there is so much heartache and things are anything but perfect. It's not perfect because our Wilmon seem like they'll never be together, and it's not perfect because we're having to say goodbye to the show and none of us want to go.

The episode starts with Wille saying that he has to fix his own problems. He knows this and has had insights about it since he read the book Kris. Kris incapsulates the dilemma that Wille has always had. When he looks at the book twice this episode, he is remembering all that he and Simon learned from the book that applies to them. As Wille says, he understands Simon. He DOES know why they've broken up. Throughout the episode we see that Wille understands what he wants to do, but he is trying to figure out how to do that and to reconcile with what is still standing in his way, in his mind.

Simon similarly is recalling their conversation around the book Kris. He understands Wille's dilemma, he always has. I've heard the audience talk about how Simon doesn't understand the pressures Wille is under. I disagree. He always has, from the very beginning, and in a very unique and often subtle way. From the start, he knows to keep his relationship with Wille hidden when he tells Sara - he has to hide it for his sake. Wille never asks him to do that, he just knows to keep it secret. He accepts Wille's terms, but he doesn't like it. He understands as a queer person that Wille has some work to do to work out what he wants so that he is not going backwards and forwards all the time. He tells him to take his time doing that. Simon, not wanting to be a secret personally, is separate from what Wille's own needs are. Whether their needs align at all in the future is something that Simon respects. But it has to be done for their own sake for it to be genuine. It's a realisation one can only come to on their own. Simon never asks Wille to come out for them to be together.

Simon realises that Wille is inspired by his feelings for him to make changes. So when he stops wanting to make those changes in season three, Simon is disappointed, but he understands. He is still going through his process. He can't just throw everything he's learned from the monarchy out the window. He questions him about why he loves the monarchy when it makes him feel so bad. Simon knows about Wille's pressures just by observing him.

In this last episode, he has broken up with Wille, but he is still there for him. He is still helping Wille through his process. He let's him tell him all he needs to at the lake. He is insistent to him that they have not broken up because of Wille but because of his circumstances. Then his song is a full-on reminder to help Wille remember all his previous convictions about what is fake, how he can be free, and what his true feelings are. What he deserves to have: to be listened to and to be allowed to grieve and be his full self. Once again, Simon is telling Wille that he should be free for his own sake. Not for Simon. Simon understands and validates Wille's needs. His final goodbye and distancing himself from the monarchy is for his own sake. Again, not wanting to be in a secret relationship and not wanting to be in a relationship with the monarchy, are his own decisions (having tried it out), for his own sake.

Neither of these things are ultimatums. In relationships, compromises are made through trial and error, and Wilmon demonstrate real life relationships so well. Their mature decisions in this final episode are full of self-love and selflessness. Neither one wants to put pressure on the other that could lead to future resentment. Also, their decisions are based on what could make them most content even if they were to go their separate ways again.

The miscommunications in this season were surface level. They both understood each other when they had time to reflect and remember. Their relationship has always been the business of the outside world once that sex tape was released. When they were able to let go of those influences on them, literally and in their own minds, they were finally able to be together freely. They no longer had to mask their true feelings for fear of hurting the other person. Their hidden feelings being: Wille's guilt for what Simon is going through to be his boyfriend and Simon's depression brought on by public bombardment for daring to be Wille's boyfriend.

[thesharktanksdriver]

Little Blue (Platonic)

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟎: 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠

𝐎𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬: 𝟏

❝ 𝐈𝐟 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞r 𝐈𝐟 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐈'𝐥𝐥 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐬𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐘𝐨𝐮'𝐯𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐩 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐈 𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 ❞

Admittedly your family has always been a bit odd

Mostly on your dad’s end but your mom was no exception either

For your dad it was cause he was technically legally dead to the government

Having to make himself a new name

New ID

New everything

He doesn’t talk about it much

Hell you didn’t even know of it till your 13th birthday when he sat you down that night and told you the truth

Of how he was initially blamed for something that wasn’t his fault and made into a convict

Placed on death row before him and aunty Rebecca teamed up against some very bad monsters

He doesn’t talk about it often

Sometimes you think he might have some form of ptsd since there are moments he freezes

Or you wake up to find him hunched over the table during the middle of the night

Looking down at the scratched and worn dogtags you inherited on that same birthday

It’s perhaps because of that experience he and aunt Rebecca taught you to shoot and survive

That paranoia of something happening to you

You weren’t sure when it would come In Handy but you appreciated why he wanted to teach you

How bringing you to a gun range over the weekends became a routine thing for the two of you

Him gently helping you line up a shot

Or properly clean your weapon

You got why your dad remained secretive

His life was on the line otherwise

But your mom on the other hand was a different story

From what you know from letters from uncle Luis they came from a small isolated Spanish village

One steeped in tradition and solitude

Your mother preferred not to talk about her childhood despite you asking her

Eventually you stopped and just relied on Luis for information since stuff online was limited

Growing up he’d tell you of a castle off in the distance that held an ancient curse

A beautiful lake that he and her would play near as they caught salamanders

Secret passages in the woods shown to them by their grandfather

A childhood friend the two shared

Growing up the place sounded almost dreamlike

A place untouched by time, acting like a portal to the 18th century

You grew up reading these letters, waiting by the mail with your mother as she smiled at how enthusiastic you were about getting them

Though you’d never met your uncle Luis in person he was one of your best friends

He had a certain way of writing that made his letters that more enjoyable to read

Especially since they evolved from when you were young till now

You used to pack little stickers or glitter but now replaced them with photographs of you aging through the years

It was fun

Especially as he found himself giving you your nickname “Pequeña/o azul”

The nickname Little blue was given to you cause of your now trademark baby blue hoodie

A commonality he saw in said photo’s

Your mother joked he had a nickname for everyone

Hers was “Madre Oso” for some reason, mama bear

Something to do with a story in her teens she said with a bit of a chuckle and her now being a mom

He only ever once met your dad at the wedding

He nicknamed him “Lobo Solitario”, lone wolf since those were the vibes he got from him

Very much true in more ways than one

Over time you stopped asking of the village

Growing disinterested as you focused on school and asking what uncle Luis had been up to

Apparently while he stayed in Spain, he moved to the bigger cities

Continuing his schooling as he studied in the sciences

He’d sometimes talk of doing experiments

Even doodling small sketches of what looked to be some sort of bug

It was cool

Especially for your 15 year old self to think about about at night

Everything was fine

Until it wasn’t

It came as a letter, one sent by Luis in rushed handwriting

Begging, pleading, your mom to go back to their home town

That he needed to see her urgently

It left your mom in a panic with your dad not being able to do much to help her

He couldn’t calm her down as she began searching online for tickets for both you and her

The frantic mumbling of her voice filling the house as the night proceeded on

You barely had time to pack as the flight left in about the next day

Just getting in the necessities before having to jump into your dad’s pick up truck

He hugs and kisses your mom

Then does the same to you, placing a kiss on your forehead and promising that everything would be alright as he sees you nervously fiddle with his tags

The sight of which makes him chuckle a bit

As you wait for the plane you brush up a bit on your Spanish

It’s not the best but you certainly know enough the read and get around

Though you study it a bit just in case due to nerves

Doesn’t help much either that the place is more on security than ever

News of the president’s daughter going missing still in the headlines

The blond was a few years older than you

A fresh face to collage and apparently a kind girl

It makes you upset that the poor girl is gone

Moreso for her parents who must be worried sick

You turn you gaze away from the sight of her face on a magazine

Your mom sits beside you

Her hand clasping your own as she nervously taps her foot

She was conservative clothes of an autumn orange sweater and a old skirt, her boots are fitted for hiking

You wear your baby blue hoodie and jeans, your shoes are some doc martins

She said it would be alright for seeing Luis but to be prepared to get looks from the villagers

She said you’d look like a time traveler compared to them which made you laugh a bit

Perhaps it would be funnier if her nervousness wasn’t infecting you

Despite that you try to keep positive

To keep a smile for her sake as a way to comfort her

It doesn’t do much but it’s the last you can do as you both enter the plane

Hand In Hand

The rental car you now sit in plays some Spanish song over the radio as the wheels of the car crush old sticks and stones on the dirt pathway

Your mom taps a nervous finger against the steering wheel

The nail polish on them is now chipped and cracked as is your own

Your bag near your feet laying partially empty with only a small notebook, earbuds, water bottle and a few snacks

Nothing serious as the only other objects not in the bag being your iPod + headphones that play the tune of everlong into your ears at a low volume

And your pocket knife that lays sighing your hoodie pocket

You have your head propped up by your hand on the window

Watching as trees pass by that are occupied by crows

Getting deeper

And deeper into the country as you feel an uncomfortable feeling grip you

Though you know nothing bad is in those woods you can’t help but imagine something out there

Watching

Waiting

Doesn’t help that it’s sunset either so night will quickly fall soon

It leaves a bitter taste in your mouth that no amount of water can wash away

Your eyes drift away and back to your mom

Specifically the yellowed note that sticks out her bag that you take

You read along the words scribbled in ink

Pausing your song as you focus on what your reading

When we he’s send one to your mom it was in their mother tongue of Spanish

A small tradition between the two of them that transferred to this as well

…but something seemed wrong with it

Even with something serious like this it doesn’t seem like he’d not use the nickname he gave her

But maybe you were reading too much into this

Your paranoia getting to you as a response to this all

It was a natural thing to do

To read in-between the lines when nothing was the lines when nothing was there

“So was there a specific reason why he asked us to come here?”

“He said something about it relating to his experiments. How I needed to come urgently, other than that I’m not sure but…I can’t leave him”

You nod turning to look out the front window, watching the path

“Is there anything I need to know about the place beforehand?. He would sometimes mention stuff like a castle but other than that…”

“Ah yes…the castle. Me and Luis would sneak out to sometimes see it off in the distance. It’s owned by the Salazars, an ancient clan so to speak that saved the land from a curse. Of course that’s all legend, but their wealth is certainly something to see for yourself. Also infuriating when your scrounging for money to survive whilst they live in luxury”

“Sounds like a French Revolution repeat”

She giggles a bit at that

“I wish. Certainly would’ve been interesting if it did turn out that way.”

“Anything else mom?”

“Hmm well…I’m guessing you know their conservative”

“Yep”

“And the passageways?”

“Showed by Grandpa to you and uncle”

“Ah alright um…I guess the only other thing you should know about is-“

The car comes to a halting stop as a man suddenly steps out of the woods and into the road

She barely had enough time to stop the car

She mumbled obscenities under her breath in Spanish as she looks at the man

There’s something wrong about him

His eyes…

“Mom, I don’t have a good feeling about this”

“Me neither but…we don’t have much an option”

She rolls down the window as the man come to her side of the car

They converse but you don’t pay attention to their words

All you can focus on is his gaze

He doesn’t seem to blink at all much to your horror

Whatever conversation they have is cut short when she notices how he’s staring at you uncomfortably

It makes her snap at him in anger and redirect his attention to her

It’s there when you notice the red glare of something in the corner of your eyes

A reflection

A man, a tall one at that in a trench coat

One eye is distinctly different from the other

You see him reel back his arm and-

“Mom!”

You grant your bag lunging away from the man but can’t do much as he grabs you

She screams trying to grab you before the man by her window brings her out as well

He holds you by your neck

Feet just touch the ground as a threat it makes you shake in panic and sweat begins to tread down your brow

You stay silent in fear as your mom try’s to reason with them

Wanting to know what the fuck was happening

“M-mom I don’t think Luis wrote that letter”

It comes out small but it’s enough to make her go still

“The child is correct”

From the corner of your eye you stare back up at the man currently holding you

“The fuck do you want?!, let go of my kid asshole!”

“We need leverage over him”

He talks to the man holding her in Spanish

She’s pushed to the ground onto her knees

Hands behind her head as a look pure fear replaces her expression

She looks to you, tears lining her eyes

She mouths the words “run” and then “I love you”

As she does this you sneak a hand to your pocket getting your pocket knife ready

“We only need one”

It happens like a blur one moment your being held captive and your mom is alive and the next she’s gone

A pitchfork stabbed through her head

Blood dripping down

The colour staining the ground that ugly hue

And then you jab the knife into the man’s hand leading for you to run

You run blindly into the woods

You can’t see from the adrenaline and tears just pouring from your eyes

It’s getting dark now

You’ve stopped hearing footsteps and Spanish yelled as they chased you

Now all you hear is your own heartbeat and sobs

It’s cold

You feel so cold both emotionally and physically but you know you have to carry on

She’d want you to

You need to get back home to your dad

Get to an embassy or something

But even then your not sure what to do from now

Your in the middle of fucking nowhere

You don’t know where the nearest city is and you’d have to get there by foot

But you’d then also be leaving your uncle Luis behind for these people

Your small form curls up in a ball on the ground on fallen leaves

You son until exhaustion takes you

You momentarily wake up as footsteps get closer to you

Tired eyes stare up at a man who looked different to the villagers who chased you into the brush

He wears a trench coat with a hood and a covering over the bottom half of his face

He kneels down

Warm glowing eyes staring at you with kindness

“Need help there kid?”

You can only nod your head slightly

He thankfully sees it and picks you up from the come ground

“It’s alright, get some rest”

You do as he says

Letting sleep take you once again as memories of your mother play like a broken rec

[eretzyisrael]

by Eli Lake

This is not the first time that prominent Jews have used their words to advance the aims of the enemies of our people. It is, sadly, a long tradition. Centuries ago, when there was no Jewish state, the AsAJews of their day lobbied their hosts in the Diaspora to banish or convert the Jewish people to Christianity and to confiscate and burn the Talmud. There are many examples of this kind of treachery, but there is one episode from the 16th century that truly illuminates our current moment.

August 13, 1509. That is the date on which Emperor Maximilian I of the Holy Roman Empire issued the infamous Padua Mandate, ordering all Jewish books, with the exception of the Old Testament, to be confiscated and destroyed.

By 1509, this kind of edict was not unusual in Europe. The Middle Ages saw a succession of libels proliferated against the Jews. We were accused of stealing or desecrating the substantiation of Christ in the ritual wafer. Of using the blood of Christian children in secret rituals. We were condemned as sorcerers, alchemists, necromancers, heretics, and blasphemers. And even though these tales were fictions, the punishments were very real. When a Jew was accused of defiling the wafer in the German town of Belitz in the 13th century, all the Jews there were burned at the stake. The blood libel of 1475, which claimed that Jews kidnapped, tortured, and killed a boy known as Simon of Trent, resulted in a similar pogrom.

Jewish books in particular were a target for the Medieval anti-Semites who believed that the Talmud contained in its pages knowledge of magic that gave Jews special powers. They also thought that the Talmud encouraged heresies against the Church and taught Jews to hate Catholics. In this respect the German-born Maximilian was part of a long tradition that sought to abolish Jewish learning. By the time of the Padua Mandate, he had already expelled the Jews living in three of the Holy Roman Empire’s German territories.

Still, by the standards of European leaders of the day, Maximilian was by no means the worst. Despite his expulsions, there were prominent Jewish families throughout Germany that prospered. He was hostile to the Jews, but he was not a fanatic. What led him to issue the Padua Mandate was a man who had the zeal of the convert, an AsAJew named Johannes Pfefferkorn.

Born in Nuremberg in 1469, Pfefferkorn was a mediocrity. He was a vagabond who wandered medieval Germany before ending up in Cologne. In 1505, he was convicted and imprisoned for robbing a butcher. But by the next year he was free. He announced he’d had an epiphany in prison, and, in 1506, Pfefferkorn converted to Catholicism and was baptized by Dominican friars along with his wife and children.

A little background on the Dominicans, who were among the leaders of the Spanish Inquisition: We remember that first effort at eliminating Jewry in Europe because of its expulsion of Jewish citizens, horrific forced conversions, and monstrous acts of mass torture. But a major component of the Inquisition was a war on Jewish texts. By the time of the Inquisition, the targeting of Jewish books had been going on for at least 100 years. The first major burnings and confiscations of the Talmud happened in the 13th century at the urgings of both popes and kings. And even though the Jews formally appealed to the Vatican, their protests fell on deaf ears.

One instigator of all this was an earlier Jewish convert to Catholicism. His name was Nicholas Donin. He persuaded Pope Gregory IX that the Jewish Talmud was a vicious slander against Christ and his followers. And it was Gregory who ordered the confiscation and burnings of the Talmud during the Inquisition.

So when Pfefferkorn wandered out of jail back in 1505, the Dominicans believed they had found their next Donin, an ex-Jew who could persuade the Church and the emperor to round up all the Talmuds in Germany.

[ambiguouspuzuma]

Riders

She'd found him hiding in a cave, on one of her many adventures. Pyra loved exploring the lesser-known places, the interior chambers of the mountains where they'd made their nests: internal organs which glistened with milky limestone teeth, a darkness that ran slick with secret crystal streams. Searching for this. Looking for him.

He was a rider. She knew that much from the paintings she'd found, in one of the earliest caverns, closest to the surface - tan likenesses of her and their kind, hunting mastodons and elk together - and from the stories that her mother had passed down, just as her grandmother had first recited them to her.

Once upon a time, the drakefolk tales began, there had been riders: two-legged creatures who would clamber up onto their backs, perched like a raven in between their wings, and cling on as they flew to hunt their mutual prey, explore uncharted lands across the lakes, and even to wage war against the others of their kind.

It had been a prosperous relationship. In exchange for the drakefolk's flight and breath-fire, which more than outclassed the riders' own crude spears and slings, they had provided healing balms and tonics, woven blankets for the winter chill, and even care for fresh hatchlings - which, thanks to their tiny, delicate limbs, had been known to surpass even a mother's own.

But then, one day, they had vanished. It may have happened gradually, over time, or perhaps all at once - the stories were unclear, but all agreed that riders, like other creatures from the myths, were now gone from this world. All that remained were a few relics that the elders had preserved: a tattered blanket one more tear away from rags, a broken spear without a hand to hold it tight, and a tiny skull the size of Pyra's eye.

At least, that was the way the stories all ended. Pyra didn't accept it, couldn't accept that such magical creatures were gone from the world for good. They had to be hiding, she decided. For some reason, they had come to fear the drakefolk after centuries of peace, and thus had fled into the hard-to-reach places, the secret passageways and bolt-holes hidden underneath their claws.

She resolved to find them, to make her belated peace, and bring them back again into the light. So it was that she'd begun her long campaign, out of her mother's worrying sight - she'd found another spear, which she'd kept hidden in a grotto of her own, and then the paintings, which had emboldened her resolve. Riders had lived here, within the caves, and that had bolstered her conviction they might also live here still.

Today was the vindication of that lifelong search, the conclusion of a journey that had begun in the dreams of her infancy, from her mother's first once upon a time. A rider, just ten talons ahead of her. A rider, sat in one of her caves. He would know that drakefolk existed, of course - they did not hide, could not hide, and their silhouettes were ever-present in the skies. But he had her at a disadvantage. Pyra could barely bring herself to breathe.

The man was leant comfortably against a wall, as if resting, but with his eyes fixed firmly on the entrance: warily watching for intruders, and now perfectly placed to track her own approach. Pyra wanted to speak to him, to say she meant no harm, but realised that he probably couldn't understand her language. A series of growls would likely only make him more afraid. So she waited, meeting his firm, unyielding gaze, until it seemed to soften in the light.

She padded closer, her claws clicking softly in the echo of the cave. He was not exactly as she had imagined him: not as beautiful as in the stories, or the wall-art, or the murals that the drakefolk had burnt into the sides of their mountains, talon-etched into the earth, or even blown as grey-smoke figures in the sky, for those that had that skill. But that was artistic licence.

Those who told tales were wont to exaggerate. The rider before her was not as wonderfully garbed as his fairy-tale peers, but that was only to be expected, and some would have worn rags instead. Not all of the riders could have been muscle-bound warriors, and many would be thus emaciated. Of course their hides had not all been stone-smooth, and no doubt many of their faces would be as mottled and colourful as his.

But he was hers, and he was here - and that made him the most beautiful thing that Pyra had ever seen.

She nuzzled him, by way of greeting, and encouraged him onto her back, where he fit that space between her wings - just as the stories said. As if they were made for each other: rider and drake, eternal allies who had written so many history together, their bond now revived for a bold and brilliant future. It was almost too exciting to bear.

With her rider - her rider! - in position, Pyra felt that there was only one thing for it - she had to teach him how to fly. That was the great gift of the drakefolk, after all: the sealing of their covenant, the wonder of the air exchanged for all the wonders of the earth. She took careful paces at first, making her way out of the caves, but once she was satisfied he could hold on she increased her speed, hardly able to hold herself back.

Pyra had been almost expecting a hero's welcome as she emerged from the cave, vindicated against all of those who hadn't believed, but of course the others were far away, back at the nesting grounds, as she had foraged far from home. That was no matter. Perhaps it was better, to steal a short while away from all of those staring eyes, who might wish to whisk him away for interrogation. She had him all to herself for a few hours more.

They spent that time airborne, swooping high above the mountaintops and low into the valleys, circling misty peaks and racing through sudden ravines, Pyra always careful to protect her rider's grip, feeling his touch upon her flanks, steering her to clear even the sharpest corners, impressed by his courage as they dropped and rose again. Then, finally, after one last lap of victory, they headed back to the nesting grounds. To the place Pyra called home.

"I found a rider," she called out, all breathless excitement as they landed at her family's perch. Her mother looked up at her approach, but there was no reflection of that enthusiasm in her emerald eyes.

"Oh, honey, that man's been dead for years," she told her, a broken note of pity in her voice. "They all have."

[vikasgarden]

𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐀𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐒: 𝔥𝔬𝔯𝔯𝔬𝔯 𝔢𝔡𝔦𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫

𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐂 𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐑. black and white. powder puffs. red lipstick. winged eyeliner. white kitten heels. black lace lingerie. icy blue eyes. rain. abandoned cars. skeletons. acid. poison. voyeurism. switchblades. strangling. overcoats. looking over your shoulder. trans-atlantic accents. private detectives. dinner parties. haunted mansions. alcohol in glass decanters. cobwebs. perfect blonde curls. kitchen knives. shock. cellars. dust. dark alleys. empty streets. driving at night . horn-rimmed glasses. radiation. zombies. serial murder. paranoia. the city. witches. the devil. cannibalism. conspiracies. amulets. abject terror. the american south. the american northeast. england. analog cameras.

𝐆𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐂 𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐑. gaslights. corsets. ballrooms. candlelight. mist. starless nights. full moons. cobbled streets. horse-drawn carriages. mysterious strangers. bogs. moors. forests. mountains. castles. velvet. silver. brass. gold. jewels. domino masks. the opera. dangerous romances. tragic romances. violins. roses. lilies. empty graves. crosses. cemeteries. snow. ice. the gallows. crows. ambiguous illness. fangs. pointed nails. something howling in the night. capes. gloves. top hats. straight razors. lightning. pipe organs. underground caverns. bats. mice. rats. ravens. cats. pearls. attics. talismans. axes. wood. isolation in a room full of people. vampires. werewolves. ghosts. coffins. western europe. eastern europe. bones. churches. catacombs. mausoleums. spiders. books.

𝐒𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐒. bloodbaths. massacres. wanton nudity. newspapers. leather jackets. letterman jackets. converse sneakers. obscured faces. social unrest. bonfires. lakes. babysitters. suburbia. high school. lockers. dead leaves in the fall. jack-o’-lanterns. outdated television sets. nightmares psychiatrists. hospitals. unstoppable forces. gunfire. police. landline telephones. household objects turned into improvised weapons. halloween. secrets. revelations. character masks scrunchies. queerness. wild curls. jeering children. parties. fire. swearing. revulsion. california. the american midwest. ambulances.

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐋 𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐑. malevolent spirits. seances. spells. missing bodies. hidden graves. white noise. static. flickering lights. rings of salt. demons. poltergeists. dark histories. old buildings. cold air. mausoleums. wells. urban exploration. a dog barking at something you can’t see. black ooze. old photographs. faces you can swear you’ve seen before but can’t for the life of you figure out where. dark bodies of water. crucifixes. priests. possession. exorcisms. dolls.

𝐂𝐑𝐘𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐃 & 𝐔𝐑𝐁𝐀𝐍 𝐋𝐄𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐃 𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐑. aliens. blinding light. dark woods. driving at night. claw-marks. bite-marks. men in black. memory loss. dismembered bodies. sewers. flashlights. cell phones. video cameras. cars with tinted windows. abandoned houses. unlabeled cassette tapes. bugs. big cities. urban crimes. clowns. something rustling outside your window. glowing light. unsolved mysteries. suburbia. mirrors. the american pacific northwest. the american midwest. hiking / backpacking.

𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐑𝐒. daylight. fluorescent lighting. morgues. asylums. unwavering eye contact. tension. lit rooms with no one inside them. a dog digging in the newly-planted flower bed. steely gazes. paperwork. anagrams. codes. convicted killers. missing persons. law enforcement. federal agents. small towns. suspicion. paranoia. subdued terror. dimly-lit parking lots.

tagged by: @acedecoeur tagging: @vasted , @verflcht , @fireburial , @bvtchcr