#we were robbed of cabinet battle 3

[alixlives]

hamilton shot jefferson down then got hit with the steel chair 💀🙏

[antxlss]

run away

pairing: anakin x princess!reader

summary: anakin, the jedi assigned to protect you, finds you out of your bed in the middle of the night. you both end up confessing some things.

words: 1.2k

warnings: suggestive, lowkey robbed y’all

a/n: just a little something while i continue working on the ‘but, you’re my boss’ series. as always, thank you for reading!

~ maxie <3

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my masterlist

You had ran away earlier in the night to the library, the most peaceful place in the busy palace. You often spend your nights here. Anakin walked in and saw you dressed in an elegant silk night gown, immediately catching his eye. He had been appointed as your body guard by the Jedi council. Anakin had been fighting a constant internal battle for the past month and a half of his time as your protector. His allegiance to the Jedi code, and his growing fondness and lust towards you, the princess he had been assigned to protect.

"What are you doing out at this hour, your highness? You should be in bed." his eyes narrow, looking you up and down.

"Nighttime is the only time I get peace. No one expects anything from you at 3 in the morning." You laugh and adjust your position on the plush loveseat.

Anakin smiles slightly at your joke, but it drops as quickly as it came.

"You have a responsibility to protect the monarchy. You can't just go wandering about the palace in the middle of the night," Anakin glares at you, but you can't help but notice his eyes glancing slightly downwards as he says that, towards your exposed legs.

You hum. "As I have told you and my entire cabinet over and over, I can take care of myself."

"That's not the point, princess," Anakin's voice is firm, but there is a slight crack of longing in it.

"Your safety is important. If something were to happen to you, your entire kingdom and all of its people would suffer. It's our job to protect you and ensure that doesn't happen." his eyes flutter down to your neck, and then your chest.

You catch his insinuating glances. "I didn't sign up for this job. That's how a monarchy works." You laugh at your own comment. "If I could just run away from this life, I would. In a heartbeat."

Anakin looks up at you with an expression of sympathy, but is quickly ruined by his own lust

"Believe me, your highness, I understand your plight," Anakin reaches out slowly and brushes a strand of hair from your face.

"I'm assigned to protect you, not to keep you trapped here in a cage." He looks down and pauses for a moment.

"What I really want is to take you far away from here in my arms." He finally says, his eyes gazing at yours.

You aren't shocked by Anakin's confession. He had been leaving obvious hints of admiration your way for the entire month and a half he had been assigned to your palace. But you are shocked that you had fallen for him just as he had fallen for you.

"We both live lives that prohibit that from happening Anakin." You whisper.

Anakin moves in closer and gently traces your hair with his fingers.

"Princess, with all due respect, I don't think anything could stop me from being with you." He leans in slightly, and whispers in your ear, "I want to take you away from this place, make you mine, love you and take care of you forever."

"I want you to be mine," His eyes fill with longing, as he gazes at you.

"Let's run away. Far from here. We can settle on a planet where no one will ever find us. We can build a house, have children. We can live the life we never thought we could ever have." You ramble.

You are getting away from yourself. You have always longed for a different life. A normal life.

Anakin smiles warmly and places his hand gently on your cheek.

"Let's run away princess," Anakin whispers. "Just you and me. I don't care about my duty, or the monarchy, or anything like that. I just want to be with you."

Anakin lowers his head slightly until your noses are touching. "And I want you to be all mine."

Anakin's hand comes up to cup your face.

"I want to be yours." You lean into his touch.

His grasp on the side of your face pulls you towards him. Your lips touch.

Anakin's hand traces your features gently as his lips meet your own.

He cups the back of your head and pulls you closer, his touch growing stronger and more passionate by the second. He grips tightly just behind your head, and brings his lips down on yours.

His breath is warm and his touch is firm, sending pleasure through every nerve in your body.

You finally pull away. Your foreheads still touching.

Anakin stares passionately into your eyes, his hand still resting gently on your cheek.

"Let's go, princess." He whispers. "Let's run so far away from this place. Live someplace else, be someone else. We can have whatever we want."

He leans in and softly kisses you again.

"Please princess, I know this is what you want. We don't need anyone else."

"Okay." You hum.

Anakin smiles as he pulls away.

"Let's just get out of here, together."

His eyes light up with excitement as he leans in to kiss your neck.

"We can go anywhere you'd like, be anything you want."

His lips trail down your neck, his touch becoming more aggressive with each passing second.

You let out a gasp of pleasure. You hands tangle in the soft curls that grow at the nape of Anakin's neck.

"We will leave tomorrow night. We can pack everything tomorrow day." You almost moan as you unconsciously grind down on Anakin.

Anakin shudders, as you grind down on him, and he wraps his arms around you firmly.

"Yes, princess," he whispers. "I just need you. We don't need anything else. Just us."

He begins to undo your dress, pushing the material down to reveal your soft thighs.

You allow Anakin to run his large, rough hands over the fat of your thighs. The contrast between your soft skin and his calloused fingers send shivers down your spine.

Anakin looks at your thighs, his eyes filled with fire as his fingers continue their journey down your thighs.

"Princess," he whispers, "this is so wrong. We're not supposed to be doing this."

He looks at you with longing, and then back at you body, his eyes filled with lust.

"But I just need you, your highness. Your body, your touch...I need it right now."

His fingers continue to slide up and down your thighs, his breathing becoming faster and more intense by the second.

"By this time tomorrow it won't even matter. We will be long gone. I won't be a princess, you won't be a Jedi. We will just be Anakin and    Y/N." You assure him. "So please, make me yours. I need you. All of you."

Anakin shivers as you speak to him, your words sending pleasure through his body and his eyes filled with lust.

"Yes princess," he whispers. "Yes. I'm yours, all of me."

He stares into your eyes for a moment, and then kisses you aggressively once more, grabbing your thighs and pulling them tighter to him.

His breath is warm on your face, and as his lips meet your own his body presses down on yours.

This kiss this time is more rough. You are both filled with lust for each other. Filled with hate for the lifestyles you were forced into. But with each other, it doesn't matter.

You reached for Anakin's shoulders and quickly began to remove the pesky layers of his robes.

Anakin shudders as you remove his robes, his body tingling with pleasure as he removes his shirt quickly, revealing his muscular chest.

He glances towards the door, where guards would typically be stationed, and then his eyes meet yours.

"Now and forever," he whispers, staring at you with longing and lust in his eyes. "Nothing else matters. Only you."

[vesperlionheart]

Mamihlapinatapei - The look between two people in which each loves the other but is too afraid to make the first move. For KisaSaku. :D

KisaSaku & a belated happy birthday for @darth-salem-emperor-of-earth!

(Sort of a companion fix to This One)

‘In matters of inheritance in the land of Kirigkure, the country is old and small enough to cultivate its leftover practices from the oldest days, when Kiri citizens had to fight tooth and nail to protect what was once only a small fishing inlet. Their monarchy equivalent is selected from the previous ruler and approved by a majority vote from the three departments.’

“It shouldn’t count until an official hearing is held to conclude such matters,” Sakura grumbled to mostly herself. Mei was the least sympathetic out of all her supporters when it came to Sakura’s mood and opinions on her stupid country inheritance.

When Mei heard Sakura’s grumbles she only giggled and added another ‘grievance’ scroll to the ever increasing pyramid of incoming missives that would need to be addressed by the end of the day. “Honestly, you have no one else to blame but yourself. What did you expect would happen when you arrived on our borders with all of Tsunade’s tutelage and the copy nin’s keen sense for seeing underneath the underneath? You thought we’d let you go?”

Speaking of Kakashi made Sakura remember the old man’s poor advice: “Just go and check them out. Get in a few fights, drink a little and show them how terrible of a leader you would really be.”

That had worked out terribly.

While Sakura was legally considered a citizen of Kiri, she had grow up outside its boarders and adapted to the culture of the Fire Country where it mattered to have manners with strangers. Her strategy had been to walk in with a buzz and a beer in hand, provoke a shop keep, fight a swordsman-a legendary swordsman-and curse her way out of town. Everything had been going tremendously well, except actually it hadn’t. Kiri was wet in more ways than one and Sakura had unwittingly impressed more than just a few curious eyes with her tolerance of the local booze. Shit talking was seen as a greeting amongst Kiri locals, and fighting might as well have been synonymous with hugging.  

“They’ll kick you out soon enough and you’ll be back home before you know it.”

For not the first time, Sakura lamented Kakashi’s backhanded advice. When she berated him about it later on he only congratulated her on the revitalized economy, the updated hospitals, and all her efforts towards dismantling the caste system. Sakura’s protest that she never meant to do any of that fell on deaf ears.

The trial month was nearly over and plans had already been made to install her as their Mizukage, a position that would put her on par with her one time teacher, the Hokage in the Land of Fire. There was a lot of pomp and ceremony the elders were caught up in that pushed back the actual initiation-but the decision had been made and Sakura’s will was not enough to reject the concessions of the Trident-or the three seats of the Mizukage’s cabinet.

Mei made up the executive branch of the Trident, while the seven swordsmen made up the military branch. Yagura was the head of Economics and the mouthpiece of the Elders who weighed tradition against advancement. Sakura’s job would be to balance all three of their voices and carry the responsibility of any decision they came up with. Only a 3 to 1 vote could overrule a Mizuekage’s executive orders.

“Have you chosen your Second Shadow, yet?” Mei asked.

“I’m actually hoping that if I don’t that this whole party thing can get called off,” Sakura sassed back to Mei, already half finished with the next scroll and all but made up on her finial verdict for the request it presented.

“Have you looked at my boy?”

“Chōjūrō is a sweet kid and will make a fine swordsman one day,” Sakura answered diplomatically.

“But…?”

Sakura looked up and glared. “He’s as shy as an Angel Fish and he still somehow came up with the idea, completely on his own with no help from anyone, to wait for me in my hotel room in a silk robe and slippers and nothing else.” Sakura’s tone was heavy with sarcasm. “I don’t take kindly to attempts of coercion.”

“The kid just wanted your favor and you would hold that against him?” Mei playfully teased.

“I didn’t appreciate it, Mei. Don’t bully your boy into my bed.”

Mei rolled her eyes and picked through the finished missives Sakura had set to the side. “He needed the encouragement. He wouldn’t have done it, even though he wanted to, without some help.”  

“I’m not like you, I don’t enjoy robbing the cradle.”

Mei snorted. “Okay then, babe, tell auntie what your type is?”

Sakura paused and looked up over her next scroll. “Why?”

“Can’t you just believe I’m curious? Why do you have to sound so suspicious of every one of my questions? I’m honestly just curious.”

Sakura’s expression turned blank but Mei didn’t seem to care. “Sure, and my answer would have nothing to do with an attempt by you and the elders to set me up with a nice local boy who will convince me to stay. Suuuuure.”

“So if you’re not interested in our little prince, what abut the naughty type. Suigetsu doesn’t have anyone right now.”

“I thought you were trying to convince me to stay, not scare me off. That starfish can’t keep a relationship on lock for more than a month for a reason, and it isn’t the fault of any of his partners.”  

“So the naughty type is a turn off. What about the daddy type?”

Sakura’s face made an expression of horror. “Gross.”

“Not literally a daddy, don’t look at me like that. You might be surprised so don’t knock it till you try it. I’ll put that down as a ‘maybe’ for now.”

“Please don’t.”

There was a knock on the door and Sakura shouted out for them to enter before Mei could even turn around. A half second later Sakura realized her mistake when she saw Mei’s gloating face. The office already felt like it was Sakura’s.

Damn.

“What?” Sakura barked a bit rudely when Yagura stopped in front of her desk.

 “There’s an issue with deployment.”

“Why are you telling me this? Aren’t Kisame and Zabuza usually the ones who tell me what’s shit with their nin?” Sakura dropped her scroll and leaned back in her seat before waving for him to continue. “What is it?”

If Yagura was bothered by her rude address he didn’t let it show on his face and he never let it carry over into their conversations outside of work. “More of the Kaguya raiders are making issues for the settlements but we don’t have the resources to send out anyone to deal with it. Kisame and Zabuza are both off on missions you approved.”

“This really requires an S ranked response?” Sakura asked, knowing there were few others who could do what Kisame and Zabuza did. If Yagura was asking for either of them he deemed the threat S ranked.

“I’ve already written up the details of the response we’d need.” Yagura produced a thinner scroll and Sakura took it as it passed over her desk.

“If we didn’t have one of the swordsmen on this we’d need at least two dozen nin and we just don’t have those kind of numbers right now.”

“What’s the best we can do?” Sakura asked while rolling back in her chair to check the chart on the wall with a dozen different secret symbols that helped keep her up to date on the military numbers. It showed how many nin of different rank were deployed, how many were wounded, how many were undercover, and how many were available for deployment. It still took Sakura a minute to decipher everything on the chart but she would have it like a reflex by the end of the month.

“Eight.”

Sakura made a face. Eight was a really low number and it was her fault they were in this situation in the first place. She had gambled and played the number game with her nin. Kiri always needed a coalition of soldiers to defend it in case of invasion, and so even if there were over two dozen shinobi at home, she couldn’t touch those.

“Kisame is due back this afternoon, how time sensitive is this issue?”

“It depends on how much the lives of these colonists matter. They’re notorious for skirting on tax payments and regularly sell their produce to rival groups before our citizens.”

“But they are our citizens,” Sakura clarified. They lived outside the walls of Kiri and were largely bitter old marsh farmers and fishermen, but they were culturally more Kiri than Sakura.

“It would be a shame to loose their assets,” Yagura honestly answered. “The Kaguya clan would only grow emboldened if they took over the rest of this territory for themselves.”

Sakura was already standing, pulling off her robes. “Mei, tell Kisame to head over to the settlements as soon as he gets here, even if he’s on fumes. Just the sight of his big blue mug will send some of them running.”

“What are you doing?” Mei asked, eyes wide.

“I’m dealing with this. I still have my rank from Konoha. I should be sufficient with these four,” Sakura said while showing off the mission scroll with her name and four others filled in. “I’ll let them know personally. Yagura will-”

“I understand. I’ll stand in until you’re back.”

“You can’t leave, you’re our Mizukage,” Mei agrued. “That’s against customs. If you fall-”

“I’m not Mizukage yet and you still can’t tell me what to do,” Sakura warned before stalking out of the office with hands itching for a fight.

Hours later her Kabutowari was soaked with blood on both ends, both the hammer and the axe head had been fed enough blood and savagery to sate its appetite for carnage. Sakura was proud of their success and how cheep it cost. Not a single soul on her unit had been seriously wounded or lost and that was quite an accomplishment considering the Kaguya attacked in bands of eight to twelve.

“It’s cause we got to fight with our Mizuekage that our moral was so high,” old man Jinin cheered, looking ready for a stiff drink and maybe an audience who could listen to his tall tales and elaborations on the day’s battle.

Haku came up beside Sakura and touched her elbow to get her attention and she leaned in while he whispered the status of the nin’s health along with the injury inventory. It was a new step Sakura wanted utilized when units emerged from battle. If hospital records could be updated with a complete list of all injuries-including those treated and healed on the battlefield- it would help in future diagnostics.

Haku had helped develop the program and sell it to the other medic trained min. He had been invaluable in helping roll out new changes and on the battlefield his skill set had complemented her fighting style well, since he was more of a long range fighter while Sakura liked to deal damage up close.

“We’re good to go then,” Sakura sighed. “I’m tired. Someone treat me to hot saké once we’re back,” she playfully whined only to get a roar from the men and women on her team. 

Haku kept close to her side and walked with her until they got to the natural mist. Sakura gave the signal and the rest of her team blurred into the fog and took off like birds in a dive, unseen and deadly.

“You wanted to ask me something?” Haku queried.

Sakura was about to say yes but something else caught her eye and she pat Haku’s back in dismissal. “It can wait until after we’re back. I need to catch Kisame up but I’ll see you at the Drunken Whaler.”

Haku turned and saw Kisame emerging from he fog with the blood and grime from his last fight still stuck to his uniform. The two locked eyes and Haku nodded first before taking off.

“So, are you slipping for any particular reason or are you just getting old?” Sakura teased while approaching Kisame.

“Hey, no jokes about my age when my boss orders me to pull a double shift. Slave driver actually expected me to do some good here. Shows you what she knows.”

“Maybe she just wanted you to see what she could do, ever consider that?” Sakura teased back, shouldering her Kabutowar’s axe end on her shoulder while she carried the hammer half with an idle swing in her left hand. The weight never bothered her but she wondered how her weapon would react to a new pair of hands.

“How willing are you listen to your bad ass boss?” Sakura asked.

“You mean my hard ass boss?” Kisame teased back. “Dunno, it depends on the request. Does it involve drinking?”

“Eventually all decisions and requests involve drinking, but not yet. We can get sloshed at the Drunken Whaler with the rest of them but before we get that far…” Sakura rolled the axe head off her shoulder and held it out. “Wanna trade?”

Kisame whistled low and reached up to rub at some of the blood on his chin with the heel of his hand. The twilight was creeping in but the clouds were heavy and low so everything shaded in tones of gray and diluted yellow. Sakura saw a fragment of that sunken gold color in Kisame’s shark eyes when he looked at her weapon, but she wished he’d been looking at her.

He reached over his shoulder and rolled Samehada off his back, letting the bandages drop. The trade off was as natural as any other tradeoff would be between the swordsmen. If the seats hadn’t been filled Sakura might have replaced Haku as a swordsman, since she had a legendary blade and he didn’t. If she had been a swordsman she might have had the chance to do this earlier and with more than just Zabuza’s Kubikiribōchō, but she wasn’t a swordsman and this wasn’t a guaranteed thing.

“Thank you,” Sakura said before Kabutowari finished leaving her hand.

“Careful with him, Samehada can-oh, ya know, never mind. He’s a bitch that’s roll over for anyone with tasty chakra, I shouldn’t have worried for ya,” he chuckled while watching the handoff.

With issue, Sakura held the massive blade level and admired its scale pattern in the gray twilight. There was a delightful shiver as it sucked on her chakra and swallowed it down like a drunk with fine wine. Sakura could feel it purr not unlike how Kabutowari would in her mind once they were linked.

“Let’s see how you like this,” Sakura cooed before swinging Kisame’s blade against the wind and  stepping into the dance she had first learned for Kabutowari with minor adjustments since she was wilding Samehada in one hand. She felt it tense and almost cut at her hand but settled down as it realized what she was playing at.

Samehada cut into the fog and then shaved it down into a finer mist before wrapping it up around Sakura the way the first swordsmen would, back in the old days when chakra was still too wild to name and gods dared to walk amongst the children of men.

Through the mist and over her shoulder Sakura could see Kisame have fun on his own, dancing through the same steps with her two handed Kabutowari, showing mastery of the finer points in spite of his bulk. At first glance Kabutowari seemed too heavy and burly a weapon to expect any delicacy with, but if one wanted to unlock it’s full potential they would have to know more than just the brutal steps that wrought the most damage, they would need to know how to dance and make both the axe and hammer sing.

She watched Kisame twist through her steps like a ghost of her old master’s memory and watched, transfixed, as he let go of the axe side to swing around and snap back with perfect timing.

“Jealous?” the voice in her mind purred. Samehada helped himself to a drop more of her chakra as she paused in her steps.

“No, I know Kabutowari is my blade and he’ll return to me in time. There’s no reason to be jealous of your master for handling my blade so well.”

“Didn’t mean Kabutowari,” Samehada chuckled so deeply it made Sakura’s mind feel like a cavern with no end. A half second later she realized what Kisame’s blame meant and she giggled, almost manic at the implication.

“No,” she hissed through his stifled giggle. “No way, not you too. Leave me alone and let me have my fun.”

“Don’t see a reason you can’t have it both ways,” Samehada teased, poking at her palm but doing no real damage.

It wouldn’t hurt her if she could hear its voice and give him her chakra to sip on, but even if tried she’d be able to heal such a modest attack. There wasn’t any real danger to her from Samehada, but she felt unbalanced by his words enough to step out of the old steps and swing the monster blade down against the earth with a surge of chakra that split the earth.

She heard his excited cheer and delighted cackle as he served as the conduit to her legendary chakra release. Sounding almost drunk it asked for her to do that again but Kisame was already laughing at her and that was the only sound she could pay attention to.

“I think I’ve had enough fun for one night,” Sakura said with a tired laugh, hopping over to Kisame’s side with his sword. The exchange was easier this time but before Kisame could press Kabutowari into her hand their fingers touched enough for Sakura to feel where all his blisters had hardened into callouses. Even down the sides of his fingers she could feel the evidence of his devotion to the blade and she wondered, wickedly, what it would feel like to be handled by hands like that.

“Naughty,” Samehada purred to her before their link was severed. Sakura felt her face roar with heat and embarrassment, which she tried to play off by jumping back with Kabutowari and a nervous chuckle. Her weapon purred in confusion and almost understood but Sakura sealed him away into one of her pocket dimension before he could scream out the truth like an echo in her mind.

Damn, dirty thoughts-this was all Mei’s fault for planting the seeds in the first place.

Sakura ran her hands through the fog and then combed them through hair, grateful for the cool the almost night allowed. She knew she didn’t have a ‘pretty’ blush like some other girls. She went beat red and it was almost impossible to hide.

“We should head back, we’ve held back long enough the others might get worried. Plus, I wasn’t exactly quiet just now,” Sakura said.

“Aww boss, don’t make this old man run all the way back after I ran all the way out here only to be late,” Kisame playfully whined.

“What, you want to walk back. That’ll take forever,” Sakura said.

“Not for the whole while, but we can run off later. Can’t we just take it easy for a little while?” he asked.

Only because he asked Sakura agreed.

After a minute Kisame spoke up. “So the word going around is that you haven’t picked a second yet. Don’t you have any ideas or is no one willing to take on the load? You’re kinda a slavedriver.”

“I’m still thinking about it.”

“What are you thinking about.”

Sakura made a face, not knowing if he was teasing or being serious with his question. “It’s so different compared to Leaf, I mean this second almost feels like a marriage partner according to Mei, and it’s kinda serious enough that the thought process is similar. You pick someone and then they’re with you the whole time, nearly day and night, and that’s similar to how Shizune was for Tsunade, but…I don’t know, the cultures are different.”

“Is that such a bad thing?” Kisame chuckled. “When Kiri loses a kage it’s tits up and everything goes to shit real quick-we know because we’ve seen it more than any of the other hidden villages. More assignations mean more hard lessons learned.”

“But does it have to be one person? Tsunade had ANBU who were rotated out all the time.”

“Yeah but that’s such a shit idea here. If I wanted to kill the Hokage I’d just impersonate an ANBU and wait in rotation until I was alone with-ah, don’t give me that face, I’m just saying hypothetical things.”

“It’s not so easy to infiltrate ANBU.”

“You say that like we haven’t ever done that,” Kisame snorted and then when he saw Sakura’s face he laughed. “Nothing so bad, boss, nothing so bad! You’ll see for yourself when you get access after inauguration, but those ain’t your people no more. You are ours.”

There were a few too many things making Sakura’s gut church with complicated feelings. What Kisame said about belonging to Kiri was right and it hurt, not because she hated being accepted, but because of what it meant for her ties to everyone back home-back in Konoha. Tsunade and Kakashi were her teachers but they couldn’t call her their disciple anymore. For the sake of the future of their foreign policy, Sakura had watched as the steps were taken to cut her off from the village hidden in the leaves until there was only one place she could run to. It wasn’t a vicious thing and there was nothing personal about it. Sakura actually understood why they did what they did-changing out the codes and locking her out of accessing ANBU updates.

Kiri was supposed to be her home now…her village.

“Boss?”

“You know you can call me by my name when it’s just us,” Sakura said instead, trying to sound annoyed so he didn’t misunderstand the meaning of her words and think she wanted him to speak to her familiarly. “Boss makes me feel like an old lady.”

The other feelings that made her gut churn came from the last thing he said to her. “You are ours.” Someone once said the people in Kiri were a people who knew loss to well to share decently in the future, thus they were a possessive people who coveted many things.

“Then Haruno kun-”

“Haruno kun?” Sakura sputtered. “What are you my uncle? No-ugh, you’re-oh man I had a teacher who would call me Haruno kun in school back when we were in the academy. You’re banned from the ‘-kun,’ if you’re gonna tack something on at least make it sound cute.”

“Sakura chan?” Kisame playfully called out, pitching his voice high and squeaking out the title.

“Never mind, I take it back, just Haruno or just Sakura, but nothing else. Gosh, I thought someone said that in Kiri they didn’t have manners or shit. Just call me whatever, I don’t care,” Sakura said even though she cared.

“Then Haruno, who do you think would be a good candidate for second. You’ll pick from the swordsmen right? Where else would you go?”

“Mei wanted me to go with her boy Chōjūrō but can you see that working out?”

“That jellyfish?” Kisame hooted. “He’s as shy as an Angel Fish. You’d eat him alive for breakfast.”

“I live to entertain,” Sakura mocked with a silly bow. “But you’ve got a point about pulling from the swordsmen. What would that do to your seats? Would you replace whoever left or take in someone new?”

“Maybe Chōjūrō,” Kisame joked.

“He’s an excellent fighter, he just doesn’t have a future in politics,” Sakura defended. “I could see him growing into that role.”

Kisame watched Sakura a half minute longer before saying anything new. The sun was half sunk into the horizon and all the mist seemed to choke on dying colors as they waded through the distortion.

“You have someone in mind, don’t you?”

“I have ideas but I don’t want to have ideas since I don’t like this whole set up. If it was up to me and the elders didn’t insist on tradition, I’d just have the Seven of you on rotation as my guard.”

Kisame made a thoughtful sound. “That could work as a back up, but you know how those old tradition fogies are.”

Sakura rubbed at her neck and looked ahead. “I need a drink. Race you back?”

“Ah, but I’m all tired from-” Kisame never finished his sentence since he chose that moment to flash step forward and take off running. Sakura cursed and raced behind him but came last and ended up having to buy a round for everyone at the pub.

When Kisame woke a week later he was wide eyed and energized, which was a rare thing for him these days. He normally hated mornings but the sight of his fresh dress uniform hanging up was enough to make him remember why today was such a big deal. It wasn’t just any other day, it was Sakura’s inauguration.

The whole of Kiri was hyped as fuck for a new Mizukage like Sakura, one who revitalized their economy and recovered their crumbling hospital system. The fact that she was the wielder of Kabutowari made it feel like a long lost child coming home from the war with spoils to share with the whole country. Sakura felt like she had always been theirs, like Kiri had always been her home. Even when she had been trying to piss people off and get out of the inheritance she had fit in too well. Her brash personality and strong convictions made her-

“Perfect,” Kisame said out loud, a little too caught up in his thoughts.

He grimaced a the sound of his thoughts and moved to wash up before dressing for the day. He needed to finish waking up or else he was bound to say something else equally stupid. Today was too important to look like a fool.

In short order he was as handsome as he’d ever get with an ugly mug like his and dressed for the occasion. Samehada fit into the latch carrier on his back and outside he saw the others waiting in the courtyard to the mansion where Sakura would start her procession.

Already, people were filling the streets in hopes of catching an eyeful of their new Mizukage on her first day on the job. Some were selling flowered crowns and wreaths as the newest trend had been to emulate Sakura’s flowery good looks. Young girls were cutting their hair like her and boys were dreaming about an impossible future among the swordsmen because of her. There was a building that had been painted with a modest mural of Sakura trees and different blooming flowers in celebration. The love his people had for her was everywhere.

“You’re not late,” Suigetsu taunted.

Kisame punched the younger boy in the face, ignoring both Suigetsu and his brother in favor of seeking out Zabuza. “Hey, you hear anything yet?”

“No one here knows who’s getting the nomination, that hasn’t changed,” Zabuza answered.

“Did you sign the consent form?” Haku asked, lookin up at Zabuza first and then Kisame. The consent form was basically a way those with the qualifications could put their name in the hat that Sakura could pull from.

“On day one, brat. Why, you didn’t?”

“I…I mean I eventually put my name in for consideration. I think I’d do well at it,” Haku answered, steeling his words towards the end even if he kept glancing back at Zabuza.

Between the seven of them, the only one Kisame seriously considered a challenge was Zabuza when it came to winning Sakura’s second. The pair of them were the strongest, arguably, and had a good working relationship with others. But, between the both of them, Kisame knew he was the only one who had been on Sakura’s side since day one when she first arrived. Even if Zabuza had been won over and was loyal now, no one had been in Sakura’s corner like Kisame.

Kisame thought his chances were good.

“Get in your dame spots,” Ameyuri snapped with a dangerous edge. Since Sakura had cured Ameyuri’s disease the kunoichi was near fanatical in her devotion to Sakura. When Kisame pretended to drag his feet Ameyuri snapped her sharpened teeth at his face and he backed up with a chuckle.

The doors to the mansion opened and the elders filtered out before Yagura and Mei. Yagura and Mei paused at the top of the stairs before joining the elders in the courtyard where their respective bodyguards were stationed. That’s when Sakura emerged at the top of the stairs to the mansion and the moment Kisame thought his heart was going to stop. 

The robes had never looked so good on anyone before. Underneath the white and blue folds a soft dress of flaring gray and white, detailed with pearls and accented with a thick mother of pearl gorget around her neck, like the kind samurai would wear of a heartier material. It was ceremonial but Sakura wore it like armor.

The bells on her hat tinkled as she descended the steps and took her spot at the head of the group. Her painted lips were pressed into a hard line and her jaw was set with determination, but she still looked soft where it counted.

Kisame caught her eye at one point and it made his smile grow when the corners of her eyes crinkled for him.

“Haruno Sakura…” one of the elders began.

The ceremony lasted no longer than twenty minutes before Sakura was told to turn around and address the others. “And in line with the traditions of our ancestors, I will honor them with this choice and accept a second. Should I ever fall may their strength be measured by the gods and men,” she recited perfectly. Then she locked her lips and held up a hand before adding, “and in addition to a second I will be installing a rotating support guard for the Mizukage, with the blessing of the elders who safeguard our traditions. Every member of the Seven Swordsmen will rotate into the role of a tertiary figure of my inner circle, behind my second.”

Beside him Ameyuri gasped in delight, suddenly filled with hope that even if she wasn’t chosen she would still be able to serve her idol.

“Mizukage, your pick for second shadow?” one of the elders prompted.

Sakura nodded and the bells on her hat tinkled. “For my second shadow I have chosen Yuki Haku to serve me. Yuki Haku do you accept?”  

That…didn’t… make sense. Kisame snuggled to hear what Sakura said next as Haku approached her and knelt before accepting the mother of pearl pin with the symbol of Second Shadow. Haku said something back to her, maybe in thanks, but all Kisame could hear was the rush of blood in his ears as his gut churned in a grief he couldn’t understand.

[reddrobins]

the shadow [d.wayne]

Older! Damian Wayne x Reader

Summary: A new vigilante in town is starting to get on Damians nerves. After telling his friend about them, he soon finds out that maybe working with ‘the shadow’ isn’t as bad as he thought.

Request: Aldkwkddkwj i love your writing sfm,, could you please write a damian x reader where he rants to her alter ego about her? Like he's in love with her civilian self and he asks for advice without knowing its them? Idk if that makes sense rip

"They are insufferable, (Y/N). I cannot stand to be around 'the shadow' for longer any longer than 5 minutes. I mean seriously, what name is 'the shadow'?"

You currently sat on the floor of the Batcave as Damian put on his armor, ranting about Gotham's newest vigilante. "I dunno bird brain," You started, calling him the now overused nickname (which he hated by the way),"I kinda like the idea of a girl vigilante. It's empowering."

"Tt.:" Damian gave, slipping on his domino mask, "But, we already have a female vigilante, Batgirl."

Rolling your eyes, you stood up from your spot, "Yes, but, Batgirl doesn't work alone. The Shadow does. I respect her."

Now in full Robin get-up, Damian walked towards the weapons cabinet, grabbing his katana, "Well, I don't. She's an annoyance and a distraction, Gotham would be better without her." The teen vigilante got on his cycle, putting it in gear. "Whatever the verdict, I do have to go on patrol now. Feel free to stick around the manor. I shall be back in two or three hours."

You waved goodbye to Damian, then took out your phone - checking the time.

11:30. Perfect, you thought, just enough time to go home and change.

Taking the elevator back up to the first floor of the manor, you gave a rushed goodbye to Alfred (and of course Titus too!) then sped out the front door.

You made it home just in the nick of time. 12:00, you thought, enough time to patrol and be back before Damian.

Dawning your silver and black costume, you tiptoe through your house's hallway, as to not wake your mother.

You unlatched the front window and jumped out of it, landing on the nearby fire escape. You checked your phone, which also served handily as your data pad.

'Two reports of armed robbery, one home invasion and three homicides' your phone reported.

Deciding that Damian and Bruce had the homicides covered, you went towards Gotham National bank, ready to take down whomever had thought tonight was the perfect night for crime.

As Bruce finished putting cuffs onto the suspect of murder number 3, he turned to Damian, "I have this covered, there’s still an active robbery at the bank - I need you to head over and report back to me who it is. Do not instigate, Robin."

The teen nodded and with his gun, grappled onto the closet building. Luckily, the bank wasn't too far from the location of the homicides and Damian made it to the robbery in no time.

He jumped down from the scaffolding of an apartment complex and raced over to the back of the bank, where he could easily sneak in unnoticed.

That was until he bumped into someone.

Swiftly, Damian rolled back, tripping the mystery person as he did and unsheathed his sword, pointing it at their neck.

"Whoah, Rob - chill out dude." His victim whisper-yelled.

Damian almost groaned, he knew that masked voice all too well.

"Shadow? What the hell are you doing here." He hissed, putting the sharp weapon away.

You dusted off your costume and stood up, narrowing your eyes at Damian. "I could ask you the same thing, bird brain. But if you have to know, there's a robbery in the works. I'm here to end it."

Though on the outside you seemed calm and collected, you were freaking out internally. Crap. you thought, I cannot have him figure out who I am. He'd never let me go out again.

Breaking you from your thoughts, Damian continued, "Tt. Sure you are. That's why I am here. To do a job that's much larger than the means of you." He pushed past you, checking your shoulder, and reached the back entrance.

"It's locked," you hollered. "I already tried that genius."

Damian glared at you, then took out a batarang, swiping it up and down in between the door crack until a click sounded. The boy-wonder turned towards you, smirking, "But you don't have batarangs. Genius."

As he snuck into the bank, you quickly followed after him, closing the door behind you.

Robin looked at you in disbelief, "Why are you still here?"

Angrily, you said, "Excuse you, but this was my case. I was here first and I plan to finish it." You may have loved Damian, but Robin sure was an ass.

This time, you pushed past him and into the main centre of the bank.

"Two-Face." You whispered.

There him and his goons stood, bags filled with money in hand as they pointed their tommyguns at the tellers and unlucky patrons.

"Alright!" The rouge yelled, "On the count of three I'm going to flip this coin, Tails, you all live and heads," He said darkly, "My men shoot you all."

Somewhere in the commotion, a woman cried out, begging for mercy - this didn't sit well with Dent.

"To show you that I mean business, Roy!" He yelled at one thug, who nodded before lifting his gun.

Oh my god, you thought, He's going to kill that woman

You had already seen enough and before the shot rang out, you lunged at the armed man, wrestling him for the gun.

"Shadow!" Robin yelled out, watching you struggle to unarm the thug.

Two-Face had a different plan. This time, he raised his gun, aiming it at you.

However you were too enthralled with trying to save the sobbing woman from Roy, thus Harvey's actions went unnoticed by you.

But not by Robin.

The teen vigilante jumped out of the shadows, throwing a batarang at the chamber of the gun, blocking the shot.

"Gah!" Two-Face yelled out in frustration, "You little brat!" The man spun around, failing his gun about - trying to land a hit on Robin, who easily dodged all of the attempts.

You on the other hand, were fighting a losing battle. You had successfully gotten Roy away from the women and were now on his back, trying to get a grip on his neck.

The man was big, much bigger than you - maybe even stronger. But you were more agile, and were able to block most of his hits.

You however, couldn't stop the goon sneaking up behind you until it was too late.

Red stained the front of your costume and you were thrown to the ground.

All the while Robin had long knocked out Two-Face, now his focus on getting the people to safety, that was until he heard the shot.

"Shadow, No!" He screamed. In his fit of rage, he charged the two goons, easily neutralizing both of them.

"Batman!" Damian said into the coms, "The Shadow has been shot. Everyone else is neutralized and tied up. I need the batmobile."

His father gritted his teeth, "I thought I said not to instigate."

Damian was in disbelief, did he really wish to start this argument now? "I didn't. The shadow did, who by the way, Batman - was shot. I need help urgently."

"On my way." Bruce answered. "Until I'm there, do not let them sleep. How bad is the wound?"

Damian looked over to your bleeding form, "Bad enough." He then added, "But not fatal."

As you were bleeding out, you couldn't help internally scolding yourself. How did I not hear him? You thought, Now I am never going to make it back in time. Even through your haze of pain, all you could think about was making sure Damian, though he stood in front of you, never found out.

Damian came into your peripheral view and he reached out to you, cradling your head in his lap. "Shadow can you hear me?"

You nodded, giving out a pained laugh, "I'm not dead yet D-Robin. Of course I can hear you."

Yet. Damian's body clenched at the notion that you were going to die. "You are not dying. Not on my watch, (Y/N)." He said forcefully.

Your eyes widened, He found out. He's going to kill me before this bullet does.

"Damain I- How'd you know?"

He gave a light chuckle at your surprised face, "Beloved, You're the only one who calls me bird brain. How would I not know it to be you?"

You shrugged, accepting your stupidity of trying to fool the world's best detective's son then winced in pain, "I guess you're right..." Then, "So, then this means the end of vigilantism." You said solemnly.

The boy shook his head, dismissing your thought. "No. You're an excellent fighter (Y/N). Hell, you've bested me a few times prior. Though I'm not fond of 'the Shadow' per say, I am fond of you and I will not stop you from doing what you wish."

Smiling weakly you have Damians hand a comforting squeeze. "From now on though, I'll take your lead, don't feel like getting shot again."

The other teen nodded. "Yes. This experience was far from enjoyable."

[soyouareandrewdobson]

Alex ze Pirate Mini Review 3: About pacing and terrible dark revelations played as jokes.

And here we are at the second part of the arc, which was titled “Abandoned”. And just as a word in advance: While “Underappreciated” was mostly defined by the shitty behavior Sam experiences by his crew and how Dobson crossed comedic lines to the point Alex and her crew come off more as abusive than “funny” in the way they treat Sam or interact with their environment, this one is defined by another major issue Dobson has in his bigger stories overall: Pacing.

 See, the right pacing in a story is really one of the most important basics a creator kinda has to grasp. He or she needs to know primarily the following things in relation to pacing, when planning out a story: What are major events/storypoints/key scenes I want to work towards to, what happens inbetween these points and at which speed do I get from point A to B, C etc.

Cause the truth is, a lot of stories out there follow certain tropes or expectations, particularly when they are part of a certain genre, so people more or less have ideas when a certain “point” is hit, what the next point, if not even the endpoint is going to be down the line. And people also kinda want to reach the endpoint of a story, particularly if they expect doing so will finally give the protagonists they care for (and the audience itself) some sort of satisfying conclusion.

The one thing you can now do however, which can in the worst scenario totally kill an audiences/readers enjoyment of the story and even break your creation apart, is get the pacing wrong. For example by unnecessarily dragging out your story instead of just getting to the point, especially when people just want to reach the next major beat, resulting in increased annoyance by them. This can e.g. be seen in a lot of fanfics when writers create damn arcs within their own shit, or (to give a professionally published work of fiction as example) the manga Bleach, when instead of fighting Aizen and his two major supporters directly, the “war” against him was unnecessarily dragged out by having e.g. a pointless flashback sequence that barely shed new light on certain characters and gave EVERY damn main and sub captain of the Shinigami a shot at some random villain/minion Tite Kubo created on the spot but no one cared about really, just to make the story arc run longer.

Obviously, the opposite can also be the case, where people just rush too fast from one point to the other instead of giving the audience time to even properly comprehend or explain what happened and why it happened. Which can get additionally frustrated, when by rushing through plot points the work of fiction gets overloaded with concepts and ideas that may on first glance look interesting, but don’t have any real payoff in the big picture of things, making it come off as pretentious in some cases and pointless overall. Like the movie Southland Tales, which deserves to be burned off the surface of the planet.

 The “best” case scenario when pacing a story, is to know when you need to slow things down (give characters and the readers e.g. moments to breath and emotionally comprehend a situation they are in, giving also insight into a characters emotional state or personality) and when to speed things up (e.g. when there is a big battle, to know which moments are meant to focus on, but also when to be “faster”, giving really the impression that time is of the essence, that high stakes in a short amount of time are given and to hit a key event at the right moment to get a satisfying reaction from your audience)

 And now, after giving a glance on my general opinion on pacing, in order to avoid me commiting the cardinal sin of dragging things out, lets just get to Dobson’s actual artwork.

  As you can see, the chapter starts off again with the island, but this time now with Sam not part of the picture and its consequences (no one cleaning up the place in the morning). This is not really a bad thing to start the chapter of, primarily because it creates a nice contrast to the beginning of the first part.

Page 3 to 5 however…

Lets just say I get what Dobson tries to show here, but I think is exaggerated to a degree that kinda hurts the narrative; the fact that without Sam, shit does not quite get done.

The problem is the execution of the idea. See, instead of putting the fact Sam is missing into the forefront, the fact stuff has not been done is. Stuff the crew should be able to handle after a very short time of adjustment easily. I will admit, Talus suspecting they were robbed but then asked if he had also looked into the cabinets, is kinda funny. I mean, it fits the character (and sometimes people in real life) to be so adjusted to seeing a certain situation as routine every day, that when it is slighty changed they may initially assume the worst but in reality just one convenient step of the routine was left out. Less forgivable I think is the fact that seeing how Sam did the clothes the day prior, I have to wonder how dirty those guys are that already everything is left in piles of dirt to the point they have only the following alternative as wardrobe.

Halloween costumes.

…. Ok, why is there Halloween, and likely a modern day variant of its celebration, in a comic set in a fictional world compared to ours, in a time period it would not exactly exist anyway? Christ on a pogo stick, consistency is all I ask for. Oh and of course NOW they realize Sam is gone. Because they finally put together that their daily luxuries they took for granted are no longer available.

Hey now, Talus. You all are guilty of being terrible friends. In fact yu are so terrible, you would make Twilight Sparkle vomit at the sight of yours. Also, why of all characters are you wearing a costume? Unlike those two bitches, you still had clean clothes on a few pages ago. Speaking of bitches, Atea in the middle panel looks readyto be edited in a cumshot video. Just saying for all those “creative” editors out there.

 YAY! Lets get our slave back so he can do all the stuff we care about but do not want to do.

Seriously, if Dobson tries to convince us they want to get him back because they care for him as a person, he fails miserably. Both by the choice of wording in this page, where Atea and Talus react angrier about the fact that without Sam things don’t work smoothly, rather than concern about his well being, as well as any behavior expressed in the previous chapter. These people are not reacting like friends in worry, they act like spoiled brats. Especially Talus who could still get his stupid burgers if he, as the cook of the crew, would just do his job. All he has to do is additionally open a few cabinets. Also, where in the heck is Uncle Peggy? Oh just go to the next pages so we are getting this over with.

Oh great, the lolcat pirates are back. Because they were so hilarious the first time. And look, they got defeated again. And what is their contribution to the story? To give information on where Sam may have gone.

And it is here now where I have to stop and come back to the pacing issue. Cause the last ten pages here? They are a good example of what I meant with rushed pacing and how it ruins things.

Once more I need to say, I get it. I get the major points Dobson wants to get across. That a) Sam is gone that b) without him things are not all that good for the crew anymore c) they decide they want to find him d) they get information of where he is by going after the one feline that can provide a potential hint. Four major story points Dobson wants to get across. And he is free to get them across. But the way he does it, is just way too fast. Neither the characters, nor the reader really gets time to comprehend that Sam is gone and what that means aside of the surface level loss of luxury Alex and Co are now experiencing. The emotional weight of Sam’s “loss” is pushed aside for the sake of cruising through the plot defined by its surface premise, as fast as possible. And considering that the meat of this story is supposed to be how much Sam means to the others as a person as well as his personal tragedy, intend and execution, thanks to this pacing, does not compute.

Pacing and overall structure are way off and fail to engage us in addition to just killing any suspense in what is going to happen next or surprise us in an interesting fashion. In other words, I am not entertained by this story. It is not funny, it is not sad, it is not “adventurous”.

Personally, I would suggest to actually use the “premise” of those ten pages and turn them at least into two independent chapters of this story overall, to give the premise actually some meat on the bone. The first chapter being a multipager with the crew realizing Sam is gone first BEFORE realizing that without him their luxuries are gone (putting also emphasize this way on the fact they care for Sam also more as a person instead of just the things he does for them) and then once they realize he is missing, deciding to go after him. Only to realize that when they want to prepare themselves for the task (getting their gear together as well as lunch e.g.) that everything is dirty or damaged because Sam normally takes care of it. Leading to a sequence of them having to experience doing Sam’s work for once, making them already there indirectly in part realize what he all does they took for granted.

The second chapter would then be them on the sea, trying to think of where to look at and eventually stumbling upon the cat pirates. Only instead of defeating them easily this time and getting the information, expectations are subverted and the cats actually fight back first, leading to a more hilarious confrontation where Alex and her crew can actually also show how they can be funny and badass, instead of Dobson just always “talking” and trying to convince us they are cool. And look, I do not expect a multi chapter One Piece like battle against the cat captain who turns out to be a master of Scratch Jutzu or something the moment he sniffs catnip. But please, give me something in this story. Some conflict, some diversion, something for characters to actually do that shows they can be badass, funny and awesome. Something that is as cartoony as Dobson likes to claim Alex ze Pirate is, but has never shown in its entirety.

Instead we get to this page, where of all characters Talus is the one who finally seems to realize how he and others took Sam for granted.

 And again, even this page is a good example of terrible pacing. Cause this realization, now shoved in within this and the next page? It would mean so much more if it happened in parts somewhere else in this story before or after, slowly to everyone stepwise. Cause then it would actually feel like a “development” of a chain of thoughts and internal realizations. Instead it is half heartedly thrown in all at once in those pages, to get the point across that NOW Sam’s “friends” finally realize, they took him always for granted.

Congratulations on realizing that you are the real scum in this story. What do you expect from me now? To give you hugs and feel pity for you like you are characters in Steven Universe, all because you had an epiphany? You do not deserve mine or any readers sympathy, just because NOW you feel bad for your terrible behavior. Cause if I did, it would just feel rewarding in a certain manner. And you do not deserve a reward. You have to make things up first or at the very least put in some sort of effort to show me, that you are not just feeling bad, but are willing to change for the better. Otherwise you are in the future still just the same toxic abusers you were two pages ago.

... man, that really felt like me already venting at Steven Universe.

Anyway, we have reached the town where Sam is from…

And it looks NOTHING at all like the artwork from Legends implied parts of the town to look like

Where are the badly drawn docks? The houses that imply this is not just a small village on the beach but an actual small town? The twon square where they sell underaged boys as slaves? Jesus Christ, what is the orphanage going to look li-

Nevermind. The orphanage is crushed. And all the people that lived in it are dead.

... WHAT THE HECK IS WRONG WITH YOU, DOBSON! This is genuinely a sick joke here. Look, I am all for black and dark comedy myself, but this feels cruel. I need to remind you, Alex ze Pirate in Dobson’s eyes was also meant to be a comic for all ages. Meaning something also little kids should be able to read and enjoy. Pushing aside how much of that would be bullshit by the shitton of sexist and sex jokes in other strips of the comic alone, this here is not the kind of joke I would like to see a little kid being exposed to when reading any form of story.

Look, I am not saying you can’t make fun about death. But Death is also a major part of life, which many of us are already being exposed to at an early age. And I think it is important that when we talk about death as a subject in a story for kids, we should actually address it in a “mature” manner the kid may understand. That death, as in the genuine loss of a life and not e.g. an awesome interpretation of the Grim Reaper as written by Terry Pratchett, is tragic. That it means permanently losing someone you or someone else loves. That when talking about it, we should talk about it in a serene manner. And there have been great kids stories who tackled the subject directly or indirectly. A Land Before Time for example, the loss of Littlefoots mother and how he “copes” with it while the majority of the plot still focuses on an adventure to find the Great Valley… that is great. But this thing here that Dobson does? To create a shocking revelation and then sell it as a joke based on the fact that Alex, Atea and Talus react with jawdrops to it? It is not handling the death of those children with any form of gravitas in a story that supposedly is meant to be emotional and play with your heartstrings. And yes, we know nothing about those kids, they are essentially non entities to further the plot. But in context of the story, you have to consider, those kids that are “unimportant” to the reader? For the character of Sam, those people were family. At page 14, we as readers start to realize what Sam finding this locket and going back to his hometown only to find out everyone he knew is dead must mean for him. We, people with even an ounce of empathy and understanding how tragedies should be in part written realize, that shit just hit the fan for Sam and that the story should genuinely focus on how Sam would deal with such a tragedy. But does Dobson treat this revelation with any grace or dignity? NOPE!

It is just a bunch of information dropped on us randomly by an old guy who (I guess similar to Dobson) does not even care that kids died. They are just a plotdevice. Oh and also most of those kids died of an infectious disease where most people die of dehydration after literally shitting non stop. Just to add additional gravity and dignity to the loss of prepubescent lives that should count as Sam’s siblings.

You know, I have to change my opinion on Alex. She is not the worst abuser of Sam. The worst person to ever abuse Sam is Andrew Dobson himself. Cause at least Alex did not kill his extended “family”. And to think this “children comic” was written by the same guy who made a “So you are a Cartoonist” strip where he talked about how kids media can tell more mature comics with more gravitas than live action stuff and novels meant for people that aren’t just children, young adults or mentally stucked manchildren. Dobson, after this page you have no right to call your stuff “appropriate for children” or mature anymore.

I am genuinely furious at this page right now as that I can go on. So here, have the last page of this chapter so I can wrap this up and enjoy some good forms of fiction…

Well Atea, everyone he knew from this village and potentially cared about died in an house collapsing with no one having removed the remains still and he is going on a cemetery. UNLIKE DOBSON WHEN WRITING THIS, USE YOUR BRAIN YOU INSULT TO LESBIANS!

[dulce-dailyprophet]

FEBRUARY 17TH, 1980

B R E A K I N G  N E W S HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT & WIZARDRY TO CLOSE INDEFINITELY

By Rita Skeeter: Breaking News Reporter, Auror Beat Columnist, All Around Delightful Woman 

The wizarding community was shocked early Sunday morning after the Board of Governors unceremoniously announced they would be closing the castle’s doors indefinitely while it worked with the Ministry to procure better security wards in this dark and draining time after an alleged break-in. An unnamed source informed the paper that some of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named’s followers infiltrated the school under the cover of a Board of Governors meeting earlier this month, when the wards would’ve been lowered for ease of access. Garishly labeled ‘Death Eaters,’ they laid waste to Albus Dumbledore’s Headmaster office, to cover up their true intentions - an unknown proclivity toward his Pensieve & several cabinets full of his memories.

The realization of what was taken, harrowing to professors at the school & Aurors investigating alike, was the ultimate cause of the shut down, a small scale infiltration as described being a ‘painful reminder’ of how unsafe the school has truly become since The Curse went into effect earlier this year. With the loss of Albus Dumbledore at its helm, students, parents, & professors alike were all vocal about the concern of security, but were informed to press on by the Minister for Magic, Harold Minchum, for the sake of the children’s futures.

Acting Headmistress of Hogwarts, Minerva McGonagall, gave a formal statement in regard to the future of the school.

"Hogwarts has always been regarded as the safest place in the world since the turn of the century, not having closed its doors in times of strife or hardship, but opening them wider & welcoming those in need of our protection. We simply cannot provide, nor guarantee, that level of security to our students or their parents anymore. It was ultimately a decision left to the Board of Governors, who cited many fears, the most concerning of which being the idea of Hogwarts once again becoming a target of a large-scale attack at the hands of You-Know-Who and his followers. These are children and they deserve to be home with their families when the danger is so near to the castle walls.” 

Despite callings for the school to be closed earlier this year when the security wards were first deemed ‘flawed,’ the announcement was met with much backlash, by parents and students alike, over the validity of their futures when being robbed of the rest of their school year. 

Students who were unable to finish their seventh year or take their exams have been encouraged by the Minister of Magic’s Advisor, Lucius Malfoy, to apply for any and all entry level jobs being offered at this time, namely the Department of Magical Transportation and Wizengamot Administrative Services subdivisions, who are desperately hiring since the Curse came into effect. Positions will also be opening at the Ministry of Magic’s security hub & maintenance office, for students in their sixth year. When asked about a possible school system, grading system, or exam schedule to help make up for the loss in education for the rest of the semester, this reporter was met with a begrudging ‘no comment.’

It is unclear what the future holds for the wizarding community. What is clear is that Harold Minchum, as Minister for Magic, needs to come to stop maintaining such a polished appearance & begin to get his hands dirty, taking on this You-Know-Who nonsense head on - now that the ripples of the war have started to turn the tide on our children, we must act before we drown any hope of their future.

A U R O R  B E A T A NEW ERA OF JUSTICE: RUFUS SCRIMEGOUR PROMOTED TO HEAD OF AUROR HEADQUARTERS, ‘CHANGE IS COMING’

After three days of confusion, the Minister for Magic announced this morning that ex-Head Auror Alastor Moody has taken a leave of absence at this time, but remained silent on the abruptness of his disappearance. As a figurehead of the Aurors, the announcement sent shockwaves through the wizarding community, the lack of answers to the obvious questions more obstructing than the change itself. Rufus Scrimegour, a decorated Auror and long time compatriot of Moody’s, was seen as the ‘best possible option’. The Minister cited Scrimegour’s ‘willingness & determination’ as well as ‘utter ruthlessness’ as the main reasons for his ascension into a leadership role at this time.

Although having unofficially accepted the title & begun work, Scrimegour’s swearing in ceremony is to be held in the Ministry of Magic’s atrium on February 29th, as a formal welcoming of the wizard to his position. Insiders of the Auror department have leaked that the ceremony will be a limited attendance, with only press, Aurors, and other Ministry workers invited to witness the dawn of a ‘new era of justice.’ { continued on page 3 }

C O M M U N I T Y HOGSMEADE RECONSTRUCTION UNDERWAY, MET WITH PUBLIC SUPPORT & DONATIONS BY THE MALFOY FAMILY

Hogsmeade has taken a resounding hit over the last month; despite the Minister’s efforts to bolster the economy in Diagon & Knockturn Alley, his office has fallen woefully short in its attempts to reconstruct the barren town. After it was laid to waste during the battle earlier last month that took several lives, efforts to revitalize Hogsmeade were encumbered by the investigating Auror unit, as well as the general security warding put in place in an attempt to protect Hogwarts from attack. 

For those who maintain businesses in Hogsmeade, it was a death sentence - many shopkeepers and owners alike complained that their business bureau was being blocked by the Ministry itself from beginning reconstruction. All hope was seemingly lost until none other than Lucius & Narcissa Malfoy stepped in, having finally heard the cries of the common people. The Malfoy Trust is rumored to have immediately poured money right back into the pockets of those who had suffered, paying back whatever loss they had incurred over the past month of being out of business. 

Rumor has it that Narcissa Malfoy will be traveling to Hogsmeade on February 29th to oversee the reconstruction efforts personally, having banded a slew of volunteers, public support, & monetary donations to aid her efforts. In a formal statement from the Malfoy Estate, the couple cited an ‘overwhelming duty to our community to do what the Ministry cannot in this trying time’ as well as a ‘justified interest in the prosperity of wizarding kind.’ No comment was made, however, about the decision to begin reconstruction the same day as Rufus Scrimegour’s swearing in. Is it truly an act of goodwill, or a backhanded political attempt to undermine the Minister for Magic, in face of a public with a growing disdain? Only time will tell. { continued on page 6 } 

[beccaislearning]

Self isolating: A guide for the bewildered.

It seems that we’re now at that awful point where we’re having to balance utter panic with pragmatism: not to take the Corona outbreak so seriously that we oscillate between being immobilised and panic buying, but yet also to be pragmatic about what we can do. To crack on with a real and difficult situation, where the stakes are potentially very high for us and those we love, and even for those we don’t love so much.

Self isolating scares me. The cut off from productivity and agency I think are my two biggest fears. Of course there’s being cut off from people, but for me I know that I worry more about the dependency that self-isolation conversely requires, especially in a new city. 

For me, it’s hard not to wrestle with all these ideas in light of ME. Lately I’ve been feeling like an 83 year old in a 33 year old’s body. Viruses are scary for the already chronically ill, because they represent a great shove down the mountain we’ve been working so hard at dragging ourselves up for years. And yet, as I wrestle, as I start talking to friends who are already self-isolating, it strikes me that I may also have some tools stored up for times such as these. I am, in fact, an expert at being housebound. This should go on my CV.

So here, is some public service blogging. Some tips for those who are novice at being ill and endlessly in the company of one.

Tip 1: Embrace it, don’t fight it. 

You get to choose your attitude. There is a lot to resist or fear, and yet this will not change the situation, nor will it make any self isolation go quicker.  So much of solitude and illness is a mental battle alongside a physical one, and so in grace and zen-like peaceability welcome this time with kindness. See what you might learn from it. Accept the unwanted gift of slowing down. Recognise that is will be tough, but know that it might also be rich. 

Tip 2: Podcasts and audiobooks.

Sometimes our minds are just too busy fighting their anxious battles to get them to be reasonable. In these times, and in times that I’ve found myself too poorly to watch TV or read, a gentle listen to something provides enough distraction for your busy tired brain whilst still allowing you to be horizontal with closed eyes.

My recommendations? Audiobooks-wise, I’ve loved listening to some classic literature that would take me a lot longer to get around to reading otherwise: the rather apt ‘100 Years of Solitude’ and ‘Love in a Time of Cholera’ by Gabriel Garcia Marquez have been highlights! More contemporary novels I’ve enjoyed lately are Ann Patchett’s ‘The Dutch House’ (read by Tom Hanks), Taffy Brodesser-Akner’s ‘Fleishman is in Trouble’, or good non-fiction by David Sedaris or Michelle Obama’s ‘Becoming’ which are all the more brilliant for being read by the authors themselves.

My podcasts recommendations are thus: 

Everyone, start with the ‘Fortunately’ podcast with Fi Glover and Jane Garvey. Two brilliant friends having meandering and intellectually subversive conversation. It will be a good substitute for going for a coffee with your own besties.

For those who are especially anxious: listen to the Robcast (Rob Bell’s podcast). He will refocus you on things above and draw you closer to God. I binge listen to this in my own times of illness and crisis, and never get left in that same place by the end of a podcast. Similarly with Krista Tippett’s ‘On Being’ podcast, which not about overtly Christian spirituality for those who prefer that! (Though many Christians may claim that about Rob Bell).

Elizabeth Day’s ‘How to Fail’ for some gentle wisdom, ‘Reasons to be Cheerful’ with Ed Miliband and Geoff Lloyd for some positive political commentary, ‘Literary Fiction’ for book lovers, and ‘The Guilty Feminist’ for feminism with a good range of comedic voices.  Also worth listening to Dolly Alderton’s ‘Love Stories’ podcast which isn’t current, but has the most beautiful back catalogue of interviews about love. 

For foodies: ‘Out to Lunch’ with Jay Rayner, ‘The Kitchen Cabinet’ and the ‘Off Menu’ podcast with Ed Gamble James Acaster (the Victoria Coren-Mitchell episode is one of my most re-listened to).

For those with an ‘offbeat’ sense of humour I liberally recommend the ‘Beef and Dairy Network Podcast’ and suggest that you start with episodes that feature the Beef Poet Laureate, Michael Banyan.

Also, binge watching TV helps, but in my experience it is good to make sure you have time away from screens. It somehow lifts you to look away a bit.

Tip 3: TREATS 

Surround yourself with gentle things that make you smile. For me? Lovely moisturisers, great smelling candles, poached eggs on toast, clean bedsheets, animals on the internet, good pyjamas, beautiful mugs, chocolate Brazil nuts, and overflowing bowls of satsumas. 

Tip 4: This too shall pass.

When you’re ill and isolated, you can lose all sense of time and perspective. There will be times when everything feels endlessly awful. In these times, remind yourself that this too will pass. This isn’t forever, summer is coming, and at some point Corona virus will feel as historic as swine flu. And hopefully that will fortify you.

The spiritual stuff:

Finally a word from wisdom in the Christian tradition. Feel free to stop reading. here, if this isn’t for you.

I am learning, slowly, and at times reluctantly, that the greatest gift throughout suffering is to worship. I think of Paul and Silas, unfairly imprisoned and worshiping in their cell, not knowing when or if they will be released from the futility and fear of it all. As they worship, the walls come down, and yet the stay where they are for the sake of the safety of their prison guard. It turns out that even though they were imprisoned, they were truly free with or without the walls.

Or as Anne Lamott puts it: “Look up! My pastor says you can trap bees on floor of jars without lids because they don't look up. They just walk around  and bump into glass. So look up. We're free”

I do not share this tritely, though there will have been times where people who dared tell me to worship in my greatest suffering would have been at huge risk of thumping (had I the strength). Worship refocuses our whole selves on where it is we put our hope, and that changes everything.

[letterboxd]

Horror.

Letterboxd presents our community’s 25 top rated horror films of all time.

With the release this month of the newest Halloween, and an embarrassment of riches in the form of thousands of new horror film reviews thanks to all the Hoop-tober / Shocktober / 31 Days of Horror challenges, we are feeling brave enough to open the crypt and pull out the Letterboxd community’s 25 Highest Rated Horror Films of All Time.

Don’t @ or stab us, these are computed from your ratings of all feature-length films tagged in our horror genre, as at 24 October 2018. It’s a wide-ranging list, with some perhaps surprising omissions—for example, the original Halloween, Night of the Living Dead and Evil Dead 2 all just missed the cut. See the full list or read on for data insights and member reviews of our highest rated horrors.

Strangling the numbers:

Though there is some genre crossover (into comedy with Young Frankenstein, mockumentary with What We Do in the Shadows and One Cut of the Dead, and zom-rom-com with Shaun of the Dead), these films are all categorized as horrors by us (and IMDb).

In the battle of great horror decades, the scary sixties wins with seven films, over five films from the slasher seventies and three from the evil eighties. Shout out to the terror twenties, with three films.

By country, USA has most films in the list, but Japan comes in strong second with four, Germany has three and France, Sweden and the UK are represented with two each. India, New Zealand and the Czech Republic also make the cut.

The most obscure film on the list (from a Western perspective) is Manichitrathazhu, from Kerala-born director Fazil, watched by just over 250 members.

All the directors are dudes. We can’t make any excuses for that, but we can point out that, behind-the-scenes and on-screen, women played important roles in these films. The Phantom Carriage, for example, is based on the novel by Sweden’s Selma Lagerlöf, who in 1909 was the first woman to win the Nobel Prize in Literature. And what would Jaws be without the editing prowess of Verna Fields?

There are five films on the list from this century, some by directors of color, including Jordan Peele, Jemaine Clement and Taika Waititi. Roll on the 21st century of horror.

On that note: this top 25 is based on member ratings, but we also have a popularity index—based on the sheer amount of activity for each film regardless of rating—which produces quite a different list, heavily favoring the 21st century.

Letterboxd’s 25 Highest Rated Horror Films (as at October 2018):

1. Psycho (1960, USA) Directed by Alfred Hitchcock

“Throughout his career, director Alfred Hitchcock has enriched the world of cinema with some truly groundbreaking thrillers and despite that, Psycho feels like something of a first from him. It’s his first stint with the genre of horror, it breaks through the barriers of censorship unlike any film before and over the years, it has played a major role in influencing not only films but pop-culture as well.” —CinemaClown

2. Alien (1979, USA) Directed by Ridley Scott

“When shit hits the fan it comes with the best first impression of any monster. PERIOD.” —TKettle

3. The Shining (1980, USA) Directed by Stanley Kubrick

“As soon as Jack Torrance is in frame, that uneasy feeling takes over. I feel as though I wish I could warn all of the other characters in the movie to walk on eggshells, don’t upset him! Maybe you shouldn’t talk to him right now! Can’t you see it! Just leave him alone! There has never been another character to give me such all-consuming anxiety.” —HollieHorror

4. The Thing (1982, USA) Directed by John Carpenter

“The man responsible for the movie’s stomach-churning physical effects deserves most of the credit for its appeal and success. Rob Bottin worked so hard he was hospitalized for exhaustion, pneumonia and a bleeding ulcer! And he was only 21 at the time! Pure underrated genius.” —Josh Stoddard

5. Rosemary’s Baby (1968, USA) Directed by Roman Polański

“I’m awestruck by how good this is. Every little detail from the very beginning means something and you really experience exactly what Rosemary experiences. Masterful spectatorship alignment.” —Sean Upton

6. Get Out (2017, USA) Directed by Jordan Peele

“When you prod underneath the surface here there’s so much just waiting to be unpacked. As a piece of writing it’s a masterclass in foreshadowing and subtext.” —Alex Secker

7. Jaws (1975, USA) Directed by Steven Spielberg

“Bruce, the mechanical shark, still works today. Even with all the VFX-heavy films that are commonplace now, the shark is [as] scary and compelling now as it was in 1975. The camerawork is masterful, and it feels like films now are still trying to catch up to what was happening behind the camera on this movie.” —EJ Moreno

8. 修羅 (Demons) (1971, Japan) Directed by Toshio Matsumoto

“Matsumoto è stato uno dei più grandi innovatori del cinema giapponese e fonte di ispirazione di grandi registi del cinema mondiale. Quest’opera non fa che confermarne l’importanza e la genialità.”

Translation: “Matsumoto was one of the greatest innovators of Japanese cinema and a source of inspiration for great world cinema directors. This work confirms his importance and genius.” —Tonino Mannella

9. Les Diaboliques (Diabolique) (1955, France) Directed by Henri-Georges Clouzot

“It was extremely suspenseful and you can see how this film had such a huge impact on Hitchcock when he made Psycho… Five out of five overly dramatic heart attacks.” —Libby Ajayi

10. Possession (1981, Germany, France) Directed by Andrzej Żuławski

“Ana’s spectral screams as she flows and dances like a ghoul in the subway. All I could do was cry at it, with her, for her.” —Claire Diane

11. 怪談 (Kwaidan) (1964, Japan) Directed by Masaki Kobayashi

“Every frame of this movie is a piece of art… To ask for more would be greedy.” —Gabe

12. മണിച്ചിത്രത്താഴ് (Manichitrathazhu) (1993, India) Directed by Fazil

“Perhaps the most popular film to come out of Kerala in this generation. The screenplay, the performance, and the plot are worth a study in [themselves]. Fantastic package of thrilling entertainment and storytelling.” —Vinay Warrier

13. Whatever Happened to Baby Jane? (1962, USA) Directed by Robert Aldrich

“Normally my heart really aches for ‘crazy’ characters who have been brutalized by the concept of womanhood but… it’s very hard for me to feel bad for Baby Jane.” —Caroline

14. The Innocents (1961, UK) Directed by Jack Clayton

“Exquisite and captivating… it’s the only movie I’ve watched this Hooptober that has genuinely scared me. Squirming, nail biting, chills down the back, all of it.” —Xebeche

15. Låt den rätte komma in (Let the Right One In) (2008, Sweden) Directed by Tomas Alfredson

“Deep down, it’s just a story about human misunderstanding, but it is gracefully put together to give you a thrilling ride that will make you root for an evil you’re not really sure is there. It makes you question your moral standards and puts you in a nice grey area.” —Charlie Bluu

16. カメラを止めるな！ (One Cut of the Dead) (2017, Japan) Directed by Shin'ichirô Ueda

“The film starts as a Z-list zombie movie and looks cheesy as hell, but when we discover we are watching more of a mockumentary of this film being made and the director on the verge of a breakdown, the fun really begins. The first 37 minutes are completely one cut… one cut, that actually blows my mind.” —Coles84

17. 鬼婆 (Onibaba) (1964, Japan) Directed by Kaneto Shindō

“In good ol’ black and white, Onibaba is a visually stunning erotic horror film painted in deep shadows and flesh… it’s less a ghost or monster tale and more of a morality play about the passions and desperation that arise in splintered, war-torn communities, and how no matter what we fear, we are ultimately our own demons. Creepy, sensual and effective.” —Doug Bellak

18. Das Cabinet des Dr. Caligari (The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari) (1920, Germany) Directed by Robert Wiene

“From Murnau’s Nosferatu and the American noir of the 1940s, to contemporary horror films and every piece of work where Tim Burton asks Johnny Depp to dab black around the actor’s eyes, the influence of Wiene’s film can be felt… it is the stuff of nightmares that still has power nearly a century after it was made.” —Travis Lytle

19. Spalovač mrtvol (The Cremator) (1968, Czechia) Directed by Juraj Herz

“I find it hard to fathom a film as stylish and mesmerizing as this is, 45 years old! It was obviously way ahead of its time! The cinematography is as captivating as the film is deliciously macabre!” —Juli Norwood

20. The Exorcist (1973, USA) Directed by William Friedkin

“The Exorcist remains one of the greatest achievements of the horror genre. The things they were able to accomplish with sound mixing at the time have yet to be outdone. The makeup department deserves a heap of credit, and the effects still look great. Acting is something that typically gets sacrificed in most horror movies, but this is one exception where every actor delivers a quality performance.” —Sean

21. Körkarlen (The Phantom Carriage) (1921, Sweden) Directed by Victor Sjöström

“It was not for nothing that Selma Lagerlöf became the first woman to get the Nobel Prize. She’s a great storyteller, and there’s a melody in her writings that is hard to not get sucked into… Victor Sjöström has really understood the tone of the novel and the music that comes with it is in tune with the melody of Lagerlöf's writings.” —Terése Flynn

22. Faust – Eine deutsche Volkssage (Faust) (1926, Germany) Directed by F. W. Murnau

“I watch this, and cannot fathom how this one man could make the cinematic medium look so relentlessly groundbreaking in its mere infancy. It’s obscene that he died so young… in a sense, Faust’s quest for the ur-truth becomes Murnau’s own quest for his own epic cinema: one that maximizes the potential for awe at every turn, leaving behind mundane methods for totalizing ones.” —Darkness Lingers

23. Shaun of the Dead (2004, UK) Directed by Edgar Wright

“I understand tossing Batman when your other options are [Prince’s] two biggest contributions to the world of music, but it still saddens me that Shaun and Ed so carelessly tossed away a truly undervalued record. Perhaps, we all do crazy things when we’re trying to survive.” —Willow Maclay

24. Young Frankenstein (1974, USA) Directed by Mel Brooks

“When Mel hits, he hits big… [he] may not employ nuance often, but he’s got broad comedy and wordplay down pat, and some of his best examples of this are in Young Frankenstein.” —Joe Campbell

25. What We Do in the Shadows (2014, New Zealand) Directed by Jemaine Clement and Taika Waititi

“An absolute must-watch for fans of horror comedy, horror, vampires, brilliant comedy in general, and great improvization. According to their IMDb trivia, Taika Waititi, Jemaine Clement and co. shot over 125 hours of improv for this film before finally whittling it down to 90 minutes of the best stuff.” —Voidember

Right. Now that that’s all done with, we are ready to go into town and party.

[marvelousbirthdays]

Happy Birthday, whedonista93!

September 3 - Victor Creed/May Parker - "Don't turn your back on me!" Definitely wouldn't hurt if it was a soulmate fic, for @whedonista93

Written by @meilan-firaga

Coming to terms with the fact that her nephew was a wall-crawling superhero was difficult enough. Dealing with the way Peter would run off to help out the Avengers—the actual freakin’ Avengers—and that fantastic teenage tendency not to call and fill her in was even worse. Handling all of that while working a full time job to keep a New York apartment, food on the table, and a brilliant kid in all the necessary school supplies was enough to make any normal person insane. It was no wonder she had a prescription for Xanax and a need to have a glass of wine before bed just to get even the smallest possibility of sleep.

May Parker was tip-toeing the line with wit’s end, and more than anything else what she needed was help. Not therapy help. Just someone to be there and maybe listen to her rant at the end of the day. Maybe someone that could listen to Peter ramble about science while she made dinner so she could focus on what she was doing. Just someone else around, but she didn’t have time to date to try and find someone. Even if she had the time, she didn’t want to take the risk she’d taken with Ben. He wasn’t her soulmate, and they’d agreed early on that they would just make it work until her soulmate came along. She never would have guessed that he’d be gone before she even met her soulmate. The risk wasn’t worth going through that pain again. So, she was determined to wait. Even if it meant going absolutely bonkers trying to handle everything on her own.

She was shopping for groceries—one of those days when her emotions were barely in check—when half a city block erupted into madness all around her. A team of some sort of enhanced bad guys were robbing an armored car at the street corner. May had just gotten to the door of the market, her shopping basket clutched in one hand, when Peter swung onto the scene in his brilliant red and blue costume. She clutched one hand to her chest, watching with wide eyes as Peter flipped between the bad guys. Suddenly, a hulking man in a long coat filled her vision. He prowled around the edge of the fight, his eyes focused intently on Peter, flexing fingers tipped in deadly looking claws. He reached to one side, bending at the waist just enough to scoop a hefty piece of debris off the ground. Heart pounding, May didn’t even consider what she was doing. She just grabbed a can of green beans out of her basket and winged it right at him. It connected with the back of his head. The man dropped the debris he was holding and turned to look at her over his shoulder. He huffed out an incredulous laugh, flashing her a grin that revealed pointed canine teeth.

And then he turned away, going right back to the fight as if he wasn’t the least bit concerned about her.

Something in May snapped. She worked too hard and too long to not be taken seriously. Sure, she was just a middle aged lady with a normal job and way too much stress in her life. Sure, it was her nephew that was the genius and the superhero, but she was not the type of woman who could be so easily brushed aside. May stomped out over the sidewalk, chucking another can that connected right between his shoulder blades.

“Don’t you turn your back on me!” she shrieked, launching another can. He dodged that one, finally turning to face her fully. From the front he was even more intimidating. Broad shoulders, scruffy facial hair, and wild eyes. He folded his arms over his chest and looked her over from head to toe.

“You’re not what I expected, sweetheart,” he rumbled, barely loud enough to be heard over the commotion from the fight.

May’s blood ran cold even as a warm flush rushed over the words he’d just said where they were printed along her shoulder. Shadows moved in from the edges of her vision. He was still talking, moving toward her with his hands out in a placating gesture, but she couldn’t hear the words. She was having trouble breathing. Somewhere in the distance she thought she heard Peter shouting out her name. Her soulmate was barely two steps away when everything went dark.

~*~*~*~*~*~

When she came to, May was surprised to find herself stretched out on her own bed. For a brief moment she wondered if it had all been a dream, but then she saw the concrete dust flaking across her jacket sleeves. Her shoes were still on her feet. The light in the room looked like early evening, and the bedroom door had been left cracked. Pushing herself to her feet, she crept to the door. She could hear voices from the kitchen. She made her way out into the apartment as quietly as she could, and stopped in her tracks at the sight before her.

Peter was sitting at the kitchen table, talking animatedly about the fight they’d just been in. The man from the battle— her soulmate— was fiddling with something at the stove. He looked so strange against the bright colors of the kitchen. His jacket had been abandoned over the back of one of the chairs, and she could see the very prominent muscles of his back and shoulders through the tight black henley he’d been wearing beneath it.

“Aunt May!” Peter bounced to his feet and over to her. “You never told me that you had a soulmate!” He launched straight into babble mode, not giving her an instant to get a word in. “I mean, I always assumed you were mark-less like Uncle Ben. You should have seen it! As soon as you passed out he turned on all the other guys. Helped me round them up and tie them to a lamppost. Then, of course, we had to get out of there fast before the cops showed up and we figured you wouldn’t want the ambulance ride bill or to have to talk to the cops so Victor here carried you and I got the groceries and he knows the X-Men! Well, sort of, being that they’ve been kind of chasing him since the 80s but he says he’s got a plan to go through to get back in their good graces and—” He stopped suddenly, a beeping from his Stark watch alerting him to an incoming call seconds before Tony Stark’s voice echoed up from his wrist.

“Kid, why is FRIDAY telling me that you and your smokin’ hot aunt—” a growl rumbled over from the stove at that descriptor, “—ended up in a tussle and then disappeared from the cameras with Sabertooth?”

Peter covered the watch with one hand, blinking up at her with wide eyes. “I’ll take this in my room so he maybe doesn’t send the Iron Legion to check in and give you guys some time to talk.”

And just like that he was gone, leaving May alone with her soulmate. Who was apparently a superpowered criminal. There was only one thing to do. May eased herself up beside him at the stove and stood on her tip-toes to reach into the overhead cabinet, pulling down a bottle of wine. She could smell the bubbling pasta sauce and another scent that must have been his own. It was like a forest floor after a heavy rain. When she looked over, she found him staring down at her, intense concentration on his face. He didn’t speak as she uncorked the bottle and poured out two glasses, splitting his attention between watching her and tending the pasta.

“So,” she began after a long moment and several fortifying sips of wine. “Victor, was it?”

He nodded, shifting to drain the pasta over her sink. “Victor Creed.”

“And you’re a criminal.”

“I have been,” he admitted, adding the drained pasta into the sauce. “Get the feeling that’s not going to be an acceptable career going forward.”

“Just like that?” May snorted. “No one makes a completely 180 just because they meet their soulmate.”

Victor finally turned away from the stove, stepping directly into her personal space. His eyes were still wild, just as they’d been on the street earlier that day, but behind the feral nature she could see a frightening level of sincerity. “Most people haven’t been waiting for their soulmate for a century,” he told her. He lifted a hand to her face, claws curled under as he stroked the backs of his fingers along her cheek. “From this point forward my whole life is you.”

[hethrewmyheartinthecut]

A Battle Joined • Ch. 3

previous chapter • on ao3 • next chapter

PART I. WHAT HAPPENED TO MRS. SHELBY? (cont.)

THEN • The return of an old enemy causes considerable turmoil in Esme’s life.

NOW • In pain, Tommy makes a rash choice.

NOW

Tommy limped through the back alley to the Watery Lane house on memory alone; the moon, at its thinnest, had been all but eclipsed by clouds, which sent a light rain to earth and turned the alley pitch black. When he was only a few minutes away, and could picture the little back door with its dull brass handle in its place in the darkness ahead of him, the rain suddenly became a full downpour, getting in his eyes, puddling in his shoes, and slicking his shirt as close as if it was a second skin.

He fumbled with the key on both sides of the door. Once he had locked it behind him, he shoved the keys back in his pocket and made a beeline for the kitchen in the dark, feeling for the cabinet handle and then finding the half-empty bottle of whiskey. Finally, he sat himself down at the kitchen table, in the dark, coat on, hat on, shoes on, and had himself a drink straight from the bottle while the rainwater and blood mixed in a puddle beneath him.

He’d be embarrassed if anyone saw this, likely, with injuries no worse than a shallow cut on the abdomen and a sprained ankle, but fuck, it had not been a pretty night and there was no one left to see that his wreckage was worse than could be accounted for by body alone.

Tommy worked the coat off his shoulders, soaked wool thick and unwieldy, then rummaged through its pockets for his cigarettes, still dry in their holder, and his lighter. He lit a cigarette. The exhale, long and slow, soothed him. So did the familiar orange glow that accompanied the smoke.

A quick bandage and a quantity of whiskey later, and he was ready. He called once a day at least. He was beginning to despair of ever getting an answer. Likely, he would likely have to go back up to London and threaten that Wilkes woman again, but that would be tiresome and fuck he was tired enough already.

He hauled himself up out of the chair, walked over to the office, and leaned on the desk, dialing the number he’d memorized, waiting impatiently for it to ring out.

This time, someone picked up.

“Hello?” A woman’s voice, tentative. Fucking hell. He hadn’t prepared for this. He hastily tried to make his voice as unthreatening as possible.

“Hello, is this Ms. Lee?”

Her cautious tone turned decidedly grim. “No, but give me one moment. Rupa!”

There was a bit of a scuffling sound, and then a new woman was at the phone.

“Yes? Is this Tommy?” She was making an effort to sound light, very unsuccessfully.

It was odd, hearing someone call him that when he’d never met them before, had no idea what they even looked like. But still. “Yes.”

“You scared Maisie half to death, I hear. Threatening to cut her up if I didn’t talk to you within the week.”

“My apologies.” He wasn’t sorry. “She was being...uncooperative.”

“What did you expect her to be like, with a man breaking into her house?”

“Usually that makes people more cooperative.”

“Have a lot of experience with break-ins, is it?”

“I think you know the answer to that.”

She paused a moment, shifted, became far more direct. Now her voice was more familiar; it was decidedly not Esme’s, but you could hear how they were sisters in it. “What do you want?”

“I went to London to find Esme. She and I had an arrangement. She was supposed to let me know that she was still alive, and she didn’t. So I’ve been making inquiries.”

It took Rupa altogether too long to answer that. “What do you want to know?”

“When was the last time you heard anything about her?”

“I can’t remember exactly.”

“Try.”

Rupa sighed. “A man came looking for her, six months ago. Said she had disappeared.”

“Luther Sutton?”

“Yes.”

He could practically taste the reluctance coming off her. “What exactly did he say?”

“I can’t remember. He wasn’t much of a talker.”

“Did he seem guilty?”

“Why do you care?”

“I want to know what happened to her. I want to know if he happened to her.”

“He came himself, and only weeks after she’d gone. You’re in Birmingham, calling me seven months later.”

“Enough.” Tommy didn’t need any more of that from her, had plenty of it already. It was nearly intolerable to talk about Esme at all, and to talk about the telegrams, which were in their own way intensely private, was even worse, but he did it. He explained the system.

“Do you see?” he said when he was done, hoping this would mollify her.

“Yes, I see.” She said it terribly flatly. She didn’t seem placated at all. If anything, she sounded more unhappy than before.

“So can you tell me now?”

Rupa sighed. “I’ll tell you everything I know.”

Tommy pushed off the desk and settled into the chair behind it. He lit a cigarette. It seemed to take her a moment to figure out where to begin.

“I would have told you before,” she said. “I would have called you. She gave me your number, in case of an emergency.”

He didn’t have enough whiskey in the house for this.

Rupa went on: “But I thought you already knew. I thought you had her killed.”

Tommy exhaled slowly. “Is she dead, then?”

“I don’t know.”

Due to the distance, he couldn’t press her, couldn’t afford to scare her off. He had to allow the silence, as much as he loathed it.

“Let me start at the beginning,” she said. “Esme called me about a couple weeks before she disappeared, all excited. She said she’d saved enough money to pay back the Favells for the robbery Dad pinned on them. I didn’t believe her. Nobody could make that kind of money with that kind of work. I thought she’d stolen it. Maybe stolen it from you.”

Tommy felt the expectant pause, but said nothing. Esme had money when she left, but Shelby money matters were none of her sister’s concern.

“But the way she talked,” Rupa went on, “she wasn’t happy. She was trying to make a change. She wanted to move to France, and of course I told her she could stay with us as long as she wanted—Paige and I, I mean—” And how odd, Tommy thought, that this woman could talk about her lover this simply and matter-of-factly, but perhaps that was France. “—but she said she wanted to get her own place, and she wanted Dad to come. She had me ask Dad, on her behalf, to come down to London and meet with the Favells on neutral ground, to offer an apology.”

“What neutral ground?”

“I didn’t ask for details. I thought it was ridiculous from top to bottom. They’d never forgive Dad. I knew it had been hard on her, when Dad left, and she was alone to carry the dishonor. Maybe it made her foolish. I thought Dad would see that, but he was just as wrong as she was about it. He went to London two days before she disappeared. And then they were both gone. I thought they had robbed you to pay back the Favells and finance the French house, but apparently not.”

Esme’s father? Fucking hell. Tommy wished he’d brought another pack of cigarettes with him; his last had gone on so long that it singed his fingers and had to be put out in the ashtray.

“Do you have any family friends in London, anyone that—”

“No. Dad had been in France with me, so we didn’t know anyone there, really. None of the other sisters lived there, either. And we’ve avoided other Romani. It’s better that way.”

“Right.”

“I spoke to her only once. Then I spoke to Dad once. He came to the flat before he left and brought his dog, so Paige would look after it. But that is all I know.”

“All right.”

“If you find either of them alive, tell them to come and take the dog. If you find either of them dead, I don’t need the ashes. But call me.”

“I will,” Tommy said.

She hung up.

Right. He was out of whiskey and didn’t have cigarettes at hand. He could detach, but there was work to be done.

Returning to the kitchen, he turned the lamp on, fetched needle and thread and sat once again at the table, stitching himself up. The chest-seizing sensation of the needle piercing his skin was enough to wholly occupy his mind, and by the time he had finished it up neatly with a clean white bandage, he felt nearly numb. There were thoughts—always thoughts—but he felt very little aside from the continuing dull ache in his ankle and the sharper ache in his abdomen. Though it was well past midnight, he ate a ploughman’s lunch as he went over the weekly shop report.

He very much wanted to go to bed, but if he let the puddle stay on the wood of the kitchen floor, it might stain, and he’d catch hell from Polly for that. He fetched the old mop from the back closet and returned. Blood had turned the puddle dark and nearly opaque against the wood of the floorboards. In fact a little trickle of blood was traveling very slowly down the leg of the chair and into the puddle, where it curled in little eddies and whorls, then dissipated, slowly. Finally there was no more blood, and no more patterns, just a still, shining liquid.

Tommy stopped staring. He put the mop down, turned, and went for the telephone.

“Charlie?”

“Of course it’s me, who else would be answering?” Tommy’s uncle replied, voice thick with sleepiness. “Fuck’s sake, what time is it?”

“Listen to me. I need to take a boat to London tomorrow morning. And I need you in it.”

“Can’t you take a fucking train? Or at least take Curly instead?”

“No.” Tommy hesitated, then added: “I’m expecting to have cargo on the way back.”

This time, he hung up first.

THEN

Bang.

Esme opened her eyes, hoping beyond hope to find her room still dark. But no, beyond the half-curtain of her own hair in her face, she saw plenty of warm early sunlight slanting through the window, and besides, she could hear the high-pitched chirping of a couple little black starlings perched outside on the sill.

“Oi.” Without looking, she knew it was Tommy. He kicked the door again, for emphasis.

She groaned. “I know.”

“Then?”

They both know that if he left then and there, with Esme still horizontal, he’d return in a minute only to find her asleep again. Flinging the old green blanket aside, she sat up in bed, turned, and fixed him with a narrow-eyed look of mock anger.

Tommy imitated a yawn, which in turn made her yawn, enormously. His lips twitched.

“Fuck off.”

Tommy did. Or at least he went back to his room, door still open. She could hear him moving around in there, opening closet doors, choosing clothes, getting dressed.

Esme shook her head, got up, and began to dress too. She was smiling, but likely that was the sleepiness.

“To this day, I don't know why I fucking married you,” she muttered.

“Your mistake,” he called back.

“Everyone makes foolish mistakes when they’re young.”

“Is that what you call twenty-seven, sweetheart?”

“Younger than you, darling.”

Esme waited for the next retort, but it never came. Mildly concerned, she wandered across the hall into his room, combing her hair all the while, to find Tommy rifling through his closet, back bare, trousers on, suspenders hanging from them in loops.

He must have heard her footsteps, because without turning round to see her, he said, “Where’s my blue shirt?”

Technically, he had three different blue shirts, but she knew exactly which one he was talking about. “It’s dead. I cannibalized it for dust rags.”

He made a noise of disgust. “Chin Li Foo could’ve got the stains out.”

“Chin’s a professional launderer, not a magician. It was nearly white, and you had blood all up the front. Here.” She reached around him and plucked a perfectly good, relatively unwrinkled white shirt off the rack.

Tommy didn’t look pleased, but put the shirt on as he was told. Esme walked into the hall, threw her comb on her bed through the open door, and headed downstairs, braiding her hair as she went.

Now fully awake, she reflected that on the whole, they were doing oddly well. She had expected some difference after last night’s conversation, a slight withdrawal on his part, perhaps, but for all the world he seemed as if nothing had happened. Perhaps that was withdrawal in its own way. Well, good. She was more than happy to mutually refuse acknowledging that anything had happened.

She put their old copper kettle on the stove for a morning cup of tea, then put on a pot of water and a few eggs to boil for a quick breakfast. A bit of toast would be nice with that. Now, didn’t they have half a loaf left from John’s kids’ baking spree a few days ago? Yes, there it was.

No. Even if they never spoke of it again, and even if he never thought of it again, Esme couldn’t forget it. She could still vividly remember the feeling of the moment, the cold of the night air on her skin after she left the bed, the low rasp in his voice and the expression on his face when he said, So this is it? Weary and vulnerable. I’m asking.

Perhaps Esme had made a mistake. She had made her reply in panic, mostly, knowing that she was exhausted and sentimental herself, knowing that the bed’s shared warmth and weight of understanding him had weakened her…

No. She closed her eyes. No, it had not been a mistake. The wavering she felt was only a human exhaustion.

By the time Tommy got to the kitchen fifteen minutes later with his gun in his shoulder holster and the morning newspaper in his hand, Esme had already finished her tea and toast and eggs, left his on the table, and moved on to washing up some dishes from the night before. Upon finishing the dishes, Esme interrupted Tommy’s article on the Newmarket racing prospect by putting a little brown bag on the table.

“What’s this?”

“Egg salad sandwich, apple, leftover gingerbread. Might be careful of the gingerbread; Katie’s a liberal cook, especially ginger. She says she hates boring food. Detests it. She talks like she ate a dictionary sometimes.”

Tommy looked up at her. “You made me lunch?”

“Might not have time for it later,” Esme said, as if that was an adequate explanation. It wasn’t, and they both knew it wasn’t, but she found she could only shrug.

“I’m seeing Polly before work today,” she said. And fled.

NOW

“Tommy! What a wonderful surprise!”

Alfie sauntered into the room smelling of rum and down to his shirtsleeves, sheened with sweat and clearly just off a bit of work. Tommy found himself sitting up slightly and awakening too. It was not unlike the reaction one might have to being in the presence of a large bear restrained by only a rusty chain. Any other day, and he would have hailed the challenge with pleasure, but just then, he found it nothing but a trial. He would play along, but he knew himself to be in such a weak position that there was no joy in it.

“Sit down, sit down.” Alfie waved a hand at him and plopped down into his own seat behind the desk. “Wot is this, Buckingham Palace? Are you standing on ceremony, mate?”

“I can only stay for a minute, Alfie,” Tommy said, as lightly as he could.

“A right shame, that, cause you could’ve stayed for lunch. There’s a leg of mutton would melt your tongue, Tommy, melt it right out of your mouth. But I understand.” He made a generous, expansive gesture with both hands. “Business is business.”

Tommy settled into the proffered chair and lit a cigarette. Then, with a slow exhale, he looked at Alfie expectantly.

“I’ve been hearing you’re having some troubles, innit,” said Alfie. “The Chinese?” And his face creased into a grin. “Fuck’s sake, Tommy, if you can’t handle them…” He shook his head. “And what’s this about you losing your temper?”

“You’d better check your sources, Alfie. You’re behind on the news.”

“I’m behind, is it?” Alfie was still grinning with his mouth at least, if not with his eyes.

“We’ve more than answered that rebellion. With force.”

“Mm.” Alfie appeared to be considering that. Then, abruptly, he repeated: “And what’s this about you losing your temper?”

“You know how it is, Alfie,” Tommy said. “People can forget who you are if you leave them alone long enough.” He leaned back in his chair and regarded the man opposite with flat eyes. His voice went down a few notes. “Sometimes they need a reminder.”

Alfie took that in, unsmiling. Suddenly, he broke out into a laugh, mad and real at the same time, finger pointing at Tommy in some sort of discovery. “You haven’t killed anyone lately, ‘ave you, Tommy?” Not just discovery, triumph. “I can see it. I can see it.” He stopped laughing. “You’re like my dog, is what you are. Sometimes I have to go on business and I have to leave him locked up in the house for a few days, right? By the time I get back, he’s scratching up the doors, desperate to get out. He’s torn the place to pieces. But you’re a businessman now, innit, and you’re not in Birmingham. Not in the kingdom anymore, so you gotta be civilized. No clawing up the sofa cushions for you. No impulsive little manslaughters. All you can do is sit there and look at me with those fucking eyes.”

Alfie tsked sympathetically. “Poor puppy. Here.” And up out of the drawer came the eternal whiskey bottle. “‘ave yourself a drink.” Alfie filled the little glass generously. Tommy didn’t touch it.

“I didn’t come to talk killing, Alfie.”

“Then why the fuck are you here, mate?”

The rest of this chapter is here on ao3, because Tumblr malfunctions when I post chapters as long as this one. My apologies for the inconvenience.

I worked on this for a long time. I edited some of the scenes several times in an effort to make sure they were the best they could be. This chapter is 16k words. Please, if you enjoyed it, if you want to see more, if you felt one drop of feeling while reading it, let me know.

And thank you so much to those of you who have commented or have sent me an ask or said something. I can’t tell you how many times I have reread some comments when I needed energy to go on. Thank you again, so much.

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[drthetasigma14]

Lovecraft Fic/RP Prompts

The Commonplace Book of H.P. Lovecraft

This book consists of ideas, images, & quotations hastily jotted down for possible future use in weird fiction. Very few are actually developed plots—for the most part they are merely suggestions or random impressions designed to set the memory or imagination working. Their sources are various—dreams, things read, casual incidents, idle conceptions, & so on.—H. P. Lovecraft

Presented to R. H. Barlow, Esq., on May 7, 1934—in exchange for an admirably neat typed copy from his skilled hand.

1. Demophon shivered when the sun shone upon him. (Lover of darkness = ignorance.)

2. Inhabitants of Zinge, over whom the star Canopus rises every night, are always gay and without sorrow.

3. The shores of Attica respond in song to the waves of the Aegean.

4. Horror Story. Man dreams of falling—found on floor mangled as tho’ from falling from a vast height.

5. Narrator walks along unfamiliar country road,—comes to strange region of the unreal. 

6. In Ld Dunsany’s “Idle Days on the Yann.” The inhabitants of the antient Astahan, on the Yann, do all things according to antient ceremony. Nothing new is found. “Here we have fetter’d and manacled Time, who wou’d otherwise slay the Gods.”

7. Horror Story. The sculptured hand—or other artificial hand—which strangles its creator.

8. Hor. Sto. Man makes appt. with old enemy. Dies—body keeps appt.

9. Dr. Eben Spencer plot.

10. Dream of flying over city.

11. Odd nocturnal ritual. Beasts dance and march to musick.

12. Happenings in interval between preliminary sound and striking of clock—ending— “it was the tones of the clock striking three”.

13. House and garden—old—associations. Scene takes on strange aspect.

14. Hideous sound in the dark.

15. Bridge and slimy black waters.

16. The walking dead—seemingly alive, but—.

17. Doors found mysteriously open and shut etc.—excite terror.

18. Calamander-wood—a very valuable cabinet wood of Ceylon and S. India, resembling rosewood.

19. Revise 1907 tale—painting of ultimate horror.

20. Man journeys into the past—or imaginative realm—leaving bodily shell behind.

21. A very ancient colossus in a very ancient desert. Face gone—no man hath seen it. 

22. Mermaid Legend—Encyc. Britt. XVI—40.

23. The man who would not sleep—dares not sleep—takes drugs to keep himself awake. Finally falls asleep—and something happens. Motto from Baudelaire p. 214.

24. Dunsany—Go-By Street. Man stumbles on dream world—returns to earth—seeks to go back—succeeds, but finds dream world ancient and decayed as though by thousands of years. 

1919

25. Man visits museum of antiquities—asks that it accept a bas-relief he has just made—old and learned curator laughs and says he cannot accept anything so modern. Man says that ‘dreams are older than brooding Egypt or the contemplative Sphinx or garden-girdled Babylonia’ and that he had fashioned the sculpture in his dreams. Curator bids him shew his product, and when he does so curator shews horror. Asks who the man may be. He tells modern name. “No—before that” says curator. Man does not remember except in dreams. Then curator offers high price, but man fears he means to destroy sculpture. Asks fabulous price—curator will consult directors. Add good development and describe nature of bas-relief.

26. Dream of ancient castle stairs—sleeping guards—narrow window—battle on plain between men of England and men of yellow tabards with red dragons. Leader of English challenges leader of foe to single combat. They fight. Foe unhelmeted, but there is no head revealed. Whole army of foe fades into mist, and watcher finds himself to be the English knight on the plain, mounted. Looks at castle, and sees a peculiar concentration of fantastic clouds over the highest battlements.

27. Life and Death. Death—its desolation and horror—bleak spaces—sea-bottom—dead cities. But Life—the greater horror! Vast unheard-of reptiles and leviathans—hideous beasts of prehistoric jungle—rank slimy vegetation—evil instincts of primal man—Life is more horrible than death.

28. The Cats of Ulthar. The cat is the soul of antique Ægyptus and bearer of tales from forgotten cities of Meroë and Ophir. He is the kin of the jungle’s lords, and heir to the secrets of hoary and sinister Africa. The Sphinx is his cousin, and he speaks her language; but he is more ancient than the Sphinx, and remembers that which she hath forgotten.

29. Dream of Seekonk—ebbing tide—bolt from sky—exodus from Providence—fall of Congregational dome. 

30. Strange visit to a place at night—moonlight—castle of great magnificence etc. Daylight shews either abandonment or unrecognisable ruins—perhaps of vast antiquity.

31. Prehistoric man preserved in Siberian ice. (See Winchell—Walks and Talks in the Geological field—p. 156 et seq.)

32. As dinosaurs were once surpassed by mammals, so will man-mammal be surpassed by insect or bird—fall of man before the new race.

33. Determinism and prophecy.

34. Moving away from earth more swiftly than light—past gradually unfolded—horrible revelation.

35. Special beings with special senses from remote universes. Advent of an external universe to view.

36. Disintegration of all matter to electrons and finally empty space assured, just as devolution of energy to radiant heat is known. Case of acceleration—man passes into space. 

37. Peculiar odour of a book of childhood induces repetition of childhood fancy.

38. Drowning sensations—undersea—cities—ships—souls of the dead. Drowning is a horrible death.

39. Sounds—possibly musical—heard in the night from other worlds or realms of being.

40. Warning that certain ground is sacred or accursed; that a house or city must not be built upon it—or must be abandoned or destroyed if built, under penalty of catastrophe. 

41. The Italians call Fear La figlia della Morte—the daughter of Death.

42. Fear of mirrors—memory of dream in which scene is altered and climax is hideous surprise at seeing oneself in the water or a mirror. (Identity?)

43. Monsters born living—burrow underground and multiply, forming race of unsuspected daemons.

44. Castle by pool or river—reflection fixed thro’ centuries—castle destroyed, reflection lives to avenge destroyers weirdly.

45. Race of immortal Pharaohs dwelling beneath pyramids in vast subterranean halls down black staircases. 

46 . Hawthorne—unwritten plot. Visitor from tomb—stranger at some publick concourse followed at midnight to graveyard where he descends into the earth.

47. From Arabia Encyc. Britan. II—255. Prehistoric fabulous tribes of Ad in the south, Thamood in the north, and Tasm and Jadis in the centre of the peninsula. “Very gorgeous are the descriptions given of Irem, the City of Pillars (as the Koran styles it) supposed to have been erected by Shedad, the latest despot of Ad, in the regions of Hadramaut, and which yet, after the annihilation of its tenants, remains entire, so Arabs say, invisible to ordinary eyes, but occasionally and at rare intervals, revealed to some heaven-favoured traveller.” // Rock excavations in N.W. Hejaz ascribed to Thamood tribe.

48. Cities wiped out by supernatural wrath.

49. AZATHOTH—hideous name.

50. Phleg′-e-thon: a river of liquid fire in Hades.

51. Enchanted garden where moon casts shadow of object or ghost invisible to the human eye.

52. Calling on the dead—voice or familiar sound in adjacent room.

53. Hand of dead man writes.

54. Transposition of identity.

55. Man followed by invisible thing.

56. Book or MS. too horrible to read—warned against reading it—someone reads and is found dead. Haverhill incident.

57. Sailing or rowing on lake in moonlight—sailing into invisibility.

58. A queer village—in a valley, reached by a long road and visible from the crest of the hill from which that road descends—or close to a dense and antique forest.

59. Man in strange subterranean chamber—seeks to force door of bronze—overwhelmed by influx of waters.

60. Fisherman casts his net into the sea by moonlight—what he finds.

61. A terrible pilgrimage to seek the nighted throne of the far daemon-sultan Azathoth.

62. Live man buried in bridge masonry according to superstition—or black cat.

63. Sinister names—Nasht—Kaman-Thah.

64. Identity—reconstruction of personality—man makes duplicate of himself.

65. Riley’s fear of undertakers—door locked on inside after death.

66. Catacombs discovered beneath a city (in America?).

67. An impression—city in peril—dead city—equestrian statue—men in closed room—clattering of hooves heard from outside—marvel disclosed on looking out—doubtful ending. 

68. Murder discovered—body located—by psychological detective who pretends he has made walls of room transparent. Works on fear of murderer.

69. Man with unnatural face—oddity of speaking—found to be a mask—Revelation.

70. Tone of extreme phantasy. Man transformed to island or mountain.

71. Man has sold his soul to devil—returns to family from trip—life afterward—fear—culminating horror—novel length. 

72. Hallowe’en incident—mirror in cellar—face seen therein—death (claw-mark?).

73. Rats multiply and exterminate first a single city and then all mankind. Increased size and intelligence.

74. Italian revenge—killing self in cell with enemy—under castle.

75. Black Mass under antique church.

76. Ancient cathedral—hideous gargoyle—man seeks to rob—found dead—gargoyle’s jaw bloody.

77. Unspeakable dance of the gargoyles—in morning several gargoyles on old cathedral found transposed.

78. Wandering thro’ labyrinth of narrow slum streets—come on distant light—unheard-of rites of swarming beggars—like Court of Miracles in Notre Dame de Paris.

79. Horrible secret in crypt of ancient castle—discovered by dweller.

80. Shapeless living thing forming nucleus of ancient building.

81. Marblehead—dream—burying hill—evening—unreality.

82. Power of wizard to influence dreams of others.

1920

83. Quotation “. . . a defunct nightmare, which had perished in the midst of its wickedness, and left its flabby corpse on the breast of the tormented one, to be gotten rid of as it might.”—Hawthorne

84. Hideous cracked discords of bass musick from (ruin’d) organ in (abandon’d) abbey or cathedral.

85. “For has not Nature, too, her grotesques—the rent rock, the distorting lights of evening on lonely roads, the unveiled structure of man in the embryo, or the skeleton?” Pater—Renaissance (da Vinci).

86. To find something horrible in a (perhaps familiar) book, and not to be able to find it again.

87. Borellus says, “that the Essential Salts of animals may be so prepared and preserved, that an ingenious man may have the whole ark of Noah in his own Study, and raise the fine shape of an animal out of its ashes at his pleasure; and that by the like method from the Essential Salts of humane dust, a Philosopher may, without any criminal necromancy, call up the shape of any dead ancestor from the dust whereinto his body has been incinerated.”

88. Lonely philosopher fond of cat. Hypnotises it—as it were—by repeatedly talking to it and looking at it. After his death the cat evinces signs of possessing his personality. N.B. He has trained cat, and leaves it to a friend, with instructions as to fitting a pen to its right fore paw by means of a harness. Later writes with deceased’s own handwriting.

89. Lone lagoons and swamps of Louisiana—death daemon—ancient house and gardens—moss-grown trees—festoons of Spanish moss.

1922

90. Anencephalous or brainless monster who survives and attains prodigious size.

91. Lost winter day—slept over—20 yrs. later. Sleep in chair on summer night—false dawn—old scenery and sensations—cold—old persons now dead—horror—frozen?

92. Man’s body dies—but corpse retains life. Stalks about—tries to conceal odour of decay—detained somewhere—hideous climax.

93. A place one has been—a beautiful view of a village or farm-dotted valley in the sunset—which one cannot find again or locate in memory.

94. Change comes over the sun—shews objects in strange form, perhaps restoring landscape of the past.

95. Horrible Colonial farmhouse and overgrown garden on city hillside—overtaken by growth. Verse “The House” as basis of story.

96. Unknown fires seen across the hills at night.

97. Blind fear of a certain woodland hollow where streams writhe among crooked roots, and where on a buried altar terrible sacrifices have occur’d—Phosphorescence of dead trees. Ground bubbles.

98. Hideous old house on steep city hillside—Bowen St.—beckons in the night—black windows—horror unnam’d—cold touch and voice—the welcome of the dead.

1923

99. Salem story—the cottage of an aged witch—wherein after her death are found sundry terrible things.

100. Subterranean region beneath placid New England village, inhabited by (living or extinct) creatures of prehistoric antiquity and strangeness.

101. Hideous secret society—widespread—horrible rites in caverns under familiar scenes—one’s own neighbour may belong. 

102. Corpse in room performs some act—prompted by discussion in its presence. Tears up or hides will, etc.

103. Sealed room—or at least no lamp allowed there. Shadow on wall.

104. Old sea tavern now far inland from made land. Strange occurrences—sound of lapping of waves. 

105. Vampire visits man in ancestral abode—is his own father.

106. A thing that sat on a sleeper’s chest. Gone in morning, but something left behind.

1923

107. Wall paper cracks off in sinister shape—man dies of fright.

108. Educated mulatto seeks to displace personality of white man and occupy his body.

109. Ancient negro voodoo wizard in cabin in swamp—possesses white man.

110. Antediluvian—Cyclopean ruins on lonely Pacific island. Centre of earthwide subterranean witch cult.

111. Ancient ruin in Alabama swamp—voodoo.

112. Man lives near graveyard—how does he live? Eats no food.

113. Biological-hereditary memories of other worlds and universes. Butler—God Known and Unk. p. 59.

114. Death lights dancing over a salt marsh.

115. Ancient castle within sound of weird waterfall—sound ceases for a time under strange conditions.

116. Prowling at night around an unlighted castle amidst strange scenery.

117. A secret living thing kept and fed in an old house.

1924

118. Something seen at oriel window of forbidden room in ancient manor house.

119. Art note—fantastick daemons of Salvator Rosa or Fuseli (trunk-proboscis).

120. Talking bird of great longevity—tells secret long afterward.

121. Photius tells of a (lost) writer named Damascius, who wrote “Incredible Fictions,” “Tales of Daemons,” “Marvellous Stories of Appearances from the Dead”.

122. Horrible things whispered in the lines of Gauthier de Metz (13th cen.) “Image du Monde”.

123. Dried-up man living for centuries in cataleptic state in ancient tomb.

124. Hideous secret assemblage at night in antique alley—disperse furtively one by one—one seen to drop something—a human hand—

125. Man abandon’d by ship—swimming in sea—pickt up hours later with strange story of undersea region he has visited—mad??

126. Castaways on island eat unknown vegetation and become strangely transformed.

127. Ancient and unknown ruins—strange and immortal bird who speaks in a language horrifying and revelatory to the explorers.

128. Individual, by some strange process, retraces the path of evolution and becomes amphibious.

1925

129. Marble Faun p. 346—strange and prehistorick Italian city of stone.

130. N.E. region call’d “Witches’ Hollow”—along course of a river. Rumours of witches’ sabbaths and Indian powwows on a broad mound rising out of the level where some old hemlocks and beeches formed a dark grove or daemon-temple. Legends hard to account for. Holmes—Guardian Angel.

131. Phosphorescence of decaying wood—called in New England “fox-fire”.

132. Mad artist in ancient sinister house draws things. What were his models? Glimpse.

133. Man has miniature shapeless Siamese twin—exhib. in circus—twin surgically detached—disappears—does hideous things with malign life of his own.

134. Witches’ Hollow novel? Man hired as teacher in private school misses road on first trip—encounters dark hollow with unnaturally swollen trees and small cottage (light in window?). Reaches school and hears that boys are forbidden to visit hollow. One boy is strange—teacher sees him visit hollow—odd doings—mysterious disappearance or hideous fate.

135. Hideous world superimposed on visible world—gate through—power guides narrator to ancient and forbidden book with directions for access.

136. A secret language spoken by a very few old men in a wild country leads to hidden marvels and terrors still surviving.

137. Strange man seen in lonely mountain place talking with great winged thing which flies away as others approach.

138. Someone or something cries in fright at sight of the rising moon, as if it were something strange.

139. DELRIO asks “An sint unquam daemones incubi et succubae, et an ex tali congressu proles nasci queat?” [Red Hook]

140. Explorer enters strange land where some atmospheric quality darkens the sky to virtual blackness—marvels therein.

1926

141. Footnote by Haggard or Lang in “The World’s Desire”: “Probably the mysterious and indecipherable ancient books, which were occasionally excavated in old Egypt, were written in this dead language of a more ancient and now forgotten people. Such was the book discovered at Coptos, in the ancient sanctuary there, by a priest of the Goddess. ‘The whole earth was dark, but the moon shone all about the Book.’ A scribe of the period of the Ramessids mentions another in indecipherable ancient writing. ‘Thou tellest me thou understandest no word of it, good or bad. There is, as it were, a wall about it that none may climb. Thou art instructed, yet thou knowest it not; this makes me afraid.’ Birch Zeitschrift 1871 pp. 61–64 Papyrus Anastasi I pl. X, l.8, pl. X l.4. Maspero, Hist. Anc. pp. 66–67.

142. Members of witch-cult were buried face downward. Man investigates ancestor in family tomb and finds disquieting condition.

143. Strange well in Arkham country—water gives out (or was never struck —hole kept tightly covered by a stone ever since dug)—no bottom—shunned and feared—what lay beneath (either unholy temple or other very ancient thing, or great cave-world).

144. Hideous book glimpsed in ancient shop—never seen again.

145. Horrible boarding house—closed door never opened.

146. Ancient lamp found in tomb—when filled and used, its light reveals strange world.

147. Any very ancient, unknown, or prehistoric object—its power of suggestion—forbidden memories.

148. Vampire dog. 

149. Evil alley or enclosed court in ancient city—Union or Milligan St. 

150. Visit to someone in wild and remote house—ride from station through the night—into the haunted hills—house by forest or water—terrible things live there.

151. Man forced to take shelter in strange house. Host has thick beard and dark glasses. Retires. In night guest rises and sees host’s clothes about—also mask which was the apparent face of whatever the host was. Flight.

152. Autonomic nervous system and subconscious mind do not reside in the head. Have mad physician decapitate a man but keep him alive and subconsciously controlled. Avoid copying tale by W. C. Morrow.

1928

153. Black cat on hill near dark gulf of ancient inn yard. Mew hoarsely—invites artist to nighted mysteries beyond. Finally dies at advanced age. Haunts dreams of artist—lures him to follow—strange outcome (never wakes up? or makes bizarre discovery of an elder world outside 3-dimensioned space?)

154. Trophonius—cave of. Vide Class. Dict. and Atlantic article.

155. Steepled town seen from afar at sunset—does not light up at night. Sail has been seen putting out to sea.

156. Adventures of a disembodied spirit—thro’ dim, half-familiar cities and over strange moors—thro’ space and time—other planets and universes in the end.

157. Vague lights, geometrical figures, etc., seen on retina when eyes are closed. Caus’d by rays from other dimensions acting on optick nerve? From other planets? Connected with a life or phase of being in which person could live if he only knew how to get there? Man afraid to shut eyes—he has been somewhere on a terrible pilgrimage and this fearsome seeing faculty remains.

158. Man has terrible wizard friend who gains influence over him. Kills him in defence of his soul—walls body up in ancient cellar—BUT—the dead wizard (who has said strange things about soul lingering in body) changes bodies with him . . . leaving him a conscious corpse in cellar.

159. Certain kind of deep-toned stately music of the style of the 1870’s or 1880’s recalls certain visions of that period—gas-litten parlours of the dead, moonlight on old floors, decaying business streets with gas lamps, etc.—under terrible circumstances.

160. Book which induces sleep on reading—cannot be read—determined man reads it—goes mad—precautions taken by aged initiate who knows—protection (as of author and translator) by incantation.

161. Time and space—past event—150 yrs ago—unexplained. Modern period—person intensely homesick for past says or does something which is psychically transmitted back and actually causes the past event.

162. Ultimate horror—grandfather returns from strange trip—mystery in house—wind and darkness—grandf. and mother engulfed—questions forbidden—somnolence—investigation—cataclysm—screams overheard—

163. Man whose money was obscurely made loses it. Tells his family he must go again to THE PLACE (horrible and sinister and extra-dimensional) where he got his gold. Hints of possible pursuers—or of his possible non-return. He goes—record of what happens to him—or what happens at his home when he returns. Perhaps connect with preceding topic. Give fantastic, quasi-Dunsanian treatment.

164. Man observed in a publick place with features (or ring or jewel) identified with those of man long (perhaps generations) buried. 

165. Terrible trip to an ancient and forgotten tomb.

166. Hideous family living in shadow in ancient castle by edge of wood near black cliffs and monstrous waterfall.

167. Boy rear’d in atmosphere of considerable mystery. Believes father dead. Suddenly is told that father is about to return. Strange preparations—consequences. 

168. Lonely bleak islands off N.E. coast. Horrors they harbour—outpost of cosmic influences.

169. What hatches from primordial egg.

170. Strange man in shadowy quarter of ancient city possesses something of immemorial archaic horror.

171. Hideous old book discovered—directions for shocking evocation.

1930

172. Pre-human idol found in desert.

173. Idol in museum moves in a certain way.

174. Migration of Lemmings—Atlantis. 

175. Little green Celtic figures dug up in an ancient Irish bog.

176. Man blindfolded and taken in closed cab or car to some very ancient and secret place.

177. The dreams of one man actually create a strange half-mad world of quasi-material substance in another dimension. Another man, also a dreamer, blunders into this world in a dream. What he finds. Intelligence of denizens. Their dependence on the first dreamer. What happens at his death.

178. A very ancient tomb in the deep woods near where a 17th century Virginia manor-house used to be. The undecayed, bloated thing found within.

179. Appearance of an ancient god in a lonely and archaic place—prob. temple ruin. Atmosphere of beauty rather than horror. Subtle handling—presence revealed by faint sound or shadow. Landscape changes? Seen by child? Impossible to reach or identify locale again?

180. A general house of horror—nameless crime—sounds—later tenants—(Flammarion) (novel length?).

181. Inhabitant of another world—face masked, perhaps with human skin or surgically alter’d human shape, but body alien beneath robes. Having reached earth, tries to mix with mankind. Hideous revelation. 

182. In ancient buried city a man finds a mouldering prehistoric document in English and in his own handwriting, telling an incredible tale. Voyage from present into past implied. Possible actualisation of this.

183. Reference in Egyptian papyrus to a secret of secrets under tomb of high-priest Ka-Nefer. Tomb finally found and identified—trap door in stone floor—staircase, and the illimitable black abyss.

184. Expedition lost in Antarctic or other weird place. Skeletons and effects found years later. Camera films used but undeveloped. Finders develop—and find strange horror.

185. Scene of an urban horror—Sous le Cap or Champlain Sts.—Quebec—rugged cliff-face—moss, mildew, dampness—houses half-burrowing into cliff.

186. Thing from sea—in dark house, man finds doorknobs etc. wet as from touch of something. He has been a sea-captain, and once found a strange temple on a volcanically risen island.

1931

187. Dream of awaking in vast hall of strange architecture, with sheet-covered forms on slabs—in positions similar to one’s own. Suggestions of disturbingly non-human outlines under sheets. One of the objects moves and throws off sheet—non-terrestrial being revealed. Sugg. that oneself is also such a being—mind has become transferred to body on other planet. 

188. Desert of rock—prehistoric door in cliff, in the valley around which lie the bones of uncounted billions of animals both modern and prehistoric—some of them puzzlingly gnawed.

189. Ancient necropolis—bronze door in hillside which opens as the moonlight strikes it—focussed by ancient lens in pylon opposite?

1932

190. Primal mummy in museum—awakes and changes place with visitor.

191. An odd wound appears on a man’s hand suddenly and without apparent cause. Spreads. Consequences.

1933

192. Thibetan ROLANG—Sorcerer (or NGAGSPA) reanimates a corpse by holding it in a dark room—lying on it mouth to mouth and repeating a magic formula with all else banished from his mind. Corpse slowly comes to life and stands up. Tries to escape—leaps, bounds, and struggles—but sorcerer holds it. Continues with magic formula. Corpse sticks out tongue and sorcerer bites it off. Corpse then collapses. Tongue become a valuable magic talisman. If corpse escapes—hideous results and death to sorcerer.

193. Strange book of horror discovered in ancient library. Paragraphs of terrible significance copies. Later unable to find and verify text. Perhaps discover body or image or charm under floor, in secret cupboard, or elsewhere. Idea that book was merely hypnotic delusion induced by dead brain or ancient magic.

194. Man enters (supposedly) own house in pitch dark. Feels way to room and shuts door behind him. Strange horrors—or turns on lights and finds alien place or presence. Or finds past restored or future indicated.

195. Pane of peculiar-looking glass from a ruined monastery reputed to have harboured devil-worship set up in modern house at edge of wild country. Landscape looks vaguely and unplaceably wrong through it. It has some unknown time-distorting quality, and comes from a primal, lost civilisation. Finally, hideous things in other world seen through it.

196. Daemons, when desiring an human form for evil purposes, take to themselves the bodies of hanged men.

197. Loss of memory and entry into a cloudy world of strange sights and experiences after shock, accident, reading of strange book, participation in strange rite, draught of strange brew, etc. Things seen have vague and disquieting familiarity. Emergence. Inability to retrace course.

1934

198. Distant tower visible from hillside window. Bats cluster thickly around it at night. Observer fascinated. One night wakes to find self on unknown black circular staircase. In tower? Hideous goal.

199. Black winged thing flies into one’s house at night. Cannot be found or identified—but subtle developments ensue.

200. Invisible Thing felt—or seen to make prints—on mountain top or other height, inaccessible place.

201. Planets form’d of invisible matter.

202. A monstrous derelict—found and boarded by a castaway or shipwreck survivor.

203. A return to a place under dreamlike, horrible, and only dimly comprehended circumstances. Death and decay reigning—town fails to light up at night—Revelation.

204. Disturbing conviction that all life is only a deceptive dream with some dismal or sinister horror lurking behind.

205. Person gazes out window and finds city and world dark and dead (or oddly changed) outside.

206. Trying to identify and visit the distant scenes dimly seen from one’s window—bizarre consequences.

207. Something snatched away from one in the dark—in a lonely, ancient, and generally shunned place.

208. (Dream of) some vehicle—railway train, coach, etc.—which is boarded in a stupor or fever, and which is a fragment of some past or ultra-dimensional world—taking the passenger out of reality—into vague, age-crumbled regions or unbelievable gulfs of marvel.

1935

209. Special Correspondence of NY Times—March 3, 1935 “Halifax, N.S.—Etched deeply into the face of an island which rises from the Atlantic surges off the S. coast of Nova Scotia 20 m. from Halifax is the strangest rock phenomenon which Canada boasts. Storm, sea, and frost have graven into the solid cliff of what has come to be known as Virgin’s Island an almost perfect outline of the Madonna with the Christ Child in her arms. The island has sheer and wave-bound sides, is a danger to ships, and is absolutely uninhabited. So far as is known, no human being has ever set foot on its shores.”

210. An ancient house with blackened pictures on the walls—so obscured that their subjects cannot be deciphered. Cleaning—and revelation. Cf. Hawthorne—Edw. Rand. Port.

211. Begin story with presence of narrator—inexplicable to himself—in utterly alien and terrifying scenes (dream?).

212. Strange human being (or beings) living in some ancient house or ruins far from populous district (either old N.E. or far exotic land). Suspicion (based on shape and habits) that it is not all human.

213. Ancient winter woods—moss—great boles—twisted branches—dark—ribbed roots—always dripping. . . .

214. Talking rock of Africa—immemorially ancient oracle in desolate jungle ruins that speaks with a voice out of the aeons. 

215. Man with lost memory in strange, imperfectly comprehended environment. Fears to regain memory—a glimpse. . . .

216. Man idly shapes a queer image—some power impels him to make it queerer than he understands. Throws it away in disgust—but something is abroad in the night.

217. Ancient (Roman? prehistoric?) stone bridge washed away by a (sudden and curious?) storm. Something liberated which had been sealed up in the masonry of years ago. Things happen.

218. Mirage in time—image of long-vanish’d pre-human city.

219. Fog or smoke—assumes shaped under incantations.

220. Bell of some ancient church or castle rung by some unknown hand—a thing . . . or an invisible Presence.

221. Insects or other entities from space attack and penetrate a man’s head and cause him to remember alien and exotic things—possible displacement of personality.

[hpbayushi]

Chapter 01

https://hpbayushi.tumblr.com/post/166194326050/chapter-01-wat-da-bloody-fuck-harry-potter#notes Chapter 02

The very last night of the cycle was always the worst. Harry could feel his body at the brink of collapse. Every bone on his body hurt. His hypersensitive senses made his head feel like it would explode.

But the worse was the thirst. His mouth and throat were so dry that he could feel the cracks on his lips. Even opening his mouth to breathe was hard.

He was in the dark, inside the little shack at the backyard. The first rays of sunlight coming through the cracks of the door. He listened, unable to move just yet, as the locker was unlocked, and the door opened. He smelled, a smell he had known all too well even before his enhanced senses take place. The smell of excitement coming from the enormous man in front of him. It was nauseating, Harry felt even weaker.

“Well, well, look at you” Vernon Dudley said, Harry could almost feel his smile through the words “I didn't think you could become an even bigger aberration that you already were… but look at you” his breath speed up, as Harry listened to him unlocking his belt buckle “you know, the other freaks, your friends, paid  good money to get my permission to build this monstrosity here” he was rolling his belt on his hand now, breathing even faster “but no one told me about the noise… no sir… I couldn't get a minute of sleep this night, with all your crying and howling” now he was panting.  Harry was sure the man had an erection “And poor Petunia, so scared… that woman gave you everything… I think you deserve the buckle of the belt today, to learn a little gratitude, don't you agree?” Harry found some strength to look up, only to see a smile on his uncle face, and the belt coming in his direction.

Fleur had just finished packing her things for the school year in two large trunks. One containing her books, quills, parchments and other practical materials, like the potions kit and her broom. In the second, her robes, both for day to day classes and the more formal ones, for special occasions, an assortment of casual mundane clothes (she always loved muggle fashion, specifically concerning lingerie) and for this year, a bigger number of cold weather garments, as England were famous for its winters. Completing the space, she was also taking some things she was sure Gabrielle would forget to take with her, as always.

She closed her trunk with a smile, Fleur once again though about the wolf.  The dream kept coming every night now, maybe it has some meaning, she was lost in thought when she heard a knock on the door. Apoline came in, looking as stunning as always with her high couture clothes.

“Everything packed my little dove?” She asked “Yes mama” answered Fleur, smiling at the nickname her mother used. “Say Fleur” her mother continued “I try to stay out of it, but let me ask, anyone in particular you are looking to see again this year?” Taking by surprise, Fleur blushed for a second, but answered with resolution “Only Regine mama, and as a friend. You know I tried, but was to no good. The boys can't see past the damn allure, and most girls can't overcome their jealousy. And the ideas people have about us are simply disgusting. So no, I had fun for a while, but not anymore” to her surprise, Apoline just smiled. “I know how hard it is. It took me a long time to find you father”

“Ah, now we are getting to the point” Fleur tough to herself.

“I assume you already talked to your father” Fleur nodded and her mother took a deep breath “then, here goes” she extended her hand, and in it was a photograph “It is not without pain I give this to you, but is for the best” Fleur didn't understand, but grabbed the picture and looked at it.

There was, smiling and waving at the camera her mother and father, to the left she could see the man she met early this month, Remus Lupin, to they're right there was another young couple, Fleur tough the green eyes of the redheaded woman looked familiar, and more to the right the man she now knows as Sirius Black. But what really caught her was the kids. On the ground, side by side, smiling like she didn't even know she could. She recognized herself, and a little boy, no much more than a year old, with green eyes and messing hair. She looked into them, hypnotized for some seconds.

“Why?” she asked.

“My dear… let me tell you about when your father and I were young…”

“Here, the books you asked” Daphne Greengrass said, giving Hermione Granger a stack of 3 books. “I still don't understand what you want with it. I thought you found the magical world to be too backwards”. “Actually they are for Harry” Hermione said putting the books aside. “He told me about a plan of his on the end of the last term”

As weird as it looks, both girls had become friends on the previous year, after the broom incident, that had divided the Gryffindor golden trio. But, after this summer, said trio may be no more…

Hermione looked around nervously, looking for Harry, she hadn’t seen her friend for almost three months now, three lunar cycles, she didn't even know what to expect.

She saw Hedwig’s first, inside her cage. Then she saw the mass of black hair and couldn't contain herself. She ran in his direction and dove into his arms, tears rolling down her face. She could feel his surprise and hiss, like something hurt on his back, but he embrace her back and didn't let it go. “Oh Harry” she started, sobbing, “I am so sorry, I tried to call several times, your aunt would not pass you the phone!!! It’s not right to leave you like that!!” She left his arms, a little blushed, and looked at him.

He was a mess. He looked thin, with big black bags under his eyes, and he was pale… but his smile was the most sincere and warm thing she saw in months “how can you be a mess like that and still beautiful” she caught herself thinking and blushed even harder.

“Please, don't look at me like that Mione” Harry said looking at her, she bit her lower lip, sending shivers through his body, “you know I had some bad nights… I will make up to it in the train. Had you seen Ron?” She looked at him with a weird expression, and he took the clue. “Never mind, let's find a cabinet on the train”.

They entered the express and moved to their favorite cabinet on the back, the Weasleys were late and Hermione was thankful for that. Neville joined then a couple minutes later, and they started doing small talk about the summer and the new school year. Hermione felt Harry's head leaning against her shoulder and realized he was asleep, a warm fuzz ran through her body, and before she realized, her hand were running through his hair. That was the moment Rob showed up, his face becomes almost the same color of his hair, and he turned away. Ginny entered the cabinet and looked at them. “He doesn't look well…” she said in a low voice.

Harry woke up, or rather was awaken next to the arrival. “Believe it or not, I am actually feeling better” he said to the other occupants of the cabinet, while putting his robes, and some color had actually came back to his face. “Where is Ron?” Nobody seems to know.

They exited the train and got to the carriages, Harry could see Ron some feet way, with Seamus and Dean. He was about to ask Hermione with was happening when they heard a loud voice. “Arry my lad” they could see Hagrid approaching. “So good to see you” he gave the boy a big hug, sending Harry to a world of pain for some seconds, only Hermione seem to notice. He released the teen and continued “but I am getting carried away, I'm here to pass a message from the headmaster. He want you to meet him at his office to discuss you new… eeeer… condition” Neville and Ginny looked at him, worried, and he nodded his head as if saying “later”.

“Also” Hagrid carried on “we will have a biiiiiig surprise for you all this year!”

As they entered the carriage, Neville asked “What you guys think is that surprise?” “I don't know” Harry said “I just hope is not something that tries to kill me” he said with a grim. “Prat” Hermione said slapping him on the shoulder.

The great Hall was all laughs and greetings, friends meeting each other.  Hogwarts was a prison alright, but at least a good one, Harry though. He complimented his colleagues both from Gryffindor and from other houses, after a long and solitaire summer he had decided this year he would try to make a change. To hell with house rivalries, he remembered the Heir fiasco all too well. It was an uphill battle, but one needed for his plans.

He sat at his usual place at the table, Hermione sat at his right side, and he felt really good when their legs touch, she smiled at him. Ron decided to sit at the other side with Seamus and Dean, leaving his left side empty and Harry sighed, another uphill battle ahead. Angelina and Katie were passing, giggling at his back when the Katie suddenly stopped. Angelina looked at her, while a big grin appeared on her friend’s face.  

“Hello Harry” Katie said touching his shoulder and sitting at the empty space on his left, to his big surprise. They had been friends and played quidditch together, but that was new. As Angelina sat on the other side of the table, looking somewhat amused by the shy boy, Katie took what to Harry seemed like a really deep breath and continued. “I am betting you had a really, really interesting summer” “What do you mean Katie?” He asked confused, but secretly enjoying the attention, the brunette was beautiful, and there was something in her eyes. “I don't know Harry, you… look different…” Katie looked at a confused Angelina and a somewhat bothered Hermione. “So, this year championship…” she changed the subject and let the conversation flow.

After the sorting, Harry took a good look at the professor’s table. Up on his feet, in a corner he saw the weird man full of scars, holding a strange looking walking stick, like an old worn out soldier. But what really caught his attention was the magic eye rolling on his socket. The eye stopped at Harry, looking directly at him, and the man took a sip from a small bottle.

Hermione was trying to make sense of what was happening in front of her. She knew Katie always had a crush on Harry, she heard the older girl talking to Angelina once or twice, but the same was true to many other girls. What made her act like that, with so much courage was the mystery, and although she would not admit to herself, Hermione was a little envious of that. Katie was practically leaning on Harry's shoulder, and Hermione was pretty sure, by the way he was tense, that the girl's hand was on his knee or thigh. But it was over when Harry and Katie, as well as Angelina and many others on the great Hall said almost in unison “WHAT!!!”

“Yes” the headmaster master continued “there will be no quidditch championship this year, as Hogwarts has been chosen to host the Triwizard tourney” he go on to explain about the tournament, as most of the things wizards do, most of it sounded unnecessary convoluted and dangerous to Hermione, but the prospect of getting to know students from other magical schools around Europe was fascinating.

After the initial shock, Katie came back to talk really close to Harry, he was cute all clumsy and blushing this way, she thought. No, she was the only one that knew what happened and that he needed help. Library first thing tomorrow!

Fleur stood at the desk after organizing her things at her dorm in Beauxbatons. It was a cozy double bedroom, with mirror sides, each one consisting in a four post bed with a trunk at its foot, a big closet and a writing desk. Fleur had the side with the window and her best friend Regine has the door's side. On the opposite side there was also a small door that leads to the common upper year girls’ bathroom.

“I didn't know your family was friends with “The Boy Who Lived”” Regine said after entering the room and looking over Fleur's shoulder. “What do you mean?” “Here, those are your mom and dad right? Those two here are James and Lily Potter, and I assume those beautiful kids are you and Harry Potter!” Fleur looked at the picture once again, she couldn't remember. Regine had family in England and past some time with them almost every year, so the blonde decided to ask. “Do you know how he is like?”

“That depends if you believe the English media” she said after a while, studying Fleur's face “They say he is a mentally unstable boy, with delusions of grandeur and attention seeking issues…” she could see by the looks on her friend's face that this was close to home for her, and she didn't buy it. “My cousin plays quidditch with him…” she finally said. “Angelina always talks about him with some kind of awe, she said that almost nothing the tabloids had written about him is true, that he is a passionate and courageous person, an incredible seeker, and if half of the things she thinks happened really happened to him then he is more incredible than people can even imagine. She says he even killed a basilisk when he was twelve or thirteen” “That is a little hard to imagine, non?” Fleur said with a smile. “True, but as I see, this boy had gone through hell and back, and for things he didn't even choose, I mean, if you believe my cousin and her friends” she finished laying in her bed. “It is incredible that your father didn't used this on his campaign, people would kill for this kind of connection with the Potters” “Friendship and respect were always more important to him” Fleur said a little annoyed “I know, that is the reason he will win” Regine finished.

Fleur though for some time, looking at the picture, there was something there, she wanted that smile back… then she got a piece of parchment, a quill and started writing.

Albus Dumbledore watched as the boy entering his office with attention, looking for signs of the curse.

“Good night Harry, would like a lemon drop?” “No, thank you headmaster” “please, have a sit Harry”. The headmaster looked at him over his glasses, with a grandpa expression on his face. “First of all, let me apologize for the somewhat clumsy solution we could arrange for your summer, we had to do it in such a short notice, also I understand that you got upset about losing the quidditch world cup, bit been the smart boy you are, I believe you understand the reasons” he said in a rather patronizing tone that he could see annoyed Harry. “I do understand, professor…”

“Good, Harry, Remus has studied at Hogwarts for seven years, and we never had any dangerous incident, and I wish to keep this record. All the relevant professors had already been informed of your… condition…” Harry sighed “I am glad to inform you that at the school, you will at least be allowed to run free during the cycle, all the school wards had been updated, you will not be able to enter any building during those nights, so that the other students will be safe. Also Hagrid will be responsible for monitoring you during and after your… changes… and Severus will provide you with wolfsbane every first night.” Harry was astonished with that much information. “Well, any doubt we can discuss later, people are perfectly capable of living with this curse Harry and you will be too.”

Harry directed himself to the door, and turned to Dumbledore before opening it. “Professors, what about Sirius…”

“It is been taking care, my boy”

Harry exited the office and the headmaster leaned on his chair, the boy looked tired and defeated, he may even lost some weight during the summer, in other words, he looked great for him.

[365news]

365NEWS NEWSPAPERS HEADLINES FOR SUNDAY 23RD JUNE 2019

365NEWS NEWSPAPERS HEADLINES FOR SUNDAY 23RD JUNE 2019       *PUNCH* Desperate Nigerians exploit gay, outcast claims, BHaram war to seek asylum in Europe, US, Canada Community conspiracy landed dad in life jail Surviving daughter of freed centenarian prisoner After rains of herders attacks, traumatised victims contend with more hardships in Taraba IDP camps God raises bad leaders sometimes to teach people a lesson Ituah Ighodalo Giving construction jobs to foreign firms akin to importing poverty-Muftau Salawu Lightening the cost of governance burden on govts lean resources How we curbed corruption, increased revenue by 500% Lagos FMC Ndume not a rebel, confers credibility on Lawans victory Adeyeye Its a waste of time to attend varsities for certificates to get jobs Naallah, KWASU VC My friend wasnt allowed into a Dubai club for wearing jalabia Kemen W Law allows gov, others to buy off official cars when leaving office Dankwambo AG Government by the people Bello has failed because he didnt prepare for governorship Audus son Ogun indigenes bemoan attacks by soldiers, miscreants Army raids Ogun community for arms Abdulrazaq certificate: Claimant alleges police intimidation National Assembly poll: Wabara to head PDPs probe panel Women set for court over 35% representation US trains Lagos pupils Ibadan elders honour Ajimobi Decongesting Lagos ports, FGs top priority Osinbajo ACF backs FG on almajiri Troops kill 42 ISWAP terrorists in Lake Chad *VANGUARD* Bolt goes bigger, unveil corporate trip package EDO Crisis: If I were Governor Godwin Obaseki Abia secure ' Speaker Suspected criminal disguises as madman to rob residents Ondo gets $37m World Bank loan to upgrade health centres World Hydrography Day: Navy develops first indigenous navigational chart Marry me, or I die, says lady arraigned for breach of peace 3-month-old baby is youngest survivor of sexual abuse out of 4,514 Gov Bello condoles, assures family of Ibrahim Linco of Gov't support Photos: Osinbajo, Sanwo-Olu, Bala Usman tour Apapa traffic Daura zonal pilgrims office begins orientation for 137 intending pilgrims Ocheje, Kogi APC chieftain, dies at 69 2019 AFCON : Mahrez concerned about unknown quantity Kenya Residents, traders protest indiscriminate location of gas stations in Ondo Gbajabiamila receives rousing reception from APC members at Lagos airport DPO, girlfriend arrested over death of housemaid in Katsina State Kogi Guber Poll: Tenants don't dislodge landlords, Bello replies Seidu Ogah Osinbajo heads to U.S, meets Pence Oshiomhole showingu bias, needs to hear from all parties before taking sides ' Obaseki's aide Kalu expected to be fit for Guinea You have to be a successful artiste manager before you can make profit ' TinnoStiles Breaking: Ighalo's strike rescue 3 points for Eagles in AFCON opener Bollywood channel 'StarLife' debuts on StarTimes *THE NATION* Running with the vision! Visually impaired gospel artiste tasks church leaders on support NAHCON constitutes task force on visa violation Lagos to clerics: help spread road worthiness campaign to followers Niger tasked to re-introduce monthly environmental sanitation Kidnappers hideouts, arms discovered in Nige r Two suspected robbers mobbed to death in Delta Navy to operatives: Shun drugs, embrace regular exercise AGRA to double the income of 20m small farmers in Africa Teenager strangled to death in Delta Journalists to benefit from $150,000 award Were ready for insurgents, bandits Airforce chief Buhari commissions erosion and flooding project in Kebbi How to mitigate fraud and corruption in Nigerias Public Procurement Process Court stops Bauchi factional speaker, deputy Lets make music together! Masari, Safana bag heroes award in Katsina Obaseki to Oshiomhole: Youre biased, hear from all sides before taking sides Federal Cabinet: Imo APC chieftains advise Buhari Gbajabiamila seeks cooperation to better Nigeria Cracks in PDP over probe of Senators, Reps Edo hands of fellowship Intrigues in states as govs battle to form cabinet *THISDAY* Improving Foreign Capital Flow to Economy How Govt Policies Stifle Small Businesses Airtel Enters Nigerian Stock Market Nigerias Infrastructure Deficiency Makes Businesses Suffer Walking The Talk on The Almajiri Conundrum INECs Embarrassingy Rigmarole, Somersault on Server A Mission in Disarray When Ghanaians Turn the Table against Nigerian Investment Falcons Beaten by Germany, Crash out of World Cup Betway Boosts G12 Academy with Football Equipments FC Bulmaro Lagos, Tops Group A1 Nationwide League One Lagos Opens Viewing Centres for 2019 AFCON LSSC Hails IWS Day Nursery on Sports Fiesta Getting Nigerian Passport with Tears NBA: No Part of Nigeria is Safe We Killed 47 Terrorists, Captured Others, Claims Nigerian Army Flooding Forces Air Peace Flight off Runway at PH Airport Fayemi: Policy Somersault Crippled Education System No New Passport without National Identification Number, Says NIS Resolve OML 25 Dispute in Seven Days, Wike Tells Parties Pipeline Explosion Kills 10 in Rivers Okara, Literary Icon, Buried in Yenagoa ACF Declares Support for Overhauling of Almajiri System *THE SUN* Credible Election: FG must hand off funding of INEC 'Anglican Bishopu Gov. Dickson berates politicians for disconnect with people I shed tears whenever political leaders take oath of office ' Gen. Temlong Moving Nigeria forward: Apply Aburi accord, agbakoba advises buhari There's no way power'll return to Southwest in 2023 ' Prof Awuzie, Ex-Asuu Boss Next level: Balarabe musa tackles Buhari 2023 Brightest chance for igbo presidency ' chekwas okorie Imo guber: Action Alliance withdraws from election petition tribunal Play for honour of motherland ' Buhari charges Super Eagles FIFA WWC: Super Falcons crash out, lose 0-3 to Germany Just In: AFCON 2019: Super Eagles beat Burundi 1-0 Buhari to Super Eagles: Go get 'em, you have our support BoI woos maritime operators, disburses $82m for ships repairs, procurement Anambra bizman urge industrialists, CEOs to handover business to youths Nigerian student emerges winner in UN competition Gunmen kill 72-year'old community leader in Anambra Police uncover kidnappers hideout in Niger, arrest seven Soldier, 42 others killed as MNJTF deals heavy blow on ISWAP terrorists group Ondo Police arrest two suspected armed robbers Scores die in pipeline explosion in Rivers NYSC, Delta partner on skills acquisition PFN hails court ruling on open preaching in Kaduna Hand hygiene *GUARDIAN* Xtralarge Farms launch Agritech City, digital currency African cinema 2.0 Over two billion people suffer 'hidden hunger' globally N30,000 Minimum Wage: Backlog of pensions, salaries bog down Southeast governments Firing Adedayo and dilemma of hateful, polluted polity Another trophy will be ai fine way to say goodbye, says Mikel Rep members endorse Oyekoya for Deputy Minority Whip Air Peace plane overshoots runway at Port Harcourt Airport Ijaw group seeks monarch's forgiveness over land dispute Igbo are paying for not voting APC' Orji Kalu *DAILY TRUST* Buratai's Strange Blame Games Bauchi: A story of 1 House, 2 Speakers How much money do we need for a political revolution Pity the country that is outwitted by an oxymoron Re: Investigation: Under government school feeding programme Fedpoly Ekowe unions threaten indefinite strike over salary shortfall NUC approves 36 new courses for Dutse Varsity 45 schools participate in iRead Initiative Literacy competition in Osun Ways to reduce consumption of sugary drinks Iron may not improve fertility ' Study MNJTF kills 42 ISWAP members, destroys gun trucks Sickle Cell: 'Why genotype tests give wrong results Curing hunger by castingi out demons Elegy for Muhammad Mursi, president of Egypt I want to be Nigeria's first female airline owner ' Aisha Ja'e Sokoto: How PDP-backed Achida emerged Speaker Ikoku: The good, ugly sides of Rivers' spare parts market Super Eagles edge Swallows in Group B opener as Super Falcons crash out of World Cup 2019 Charity Shield Polo: Rubicon, 5th Chukker, Haske & Williams emerge champions Underdog Scone Polo wins Cartier Queen's Cup Indian Cricket League: Abuja Warriors take on Abuja Badshahs in final Tennis stars storm Abuja for CBN tourney 16-year-old Atthaya Thitikul breaks course record for lowest round *TRIBUNE* DPO, girlfriend arrested over death of housemaid in Katsina Buhari orders probe into Rivers deadly pipeline explosion Pipeline explosion rocks Rivers; casualty figure unknown, Police say 30 things President Buhari promised Nigerians in second term *LEADERSHIP* Power: Hail Mary Today, Candle Light Tomorrow Certificate Forgery: PDP Candidate Loses Appeal Against Kogi Lawmaker INEC Denies Resignation Of ICT Director Party Withdraws Suit Challenging Imo Guber Election At Tribunal U Jibrin's Wand In The Emergence Of Dogara, Gbajabiamila Intrigues As Akeredolu Reshuffles Cabinet As Fayemi's Tenure Bolsters NGF EU Post-election Assessment And Matters Arising Issues As Governors Sack LG Chairmen Tambuwal: Consolidating On Sokoto State Assembly Power Play In Edo Speaker's Emergence Bwari Residents Commend FG's Free Medical Service CDOWA Donates Food Items To Orphanage In Kogi Kwara: Hope Rises For Industrialisation Kogi Gov Tasks NYSC Members On Discipline PenCOM Sensitises Prospective Retirees On Hitch- free Retirement Osinbajo Leaves For US To Meet With Vice President Pence Oil Firm Wants Lawmaker Prosecuted Over Land Dispute Water Hyacinth Invade 70 N/Delta Communities ' IYC Masari Wins Best Governor Prize In National Politics Republic Of Guinea Embraces AFRIMA 2019 World Presidents Who Were Entertainers Cybercrime Destroying Our Youths ' Falz *BLUE PRINT* Dalung hails Super Eagles AFCON victory against Burundi, consoles Super Falcons AFCON 2019: Buhari watches as Super Eagles pick three points off Burundi #Live: Ighalo to the rescue as Super Eagles open 2019 AFCON account with victory over Burundi #Live: Game over for Super Falcons as Germany triumph, progress to World Cup quarterfinal Pipeline explosion: 3 confirmed dead in Rivers, fire still raging The world is hungry! #Live: It's Germany 2-0 Super Falcons at half-time' World Cup knockout game on! MJTF troops kill 47 ISWAP terrorists in Lake Chad Island, military base Breaking: Tragedy averted as Air Peace plane overshoots runway amidst heavy downpour #Live ' World Cup Knockout: Oshoala drops to bench, Kanu makes Super Falcons X1 vs Germany ' match kicks 4.30pm *BUSINESSDAY* Is Nigeria Ready for Medical Marijuana Addis Ababa: An ideal getaway from boisterous city life Eyes on Buhari on gender-balancing in next cabinet/appointments 2019 election petition: All eyes on the Judiciary When CAN hosted Sanwo-Olu at Gbagada, Lagos Nigeria is not yet ripe for state police -Onyebueke Study identifies barriers to breast cancer treatment in Nigeria, Sub-Saharan Africa Takes fromFood and Beverage West Africa Fair, 2019 On Lagos'renewed efforts at tackling gridlock Nigeria needs visionary fathers, says Amos Fenwa *SPORTS* 100 caps and opener for Popp as Germany marches on - CNN 16-year-old Atthaya Thitikul breaks course record for lowest round - Daily Trust 2019 Charity Shield Polo:j Rubicon, 5th Chukker, Haske & Williams emerge champions - Daily Trust 2019 NHL Draft Results: Team-by-Team Grades for Notable Picks - Bleacher Report 300 Wrestlers For Gov Dickson Wrestling Classics - Leadership 30th Racehorse Dies at Santa Anita on Last Weekend Before Track Closes - Bleacher Report 4-Star LB Prospect Derekl Wingo Commits to Florida After Decommitting from PSU - Bleacher Report Afcon 2019: Nigeria were lucky to score against Burundi ' John Obi Mikel - Goal AFCON 2019: Rohr Pleased With Eagles' Winning Start Against Burundi - Complete Sports AFCON 2019: Super Eagles Beat B urundi 1-0 - Leadership *GOOD MORNING* Read the full article

[bettername2come]

Across the Universe 1/3

So when Sam and Dean actually end up crossing into another universe you kind of have to expect me to write a story with the show on the network that, you know, frequently crosses over into other universes. Also available here:

http://archiveofourown.org/works/11002758/chapters/24510834

Sam came running out of the house.  He grabbed Dean by the shoulders, trying to lift his brother to his feet, but Dean struggled out of his grip. “We gotta get out of here, man. The Nephilim’s here and it’s growing fast, faster than Amara.”

“We can’t just leave Cas here,” Dean said.

Sam glanced down at their fallen friend and shook his head. “We can’t do anything for him now,” he said, his voice heavy with regret. “But I don’t want us to be here when Lucifer’s spawn realizes we just trapped Daddy in an alternate universe.”

Dean looked up at the spot where the rift in space/time had been. “What about Mom?”

“We’ll find a way. We’ll find a way to open the rift and get her back,” Sam said.

Dean looked up at Sam, the unspoken thought lingering between them.

“He might not kill her,” Sam said. “Not if he thinks keeping her alive might give him some kind of leverage to get back home to his son.”

“So now we’re counting on the Devil to think things through logically?” Dean asked.

Sam shrugged helplessly. “It’s all we’ve got now. But we have to go.” Once again, he tried to tug Dean to his feet. This time Dean offered no resistance, giving one last look at Cas’s body as they ran for the Impala. They didn’t stop moving until they were back in the bunker.

*

Sam started digging through the library, searching their resources for a spell that could reopen the rift.

“If it took angelic power to open the last two rifts we went through, do we even think a spell could work?” Dean asked.

“No clue. But if witches and angels can both do time travel, it seems like it’s possible,” Sam said.

“Even without the help of an actual witch?”

Sam sighed. “I don’t know. But it’s Mom, Dean. We just got her back. Again. We can’t just leave her in a post-apocalyptic universe with Lucifer. We have to try.”

Dean sighed. “Yeah, I know.” He reached for the file cabinet next to Sam and started searching.

*

It was hours later when Dean suddenly jerked his head up. “Sam! I think I found something!”

Sam hurried over to his brother. “What you got?”

“A spell for a ‘Gateway Between Worlds.’” Dean shrugged. “Sounds like it could be what we need.”

“Does this one require a life?” Sam asked, coming over to take a look.

Dean shook his head. “No. It looks more like basic spellwork. The lamb’s blood, the mercury, Dead Sea brine, and –“

“And what?”

“And one bigass sapphire to ‘direct the energy.’”

“Okay, so what, we rob a jewelry store?”

“More like a museum.” Dean turned the book towards Sam, tapping at an illustration on the page. “I mean, we’re talking like a crown jewel size gem here.”

Sam opened his laptop and started searching. “We can pull a museum heist. We just need to find out where the nearest gigantic sapphire is…and apparently that would be Wichita. Traveling exhibit at the Museum of World Treasures.”

“Gather up the rest of the supplies then,” Dean said. “We’re going to Witchita.”

*

Four hours later, Sam and Dean were running out of the museum with the sapphire clutched in Dean’s fist while sirens sounded in the distance. They got into the Impala quickly, and took off, eventually stopping at an empty parking garage on the other side of town.

“Think the cops’ll find us?” Sam asked as he got out of the car.

Dean slammed the driver side door. “Not the way I drove.” He reached into the trunk for the spell book and other ingredients. He passed them to Sam who laid them out in one of the empty parking spaces.

“How are we supposed to close the rift after we open it?” Sam asked. “If we rescue Mom, but Lucifer gets through with her then Cas and Crowley died for nothing.”

“It says the doorway it creates is temporary,” Dean said. “After we get through, we’ll have to use the sapphire to get back, but at least it won’t just leave a big, gaping hole in reality that just any yahoo can waltz through.”

“All right. Good enough.” Sam rose back to his feet. “Let’s do this.”

Dean reached down, dipping the sapphire into the mixture and began speaking the incantation. He aimed the gem at the space in front of him, and slowly a thin yellow line began splitting open across reality.

“It’s working!” Sam shouted.

“Have the angel blade ready!” Dean said. “We get in, we get Mom, we get out!”

Sam nodded, holding the blade out as he and Dean charged through the rift –

-Right into a park in the middle of a large city, underneath a bright blue sky.

The park looked normal enough. Certainly not post-apocalyptic. Bright colors, children playing, couples walking by holding hands. “Uh, Dean? Where are we?”

Dean looked around at their surroundings as the portal snapped shut. “Well, I’m just gonna say it: I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore, Sammy.”

Sam spun in a circle, pocketing the knife before anyone could see it. “No. No, this is the wrong reality. Mom’s not here. Open the portal.”

Dean lifted his hand, beginning the incantation, only to find that his palm was empty. “Hey, uh, where’d the sapphire go?”

Sam looked down at Dean’s empty hand. “You had it in your hand ten seconds ago!”

“I know!”

“Did you drop it?”

“No, I didn’t drop it! You really think I’m gonna drop our ticket home?” Dean looked around at the grass around them, just in case he was wrong, then looked back at the space they had just come through. “I think the portal ate it.”

“The portal ate it?! That wasn’t included in the spell book!”

“Well, maybe no one has ever actually used the spell before!”

“Unbelievable!”

Dean took a deep breath. “Look the spell worked. It took us to an alternate universe. We just have to find another sapphire and we can try the spell again to get us home, and we’ll – we’ll figure out another way to get to Mom.”

Sam nodded uncertainly. “You’re right. Unless – “ He looked around nervously at the innocent bystanders playing Frisbee, seeming to have not noticed the brothers’ arrival in the park. “What if we’re back in that other reality? The one without the supernatural? Maybe that’s why the sapphire disappeared, because magic spells aren’t real, so you can’t keep the tools you used to do the magic spell.”

“All right, so we find a library and find out what we can about his reality before we try the spell again.”

Meanwhile, at STAR Labs, alarms were sounding.

“What was that?” Iris asked.

Cisco tapped away at the keyboard. “I set up an algorithm to detect atmospheric changes consistent with wormholes being opened, that way if anyone gets in or out of Earth-1, I’ll know about it.”

“Please tell me this isn’t just about stalking your portal jumping not-girlfriend,” Iris said.

“Hey! I am offended. This is like ninety-five percent about protecting this earth,” Cisco said.

“And the other five percent?”

Cisco turned back to the monitor, avoiding the question. “It shows the breach in Kanigher Park and it says the breach has already closed.”

Iris leaned down to study the screen. “Well, that’s good right? You don’t want some kid wandering into a breach.”

“Yeah, but that’s weird. Portals don’t just close on their own, unless someone has the power to close them. I mean, if it were Kara or Gypsy, they would’ve come straight here. Okay, well, Gypsy might’ve opened another portal and taken off again. Teleporting into an open public space in broad daylight is a bad idea.” He searched CCTV and satellites for a video feed of the park. “And there’s no obvious supervillain activity of the ‘I don’t care who knows how evil I am!’ variety. It’s just weird.”

“You could always just pop over there and check it out in person. See what you vibe about the location.”

Cisco shook his head. “Did you not hear the part about teleporting into a public place being a bad thing? No, I’m driving.”

Iris laughed. “Yeah, because the white van pulling up to the playground isn’t going to get any weird looks.”

“Good point. You drive.”

Iris rolled her eyes as she reached for her purse. “You’re lucky I don’t have a story to write and I’m bored.”

*

Cisco jumped out the car the second it pulled to a stop. He ran to the spot he had seen in the video with Iris right behind him. He reached down, touching the ground in the spot where the breach had once been and the vibe came, flickering a blue. A strange breach opening, thin and yellow, nothing like the ones he created. Two men, tall and haggard, jumped out of the breach, the taller man carrying a large dagger. As quickly as it had come, the vision flickered back out.

“There were definitely breachers here,” Cisco said. “Something’s off, the breach didn’t look like they normally do.”

Iris shrugged. “Maybe they’re from an earth that hasn’t made contact with this one before. New earth, new kind of breach?”

“Maybe,” Cisco said uncertainly. “They came through with knives.”

“That doesn’t exactly sound like supervillain weaponry. Maybe they were escaping, like refugees or something.”

“Maybe,” Cisco said again. “Either way I think we need to let Barry know they’re on the loose.”

*

Sam settled down by Dean at the table in the library.

“Okay, get this,” Sam said a touch too loudly, earning him a glare from the librarian. “I started with a basic search, just the word ‘magic’ to see if we got the same kind of results we get back in our universe. And a lot of the results were the same, except I also found a bunch of news articles from last May.”

“Why is it always May?” Dean asked.

“Some things are just universal,” Sam said. “Or multiversal. Anyway, there was this guy who was trying to end the world.”

“Oh, they have those here too?”

“Apparently,” Sam said. “Mad scientist end the world, not apocalypse end the world. But it seems like it wasn’t just science because there was a battle between him and a costumed vigilante-“

“A what?”

“Yeah. It seems to be a thing here, just go with it. There was a battle between him and a costumed vigilante in which this guy telekinetically through the other guy, along with throwing back a bunch of civilians who were watching the battle, who reported that the vigilante guy came back with glowing eyes and said ‘It's not so easy without the magic, is it?’ And the thing is, the paper doesn’t question any of it. It takes this as a reasonable eyewitness account. Which it should because dozens of people came back with the same story.”

“So we’re not in a world without magic,” Dean said. “This is a world where magic’s not only real, it’s publishable fact.”

“Which means the spell should work.”

“And we need to find the closest bigass sapphire available.”

“Already done,” Sam said. “Central City Museum is running the same traveling show they had in Wichita.”

“Which explains how we ended up here instead of Kansas.”

“I guess so. So museum heist part two?”

“It went pretty well the first time.”

[jenatyrone-blog]

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Fastnet Race winners: Wizard claims overall prize while French crews dominate

American VO70 Wizard wins the Rolex Fastnet Race overall, while French JPK yachts dominate the IRC classes

The stars’n’stripes liveried American Volvo 70 Wizard has been confirmed as the overall IRC winner of this year’ Rolex Fastnet Race.

Brothers David and Peter Askew from Detroit finished in 1 day and 27 hours to score an unbeatable corrected time on their first attempt.

The victorious Wizard crew. Photo: Paul Wyeth/pwpictures

Wizard is the former Volvo Ocean Race-winning Groupama 4, and was sailed with a hugely experienced crew including Charlie Enright and Mark Towill, Rob Greenhalgh and navigator Will Oxley.

Wizard's amazing winning streak: 1st overall in the Rolex Fastnet Race

1st in the RORC Caribbean 600 1st in the Transatlantic Race 1st overall in the Rolex Fastnet Race These guys are on fire! Congratulations Wizard! Yachting World #RolexFastnetRace coverage in association with #Musto #TheInsideEdge

Posted by Yachting World on Friday, August 9, 2019

The Wizard crew were able to keep boatspeed up to stay with the bigger maxis during the light winds transition phase on the first night of the race, pushed the robust VO70 hard through the 25-knot plus conditions on the approach to the Rock, and finished within two hours of the line honours winners Rambler 88 to take the Fastnet Challenge Cup, the overall IRC prize.

The Fastnet trophy is the latest in an impressive winning streak for the Wizard programme, which has seen them take the RORC Caribbean 600 overall prize in February this year, and then win the Transatlantic Race last month.

David and Peter Askew’s Wizard has won the 2019 Rolex Fastnet Race overall

David said after the Fastnet finish: “[Our winning streak] can’t last forever – you just try to make it last as long as you can. That being said, we definitely have a formula. We decide what we want to do and then find the right machine and the right people to get it done.”

Navigator Will Oxley added: “The crew work was just excellent. Every manoeuvre was done really well. We used all the sails in the right order. We never had the wrong sail up. Charlie made an excellent call that we change directly from the masthead Code 0 to the J2, so we were under-wicked heading out to the Rock for the first hours, but then we didn’t have to do the change from the J1 to the J2.

“On these boats they are hanked sails and trying to get rid of the J1 and put the J2 up in those conditions is very difficult so that was another key moment.”

Apart from Wizard’s win in IRC Overall and Zero, and USA 25555 Rambler 88’s monohull line honours win, it has been a near clean sweep for French entries in this year’s race.

Jacques Pelletier took IRC 1 in his Milon 41 L’Ange de Milon, which he describes as a ‘prototype’ of the JPK 1010, also designed by Jacques Vader, who draws the successful JPK line.

Géry Trentesaux’s JPK 11.80 Courrier Recommandé took 1st place in IRC 1

Their win was the first of a near total command of the smaller IRC classes by the Valer-Jean Pierre Kelbert partnership. In IRC 2 Géry Trentesaux’s well-sailed JPK 11.80 Courrier Recommandé took 1st place, with three of the top four boats being 11.80s.

In IRC 3 their domination was even more complete. Jean Pierre Kelbert himself was sailing with Alexis Loison, overall race winner in 2013. The double-handed pair sailed the JPK 10.80 Léon to class win, with no fewer than six of the top seven boats in class in being 10.80s.

Léon fishing into Plymouth

The only exception was 2nd placed Henry Bomby and Hannah Diamond on their brand new Sunfast 3300 Fastrak XII. Léon and Fastrak XII were also 1st and 2nd respectively in the exceptionally competitive double-handed division.

The pattern repeated yet again in IRC 4, with JPK 10.10s taking the top two places and filling half of the top 10 in the 87-boat fleet. Noel Racine’s Foggy Dew added another trophy to the cabinet to take the class win.

Alexis Loison and Jean-Pierre Kelbert won IRC 3 and the double-handed division on the JPK 10.30 Léon. Photo: Paul Wyeth/pwpictures.com

But as crews await tonight’s Rolex Fastnet Race prizegiving, the stories of the race have been much more about the winners – the teenage crew of Scaramouche from Greig City Academy who pushed on despite shredding two spinnakers, Susan Glenny’s team on Team Tigress who had to sail almost the entire race with two reefs in after ripping the mainsail in the early stages of the race, and the beautiful classic yachts who have sedately arrived into Plymouth over the final days.

The Greig City Academy school team Scaramouche crossing the line. Photo: Paul Wyeth/pwpictures

Among the classics, Lulotte was awarded this year’s Sparkman and Stephens Trophy. Owner Ben Morris bought the S&S yawl a decade ago in the Caribbean, before sailing it across the Atlantic with no engine and battling 10 days of gales that blew out most of Lulotte’s sails before arriving in Dartmouth where she was lovingly restored.

“Going around the Fastnet Rock we have a little tradition – we have a family house on Heir Island overlooking the rock. As we rounded the Fastnet Lighthouse all of the wonderful crew enjoyed roast lamb,” said Ben, a veteran of eight Fastnets.

“Lulotte goes to windward well, but off the breeze with a mizzen staysail up you are having to work the wheel quite hard, but she looks after us and you never feel in danger. We hit 15 knots surfing down a wave coming home – she’s a Devon girl!”

Around 11 yachts are still racing, including the Rogers family on the Contessa 32 Assent, who have around  70 miles still to go on Thursday evening.

For all our Fastnet videos from Cowes and the finish in Plymouth, visit our You Tube channel.

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