#Getting Out Excerpts From A Cat's Diary

[enchantzz]

Mitchell's Diary - In over my Head

One-shots in the series of Art & Vampires. Excerpts from Mitchell’s diary.

Words: 767

Being a badass male vampire doesn't mean you can handle female vampires 😁

References to stories in the Art & Vampires series - 1. New Orleans and 2. London and 6. New York

Art & Vampires is about the relationship and developments around Mitchell, a vampire and Amy (Ames), a human. It’s about the vampire world, the supernatural, but also about history, cities around the world, art, antiques and adventures.

Face claims vampires: Aidan Turner - John Mitchell, Richard Armitage - Rick Marlowe, Jaime Murray - Alana (Lana) Lenoir and Ben Barnes - Ben Sheldon. Humans: Mila Kunis - Amy (Ames) Quinn, Bianca Lawson - Lena Parker (witch).

List of Mitchell’s diary One Shots in the Art & Vampires Master list

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Rick warned me,  but of course I didn't listen.  That time,  I was in way over my head and I can tell you that being immortal is less attractive when Alana keeps bringing up your mistake and rubs your face in it every time she gets the chance. But what can I say,  she was a beauty.  

I'm talking about Neesha of course.  

I'll never forget her and not just because Lana keeps reminding me, the she-devil. I hope she doesn't get her hands on this diary,  otherwise I'm screwed,  like that time I got involved with Neesha. And I mean literally.

It was in the forties, nineteen forties. I need to remember to mention the centuries.  We were back in London and I had been able to get my life,  or existence, to be exact,  back on track after,  well,  you know,  Belle.  

I had been thinking.  I couldn't go through any of that again, losing a loved one.  I'd had a hard enough time before Belle,  dealing with the fact that you will always outlive your loved ones,  but losing Belle hit hard, as you are well aware,  because I've written diaries full of my laments.  

So,  I had a plan,  a brilliant one.  I had the perfect solution.  I would get myself a female vampire companion,  who would never leave me and I would have eternal happiness.  Neesha was going to be just that. Or so I thought.

In the first half of the 20th century,  we moved around from New Orleans to New York,  and finally back to London. After the war, London was a mess. The city was severely damaged and even though our neighborhood wasn't spared,  The Mayfair,  our mansion,  was.  We moved back for a while to keep an eye on things and make sure that it remained our house. People who lost their homes during the bombings of London were being relocated to abandoned houses and we needed to make sure that our mansion was not going to be taken over by others. 

Fortunately for me,  even though the city was damaged and the people were recovering from the war,  there were always parties to be found.  Especially for us vampires. 

As you can imagine,  I was spending as much time as I could attending as many parties as I could.  I was determined to find that vampire companion and never be sad again.  

Neesha was a gorgeous goddess, who stood out amongst the crowd like a shining star in the dark night sky,  quite literally,  with her shiny jewelry and extravagant silver dress.

I can't even remember how I got there,  to that party,  but I will always remember the sight of her and how I,  half intoxicated,  chatted her up and actually managed to get her undivided attention.  

As said,  Rick had warned me not to get involved with her. He had an eye for 'trouble', but,  you know,  I had my plan and this scrumptious woman was going to fit that perfectly.  

To this day I'm still not sure if she was playing with me,  like a cat with her prey,  or if I had enamored her with my charm.

By the end of the night, having abandoned Rick and Alana, I found myself in Neesha's arms, or in hindsight,  claws,  in what seemed to be a former hotel somewhere in the city.  She had made the hotel her home  and the top room,  with a huge skylight,  was her den.  

I don't know how many times we fucked, but it seemed like we did nothing else for days.  It was like I was under her spell and I couldn't get free and I am man enough to admit that my dick actually hurt! 

You know,  as vampires,  we recover quickly,  also on that front,  but after Neesha,  I was about ready to be celebate for the rest of my immortal life. 

At some point,  I must have seen the light and realize that I wasn't ready to have my existence ended by sex.  Even if death by sex sounds pleasant enough.  So,  I ran and didn't look back and my not so brilliant plan of getting a vampire companion went out the door with me.  I didn't stay celibate of course,  but those are stories for another time. 

Anyway,  I'm not sure why I wrote down this memory.  Maybe it's because Ames was fishing for embarrassing stories from the past and I didn't really want to confess all this to her.  Or maybe it's a way of letting go. Now if only Alana could do the same. 

Time to say goodnight for now and hide you well,  my dear diary.  I'm ready to join my sweet Ames in bed, cuddle up to her and make pleasant memories.

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[chellerbelles]

Here are a series of scenes. The ones I sent out for Arranged Marriage kick these off. Cats is also part of this.

Rogue & Gambit Week: Enemies to Lovers

“I want her gone!”

Elizabeth looked up from her cross-stitching to see her irate son standing before her, his hands clenched, and a fresh cut across his cheek.

“What happened to your face, dear?” she asked.

“That woman threw a plate at me! She needs to go. Now. I told you that she’d try to hurt me.”

“No,” Elizabeth replied calmly as she looked back at her cross-sticking. “You told me she’d drive a stake through your heart on your wedding night. She made no attempt to do that then, nor any other night. What happened today has nothing to do with silly rumours and everything to do with the fact that you’re married, and yet you’ve made no effort to treat her like your wife.”

“So it’s my fault now?”

“You’re both at fault. You’ve made no attempt to accept her into your life, and she’s angry and throwing a tantrum like a toddler trying to get your attention.” Elizabeth frowned, eyeing her cross-stitch critically. “I shall have to have a word to her about that. Such behaviour isn’t dignified.”

Robert gave his mother a haughty smile which she ignored. “No, it’s not. It’s one of the many things about her that make her unsuitable for a wife, as I’m sure my contemporaries will agree. I really can’t imagine why you ever thought Marian is perfect for me. Or is it because I’m someone the other ladies would also consider unsuitable for a husband?”

Elizabeth sighed and looked up at her son. “Really, Robert, this woe-is-me behaviour is just as pathetic as Marian acting like a toddler. Spend some time getting to know her, properly. See how she interacts with others around her. You can learn a lot about a person by how they treat people of lower social status, and animals.” She paused for a moment. “Though I suppose how you interpret that information may also be skewed by what kind of person you are.”

“Mother—”

“Give her a chance to cool down, then apologise and ask if you can start over. Buy her a gift. Compliment her.” Elizabeth narrowed her eyes. “Consummate your marriage.”

Robert looked away. Elizabeth shook her head.

“You’re going to have to sometime. You need to provide an heir, or everything will go to Mildred and her hellspawn.”

“Funny, I would’ve thought any children I have would be described as ‘hellspawn’.”

“I don’t doubt it will happen, but they would be wrong.” Elizabeth fixed him with a cold, hard stare. “And if you think for one moment that Marian will tolerate anyone describing her children as hellspawn, even you, then you are a fool.”

In that moment, Robert could quite clearly see Marian yelling and throwing a plate at anyone who would dare. An unwanted smile cracked across his face.

“No,” he said softly. “I can’t say I can see her putting up with that at all.”

Elizabeth smiled. “Good!”

*

Excerpts from Marian’s Diary

Today I found Robert’s deep dark secret: He’s a thief!

I went to the attic on this stormy day and was just looking around when I found this treasure trove of trinkets stashed away in a corner by one of the windows. At first it just looked like a collection of random oddities, but then I saw Grandfather’s pipe.

Grandfather’s pipe, the old one, the one he lost years ago. The one that he accused Victor of stealing and nearly beat him half to death in a rage over. That pipe.

I don’t know how long I was there before Robert showed up looking for me. (Which, now that I think about it, was rather strange. I shall have to follow up on that later). He wanted to know what I was doing up here. I wanted to know how Grandfather’s pipe ended up in his attic!

That was when Robert confessed to the stealing thing. Turns out the whole time he was being hidden away from the world he would sneak around and spy on dinner guests, and occasionally steal from them. The occasions when he was able to leave the house just afforded him more exciting opportunities.

I completely lost it. Didn’t he every think about the people who would take the blame? No, of course he didn’t. Obviously, we had a huge fight, and I threw several of his precious little treasures at him. I don’t care if Elizabeth says it’s childish behaviour, he completely deserved it.

~*~

I always knew there was a rooftop garden at the back of the house, but I hadn’t actually been there until Robert decided to take me there for our moonlight picnic. There are several pot plants around with lovely plants, but on the whole the garden isn’t anything amazing. What did catch my attention was the pottery wheel. I asked him about it, but all he would say is that when you live most of your life in darkness or half light, it helps to be able to do things by feel.

It was a little cool, but not unpleasantly so. The roof garden is carefully positioned so that the other rooves can act as wind breakers, which is definitely needed this close to the coast.

The picnic was mostly small talk at first, but then he pulled out a book of love poems! And he read me one! Don’t get me wrong, it was beautifully spoken (he does have a lovely voice). But how can he speak of things he doesn’t know? I told him it was beautiful, but his words were meaningless if they weren’t sincere. He laughed and said I was probably right. We barely knew each other, so what was he thinking, trying to talk about love?

~*~

Robert invited Victor over for dinner. It was rather surprising to see him, but it was nice to catch up with him. It’s been awhile. He hasn’t changed any. He was on his best behaviour too. No doubt he hopes to make visits here a regular occurrence. I don’t see that happening. Elizabeth was clearly put off by his presence and left as soon as it was polite to do so. Besides, I know Victor. As charming as he can be, he can only hold up the charade for so long.

I must say, though, I thank the Lord God Almighty that Victor took a moment to excuse himself after dinner. Robert told me then that he planned on telling Victor all about the pipe! I shut that down immediately. Absolutely not, I told him. Victor would kill him. Robert thought I was exaggerating. I had to make it quite clear that no matter how pleasant Victor’s company might be this evening, his reputation was well earned. The pipe thing was a sore spot and Robert wouldn’t survive the experience. I don’t know if Robert was convinced, but he at least respected my wishes on the matter and didn’t confess anything to Victor.

It’s funny. I’m not really sure who I’m more concerned about, Robert or Victor.

*

“Marian?” Robert called as he knocked on her door.

Silence answered him. He tried again, and then opened the door.

Her room was neat and tidy, with her nowhere in sight. He was about to leave, when he spotted a book on her bedside table. Curious to know what she was reading, he wandered over to check out the title. There wasn’t one, so he opened the cover.

He realised instantly that he had her diary. He knew he should put it down, but the name Max Eisenhardt jumped out at him. Against his better judgement he found himself reading further.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Robert jumped and turned to see Marian standing at the doorway, looking absolutely furious.

“Oh, uh, hi,” he said, quickly closing the diary and putting it back down. “I just came looking for you. I was hoping—”

“And you saw I wasn’t here so you decided to read my diary?”

“I thought it was a regular book! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude—”

“Well, you did.” Marian pointed to the door as she stepped to one side. “Get out.”

Robert took a deep breath. “Right, yes, of course.”

He began walking for the door and then stopped at the doorway.

“I said get out,” Marian snapped at him.

Robert lifted his head to meet her eyes. “I royally screwed up when we got married. I never gave you a chance, and that was a huge mistake. You are a wonderful woman, Marian, and I’ve come to care for you a lot. I thought that the rift between us was entirely because of my poor treatment of you. I understand now that this marriage cut you off from being with the man that you’re in love with.”

Marian stiffened. “You don’t have to worry about Max and I. We haven’t said a word to each other since.”

“I’m not worried about that. I just hope that one day, you can write about me in your diary with even a fraction of the affection you write about him,” he replied and looked towards the door. “I guess I’ll see you at dinner.”

As he left, Robert wondered how he could feel so heartbroken about Marian loving someone else.

“Jules Verne,” Marian called out.

Robert paused in his step and looked back at her. She held his gaze.

“I’m currently on a Jules Verne kick and am in the middle of 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea,” she said. “Also, if you ever read my diary again, I will gouge out your eyes.”

“I have no doubt.”

There was a little skip in his step as he left.

*

Excerpts from Marian’s Diary

These moonlight picnics are getting to be a habit. But I appreciate that Robert is at least trying to get to know me.

We had a long discussion about Jules Verne tonight. He hadn’t read 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea yet, but he’d read other Jules Verne novels. I expect that’s why I found them in the library.

~*~

Tonight Robert surprised me with a gift. He made me a flower vase. It was beautifully shaped. He must have a proper kiln around here somewhere. If I hadn’t known he did pottery I would’ve been certain he had it made by a professional. After thanking him, it occured to me to ask him if he had made the pots for the pot plants in this garden. He had.

I have a feeling I going to start seeing his work all throughout the house.

~*~

Max is engaged.

I’m rather surprised at how calmly I’ve taken the news. Perhaps it just hasn’t hit me yet?

Honestly, I think I’m actually more annoyed at how Robert has been distancing himself ever since we found out. He just told me he’s sorry and been avoiding me ever since. I’m going to give him the benefit of the doubt and just assume he’s just trying to give me space to mourn the end of the relationship or something. Completely unnecessary. I’ve already mourned.

*

Robert was deep in concentration at his potter’s wheel when the door to the roof garden burst open.

“There you are!” said Marian, and Robert nearly fell out of his chair while his clay shifted wildly out of shape. “This should’ve been the first place I checked.”

Robert took a moment to collect himself and stood up out of his chair. “Yeah, I’m usually here. What can I do for you?”

“You can stop avoiding me for a start,” Marian said as she strode closer to him. “We’ve already been through that. I don’t care for a repeat.”

“Oh, uh, I wasn’t avoiding you,” Robert replied. “I just thought it might be a good idea to give you some space after the news about Max. Also, I… didn’t want you to throw things at me again.”

Marian felt silent, something which Robert found surprising.

“I know I have a temper,” she said finally, “but I’ve never thrown anything at anyone who didn’t do something in that moment to anger me. And I know I shouldn’t throw things at people at all. Your mother’s right about it being childish… Look, the point is, what happened with Max and I wasn’t your fault. This arranged marriage wasn’t your idea. You didn’t even want to marry me any more than I wanted to marry you. And it’s only natural that Max would marry someone else. There’s no reason to throw anything at you. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

She looked so despondent, Robert was almost sorry she wasn’t still angry.

“Well, I’m glad to know that at least,” he said. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Marian shook her head. “I’m okay. I think I moved on and didn’t realise awhile ago. I promise I’m going to try harder to refrain from throwing things. I don’t want you feeling afraid of me.”

Robert gave a shrug. “Is it bad I kind of like it?”

“Like it?” Marian exclaimed. “How could anyone like that?”

“I know! But I like seeing you fired up,” Robert admitted. “I like how passionate you get, and not just when you’re angry either. And I like how fierce you are. Which is not a word I ever thought I’d use to describe a woman, but you are, and I admire that. I admire you. And I’m glad we’re not enemies any more.”

Marian stepped closer to him, and he quickly moved his clay covered hands behind him.

“I’m glad we’re not too,” she said and pressed her hands to his chest. “Kiss me.”

“Wha— really?”

“Yes, really,” Marian said with a smile.

With his heart pounding in his chest, Robert leaned forward and kissed her. She kissed him back with all the fierceness he so admired.

“Put your arms around me,” she murmured.

“I’ll get clay all over you.”

“I really don’t care.”

*

The Present

“Okay, wow,” Gambit said, his eyes on his phone as Rogue continued to drive, night falling around them. “Marian’s not shy about going into specifics is she?”

“Specifics about what?” Rogue asked absently.

“Sex.”

“Ah. No, she’s not. In fact, she continues to go into a great deal of detail for the next two years, recounting most if not all encounters,” Rogue replied with amusement. “She does tone it down after that, but she’ll still go into detail on special occasions.”

“Nice to know they had such a healthy sex life.”

“Yeah. It’s a wonder they only had six kids.”

[princessscarlettli]

recently it was a year since russia started a full-scale war in Ukraine. here are excerpts from my diary in which I wrote for the first six months

25.02. 22

today we spent the night on the first floor, it was cold on the floor, I couldn't sleep. corresponded with Alina. the cat was sleeping nearby, I hoped that if a rocket flew into our house, I would have time to cover it with myself

26.02. 22

stood in line at the store since the morning, I can't feel my legs from the cold, but now we have food. managed to get two packs of cigarettes.

01.03.22

there is no more contact with Alina, her city is under occupation

02.03.22

the sounds of explosions do not subside, I sleep with headphones so as not to hear them. if I die, it will be with music

23.03.33

I was smoking on the street, a rocket flew over my head, I laughed out of fear

29.03.22

I think I fell in love with this girl. when bombs fell at night, she did not communicate. I lie until the morning with my eyes closed and repeat "please, not her, don't let her die"

01.04.22

I hope that Alina is alive

03.04.22

sang "Мексиканця" when the city was shelled again. please let me die before my friends

https://youtu.be/yRVO6fh92OU

this song

[thepoeticbubble]

Perhaps these are the things i love - I love the opportunity of waving my hands to certified dead words , words that are isolated from the grip of addressed person .i love to visit graves of abandoned proses with bouquets of belief for compensation of their silenced mouths even before they were sanctioned with a birth certificate. They still don't talk , don't even say a fabricated thank you. I guess they fear to be subjected to trails for an act forgery even after their forever absence to humans. And certainly i love the innocence of unavailable cheeks of their titles that were never read nor dedicated to the sinking waves of heart . They blush secretly but are always taken for granted because of their invisibility to naked eye. I am not waiting for a present - a necklace nor any momentary compliment from any ship of gold , i love the rattling sound of leaves that clap for me after my sweat breaks the fast of soil in soft verses of rhymes. i love the unpublished blink of eyes ,the books that only i opened and read before they were closed forever and still i prefer not to disclose the mysterious details, - even if their excerpts tie me to my chair and then torture my tranquility and snatch away my personal outlook. And not Many offer me shoulder but those who do ,i love their miniature skeletal foundation that they spread to form a bridge for my anxiety. I'm in no way seeking malnutrition, i just don't run out of fuel , i burn spontaneously into nothingness yet i love the resources that grant me food out of love. My pligrimage often sets itself through the noise of railways that don't exist yet the trains travel through every region of hope and despair. And even if I'm sometimes a lost traveller ,i love the horrors of undiscovered forests in the claws of cat that scratch poems over the pieces of earth. Yet i guess there won't be novel out of my impatient mind placed over the library of screams ever but i love the fact that I've written it in my head even if it's out of my reach. And if someone out their puts a trap to click the paw of that rapidly vanishing mouse inside the folds of my brain to squeeze it out over paper boats to set that plot afloat ,i would fall in love with that virtue too. i love to be present in the quiteness of an unwritten paragraph trapped in the gap of my front teeth but fluttering liberally over the palm of my hand yet faraway from the reach of any diary. Something always crawls in my nerves because there is something out their that loves me too despite of my disordered patterns and no matter how worse my dylesxia gets ,i suppose that love is never misspelled by me. In all i witness things , not all can see and i walk into place that no one can ever be , i write over papers that no can read and Perhaps poets love things that not all can love and perhaps that is how they fill the holes with their cementing sight .

[dykesbat]

[ID: Images from the Guardian showing excerpts of Ziad's diary. Some are overlaid over images of Gaza, showing explosions, rubble, and Palestinian people. Others are on white backgrounds with blue doodles relevant to the particular entry. The first image is a cover image. It quotes an entry, "I'm thinking about what my gravestone would say if I died." Underneath the quote it says, "Ziad, a 35-year-old Palestinian, recounts constant fear living in Gaza. Swipe to read excerpts from his diary entries. The following images are all excerpts from his diary. It reads,

"Saturday, 7th October. 6 AM.

I start frantically searching the flat [for the apartment ownership contract]. If our building gets bombed, I need evidence that this apartment belongs to me.

It is amazing how accustomed we have gotten to misery. Death and bombs are the first thoughts that come to our minds when "a situation" starts.

If I hadn't been Palestinian, I would have wanted to be Finnish. I read once that Finland is the happiest place on Earth. I want to be happy, where all I care about is my health and my tennis session."

"Sunday, 8th October. 11 PM.

We have packed our essentials in case we need to flee. We have the two carriers to put our cats in. I say to my sister:

'What about the fish?' (This sentence is handwritten in blue)

As heavy bombing goes on, not knowing where the explosions are coming from, my sister and I started thinking of creative ways to save the fish. Believe it or not, it is a family member, and it has survived a lot with us"

With this entry is a doodle of a goldfish.

"Monday, 9th October. 1 AM.

Complete darkness, no electricity, where did I put the waterbottle? I really need something to drink.

I can hear the neighbors outside arguing. Apparently, one of them still has some bread and was offering it to the other, who was too embarrassed to take it, and offered to pay him for it. Gazans are weird.

We would offer you the last but of food we have. Some bakeries are still working, but everyone is terrified of going into the street to buy essentials.

No place is safe, no one is safe." (This line is written in bold with the second half underlined.)

"Monday, 9th October. 5 AM.

A message from a friend abroad asking if I had enough sleep. I tell her that the bombing keeps us awake.

She says how sorry she is, and then shares an idea. I am 100% sure she thinks it is helpful:

Why don't you wear earpieces? You can sleep then." (This line is handwritten in blue and accompanied with a drawing of earplugs. The last sentence is underlined).

"Monday, 9th October. 5 AM. – cont.

People sympathise, but they cannot relate to what you are going through.

My friend does not understand that bombing is not about the noises, it is about the possibility of sudden death.

Without saying goodbye to our loved ones, before completing projects we started, before hugging those we care about and asking for their forgiveness.

She knows, but definitely doesn't realise, the severity of the situation. I choose not to respond to the text."

"Wednesday, 11th October. 4 AM.

I am grateful my mother is dead. She died last year. (This sentence is handwritten).

Is my mother safe now? In the past, a graveyard in Gaza was bombed. Will the graveyard where my mother is buried be bombed? Will I be able to cover her grave with my body and tell her she will be safe?

I miss my mother a lot." (This sentence is bolded and underlined).

"Friday, 13th October.

It was a sleepless night full of tears and fear. Just after midnight we heard all the people have been asked to go south. We had to move on and go our separate ways from the family we were staying with.

We have no shelter, no electricity or internet. It feels like 1948." (This sentence is bolded. The last line is underlined. Underneath this excerpt, handwritten in blue, are the words "shelter", "internet", and "electricity". All have been crossed out.)

"Monday, 16th October. 4 PM.

It is no surprise that every family has lost at least a family member or someone they know.

The unusual thing would be for a person to have not lost someone close. (This sentence is handwritten.)

The autocomplete feature on a mobile brings up potential words based on what you usually write.

Now, there is no need to write a condolence message: all I do is type the first word and then start clicking the following ones that show up to finish the message."

"Wednesday, 18th October. 8 AM.

I cannot imagine that while I am 'safe', there are children under rubble, some dead and some alive, whose stories took the very wrong turn.

Those children were supposed to be having fun at school, going to amusement parks, and at night hearing bedtime stories about love and kindness.

I'm still alive while mothers are losing their children every day; fathers are incapable of sheltering their own families; and young people watch their dreams fade.

Apparently, I am lucky my turn hasn't come yet." (This sentence is handwritten.) End ID.]

" Men in Gaza do cry.

When they lose their homes that they spend their

whole lives building, they cry

When they see their dreams and hopes getting destroyed, they cry.

When they realise how scary and uncertain their future is, they cry.

And because they are human beings, full of feelings and emotions, they cry."

This is an excerpt from a 35-year-old Palestinian's account of life in Gaza under siege.

Ziad has been writing for the Guardian about the realities of the Israeli bombardment, as he, his sister and their pets, flee their home in Gaza City in the hope of survival.

You can read his diary entries in full via the link:

[sorryiapologized]

I'm starting a blog. So I've hit rock bottom.

I used to think Blogs were only for desperate mothers and that one dog from the Disney Channel show (RIP). Now, I've realized that I fit into some third category: 20-somethings who want to feel some sort of connection with internet strangers. Do I seek validation? Idk maybe. Maybe I'm just lonely. Or maybe I'm having one of the worst days in my adult life.

I've also decided to do this because I am a special type of mentally ill. I have (undiagnosed) ADHD and a custom blend of Anxiety and Depression. This means that I need to be around others to be held accountable to do virtually anything. My therapist says journaling will help, but I need an audience to listen to my woes. If I'm not writing for someone else, what's the point, right?

So, here's how my day went.

My person is sick. They stayed home from work today. And I woke up to a blizzard. In Seattle. It was already a bad omen. I spent the morning trying to take care of them, as well as our two dogs and cat, let the maintenance dudes in and out and in and out of my apartment because they had to fix this giant hole (NO this is not a porn blog, get your mind out of the gutter, dear reader) and on top of all that I had my weekly Wednesday meeting that takes 25 minutes longer than it should.

On the off chance my person has COVID, I told my boss I would not make it into the office today. I work remotely and only go in once a week for a few hours to make promotional tik toks because apparently nobody over the age of 25 knows what's cool anymore. (I probably don't either, because I'm making a blog.) My boss told me I needed to come in so they could talk to me. That didn't sit right with me.

For the next two hours I fretted over what it could be they needed to talk about. Then I did this stupid journaling thing my therapist said. I wrote down all my anxieties and then picked apart what was real and what my brain was jumping to.

Here's what I came up with:

Real: I am a good writer.

Real: I am invaluable to the paper I work for.

Real: I am the only one who knows how to effectively use tiktok.

Anxiety: They would want to fire me because sometimes I misuse punctuation and have trouble spelling.

Well, it turns out anxiety won over today. I got to work and they immediately told me to take a walk outside with them. It was snowing. I was in a cropped sweatshirt. They then lit up a cigarette. Blowing smoke into my face, they bluntly told me that if it weren't for the 70 year old ad manager who can't use a computer I would be the weakest link at our newspaper. Our copy editor hates me because I use too many run-on sentences. They said for someone with degrees in both English and Political Science I make a lot of dumb mistakes, like this week when I thought the author of Anne of Green Gables was "Ellen Montgomery." They said if I don't improve very quickly, I might get fired.

And then I went back inside and pretended to work for another hour like a moron.

I walked home in the snow, shivering my bellybutton off because not only do I not know how to use commas but I also don't know how to wear a coat. I huddled up next to my person, who looks more like a zombie than the adorable little monkey they usually are. They had a 101 degree fever so I told them to take another COVID test. It was positive. Who is still getting COVID in 2023?? At least they didn't start a blog. That would be even more embarrassing.

I was supposed to go to a birthday party tonight, for friends I had already canceled plans with three times. At this point I'm worried it looks like I'm trying not to hang out with them, even though they're the coolest people I know. So, instead of partying and getting high with my favorite local comedians on a rooftop, I ordered takeout and sat on my couch alone, trying not to cry.

If you're still with me, dear reader, I will treat you to an excerpt from my diary:

I was supposed to go to Stephanie's party. Instead, I am sitting on the couch trying not to cry into a takeout burrito while I binge a whole mini-series about the FLDS Cult to try and feel a little bit better about my life. And I can't even cuddle with my person because they're locked in isolation in our bedroom.

Sleeping on the couch, questioning my future, and basking in loneliness? This must be what 45 year old men in a midlife crisis feel like. Fuck, I'm even getting into religion with this show.

So, there I have it, the lowest point in my life since I graduated college, moved to Seattle, and got what I thought would only be a temporary job. A job that I very well might get fired from. Maybe the real reason I've decided to start this blog is to prove to myself that I am a good writer after all. Even if I do spell a few words wrong here and their.

Also, Oliver, my cat, is throwing a tantrum because he is stuck in the living room with me until his other parent gets over COVID. He is not happy. I wonder if he'll try to eat me in my sleep?

[thecatauthor]

Sick Chickens

It's handy that the "complaints book is at the bar. I wonder how many books they've got through after the Smallpox outbreak in their tortillas?

About the Author

The Cat is one of the most successful feline authors in the history of Catkind. His sharp elegant wit has produced the bestselling book 'Getting Out - Excerpts from a Cat's Diary' and of course the much plagiarised gag of the same name which appears on all of the funniest joke sites on the internet.

Copies of the Cat's masterpiece of feline literature 'Getting Out - Excerpts from a Cat's Diary' and his latest wonderful book 'The Cat's Travelogue' can be purchased at a bookstore near you or from the internet at Amazon.com and here for the Travelogue The Cat's Travelogue Paperback Edition or at what The Cat calls his www - wickedly wonderful website here www.thecatsdiary.com where you can not only learn more about me the genius Cat but also play my games they are all paw picked by me and have been described as "exactly what free on-line games should be, fun, free and fantastic."

[bookishjules]

Dear Liv, 🖤 Dru

An excerpt from the diary Dru keeps just to fill with letters to her ghost sister. After writing each one, she leaves the diary open on her desk, hoping Livvy will visit and read it. Since Livvy can't flip the pages, Dru limits the length to what can fit on the back of one page and the front of the next.

*Set between installments 52 and 54 of Secrets of Blackthorn Hall*

Dear Liv,

So guess who I heard from today . . . KIT! Which, okay, not the most eventful thing. You know we text on a pretty regular basis. BUT. TODAY. He texted me from Blackthorn Hall!

Livvy, this is big big.

I don’t know how much Ty has told you about the whole situation with Kit, since neither of them are all that keen on talking about the other, but Jem and Tessa letting him out of his princess tower at Cirenworth is like huge. I don’t know that he’s left Devon since they whisked him away, and now he’s at OUR (Jules’?) haunted house.

Where am I going with this? Well, Livia, I would have hoped you’d figure it out by now, but in case you haven’t . . . This may be our only chance, for a while at least, to get Ty and Kit in the same room again. I can only assume this is a goal you and I share. Can we still have sister telepathy if you’re a twin? Or does twin telepathy win out? I’m gonna say we can still have some sort of telepathy, because then I KNOW you’ll go along with this plan . . .

OPERATION “PARENT TRAP: KITTY* EDITION”

You talk to Kit. Get him and the fam to stay in London a bit longer. (Maybe tell him you heard from some resident ghosts that they’d be willing to share info if they were more familiar with who they’re sharing it with? idk I’m sure you can figure something out)

I text Ty, encourage (bribe? blackmail?) him to visit Jules and Emma

You act as my back-up for Ty. Make sure he agrees and follows through

*yes, I’ve decided this is their ship name. I think Ty would appreciate it. And if Kit wouldn’t already, I’m sure meeting Irene would change that. Not exactly a kitty, I know, but the amount of feral energy between the two of them . . . Kit’s bound to realize how much of a stray cat he is.

Maybe keeping up hope that these idiots will talk through whatever’s keeping them apart is pointless or naïve, but you can see how much they need it, right? It’s not just me? I mean, maybe it is part-selfishness on my part. But I love them both, and sometimes I feel like I’m walking on eggshells trying not to bring up one to the other. And, honestly. That can’t be healthy.

So yeah . . . I’d really appreciate if you could help me out.

I miss you so much, Liv.

It’s so hard not having you to talk to. Or, not having you to respond? It’s nice to write these letters to you, but not knowing if you see them, not knowing if you check up on me, not being able to hear your voice or even just your laugh . . . it’s really hard. I miss my sister. All of this would be so much easier if I had you here to bounce things off of.

Okay, I’ll shut up. I know you don’t have any choice, and it isn’t like wishing will change anything. But it would be nice to know how you’re doing xo

For now though . . . let Operation PTKE commence!

🖤 Dru

[fitz-higgins]

The Sophisticated Tabby

An excerpt from Monty's diary, dated June 15th, 1913

It will be one year since we've got 'Enery, so I think it is time to talk about him more.

'Enery is, undoubtedly, an exceptional cat – but then, what cat isn't? He appeared by our house on the same day we moved in, last June, and settled with us immediately. Being born on the streets, he isn't afraid of going outside, and we just cannot go without him, so we take him out for walks on a leash or carry him in a basket when we ride bicycles. And whenever we are out in public, 'Enery always captures a few hearts, the charmer that he is. Maybe it's not very wise for us, two lovers who try to hide their love, to draw attention, but people usually pay no mind to us, enamoured of our handsome cat.

'Enery got his name after a character from A Room with a View (I was reading it at that time) who was mentioned just once, but of course I remembered it and used to tease Henry with it. There are many names to tease Henry with. I offered this name as a joke, but we both got to love it quickly.

From his first day in our household, 'Enery showed fondness of music, especially Strauss, and likes to spend his time around the gramophone or Henry's phonograph. He is also fond of sausages, but his favourite is, no doubt, seafood which he grew to love in Maine in '12. Henry is an exceptional fisherman, so that helps, too.

Thing is, we sometimes need to appease him, because he is a bit prudish and doesn't like it when Henry and I get, well, shall we say, too close. So we always keep a treat or two at hand, although it doesn't always help for 'Enery is prone to knocking down things in the library while we are busy. But other than that, he is the best companion that we could ever have, and we can't imagine going anywhere without him.

Equally enjoying our readings or piano playing, 'Enery is truly a sophisticated cat. And this is why I titled my columns for the New York Herald – published under an alias Monteen Fitzgerald – The Tales of the Sophisticated Tabby. Anyone who has read them and was lucky to meet 'Enery will know immediately that he is the cat behind that Tabby. And vise versa: our dear friend Lucy loves 'Enery very much and she is perhaps my most loyal reader. I incorporated many incidents that happened with him into those stories for he often does something surprising, funny or even frightening – for instance, brings his prey to our picnic blanket. But that is one weakness we are ready to forgive him.

We call him our guardian, a guardian to the fairy king and his prince, but 'Enery certainly considers himself a king, too, especially when he lies on the cushion we bought him for his first Christmas and observes the room. He is an important member of our household, the Fitz-Higgins household as we call it, so I believe he has a right to think he is a king of this cosy kingdom in the middle of New York.

[Art by New House]

[p1x1e-sims]

 An excerpt from Gwendoline Townsends diary, 1931

 Dear Diary, 

  Benjamin has given us a camera for Christmas! It’s remarkable how cheap the things are these days; back when I was younger we would have to sit for hours and shell out quite a bit of money for a portrait. Now we can just snap a photo as fast as we can blink! I do wish I was wearing nicer clothes in this photograph however...but my housework these days calls for practicality rather than style.

  Later, we posed the girls as well and took their first portrait. Ginny sat just fine and was perfectly patient for her father. But it seems like Maggie doesn't like to sit still for more than a minute these days. Really, I’m not ashamed to admit that I've started counting down the days until they can attend school. 

  In other news of Benjamin, the man has gotten married! Her name is Theresa, a sweet young girl from town. Sam demanded the two come over so that he could take informal, and very amateur, wedding photographs. Isn’t Mrs. Zimmerman a doll?

 I do wonder how that chatterbox managed to woo shy little Theresa, but I suppose opposites attract. And I’m glad to have another woman down the road from us. I was getting quite tired of walking five miles to the village just to socialize. 

  A certain feline has been taking up quite a bit of our film. Sometimes I think Sam loves that cat more than anything else in the world. Though I don’t blame him. Pockets may be an aloof old cat, but I suspect he’s even warmed up to me. He’s getting along in age though, and we’ll all be sad when he’s gone. Perhaps then I’ll get the girls a dog.

  Sincerely, 

  Gwendoline

Previous | Next

[out-there-so-it-isnt-just-me]

Hey guys...I have an idea if you aren't sad enough yet. I was struck by a painful comparison sort of crossover idea. It would never be canon, but  I'm mourning the end of Campaign Two, and I want to be sad and over-dramatic. Essek, but as Eliza from Hamilton in “Who Lives, Who Dies, Who Tells Your Story.” But, it’s for the entire Mighty Nien. Some of the lyrics are so on point for a poor Essek who will probably outlive all of his friends (Elves still generally live longer than Firbolgs by a good 200 years). Anyway, enjoy.

MN

Every other founding father's story gets told

It occurs to Essek, during one of the many periods without one of the Mighty Nein (the time that he dwells on them the most), how unfair their whole situation is. They saved all of Exandria, and no one knows. They are amazing, and odd, and frustrating, and no one knows. They will die loved deeply, but not widely. He knows they prefer it that way, all things considered. But, everyone else who saves all of Exandria becomes legends, while the people he loves best will be forgotten, remembered only by him.

And that. That sounds unbearable. 

So, in-between the times he sees the Mighty Nein, he begins to gather accounts. He writes down stories from those they helped, or simply left an impression on.  The people who have met the Mighty Nein have an air about them that he gets good at detecting. They attracted the oddballs and the outcasts. And if they're entirely normal (whatever that means), then they usually get a certain twitch if you ask for stories about interesting strangers. About half the time, a certain blue tiefling pops up in them. He almost has a heart attack when he hears  “go fuck yourself,” in Jester’s cheerful voice, when he knows Jester isn’t anywhere near there. He ends up getting the kenku’s story, and the voices of his friends are weaved into it. Essek thinks the Mighty Nein are the best people in the world, in their own rambunctious way. Part of him wants the world to love them as he does, or at least have the option to. Everyone should have a chance to get to know them, even if it's just through tales. The world would be a better place for it.

...And when you're gone, who remembers your name?

Who keeps your flame? 

Who tells your story?

Who tells your story?

Who tells your story?

Once there is only him and Caduceus left, this becomes a more prominent part of how he spends his time. After...after a long, long period of mourning. He has so much life left to live without most of the people who made it worth living.

I put myself back in the narrative

I stop wasting time on tears

I live another 50(0) years

He stops hiding his past and bears his sins and his story to the world. Essek tells his story so their story can be appreciated to the fullest; his part in their story emphasizes the depth of their compassion and chaos. He tells his story, but not as himself. Essek continues to drift from town to town under a vast number of aliases. Everywhere he goes, he spreads his stories of his friends, some serious, most silly. He disguises himself so he can stay alive to do a little more good, tell a few more stories, to truly live the life his friends wanted for him.

...I try to make sense of your thousands of pages of writings

You really do write like you're running out of time.

Eventually, he gets his hands on some of Beau’s journals, Jester’s diaries, and Caleb’s research. Well, he always had the research, but he gets to the point where he can share it with the world. He slowly begins to share and explain their thoughts and personalities with excerpts from those. Maybe he also has letters that he shares parts of (though most of those, those words specifically for him, he keeps to himself, for himself). He wonders if they'd be angry at him for spilling their private thoughts. But neither Beau nor Jester filtered their thoughts very much in the first place, and he keeps anything truly painful out of the public eye. Caleb, well, Caleb was always about sharing his knowledge and research, provided it wasn't dangerous. And they were all dead anyway.  One of the last things they told him was to be happy. And talking about his friends, learning more about his friends even after they were long dead, that made him the happiest he'd been in a while. So he hoped they wouldn’t begrudge him this small joy he’d managed to grasp and forgive him, should it be necessary.

I rely on Angelica

While she's alive, we tell your story

She is buried in Trinity Church near you

When I needed her most, she was right on time

Caduceus isn’t particularly interested in being well known or famous, but he never shies away from telling a story about any of his friends. Plus, he thinks it’s a good project for Essek. It's a way to continue to show his love for them and keep them alive in the only way they can be now. When Caduceus eventually passes away, he joins the eight other graves (Veth refused to be buried apart from Yeza) that lay in a tucked-away corner of the Blooming Grove. There is one space left, nestled between where Caleb and Jester lay, but it will be empty for a long time yet.

And I'm still not through

I ask myself, what would you do if you had more time...

...You could have done so much more if you only had time

And when my time is up, have I done enough?

Will they tell your story?

He keeps adding to his tale; he stretches it longer and longer with every shred he can remember. But, even his memory, as long as it is, runs out eventually. And their story finally ends, but he doesn't. He throws himself into activities that remind him of them. He does a lot of gardening ( mostly tea, poisonous plants, and flowers). He teaches children some rudimentary dunamancy in his spare time, for Caleb. He messes around with alchemy a little. Eventually, he publishes the last of the research that he and Caleb worked on together; ones that took him decades to solve by himself. He even finds himself drawing a surprising amount of dicks on random surfaces near the very end.

Oh, can I show you what I'm proudest of?

...I help to raise hundreds of children

I get to see them growing up

The time that doesn’t go towards his now worrying amount of hobbies, he spends doing what he has done since the beginning: caring for the Mighty Nien’s true legacy. He looks after and visits their children. He takes care of descendants of Luc, of Jester and Fjord, of the random teenager that Beau and Yasha seemed to adopt completely on accident, of TJ, of the Clays, and of a lovechild of Kingsley’s that found out who his father was and then somehow found Essek himself to learn about him. In an embarrassing show of sentimentality, Essek always keeps at least one offspring of Caleb's very first cat. There is a very funny story about Caleb thinking the animal was spayed when it was, in fact, not. He visits the different generations every couple of years or so (he has a schedule). The drow makes sure they know the stories of their ancestors, the adventures of the Mighty Nien; he tells them it's all real. He gives them ways to contact him if they’re in danger, or need any kind of help really ( he has funds to spare at this point). Every once in a while, a few of them will get it in their heads to write him yearly updates. It’s nice.

In their eyes, I see you, Alexander

I see you every time

And when my time is up

Have I done enough?

Will they tell your story?

It is strange and painful to see the attitude and mannerisms of the Nein in the descendants who have never met them. It is wonderful too. His stories of the Mighty Nein have become well-known tales that no one can decide how much is truth and how much is fiction (it’s true, it’s all somehow, hilariously true). He preserved them in his own way, in the right way (time travel is something he thinks of with a growing hunger the more years pass between when he last laid eyes on his friends). But in these men, these women, these children, they are truly alive.

One little half-orc girl has Jester’s mischievous eyes and infectious joy. Another halfling man squints just like Veth when she's trying to figure out if someone is bullshitting her. There’s a boy who charmingly bumbles his way through most social encounters, as Fjord did. A firbolg woman who has Caduceus gentle smile. A tiefling girl with all the audacious bravado of Kingsley. A man with eyes just as piercing as Beau’s, and a tongue just as sharp. Even Yasha’s kind and gentle demeanor somehow shines through in one small boy, despite her having no direct descendants. He gets to see these flashes of his friends in those who survive them, and it thrills him as much as it cuts him. (Sometimes, when the current cat has ruined some item of his, the pleased look it wears resembles the quiet glee Caleb exuded after he pulled a successful prank, but he’s pretty sure that’s just fanciful thinking.)

One of the last things Essek does before he dies is fully publish, in print, the entire tale of the Mighty Nein. How they came together, every person they helped along the way. The love, the loss, the kindness, the chaos, every moment he could recall or record was put into this one account (necessarily stretched out into several separate books). There is only one set, and he hands it over to the Library of the Cobalt Soul in Rexxentrum. Then he goes on his lonely way.

Oh, I can't wait to see you again

It's only a matter of time

There are now ten graves, each one as unique as its owner, nestled in a small corner of the Blooming Grove. One grave has the dirt still fresh around it. And somewhere, beyond the Divine Gate, there are cheers and laughs and cries of joy as the Mighty Nien become the Mighty Nine once more.

fin.

MN

It’s my head-canon that by the time Essek dies he’s practically a mythical figure among the select families he looks after. It's  to the point that in certain locations ( that have a lot of Nein remnants) he becomes a local legend, the guardian angel of nien (no spelling specified and with no real distinction of what that means), with skin like the night sky who drifts (literally) through towns and helps those who meet a certain requirement, unknown to the general populus. There are rumors that certain people have bestowed upon them a token they could use to call upon the angel’s aid. Of course, the people who have the tokens (sending stones or something similar. IDK how he would get that many wondrous items, but I focus on satisfying narrative not, like, plausibility) know Essek and know that he has died and that the tokens no longer work, but for a while they keep them as heirlooms, to show the love of one drow wizard for the friends he had long, long ago. Eventually, one of Veth’s descendants sells off their set because sending stones are worth A LOT, and the money seemed more practical. They have their stories; those are enough. 

And before anyone complains about the Kingsley bit, I felt compelled to add a smidgen of Kingsley content because Essek loves Jester and Jester’s with Fjord and Kingsley is with both of them for years. I’m sure they get to know each other well enough that seeing traits of Kingsley is vaguely nostalgic and warming, even if it lacks the depth and love he feels for everyone else. Also, there’s no convincing me that Molly/Kingsley doesn’t have at least one illegitimate child running around from various trysts, he was basically the Scanlan of this campaign. It goes with the hedonistic vibe he gives off.

Also, is it normal that I completely designed the Nein’s burial site in my head because I did? Like I imagine they’re all spaced out in a circle. It’s almost like a stone gazebo but there’s not really a roof; it’s just a group of nine pillars that support a stone circle. The entrance is the Traveler’s door with dicks around the edge, and each of the nine pillars/supports is designed to look the knowing mistresses staff. The stone circle is covered in carvings of storm clouds and lightning. Wires are strung across the center of the stone circle to form the symbol of the Cobalt Soul. Not that you can see the wires, because vines have been grown all around them. Once you step through the Traveler’s gate, you’ll find yourself on some kind of rough mosaic floor, with depictions of a peacock, a pyramid, a snake, a sun, a moon, and (oddly) a pirate ship. The mosaic is made up of buttons of various materials and shapes. In the center is a saltwater pool/spring (depending on how magical we can get idk) and floating above it is an eternal flame encased in some sort of dunamancy magic that doesn’t  actually exist that keeps it floating and eternal. Look I'm running out of ideas.

I can’t imagine what everyone’s grave marker would be, but I’m pretty sure Yasha’s is a simple stone that says "YASHA NYDOORIN: wife of Zuella and Beauregard Lionette," and the place where’s she’s buried is just covered in wildflowers that spread outside of the gazebo to encircle the structure entirely up to the gate. Also, everyone has a stone tarot card by their grave with the picture and designation that Molly gave them. Beyond that grows a weirdly dense thicket of trees and bushes that make finding the Nein's resting place rather hard. It’s said only the descendants of the Nein’s family or those favored by the Wildmother (or Traveler, Or Ioun, or Storm Lord) can find their way to them. And one tree, directly behind Yasha, is dead, struck by lightning who knows how long ago. 

And they’re buried in this order: Yeza/Veth, Caleb, Essek, Jester, Ford, Kingsley, Yasha, Beau, Cad. I know there’s a good chance that a) Kingsley would just eff off and die somewhere unknown and b) Cad would probably want to be buried with the rest of his family, but shhh let me dream.

[pl-panda]

To Marry a Vigilante: Part 15

MASTERLIST || First || Previous || Next

To Marry a Vigilante: Part 15

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

The book was incredibly interesting. It was written in some dialect of Mandarin. Many things were also covered in The Grimoire but several stories told there were previously completely unknown. It seemed like it was written after the other book and while the first was entirely encyclopedical, this one contained detailed stories from several time periods. What got Ladybug’s attention was that many of them were diary excerpts. 

One of the most important elements was a story about the seventeenth-century villain, Lord of Butterflies, who came to the colonial city of Gotham and tried to take control of the settlement. He was a master of deception and almost succeeded. Ladybug and Black Cat of that time never appeared. Another story told about their involvement in the Thirty Years’ War in continental Europe, where they were hunting the Snake and Bee Miraculous users that tried to manipulate the conflict. Luckily for Gotham, a witch hunter named Malleus opposed him and used jars with symbols engraved on the walls to keep the butterflies locked away so they could not wreak havoc again. The book told of the power struggle until finally, after the burning of Raphael Dent, a longtime friend of Malleus, the attacks stopped. Most people thought that the problem was over, but from the looks of it, the author of that book tried to imply that Lord of Butterflies just bid his time, waiting for the opportunity to strike again. 

Ladybug read the story twice, trying to figure out the fate of all the corrupted Butterflies or the jars, but she got nothing. Maybe if they figured out what symbols kept the akumas in, she could experiment with warding the butterflies away. It could be a breakthrough!

While she was browsing the book, Black Cat eyed the teens. “Shouldn’t you people scramble for classes?”

“Nope!” The little one, Maps, grinned. “The new school policy. In case of a supervillain attack on campus, the rest of the classes that day are canceled to avoid additional stress to students. It’s nice they care about our mental health.” 

“Yeah… Dude,” Colton looked at Black Cat, “any chance you can tell me what tech your staff uses?”

“Tt. It’s magic.” 

“No, seriously, I suppose it could be an organic metal of some sort, but it’s able to perfectly support your weight at the same time.” 

“Magic.” The vigilante-turned-hero growled.

“Come on! Don’t do it to me, man! Pom won’t let me live it down!”

“I told you magic was real!” The teen was glaring at him with a smirk on her face.

“Tt. Don’t play with magic or you’ll get burnt.” He scoffed. 

“Don’t be a grumpy cat!” Ladybug called from over the book. “Silverlock… Why does it sound so familiar…”

“Did you say Silverlock?” One of the teens peaked. “I’m Olive Silverlock.”

“Bellatrix Silverlock was the only akuma from that period mentioned here by name… I wonder why… Ugh! I can’t decipher that part. It’s too old and damaged.” The heroine groaned. “Cat! We should move back to the base.” She pulled a pair of glasses from her yo-yo and put them on. “Tikki! Kaalki! Merge!” 

As soon as the light of transformation died, a portal consumed both superheroes and the book, leaving the teens alone in the dark library.

-----------

Sabine paced around the manor in the foul mood she was in ever since she sent the kids on their way after initiation and returned home for some long-deserved rest. Half-way home, she received a phone-call from Chloé saying that Marinette was crying in the bathroom with her over another girl that threatened her. The only thing that stopped Sabine from turning around and possibly crashing the car through the front gates was her daughter begging her not to.

She admired that her little girl tried to resolve the problems herself and she didn’t want to come off as overbearing and intruding. It wouldn’t stop her from preparing for if it seemed too much for her sunshine. She made a mistake with Lila. This time, she would be ready. But first, she needed tools. 

“Tom! Where is my suit?!” She called out to her husband, who was happily baking in the kitchen. He finally managed to kick Alfred out and get control. Sabine laughed when the butler, passing her, revealed that he let him win. 

“I think Bruce wanted to put it in the vault, together with the bag!” The large man answered with a merry tone. 

“Thank you, honey! I think I’ll be going out for a while!” 

“Be safe!”

Finally having a direction, she stormed toward the vault. It was hidden under the stairs, where one had to first enter a secret passage, only to then open a door in the wall.

When she opened the doors and looked inside, her first instinct was to immediately go into a battle stance.

It looked like a tornado passed through the room, which was supposed to be neatly ordered. All the documents were scattered, two priceless artifacts got destroyed and every drawer was pulled out. Inside the wall opposite to the doors, someone made a giant hole. The concrete was shattered and the metal reinforcement cage was pulled apart. 

Warily, Sabine approached the hole. Once she got closer, she could take a better look at the reinforcement. What got her attention was the way it was bent. Someone grabbed it and ripped it apart. The hole itself also revealed a small rectangular area that was used to hide something. A secret buried so deeply it was frozen inside a wall of a hidden vault inside a hidden corridor in one of the best-guarded buildings in Gotham.

“Oh for crying out loud! I just wanted my suit…” She threw her hands up. 

---------

More or less at the same time, Tim had a lazy day at the cave. He didn’t need to return to Wayne Enterprises for at least another week. He tried to solve a cold case, using the updated list of secret powers Sabine provided him. He and Bruce were both worried about how much had escaped them. Neither considered Luxembourg Secret Service to be capable of ordering a hit on a hitman that was after their Duke. And hire Lady Shiva nonetheless. 

He just got himself a new cup of coffee when suddenly, a portal appeared in the middle of the cave and dropped two superheroes and a book on a podium. The Cat landed on his feet while Ladybug fell on her rear with a soft thud. Startled, Tim dropped his mug and the coffee spilled all around him.

“Could you not!?” He shouted, a bit embarrassed that they got a drop on him so easily. 

“Tt. Shut up replacement.” Cat growled. He and Marinette dropped their transformations and she proceeded to feed Tikki with some cookies while he reluctantly pulled a small, isolated box from his pocket and gave Plagg a bit of cheese. 

“We’ve got plenty of new material after the last akuma attack. I’ve sent you a picture of a woman using the Peacock Miraculous and we’ve got an essential book.” She walked over to the bat computer. “It appears that they used the distraction the akuma caused to infiltrate the place.”

“I’m not sure, Angel.” Damian was busy with the other screen, trying to attach the tablet to it. The deciphering system managed to unlock it already and while he waited for the system to scan for any traps, he browsed the photos. “From the look of it, she only got two or three pages before we ambushed her. She must’ve arrived shortly before us or couldn’t find it for a long time. I would hazard a guess that she didn’t know about it.”

“But… That would mean she was at school when… but how would she… No! The only other person that heard about the book was Erica.”

“Maybe not. She could’ve been there trying to get some information on us.”

“But how did she get there before us?”

“Tt. It’s not like the Detective Club was in any hurry.” He huffed. 

“Um… That’s all great and all, but what the bat are you talking about?” Tim asked, trying to get between the married couple. 

“We had an akuma attack at school. Damian earned detention for calling Hammerhead old while out of the suit. After we dealt with the akuma we learned about this book,” she pointed at the podium. “We went to check it and found the new Peacock trying to photograph as much as she could. We stole her tablet and kicked her backside.” Marinette beamed. 

Their discussion was interrupted when Sabine stormed inside the cave. “I need security feed from the Gala. Someone trashed the Wayne Vault and stole some box!” She shouted at Tim. “Oh! Hi Sweetie. Go change out of the uniform and we will get tea in a minute.” She smiled at her daughter. Except it was not as genuine as her usual smile. It felt much more forced. 

“Maman. I would love to, but maybe let’s deal with the break-in first?”

“We must wait for Bruce to get back anyway. He took Cass to the ballet class today. My turn will be on Thursday.” 

She pulled the video feed from the camera that overlooked the entrance to the corridor that led to the Vault. She put it on double speed and watched various guests hang around and talk. They usually had a glass of champagne. Suddenly, Marinette lunged and pressed the pause button.

“Him!” She pointed to a younger man with jet black hair and a white mask that covered the upper part of his face. His hair was neatly combed back with no small amount of hair gel, enough that it shined in the camera. 

“He doesn’t stand out really…” Tim scanned the image. 

“The bracelet!” She seethed. “I can’t believe that bastard still carries the bracelet.”

“Tt. I can cut it off next time I see him.” Damian offered before muttering “Together with the arm.” Luckily for him, Marinette had more pressing matters than stopping his murderous instincts.

“So Agreste somehow got inside during the Gala. It’s maybe an hour before the akuma attack.” They continued to watch as he chatted with people nearby. Finally, when they left, he slipped inside the secret passage. They switched to the camera inside, only for it to then be destroyed by a cane. The one inside the vault was a bit farther away, so before it was destroyed they got a good look at the boy. 

The male figure had a dark purple suit with the signature butterfly brooch pinned to the top of the shirt. His chest was protected by two black flaps that looked a bit like the moth wings. In his black gloves, he held a cane topped with a purple orb. The face was covered by a simple domino mask that did nothing to hide the mane of blonde hair on top of his head.

“At least we know that he inherited his father’s lack of taste. At least his mask isn’t…” Marinette stopped herself when Damian poked her side and pointed toward the glass cabinet inside which the first Red Robin uniform was. Its mask was pretty close to what Gabriel wore. “Oh… Nevermind.”

Tim was clearly unamused. 

“This is still important. We’ve got a first look at his transformation. We can set cameras to, in addition to akuma tracing, scan for him personally.”

“I don’t think it would do much good. The image wasn’t the best.”

“But how did he avoid the scanners?” 

“Alfred was busy, tracking a suspicious blonde with bi-colored eyes. She was supposed to have messed too close to the kitchen for his liking.” Tim explained.

“I remember her. She said something to me. ‘You’re far from victory yet’. I considered it suspicious, but in the whirlwind of the following events, the meeting slipped my mind.”

“You! The great Damian Wayne forgot a crucial detail!?” Tim laughed. “This is gold! I need to mark the date on my calendar!”

“Tt. And I need a set of matches.” The youngest Wayne growled. 

“So we’ve got another suspect on the list?” 

“It’s getting complicated. First the vault, then the book… Hawkmoth was narrow-minded in his goals. Create akumas, have them hunt Ladybug and Chat Noir, take the Miraculous.” Marinette collapsed on the nearby chair. “Adrien is… he’s more organized. He’s got a plan. He’s not after the Miraculous. Or rather not directly. There is something else he’s trying to find. I’m just not sure what…”

“The history of Gotham is filled with so many mysteries that we wouldn’t even have any idea where to begin.” Tim wasn’t helpful. At all.

“We know they stole something from Wayne Vault and used the akuma as a distraction to carry it away. Then, they attacked the school. What could be at Gotham Academy that they had a personal interest in?”

“The book?”

“I don’t think they knew about it. The attack on the Academy could’ve been to test our abilities.” 

Tikki and Plagg floated to the group. “Gotham is a dark place.” Ladybug Kwami started. “There are so many things in this city…”

“What about the Bat miraculous, cookie?” Plagg asked. “I mean where else would it be but Gotham?”

“Bat… Miraculous…” Time starred at the two mini-gods. “You’re joking, right?”

“No. Balla is the Kwami of clarity.” Tikki nodded. “The Bat Miraculous gives the wearer supernatural perception and near-precognition.”

“What?” Marinette asked, not sure what the word was supposed to mean.

“They can see the immediate future.” Her mother clarified for her. 

“Is it possible they are after the Bat…” she tried to imagine what jewelry would be associated with bats. Tikki came to help. 

“It’s the belt buckle.”

“Tt. Bat Buckle?” Damian raised an eyebrow. “Whoever made the Miraculous had a great sense of humor.” 

“Okay. But we still need to figure out their next step…”

“Sweetie? Maybe you focus on school and let me deal with this?” Sabine asked after a moment. 

“But… I’m the Guardian.”

“And you’re also a teenager.” Her mother countered. “I’m not trying to replace you or keep you on the sidelines. I am your mom though. Teenage years are supposed to be the best in your life. You should be dating, spending time with friends. Exploring the world. Nowhere on that list is fighting against a mad terrorist.” 

“But… but… I can’t just sit back while you fight!” 

“You can still fight. And help.” Sabine tried again. “I just don’t want you to devote all your time to this. You can leave the investigation to me, Bruce and Tim and enjoy the time with friends; Or design; Or take Damian on dates.” 

“Tt. It’s my duty to take her on dates.”

“Dream on, grumpy cat.” Marinette booped his nose and giggled at the face he made.

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

Masterlist // Next

[mangomurmurr]

Hi, it's still me, Mangojerrie

and I still get into @cat-b-amimation 's AU :D

And today we have Mistoffelees from Soft AU

Mistoffelees is Alonzo's younger brother. Misto is two years younger. When Alonzo left by train for St. Petersburg, at that time the young Mistoffelees was then 17 years old

Misto once figured out with the help of some machinations the mail of his elder brother, and wrote to him with questions about where Alonzo was hanging around and how and what. After an interesting conversation in writing, they wanted to meet. Since Alonzo recently left Tver due to those events, it is logical to assume that he did not really want to go back for the sake of one cat. Therefore, Mistoffelees had an interesting journey across Russia, where he was able to see other cities, forests, fields and, of course, a swamp called St. Petersburg. He came there for a few days, but managed to get acquainted with two cats, namely Tugger and Misha.

An excerpt from the diary of Mistofelis:

« Diary, today is December 23, 2020, I have been keeping you for 2 years now, and I still cannot finish. It looks like my longest diary, heh. »

«Of the interesting things, I can note that Alonzo went somewhere with his things in the evening, and never returned. Probably not on a date, and he doesn't want to tell me. »

Oh, I forgot to tell you that Misto is a programmer, and even hacked sites with good protection. A young freelancer who now and then saves money for training, or rather for its end. Now he is in practice in the work of a barista, which is quite difficult for him

After practice, he will also go to the bartender, this is + another 2-3 years of training, which does not work for Mistoffelees

Regarding the relationship, he has an open relationship, which he has with both Munkustrap and Puncival. At the same time, everyone lives in peace and harmony, which is strange, but he shows great love more to Munkustrap than to Puncival

[sorathemasterofmasters]

If you could say one thing to your friends after all these years, what would it be?

How bold of you to assume he was only going to say one thing.

The following related excerpt is from the Master Reports Fic which I think I’ll just post bits and pieces that apply to Kingstagram posts.

“So he was recently in Daybreak Town Clocktower, we know that at least, where else could he go?” Asked Riku aloud as the group ascended the stairs of Yen Sid’s Tower. “The guy is thousands of years old he could be anywhere, he's probably on the other end of the galaxy sipping mojitos on a tropical island and laughing at us” Lea snarked as he opened the door to Yen Sid’s office. "Or I could be right where fate dictates I should be." The voice came suddenly out of nowhere, lounged carelessly on Yen Sid’s own seat idly flipping through an old book with his black booted feet propped nonchalantly on the desk. The Master of Masters familiar spiky brown hair peeking out of the hood, grinned shamelessly one eye closed over an empty socket the right eye blue slit and gazing over the group in amusement. Lea lunged forward before he could think keyblade drawn, yet the Master of Masters merely rolled his remain eye and sighed disappointedly “Haa, attacking me with the keyblade I forged? Sooo stupid.” “What!” Lea exclaimed as his keyblade dispelled mid-strike into sparkles then grunted as he was slammed backward into the wall with stunning force by an invisible wave. Powerful magic bore down on everyone in the room preventing any movement. “Now now” Sora- no- the Master of Masters, tutted with a sunny smile in a condescending tone momentarily taking his single eye off the page he was reading. "I'll get to you in a moment" he went back to reading one of Yen Sid’s books Riku noted, totally disregarding their presence as if they weren't a threat, how strong was this version of Sora? The Master of Masters sighed tiredly evidently having found what he was looking for. Nonchalantly taking his feet off the desk and placing the book open on the table before him, his single blue slit eye trailed over the group. "I'll admit, I hadn't intended for us to meet quite like this, but I suppose sentiment was stronger than destiny in this case." “Sora?” Riku breathed shock at seeing this older version of his friend in the flesh pinning him in place and at a complete loss as to what to say. Ventus on the other hand had plenty to say or rather shout “Why are you acting like this?!” For a moment the Master of Masters looked puzzled “Like what, Oh Wait! Are you talking about all those Kingstagram Entries I forgot to delete?” The Master of Masters coughed, embarrassed and scratched the back of his head in a familiar Sora-esque mannerism “Yeah.. my bad. I’ve been using it as a diary for the last few thousand years as you know by now. Forgetting to turn off its network capabilities is probably the first mistake I’ve made in hundreds of years, to be honest!” The older Sora’s laughter was almost the same his voice different, almost manic. Riku spoke up cautiously looking with his eyes and his heart for any trace of his friend “Do you hold a grudge against us or something? We didn't know we were hurting you Sora. And once we did we’ve been trying to fix things-” The Master of Masters waved Riku off with a gesture mid apology “I know, and it's nice and all but this really has nothing to do with that or you, In fact, if I hadn't messed up then we’d have never met and I could have spared you the heartache I know you’re feeling” The expression on the Master of Master's face was inscrutable his thoughts hidden in that instance. Mickey wasn't so sure though and in his heart doubted this version of Sora had let go of something so fundamental “Surely something remains in your heart!” The Master of Master's gaze rested on Mickey a reassuring smile out of place on this version of their friend inadvertently sending shivers down the spines of Guardians of Light. “Oh Mickey, I have nothing but respect for you, unfortunately those bound by fate must follow it regardless of personal feelings. So how is the other me? Actually happy? Less suicidal ideation disguised as self-sacrifice?” The Master of Masters nodded to himself “I can see it in your expressions, that's good I suppose his death is no longer necessary so we can skip that bit of teenage drama” The Master of Masters tilted his head childishly examining the group in front of him “well I can't say I don't like this change to the Guardian of Light roster!” The Master of Master's gaze trailed over the group.

“Kairi, The only Princess of Heart capable of wielding a keyblade.

Riku, Wielder of both Light and Darkness in equal measure.

Ventus formerly of Aced’s Ursa Union the least bloodthirsty one in fact, the one I hand-picked to help Ephemer lead the Dandelions exodus to escape the shattering of the Realm of Light and ensure the Keyblade wielders did not go extinct.

King Mickey Mouse, Wielder of the Kingdom Key D that I dropped in the Realm of Darkness during my escape from the shattering.

Aqua, left to languish in the Realm of Darkness for ten years, an amazing feat of survival.

The absent wielders, Roxas, the Nobody that developed his own heart out of sheer stubbornness.

Xion, a replica puppet that also developed her own heart by the strength of her own memories and the bonds she herself formed.

Lauriam the wielder who’s actions alerted me to the intruder in the Dandelions Sanctuary, slain by Maleficent as she inadvertently damaged the dataworld and forced them to evacuate before the worlds were safe to traverse.

Elrena, perished in the evacuation but possessing such a strong heart that she re-manifested in real world. My younger self who can connect with hearts on a level unheard of in recorded history.”

The Master of Masters paused his eye resting contemplatively on Lea “..and then there's you” a brief silence engulfed the room. “Honestly” The Master of Masters sighed “bequeathing, a last resort for when none are worthy of the actual honor.” “You take that back” Lea growled the other Guardians also raising their hackles at the Master of Masters insinuation. “Hmmm? No I don't think I will.” The Master of Masters spoke measuredly and shrugged “I designed every keyblade to exist, they were made to be very choosy when it comes to their wielders, not be passed down to the unworthy like trinkets on a whim.” the word trinkets spat like an expletive full of scorn enough to make the room flinch. “Where's Master Yen Sid?” asked Mickey warily keeping an eye on the intimidating Lost Master before them. The Master of Masters tilted his head as if confused “Hmm? Oh that old coot? He's around.” The Master gave a half-hearted gesture with an off-hand a grin slowly creeping along his face “I had a lot of fun stripping him of his mastery through” The Master of Masters grinned like a cat and Mickey yelped as his own hastily summoned Keyblade vanished against his will in a blaze of light. The Master of Masters tutted once again waggling a finger. “Come on now, You seriously didn't think The Master of Master title was an empty one did you? Right now? None of you are a match for me as you are, you can't even stand without shaking!” The shaking, a sign of the group trying to escape their confinement and failing miserably. “What do you want?” shouted Riku irritated beyond belief despite himself, the Master of Masters smiled oddly for a second then gave a barking laugh taking them all aback wiping an imaginary tear from his eye “I’ll admit I honestly forgot you had such an angry base expression. Well, what I want? I want a lot of things, some transitory and some more permanent. All things I can get without your input, permission or interference. I mean I could put you down for the duration, but, where would be the fun in that?” The group flinched as the Master of Masters sunny tone and how at odds it was with the very real dark threat in his gaze. “So anyway...” The Master of Masters snapped his fingers once causing everyone in the room to stagger still paralyzed under his magical might as a strange sensation tingled throughout their bodies. “I'll settle for delaying you a little bit” “What did you do to us?!” grunted Ven peculiar weakness running through his limbs. “Hmm, oh nothing that hasn't been done before to one of your numbers, you’re going to have to earn those Keyblade’s this time just like he did, just like I did. I'll even throw in a power boost if you do it the right way. Won't that surprise the Norts?” The Master of Masters laughed at their furious gazes. “Are you on his side?” Asked Kairi warily. The Master of Masters snorted “Xehanort? Not in this life or any other and don't worry he won't come after you for a long while yet, which should give you plenty of time to get stronger.” The Master of Masters perked up abruptly, whiplashing between moods fast enough to give the group a headache “Soooo.. anyway if you want to retrieve those keyblades of yours then you should probably find those replacement Darknesses Xehanort was harping on and on and on about.” “Why are you helping us!” demanded Aqua “I doubt it's from the goodness of your heart.” The Master of Masters chuckled “Nope, You’d be right there but you see, cornered rats can cause a lot of damage and Xehanort? He’s just lost how many of his Darknesses now?” That made the group pause as the Master of Masters continued to point out something they hadn't considered yet “He'll be anxious to replace them and Xehanort never functioned well when it comes to improvisation. He might inadvertently cause a lot of damage to the worlds and I do kinda need them more or less intact” The Master of Masters shrugged considering and amending his statement ominously “Well, the people at least.” The Master of Masters got up from Yen Sid’s seat and stretched walking past the paralyzed group before pausing snapping the air as though in realization "By the way that book on the desk? Your gonna want to read it before Yen Sid gets back, just saying." With that parting bit of advice, the Master of Masters darted leisurely out the door. It was five minutes before the lingering power of the Master of Masters dissipated enough for anyone to move, signaling his exit from the world. Silence reigned in the tower for a long time after that.

This little bit of MoM!Sora insanity came to me in the middle of the night in a dream, I think I got MoM!Sora’s character about right and I now think the best strategy for writing this lovable lunatic is to throw a dart at a D&D alignment chart and write him like that for that chapter. ... Is it working? I think its working. Also sorry about any bad spelling or grammar.

Anyway, everyone else not present at The Mysterious Tower panicked at the new Kingstagram post but couldn't do anything as MoM!Sora posted it after this confrontation.

This Post is also in part a answer to another post that asked for a star wars style confrontation, Unfortunately that post went missing due to Tumblr UI being the burning glitch of a trashfire baby we all know and loathe. So, Sorry whoever asked that.

[submissivebookmark-motherofchaos]

Excerpt from Chapter 33 of A Force of Nature 

Tom paced Hermione’s chambers, the journal clutched in his hand. He’d been carrying the bloody thing on his person since he sent its twin with Severus to Hermione. He knew she received it, but she’d yet responded to him.  

He sat heavily on the couch and looked into the fire. He felt coldness seep into his very soul. No longer did he have Hermione near him, nor the others. He felt as if he was drifting at sea with no hope in sight. Even Nagini was gone now. He knew what happened to her, he wasn’t a fool. Somehow, Hermione had healed her and sent his tattered soul back to him, he could feel it. He felt in parts torn asunder and almost whole. It was an aggravating feeling and he needed Hermione to explain why she would do such a thing. Not only that, but how did she know of his Horcruxes to begin with? Was it the diaries? Did she figure out that he did indeed follow through and make more than one Horcrux?

A few hours after he felt part of his soul return, Nagini came to him, she was healed, human and happy. She told him she was going to look for her friend and thanked him for being her friend, but she couldn’t stay because she had her own life to live. While he was glad that Nagini was healed, he did have what he thought was affection towards his familiar, he was now even more lonely. No one to talk to that he could share his worries with. His followers must not know of the changes he’s undertaken. He was sure that some of them must have noticed something… Dolohov, for instance, seemed particularly keen on where Hermione stood with him. Dolohov would need to be addressed at a later date though.

Bella was another matter. He’d been shocked when Bella returned after she disappeared. She was... different. A light shone in her eyes, and she was with Rodolphus hanging onto him as if he hung the moon. He felt a twinge of jealousy watching the pair. He didn’t want Bella, he never did, he wanted Hermione. He wanted her to look at him with love and adoration. He craved her love and affection.

He had to make what happened right, but how could he if the blasted woman never responded to him? He knew she got his letters. Still, no answer. She’d sent letters to Rosier and her grandmother, hell, even Bella and Rodolphus received letters. It was like she was rubbing salt into his open wounds, taunting him from afar.

Leaning back he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. For the first time in his life, he felt like he could cry. He was new to these emotions and he decidedly didn’t like them. He didn’t like feeling rejected by the one person that was supposed to love him. He did this to himself, he knew. He could still see it all so clearly. The shock and betrayal on her face as he raised his wand to her, the curse he meant that slipped past his lips, and then her anger.

She was glorious in her anger, the magic in the air was an aphrodisiac when she pushed him back. Never had he met anyone that could best him. She’d hurt herself in her anger, Apparating away leaving her blood and flesh behind. He feared she might have killed herself unintentionally and wanted to run to her to make her see that he wanted her gone so she wouldn’t see the monster he was. He wanted to punish Bella, to hurt her. He didn’t want Hermione seeing him like that, but the bloody stubborn woman didn’t leave.

Why? Why couldn’t she listen to him and follow his lead to protect her? He learned more about Hermione than he ever knew when she left. Each evening he and Severus would sit and discuss what happened at length. It was more like a lecture from Severus, but he knew he deserved it. Not only was she punishing him, but her other elements all because he acted irrationally.

Severus told him everything he wanted and needed to know about her. She was one to bend the rules and he chuckled when Severus had relayed to him that she set his robes on fire during her first year, thinking he was cursing Harry’s broom. He also told him how she, in her first year, made it through the labyrinth the professors set up keeping the Sorcerer's Stone safe. She surprised Severus by solving the puzzle he left with the potions. Tom remembered that he had seen and watched Harry throughout that year, and her too, not realizing who she would become to him. At first, he was impressed with her knowledge and the strength of her magic. He’d thought when he finally killed Harry that year, he may take her despite her dirty blood. He would mould her into his image, saturate her with his darkness.

Severus shared more memories with him of her time at Hogwarts. Her second year had been interesting. Not only did she create Polyjuice in the same bathroom he’d killed that mudblood , Myrtle, but she also turned herself into a cat which Severus had to help cure her of. Secretly, Severus had been impressed by her skill, but he didn’t dare praise her nor let her know that he was aware.

Later she’d been petrified. Severus had watched over all the students, but Severus watched over her more. He said that she reminded Severus of himself when he was at Hogwarts, too brilliant, difficult time making friends, and often ridiculed. He knew he couldn’t show her favouritism, but he wanted desperately to get her away from Potter and Weasley because he could see how they used her intellect for their gains. She would often do their homework, and help them with their halfcocked schemes placing them in danger. The only reason they’d had any success was due to her dedication to the pair, and her persistence in protecting them. He thought they wouldn’t know their wands from their bell-end if not for her.

Then came her third year. Severus had suspected something. He would see her in numerous places knowing she couldn't get from one end of the castle to the other without being seen by him as he prowled the hallways. He never thought, even for a moment, that she had a time-turner. By the end of the year, she looked waned and exhausted. Tom remembered he was just in one of Severus’ memories showing when Hermione confronted her parents about their lies. That she wasn’t truly a Muggleborn as they led her to believe. He could see the confusion, anger, and hurt on her face as she stood up to them. The moment her father grabbed her, and then struck her, Tom felt his magic rise in agitation. He felt a spark of jealousy when Severus touched her and calmed her magic and caught her as she fell into his arms having overexerted herself.

The most amazing part of that whole episode was how she Oblivated her parents, that she spoke the words erasing them from her presence. She invoked the Paternitas se Abnegant , an ancient spell that hardly any knew, her magic had protected her.

Her fourth year he preferred not to dwell on. He could see the way that large oaf looked at her with lust and desire. He wanted to hunt down Krum and rip his intestines out through his nose. Take his male assets and dice them up, maybe give them to Severus for potions ingredients. But knew that would displease Hermione, so he decided against it as long as Krum never came near her again.

He felt he knew Hermione better now, he would have to handle her with gentle care and love as he should have from the beginning, but bloody hell, he wasn’t used to having these blasted feelings.

Now he had time to acclimate and he would do better with his control.

Since the others left for Hogwarts, Tom had been busy reasserting himself as the Dark Lord. He wanted his followers to know that he was to be feared. They knew that they were to leave Harry Potter alone...for now. He still wanted to speak to the boy, to find the supposed prophecy. He knew it was a fake, but he needed to see for himself. The boy was of no use to him if it was. He did try to enter the boy’s mind to find Hermione and he didn’t see her, though he did find Potter’s thoughts on Hermione interesting. He loved her as a sister and trusted her with his life. The love he felt for her was pure and bright. He was terrified by it.

Hermione could evoke loyalty from any person she met, her fierce protectiveness of them earning their regard. None knew that she was a fable personified, that she was the embodiment of Life. They just knew that when she gave her word, she kept it. Sadly, he couldn’t say the same about himself, perhaps that’s why she didn’t trust him. Or it could be he was a complete bloody fool and tried to curse her. Either way, he knew he had to work hard at changing his ways.  

His followers knew of their new goal. They were to take over the Ministry and continue to chip away at Dumbledore’s armour and support system. He wanted to be the one who landed the final blow to the man who made not only his life hell but so many others. Dumbledore may have led him to be who he was now, manipulating him to embrace the darkness, but Tom knew it was his fault, too. He could have worked harder to embrace the light instead of taking the easier way out.

Tom felt the shock flood his system when the journal that was on his lap warmed and started to glow. He fumbled with it and lost his grip as it fell to the floor with a dull thump. Swearing, he stood and scooped it up and walked towards Hermione’s desk and set the journal down. Taking a deep breath he opened it slowly and held his breath. He could see his neat scrawl and then Hermione’s beautiful penmanship under it. He cringed at his first few entries.

How dare you!? You took my familiar from me! Nagini came to me and told me what you did. You had no right to release her!  That’s part of MY soul you released! What were you thinking!? https://archiveofourown.org/works/22982413/chapters/65072746

[smallest-turtle]

WIP Wednesday

I was tagged by @sweethawke​ <3. This is an excerpt from chapter 14 of A Heavy Weight for Small Shoulders; ATAB: All Templars Are Bastards

Time crept through the fortress like melting ice. Blackwall passed it by whittling small bees out of wood scraps that Cole kept bringing him from… somewhere. Sera kept taking them and putting them in a jar she had stolen from the kitchens despite the fact he would need to varnish them later. Cole had also taken to letting a rather persistent cat into the room to curl up on the bed with the Inquisitor. Hawke and Varric were made busy writing letters to old friends, ensuring them that everything was fine, while Cullen held onto reports coming from Skyhold. Themos made himself scarce to everyone but Dorian and Solas, and the rest of them were in and out of Ivary's room, checking on her for themselves or, in Vivienne and Cassandra's case, turning everyone out so they could get on with the long task of replacing her bandages.  

It was the third day when Ivary finally began to do more than sleep. It was also then that her boredom reached its limit. Luckily for everyone she always had something to do with her tucked away somewhere; a craft, or her diary to help her wind down before bed. Sometimes she worked on requisitions, but Bull could always tell it wasn't quite the same. She needed time to not be the Inquisitor before she could sleep, and requisitions were Inquisition work.

Whatever involved the embroidery hoop she was working from at the moment was thankfully not.

"Is that a nug?" The Qunari asked, watching her work the pink thread in lines as neat as Solas' brush strokes. The girl nodded.

"He likes them; they're friendly and they trust him."

"'He'?" Blackwall grunted.

"Oh! Yes, it's for Cole. His shirt is in… rough shape. He doesn't know it's for him, though." She put her finger to her lips. Both men nodded a silent promise.

I tag @chicago-reeed ; and @godshaper