#MEG LOOKED VERY LIKE A ROSE HERSELF (image)

[trtledove-blog]

this might be a little silly, but this scene is so important to me : it was one of my favorites in the ‘94 movie, too. meg - - who rarely gets extra money for anything “extra,” who longs for nice things as much as amy does, IMMEDIATELY gives amy the money, without hesitation, so that she can buy pickled limes and not be looked down upon for not returning the favor. so that amy can be in the same social standing as the other girls in her school with more money and status. because meg knows what that feels like and wants to take care of her little sister, wants to make sure amy knows what it feels like, at least once, to be on the same footing as the other girls. 

[thephantomessoftheopera]

Notes on Gaston Leroux’s “The Phantom of the Opera” - Chapter 5: “Continuation of ‘Box Five’”

<< Previous Chapter

The remarkable alliance which exists between the usher of Box 5, Madame Giry, and the elusive “opera ghost” is at the heart of this chapter. Madame Giry lives in the Rue de Provence in the vicinity of the opera house, and is the mother of Meg Giry, also known as “Little Meg”, who is a dancer in the corps de ballet. Her faded and worn clothing indicates that she is quite poor, but she nevertheless carries herself with pride and haughtiness. Contrary to her character in the ALW musical, she is not the ballet mistress, and neither she nor Meg have any kind of relationship with Christine Daae - it is quite possible that they might not even really know each other. Madame Giry’s loyalty in the novel belongs solely to Erik.

The managers ask Madame Giry about the events of the previous night in Box 5, and she says that “someone has upset the ghost again”. Hearing a bodiless voice in Box 5 is nothing new to her, as she is firmly convinced of the ghost’s existence, having heard him speak to her quite often. She thinks Moncharmin and Richard are ignorant fools, and chooses to recount a similar incidendence from the time when Debienne and Poligny were still managers and made the foolish choice to rent out the ghost’s box. During that night, Erik caused a brawl in Box 5 by kindly letting one of the occupants of his box know that his friend, Isidore Saack, has been making out with his wife behind his back. The piece which is performed during that scene is Mephisto’s aria “Vous qui faites l’endormie” from Faust. (Faust was basically the “hit” opera of the time, so it’s not too surprising that we see a lot of it in the novel).

While fleeing from the box, Isidore Saack breaks his leg when he falls down the grand staircase. Even though this probably was an accident caused by his rapid escape, the ghost still gets the blame for the broken leg. Another incident occurred during a performance of “La Juive” when apparently M. Poligny still had not heeded the ghost’s warnings and had sat in Box 5, suddenly walked out of it, paler than a corpse and in a state of utter confusion. We do not know exactly what happened to him, but from then on, Box 5 was always left empty.

When Moncharmin asks Madame Giry what the ghost says when he speaks to her, she replies the he asks her to bring him a footstool - an item which is obviously only used by women, as it prompts Moncharmin to guess that the ghost is a woman. Madame Giry insists that he is a man though because he has a beautiful man’s voice. According to her, he‘s actually a rather lovable and polite ghost if you don‘t mess with him! He is kind and friendly to people who do not threaten him, therefore Madame Giry is not afraid of him. She also states that he obviously needed the footstool not for himself, but “for his lady”. More proof of a woman being involved with the ghost are the roses that she sometimes finds on the floor in the box, and that she once found a fan there too, which she subsequently returned to him - receiving a box of her favourite sweets as a thank-you from the ghost.

To keep Madame Giry in good service, Erik also leaves her a tip of about 2 to 10 francs on the railing with the programme she brings him. But the greatest mystery in this chapter is still unanswered: who is the „ghost‘s lady“ that Mme Giry is talking about?

There are at least three possibilities, and perhaps more:

The footstool is for Erik himself. Not very likely, given the fact that he doesn‘t actually seem to be sitting in the box, plus it doesn‘t explain the roses or the fan left behind - although it is possible of course that he left the rose for Madame Giry on purpose. But I guess in that case, he would have left them on the railing for her to find rather than on the floor.

Erik has been bringing random women into his box. Again, not a likely explanation - even though he does seem a little flirtatious (he knows exactly how to wrap Mme Giry around his finger), I don‘t see a lot of occasions for that happening. Unless sneaking into dinner parties is something he habitually does…? Still, the fact that no woman has ever let him kiss her before doesn’t mean that he didn’t, well, make a try for it at least.

As we all know, the opera ghost‘s heart belongs to Christine, so the most obvious possibility would be that he has been bringing her into Box 5. He would have to remain concealed since he is still „the Voice“ to her - which would not be a problem once inside the box. The question would be though: how did she get into the box? Sneak past Mme Giry? Crawl through secret passageways by herself? Besides, she would only be able to attend if she wasn‘t performing, but as she was apparently sidelined a lot, there should have been enough occasions for her to watch.  Another thing to consider is that at this point, Christine and Erik have been seeing (or rather, hearing) each other for about three months. The three month period would suggest that the whole opera ghost business has only been going on for a relatively short time, which would also align with the statement that the ghostly occurrences have been going on for “several months”. 

As Madame Giry has now told them everything about her working relationship with the ghost, she takes her leave. Moncharmin and Richard decide to fire her, and take a look at Box 5 with their own eyes…

The pieces from „Faust“ and „La Juive“ can be found on the Spotify playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3N3HOQcCzKIH0D4UROxO0N?si=l9QzuLw4S1iiafjkKnp_Zg&dl_branch=1

Images are not from Box 5, but from another box as Box 5 was not accessible during my visit to the Palais Garnier. The smaller boxes are all furnished in the same way, the only major difference is that Box 5 is flanked by an ornate marble pillar on the left.

Next Chapter >>

[hathawaydontrunaway]

Vampire Academy Fancast part 1

Hi, guys!! I have decided to do Vampire Academy fan cast. But I am starting with just the women. Both based on the chracter description (from Wikia), but also based on who I think would make great possibilities to play these characters. Some actors may not look exactly like they are described. But that’s okay-- because hair dye and color contacts exist!!

Also, I may have 1 or more choice actresses for some of them. I also kinda gave up on using images because some of them were too large to use on here. Let’s begin.

Rose Hathaway:

“She has thick, long, dark brown hair that shines black in the right light, dark brown eyes with golden flecks, and lightly tanned skin, which she herself describes as being "the color of the inside of an almond"

1. Lulu Antariska  (25 yrs old)

(karolinadeanwrites gif)

2. Bianca Santos (30 yrs old)

(gif from blakehelps)

3. Medalion Rahimi  (28 yrs old)

(gif from olivaholt.tumblr)

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

Lissa Dragomir:

“Like most female Moroi, she is tall and slim. She has a beautiful pale-skinned complexion, jade-green eyes, and platinum-blond hair”

1. Olivia Rose Keegan (20 yrs old)

2.  Elena Kampouris (23 yrs old)

(gif from helpersofindie)

3. Angourie Rice  (19 yrs)

 (think I got these gifs from wattpad??)

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

Tasha Ozera:

“described as having 'raven-black' hair. She had a heart shaped face with large, pale blue eyes. Like all Moroi, she had very pale skin”

1. Katie McGrath  (37 yrs old)

(got from pinterest: Noctis Luna Witch)

2. Merritt Patterson (30 yrs old)

4. Elyse Levesque (35 yrs old)

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

Sydney Sage:

“dark golden-blond hair that reaches just past her shoulders (although it grows longer and longer throughout the series) and brown eyes that turn gold in the light”

1. Virgina Gardner (25 yrs old)

(eternalroleplay gif)

2. Giorgia Whigman (23 yrs old)

(thequeenofindie gif)

3. Natalia Dyer (25 yrs old)

(nataliadyeredits)

Lastly, I have pictured the actress Meg Donnelly as a Sydney Sage or Mia Rinaldi choice. I was going to add her, but could not find a gif that fit. 

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Natalie Dashkov:

“She is tall, and has pale skin with thick. long jet black hair and jade green eyes”

1. Emma Dumont  (25 yrs old)

she played wonderful mean girl in the show Tagged. And since then, I can’t stop picturing her as Natalie.

(got this gif from wattpad)

2. Isabelle Fuhrman  (23 yrs old)

3. But Natalie was described as being kind of awkward. For that, I picture the actress McKaley Miller. Couldn’t find a gif of her that fit

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

Mia Rinaldi:

she is short, and has blonde curly hair. She also has blue eyes

1. Brec Bassinger (21 yrs old)

(gif from Virago on Wattpad)

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

Jill Mastrano:

“tall, slender with a small bust and very pale skin. She is not quite six feet tall, but because she is so slim, she appears taller. Jill has long brown hair and very large jade green eyes, the same color as Lissa's”

1. Mackenzie Foy  (19 yrs old)

gif-hunts-for-you.tumblr

2. Willow Shields  (20 years old)

3. Brec Bassinger-- yes, her again.

(dcladies gif)

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

Janine Hathaway:

she is about 40 years old, and 5' feet tall, has curly auburn hair, brown eyes. 

1. Maxim Roy 

2. Carla Gugino 

3. Bridget Regan

I think she would also make a a great Sonya Karp.

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That’s it for now! <3  I added the ages of some of these actresses in case some of them seem older or much younger than they actually are. I am thinking of doing a part 2 for the male characters. But to be honest, there’s is the hardest to do. Paticularily with Dimitri. 

Who are some of your fancasts for the women in VA? Or the men? 

[percywinchester27]

A lot like ‘Us’ (Part-3)

Word count: 3.8K

Pairing: Sam X Reader AU

Warnings: Some angst, some fluff, mention of depression

Series Summary: Y/N Y/L/N is eager and honestly, still in awe that she managed to get herself an acceptance from Stanford Law School. On the face of it, her life seems as put together, mysterious and independent as one might hope for. On the insides, she carries the burden of past that haunts her till date. Seemingly, she’d left it all behind; that is until she sets foot in the class of the Law School’s youngest, most promising professor.

A/N: The story employs two different timelines. The present timeline for the story takes place in 2014. Please let me know what you guys think :)

Beta: @deanssweetheart23​​ I love you, Athina <3

A lot like ‘Us’ masterlist

Monday morning rose brighter than it had a right to be; to the point that the sun was stabbing you in the eyes. You had been over and over the plan in your head throughout the weekend. By now, you were absolutely sure that you had mapped every second of the day and nothing could go out of hand.

The plan went sideways almost as soon as it started.

You dropped your bag at the threshold of the lecture room with a loud crash. All of the last row turned to look at who was that much of a klutz. You did not meet anyone’s eye as you took a seat at the very end of the top row. Maybe that would make you inconspicuous.

It did not.

“Y/N!”

Madison slid next to you on the bench, followed by her brood of friends. Lacey and the other two, whose names you didn’t remember.

“How are you, Sweetie?” Madison asked sympathetically. “You looked awfully ill when you left the other day. We were so worried about you! Weren’t we, Mer?”

Meredith- you remembered her name now- did not look worried in the least.

“What happened?” Madison asked.

“I was just really faint,” you answered automatically, having anticipated this. “I’m feeling much better now. Thank you so much.”

Madison looked relieved. “I’m so glad, Y/N. I wanted to check on you over the weekend, but I didn’t have your number or knew where you lived. You have to give me your number right away.”

You did, and she texted you immediately.

“Awesome!” she said. “Now you have my number, too.”

You tried to smile. “Hey, if it’s not too much, could you tell me what I missed in the two days?”

Madison became animated instantly. “Well, lets see. After you left, there was advanced legal writing by professor Mills, then Supreme Court Litigation by Professor Mcleod and Organisation and transactions law after that. Most of Friday was free except for another lecture by Professor Mills. I have the notes. Once you put your email id on the class database, I’ll forward mine to you.”

“That’s seriously more than I can ask from you,” you said, feeling small. 

She placed her hand on top of yours. “You’re not asking. I’m offering.”

“Thank you!” You said, looking down.

Madison huffed. “You thank me too much, Y/N! Besides, you really didn’t miss any of the fun.”

“What do you mean?”

“Professor Winchester didn’t show up either,” Lacey giggled. “Didn’t we turn up fifteen minutes early for his class on Thursday? And the man never came.”

Your stomach lurched, a feeling you hadn’t quite experienced in years had you feeling lightheaded. 

“Well, he didn’t completely disappear,” said the blonde. “He did turn up for the last half an hour of his lecture on Friday and outlined the syllabus of the semester.”

“He looked stiff and serious. Nothing like his first day here. And even that day he stormed off, remember?”

“Oh yeah,” Madison nodded. “Right after you left, Y/N. It was a bit weird.”

You swallowed nervously, your forehead already clammed up. What was it? Was it fear or worry that you felt for Sam? You had been so wrapped up in your chaos that you hadn’t stopped to consider about Sam, assuming that he must have grown passive and wouldn’t care about the past anymore.

Sam had looked warm and at ease with himself that day, happy even, while you had only survived all these years. You’d be lying to yourself, if you said that the image of Sam on the podium, smiling at the students hadn’t felt like a knife in your gut.

But if he had not turned up for classes either… did that mean….

There was noise at the front and you saw Sam on the podium. He looked every bit as dressed up and neat as he had on your first day, if not a bit more severe. 

He greeted the class curtly, and instantly jumped to the lesson. You tried not to stare, but it was hard to look away. It was harder still to keep looking. His features seemed more angular now, and he was definitely leaner than when you had first set your eyes on him. Today he was dressed in a dark grey suit and no tie, the button at his throat was undone.

He spoke for an hour about the merger of disputes and cases where it had benefited the original plaintiffs and not once did his eyes stray towards the corner of the class where you sat. It was as if he was deliberately avoiding that very portion of the classroom. He wasn’t genial today. A good teacher, just like he always had been, but absolutely formal. When the class ended, he retrieved the attendance sheet from a kid in the first row and exited the class.

“Well, that was quite intense,” whooshed Meredith. “Hadn’t pegged him for the serious sort.”

Blonde hair giggled at the double entendre, and you almost gagged. 

“He’s actually quite good,” Madison murmured, uncharacteristically serious. “He knows what he is talking about.”

Absentmindedly, you nodded. Not that you had paid much attention to the lecture, what with your heart struck in your throat.

The classes that followed weren’t as eventful as the morning and you were more than grateful about it. The other professors all seemed so knowledgeable and expert. You had enough on your mind by the time you left the university, your plate already full of assignments.

When you got home, Meg was sprawled on one of the two sofas that came with the house and were perched in the living room.

“Hey,” you said tentatively.

Meg raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised that you were initiating a conversation after a whole week of thoroughly avoiding her. 

“Hey,” she said. 

You placed your bad and laptop on the side table at the entrance and went to sit on the empty sofa. “I’m sorry about not greeting you earlier… I was going through some stuff.”

“Clearly,” she snorted.

The hurt must have shown in your eyes, because she straightened up into a sitting position.. “I’m not offended,” she said. “Locking myself in my room and avoiding human contact like it’s the fucking plague is my monthly PMS schedule. I’m not mad or anything.”

“Oh, alright,” you breathed out.

Meg looked amused. “Your face is like an open book,” she said. “If you keep that up, you’re going to be a terrible lawyer.”

You didn’t fight her on it. It was a problem… it always had been. Over the years mostly it had been a blank and your boss had commented on your excellent poker face… but clearly even the dumb expressive face was back with all the feelings.

“I don’t know what you’re studying,” you changed the topic.

“MS, Applied physics.”

“Damn. That sounds hard.”

Meg chuckled. “You really think that, don’t you? You look terrified.”

You rearranged your expression into what was just polite interest. Enough with Meg’s expert face reading class.

“You wanna grab dinner?” Meg asked.

“Sure,” you said. “What’re we doing?”

“I made some stir fry. I didn’t know if you’d be up for dinner, though.”

You felt terrible about skipping the meals and in turn her company over the past week. 

“No worries,” she said, getting up. “I’ll just toss some pasta and we’re good to go.”

“Hey, Meg?” You asked, “I see you’ve stocked up the pantry. It’s incredibly kind of you. I might drive to the supermarket tomorrow after classes, why don’t you let me know if there’s anything you want.”

She looked at you with some surprise and a hint of actual liking. “Sure. We can make a list over food.”

“Great,” you smiled.

The rest of the week passed without any more surprises, and you took your time to settle in… getting to know Stanford- both, the University and the town. You attended all lectures regularly and gave your hundred percent effort to every assignment.

In classes, you listened with utmost concentration… all except one. Civil Procedure wasn’t a lecture, it was slow seething torture. Watching Sam talk on the podium, interacting with students simply made it hard to breathe. The walls of the lecture room converged in on you while you gasped for air. On Sam’s part, he ignored you completely. It was as if you didn’t exist at all. Over the course of the week, his stiff, formal stance loosened and you could see more and more of the guy who had introduced himself on the first day. You didn’t know what you had been expecting from him? That one day he would suddenly look at you with hatred and throw you out of the class? That he’d lose his mind and yell at you? Ask you the questions that you didn’t want to answer?

But even for all that, he’d have to acknowledge your presence. Look at you. Somehow the ignoring and pretending that you didn’t exist was so, so much worse. It was killing you. Every second of the class, you fought your tears. However, you did not miss a single class. 

Apart from those two hours everyday, you were doing well, all things considered. On Thursday, you packed more food than just your lunch, and after classes, walked to the Green Library. It was just as breathtaking as it had been on the first day. You set out to find that one table that felt right. After a quarter of an hour of testing and teasing, you finally found a desk that looked oh so inviting. It wasn’t the one below the tall, arching windows, but rather a small desk niched between the bookshelves. It was perfect.

You unloaded your bag, and set to work with the assignments that had been set for the class by Professor Mills. You personally thought Jody Mills was a total badass. She took up cases that others were too scared to touch. Her assignments didn’t require you to reference too many books, so you could make yourself comfortable in the chair. Your mind wandered as the time passed. There were a lot of things to be thought through. For starters, if you had to afford living here, you needed a job. Your savings would last a couple of months at most.  The expense of moving across the country then having to pay for the lease of the apartment had taken a massive toll on your bank account. By the time holiday season began, you’d be as broke as the china in your grandma’s old cabinet.

Earlier, you had put in an application at the Student’s employment centre for oncampus jobs. You weren’t hopeful, given the number of applications they received, but you sure meant to check in on them next week in hopes that something suitable might have come up.

It was past 8 in the evening when you finally wrapped your stuff up, somewhat satisfied with how your assignment had turned out. You lowkey congratulated yourself on finishing it a week before the deadline as you made your way back home, crashing the minute you found your bed.

********************

18th July 2008

“Y/N! There’s someone here to see you!” Jo hollered from somewhere in the living room.

Thankfully the door to the room you were sharing with Jo was open.

“Coming!” You yelled back, wondering who could it possibly be. Maybe it was the postman with your grandma’s letter. She was a weird old lady who still loved writing handwritten letters. Gramps had been to the war and their love story had blossomed over letters sent across borders. Even though gramps had passed away many years ago, she still got that rosy look on her face whenever she talked of him. You wanted a love story like hers. Was it too much to ask for?

You made your way down the steps two at a time, excited for the letter. Maybe she had sent cookies along with it. Oh, how you loved her.

On the bottom step, you stopped. Sam Winchester was standing in the hallway, one hand balancing a lot of books, the other scratching the back of his neck, looking adorable in old jeans and an open button up over his t-shirt.

“Hey!” He said.

You were wearing a loose shirt without a bra over a pair of boy shorts, with hair falling over your shoulders. Needless to say, you were mortified. 

“Give me two minutes,” you muttered and rushed back upstairs. 

As you were pulling on a pair of leggings, it occurred to you how dumb the interaction had been. He was here to see you and neither had you invited him in nor asked him why he was here.

To add to your embarrassment, when you returned downstairs, he was still standing at the bottom of the stairs five minutes later, exactly where you had left him.

“Why’re you still standing here? Please come in!” You urged, scandalised that you had kept a guest waiting like that. Gran would have tutted so hard had she been here.

Sam followed you into the living room. Jo was lounging on the smaller sofa chain and you glared at her. She could have easily invited him in when she opened the door.

But no! How else would Y/N suffer in life?

Jo gave you the evil grin and waved to Sam. 

“Would you like something to drink?” You asked, not meeting his eyes.

“I’ll have coffee!” Jo ordered and you threw her the stink eye again. 

You gave Sam a chagrined look. “I’ll put the pot on the stove for her anyway. Do you want coffee?”

He looked like he was trying very hard to smile. “Black please. With half a spoon of sugar.”

You tried to calm your nerves as the pot boiled. Being a nervous wreck wasn’t going to help your case.

When you brought the two mugs of coffee outside, Sam was reading one of the books he had bought along and Jo was nowhere to be seen.

“Where’s Jo?” You asked, carefully placing the steaming mug before him on the table.

Sam shrugged. “She said she suddenly felt sleepy. And that you should drink her coffee because you both like it the same way.”

Oh, that sly girl.

“So, what brings you here?” You asked, taking a seat next to him on the sofa.

Sam smiled shyly. “You said you could use a second pair of eyes for the application.”

He had come all the way from wherever he stayed just to help you with the applications? 

“Really?” 

“Sure.” He tilted his head, the bangs on his forehead sliding to one side. He just had such beautiful hazel eyes. You have to avert your gaze so you wouldn’t just blatantly stare at him.

You excused yourself a second time and pulled out all your application stuff. Forms, copies of essays, documents and everything. It would be absolutely stupid to not make the most of this opportunity. 

Sam took his time with all of it, going through each paper carefully and you counted your breaths to keep away the anxiety. At least he wasn’t laughing at how ridiculous your applications were. That was something. When he was done, he slowly put the papers down and looked up at you.

“Where else have you applied?” He asked.

You told him.

“You didn’t think of applying to any major universities?”

You shook your head. “I didn’t think I had a chance… and I don’t even think I was cut out for those.”

Sam reached out to place his hand on top of yours. A tingling sensation went up your spine. “Y/N! This looks great. Your essays are top notch. You should apply to Ivy Leagues.”

“I’ve already missed deadlines for them… and there are some good universities on my list as well.”

“But you deserve better!” He insisted.

You shrugged. “I don’t have that sort of money, and before you say scholarships, I don’t have those types of recommendations either. I come from a small town. People who are born there, spend their whole lives in the same house. They are happy with what they have.”

“Are you happy with what you have?” He asked, the light from the setting sun hitting his face, illuminating those eyes so they looked like burning topaz.

“I’m happy,” you said, looking at your lap where his hand rested on yours. He seemed to have forgotten about it. “But I know I can do better… for myself and my Gran.”

You made the mistake of looking up then… into his eyes, and they were closer than you had expected them to be. As if, he had no control over it, his hand reached out to touch your hair, the fingertips caressing your cheek on their way there. Slowly, but surely, he drew your face towards his… and you went, willingly. His lips had barely grazed yours when there was a loud noise in the hallway.

You sprang apart. 

“Y/N!” It was Jo.

Ordinarily, you’d have flicked your tongue at her or something for interrupting like that. Afterall, she was the one who kept egging on you to get lucky, and the one time you had… that too with Sam frigging Winchester, she had to come barging into the room. Uhgg… Jo was going to get it.

But her face was completely white, and her hand, which was holding the phone, was shaking.

“Y/N,” she whispered again. Your neighbour called. It's your grandma… she passed away last night. 

********************

You woke up in a cold sweat to the sound of the blaring alarm.

Gran!

The worry felt so fresh, you had to remind yourself that it had been seven years since she had passed away. Grief was peculiar like that… even after years and years of feeling it, some days it just felt fresh and new. Sad memories opened up the box of more memories, not all of them sad. The thought of gran was always accompanied by a warm feeling and memory of sunlit kitchen, and freshly baked bread.

This… dream or whatever it was had triggered more than just that… you could almost feel the whisper of Sam’s lips on yours. You had suppressed it so long that the feeling was almost forgotten now and how it ached knowing that you would never feel it again. The raw, desperate part of you tried to cling on to that feeling, the memory of his touch. It was three in the night, no one could blame you for wanting this comfort of your own memories. As painful as they were when you were completely in your senses, in this darkness, they were all yours to do what you pleased with them. However, like a dream, the memories kept evading your grasp. The more you tried to hold on it, the further away it slipped. Sleep eluded you completely after that.

Needless to say, you were tired and sleepy and irritated by the time the last lecture for the week commenced. You hadn’t memorised the lecture schedule yet…. you only knew when the Civil Procedure class was. First lecture on Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday and the last lecture of Thursday and Friday. Lacey had mentioned something about Sam having to travel to the City for work on the first three days. 

Sam was dressed more informally today. He was without a coat and glasses, hair just a little out of order… less sleek.

“Oooohhh looks like the professor had a rough night!” Lacey giggled.

“You don’t know that,” Madison shushed. “Maybe he’s single.”

“Oh, c’mon!” Lacey rolled her eyes. “He lives in the faculty residence on Alverado row. And his house is definitely a family house, not a bachelors pad… So that means he at least has a woman.”

You caught your breath. Alverado row was right behind your Santa Ynes street, where you lived. Literally right behind, less than a block away. You knew a majority senior faculty staff resided there, but it had never crossed your mind...

“I don’t see no ring,” snarked Rebecca, Madison's blonde friend, who was sitting a row ahead of you to the left.

You quickly looked. She was right… there was no ring. Your heart skipped a beat.

“Doesn’t have to be a wife,” Lacey made a face. “Could be just a girlfriend.”

“Whatever,” Rebecca rolled her eyes. “Doesn’t mean we can’t try our luck.”

It stung, listening to them talk about it stung more than you wanted to admit even to yourself.

“Before we start today's lesson, I have a question for you,” Sam said, calling everyone’s attention and the gossip promptly stopped.

“Basic Property damage,” he said. “The plaintiff has proved beyond a shadow of doubt that the defendant is liable. The only issue of debate which remains is the amount of damages to be recovered. Before the last hearing, new evidence comes to light about a completely unrelated matter where the plaintiff has unintentionally harmed the defendant. If you were playing the part of the DA, what would be your obvious course of action.”

‘Settlement’ you muttered to yourself, just loud enough for the few people around you to hear.

“Anyone?” Sam asked, and on cue, Rebecca raised her hand.

“Settlement!” She called out.

“That’s correct,” Sam said, “It should occur to you faster than lightning to draw out a settlement. Good job there. That was quick.”

Next to her, Madison was looking at her friend incredulously. Then she turned around and gave you a sorry look. The boy sitting on her opposite side, the blond one, who had snickered at you on the first day also raised an eyebrow.

You didn’t care one way or another if Rebecca got the praise for your answer. You were simply relieved that you got that answer right… and that you were able to concentrate in the class better than you had been able to uptil now.

Perhaps that was the reason that it caught your attention, the quickest flick of Sam’s chin in your direction, before he stiffly averted his gaze. When the class ended, few students rushed to Sam’s desk, while you made to leave the room.

“Hey!”

You turned to see the blond dude standing right next to you.

“Y/N, isn’t it?” He asked.

You nodded.

“Brad,” he offered his hand. “Brad Rowan.”

“Nice to meet you.” you murmured, shaking his hand whilst glancing at the door. 

“So, we have a party tomorrow evening,” he said, grinning with too much confidence. “Down at the western dorms. Everyone cool is coming. You should, too.”

“Thank you,” you said politely. “But I already have plans for the weekend.”

“Better than spending time with me?” He winked, stepping ever so slightly in front of you.

You were firm this time. “Yes.”

“Oh, let her be, Brad.” It was Madison, who had come sauntering down the aisle. “If she says she’s busy, she probably is. We’ll miss you, Y/N!”

You threw her a grateful look… Madison didn’t seem to catch it.

You said your goodbyes to her and Brad and left the room quickly.

Maybe it was your imagination, but out of the corner of your eye, you saw Sam’s gaze flicker towards you… if only for one moment.

********************  

A/N 2: The next chapter is Sam’s POV ;) So we’ll finally know what’s up with him, huh ;)

PLEASE let me know what you think of this story?

If you want be tagged, you can send me an ask or add yourself to the taglist here.

Or here’s my side blog @percywinchester27-writes. You can give that blog a follow and turn the notifications on to know about updates.

ALLU taglist:

@feelmyroarrrr​  @gabavaldman​  @im-a-light-child​  @cosicas-cuquis​  @bllyjianne​  @hoboal87​  @i-is-for-inspiring​  @daughterleftbehind​  @wackiekebab​  @mylovelydame21​   @dancing-the-hellfire-rumba​  @superbadassnatural​  @bellastellaluna​  @babypink224221​  @badlittlehabit99​  @anathewierdo​  @sams-bubblegum-bitch​  @damnitnowimobsessed  @fandomoverdose666​  @superstarmarvel​  @atc74​  @transparentfestivaltiger​  @rebel-author-chick​  @death-unbecomes-you​  @cookiechipdough​

[bunnymcbunnister]

SPN Season 15 Spoiler Sheet, update 10/14

Episode one down! Hope everyone enjoyed. Not too much this week after the glut of info of last week. Some photos from ep 3 is pretty much all we got. No episode description yet for ep 4, so that confirms the ep is unlikely to air on Halloween so we will have a one week hiatus. Under the cut!

General Info (oldest to newest)

There is likely to be 20 episodes

They are filming the 4th episode 1st, which Jensen is directing

Returning this year are: Rowena, Ketch, Eileen, Amara, Adam, and Kevin

Jared and Jensen know the ending. Jensen struggled with it at first. Misha does not know the ending as of SDCC

Matt Cohen and Richard Speight Jr. will direct

Sam, Dean, and Cas will struggle with the concept of free will and if they ever really had it

The focus will be more on Hell than Heaven

There is hope to wrap up some Wayward Daughters storylines in the back half of the season

They are adding a whole extra day to filming to do the final scene (Implies logistics- lots of returning people?)

Brad Bucker used the word “romance” when asked about Sam and Dean’s arcs. Did not specify who.

Chuck will be more of an absent protagonist in the 1st half of the season (but he in in ep 4)

At the beginning of the season Dean and Cas will still have a rift. They will reconcile “at some point”. Jensen claims as of script 4 they still have friction. This has been repeated several times, from Misha as well. He indicated Dean is still mad at Cas, but Cas doesn’t feel to blame for Mary’s death.

In an interview, Kripe indicated that the series ending would have “peace” for Sam and Dean

Not much new at the TCA’s, but it was said it is “unlikely” Jeffery Dean Morgan will be back since his last appearance was such a good end note. There were some jokes about a Castiel spin off. Hell, I’d watch.

There will be a special tribute ep, not clear if its one of the 20 or additional

Misha will be in 15 out of 20 episodes this season

According to Dabb, Sam and Dean are going to start to lose people who, in past seasons, we would’ve never lost — and lose them in a very real way. Our guys are going to realize there’s a certain finality, and some of the things they’ve relied on to get through the day — people, talents, things like that — they are no longer going to be able to roll out. And that’s going to throw them for a loop (Unfortunately, my guess in Rowena)

Also according to Dabb, Jack is still in the empty and “he’s not coming back in the near future” (this makes no sense. He’s on set for several episodes- interacting with the boys)

Cas’ deal with the Empty may come up later in the season.

Kevin will return.

Season 15 promo: https://youtu.be/V232RpcCdTY

Christan Kane (Leverage/Angel) will star as “Leo” an “old friend” of Deans.

Dabb intimated that Chuck was inherently responsible for killing Mary when asked how the boys would respond to Jack.

Adam Rose, who played Aaron Bass from the golem episode vauge-tweeted about working a show with two badass leads. Could be Supernatural, but I think the timing is off- he indicated he was filming late Friday night.

General season 15 promo- more of a retrospective: https://youtu.be/_hlkNQL5Ecg

Dabb compared Chuck and John Winchester, claiming that Dean would have to break free of “conditioning.” Also, for Jack “there have been cosmic forces fighting for his attention since he was in the womb — and that will continue. As much as this season is about Sam and Dean finding agency, it’s also about Castiel finding agency, and it’s about Jack finding agency. As always, death is never the end. It’s just part of the journey and that’s certainly true with Jack.”

Per Variety: At the outset of the season, the “Supernatural” foursome of Dean, Sam, Castiel and Jack are split up, but Dabb notes they won’t be for long because “ultimately this is a found family, and they have deep emotional bonds” that make up the most important part of the show.

Sam’s wound from the equalizer gives his powers/an advantage of some kind (per TVGuide)

Jack will be a critical part of the ending of the show

The cage/Adam is looking like it will be coming up for midseason

Shaving People, Punting Things: https://youtu.be/azTwku2uosA

The shaving promo, punting things promo shows glimpses or Lucifer!Sam and MOC!Dean, as well as bearded Dean in tactical equipment.

Episode 15x02

Title: Raising Hell

OFFICIAL SYNOPSIS: SENDING OUT AN SOS – Sam (Jared Padalecki), Dean (Jensen Ackles) and Castiel (Misha Collins) call on Rowena (Guest Star Ruth Connell) to help keep the evil souls at bay and get an unexpected assist from Ketch (Guest Star David Haydn-Jones). Robert Singer directed the episode written by Brad Buckner & Eugenie Ross-Leming (#1503). Original airdate 10/17/2019.

Written by: Buckleming

Director: Singer

Filming Dates:  8/12- 8/21

Airdate: 10/17

Photos: http://www.ksitetv.com/supernatural/supernatural-15-2-photos-raising-hell/196890/

Promo: https://youtu.be/uSzwEXKZRw8

Sneak Peak:

Castiel? YES Jack ? YES (well, as Bel)

Guest stars: Ruth Connell, David Haydn-Jones, Rob Benedict, Osric Cho, Emily Swallow (?)

Other Spoilers/info :

A set was a high school set up to be a shelter.

Kevin, Chuck, Ketch and Rowena will be in this. Maybe Amara too. Emily Swallow was in town for only a short time, so I imagine it would just be a scene or two

Ghosts/zombies were seen on set. There will be a scene with Rowena attacking them that includes at least Dean and Cas.

There will be one longer scene in a park.

Alex was in sunglasses again - now we know as Bel

Ruth posted two vids of Misha claiming that he had filmed several scenes, but had no dialog - over three days so it must be a scripted reason (A spell? Chuck? Is he giving Dean the silent treatment?)

Ruth posted a video with her trailer, but the video showed Alex’s as well, so Jack

Misha posted from set in costume. Minus the coat again, but I’m still blaming the heat…. But he was without in the two Ruthie videos as well… soo……? I don’t know. I still think it’s a heat issue.

Night shoots are scheduled in a warehouse. Hand painted signs indicating quarantine were nearby

Kevin is back

Episode 15x03

Title: The Rupture

OFFICIAL SYNOPSIS: AS IT IS WRITTEN – Sam (Jared Padalecki) and Dean (Jensen Ackles) together with Rowena (guest star Ruth Connell) work tirelessly to keep all of hell from breaking loose. Castiel (Misha Collins) cannot forgive an arrogant betrayal. Charles Beeson directed the episode written by Robert Berens. (#1504). Original Airdate 10/24/2019. AS IT IS WRITTEN – Sam (Jared Padalecki) and Dean (Jensen Ackles) together with Rowena (guest star Ruth Connell) work tirelessly to keep all of hell from breaking loose. Castiel (Misha Collins) cannot forgive an arrogant betrayal. Charles Beeson directed the episode written by Robert Berens. (#1504). Original Airdate 10/24/2019.

Written by: Berens

Director: Charles Beeson

Filming Dates:  8/22-9/2

Airdate: 10/24

Photos: http://www.ksitetv.com/supernatural/supernatural-spoilers-rupture-images-description/197376/

Promo:

Sneak Peak:

Castiel? yes Jack? yes (as Bel)

Guest stars:  Ruthie Connell

Other Spoilers/info:

Part of this ep will take place in hell as well as the cemetery where Jack died at the end of last season

Misha mentioned a scene at VanCon with him, Sam, Dean, Rowena, and Jack/Bel

Sam Smith was on set, but I would imagine she was visiting as she was in town for VanCon

Cas will leave “in a huff”

Promo pictures show Cas bleeding from the ears

Episode 15x04 (filmed out of order)

Title: Atomic Monsters

OFFICIAL SYNOPSIS:

Written by: Davy Perez

Director: Jensen Ackles

Filming Dates:  7/18-7/29

Airdate: 11/7

Photos:

Promo:

Sneak Peak:

Castiel? Probably not  Jack? Probably not

Guest stars:  Rob Benedict

Other Spoilers/info:

Jensen directed

Misha will not be in this ep

SD Comic Con was during filming

Jensen mentioned  a guest star “fan favorite”  that hasn’t been seen since season 7 that is no longer in the business. Guesses include Becky, who hasn’t acted in a while but isn’t exactly a fan favorite, Meg, who hasn’t acted but she was in season 8, and Balthazar or Frank or Jo or Rufus, but all act frequently. Jensen doesn’t always have the most accurate season memory, so he could be off on the season. Since this seems like a Chuck episode, my guess is Becky but I hope for Meg. SOURCE UNCONFIRMED- I haven’t seen this in a reliable source, so take it with a grain of salt. UPDATE- sounds like Becky in the Shaving People, Punting things trailer.

There was a beaver mascot on set… it looks like they are filming at a school called Beaverdale

Jensen and Jared filed outside in fed suits

Chuck will be in this one. Jensen directed him first alone with his beard unshaved (so maybe a solo Chuck scene or him interacting with others/not the boys). There are also theories of a time jump in this ep.

This will be a one off, classic monster hunting episode with some ties to ongoing storylines. Sam and Dean will leave the bunker to keep their skills sharp

Dean will be in the bunker in tactical equipment with a BEARD- fighting someone 

Episode 15x05

Title: Proverbs 17:3

OFFICIAL SYNOPSIS:

Written by: Yockey

Director: Speight

Filming Dates:  9/4-9/13

Airdate: 11/14

Photos:

Promo:

Sneak Peak:

Castiel? No  Jack? doubtful

Guest stars:

Other Spoilers/info::

This will most likely be Yockey’s last episode.

Matt Cohen was around, but I imagine he is following directors to prep for his own debut directing.

Scenes were filmed in the bunker and in a wooded area. A woman could be heard screaming in the outside scene.

Episode 15x06

Title: Golden Time

OFFICIAL SYNOPSIS:

Written by: Meredith Glynn

Director: Steve Boyum

Filming Dates:  9/16-9/25

Airdate: 11/21

Photos:

Promo:

Sneak Peak:

Castiel? Yes Jack? Not sure

Guest stars:

Other Spoilers/info:

Misha tweeted from set in costume, so Cas.

Misha also tweeted a pic in blood spatter with two bullet holes in his shirt

Ruth also posted a pic of herself covered in blood

At least Ruth and Jared filmed in Rowena’s apartment

This will be a witch episode- Witches will invade Rowena’s apartment looking for books. They are very powerful. Dean gets thrown into a wall and Sam uses magic to stop them (from TVGuide)

Episode 15x07

Title: Last Call

OFFICIAL SYNOPSIS:

Written by: Jeremy Adams

Director: Amyn Kaderali

Filming Dates:  9/26- 10/7

Airdate: Dec 7th is what Christian Kane tweeted…. But that is a Saturday. Dec 5th maybe?

Photos:

Promo:

Sneak Peak:

Castiel ? Yes Jack ?

Guest stars:

Other Spoilers/info :

Misha posted from set in new shoes- very shiny with well tailored pants. (The next day he posted in full Cas costume, so are the shoes a one off? Another outfit with new shoes?)

Misha and Jensen made a video from set. I feel like if Jared was around he would have been in it since it was about money raised?  Maybe a Dean Cas scene?

There will be a battle scene in this that Jensen mentioned he was looking forward to and we would enjoy.

After NJ Con, it appeared that Jensen returned to work, Jared and Misha stayed an extra day and then Misha went home.

Jensen and Christian filmed at a bar called Swazey’s. This was the fight scene Jensen was referring to.

At some point, Sam might be shirtless or we can see part of his chest- Jared had his anti-possession tattoo at the weekend convention.

Per TVGuide, Leo and Dean will have a wild night out in an effort for Dean to recapture his mojo. Dean will become the lead of a band called Dean and the Impalas, which is made up of Supernatural crew.

Osric Chau popped over to set, but he is filming on Legends of Tomorrow in the same studio.

Episode 15x08

Title: Last Call

OFFICIAL SYNOPSIS:

Written by: Buckleming? Source unconfirmed)

Director: Speight

Filming Dates:  10/8- 10/18  (no filming 10/14 for Canadian Thanksgiving)

Airdate:

Photos:

Promo:

Sneak Peak:

Castiel ? yes Jack ?

Guest stars: Jake Abel, Shoshannah Stern

Other Spoilers/info:

Jake Abel posted a script with the caption “hell hath no fury like a brother scorned” He’s been on set for several days. 

Shoshannah Stern was spotted on set- Eileen!

Sebastian Roche also came by, he is filming on Batgirl (no Balthazar sadly)

Episode 15x09

Title:

OFFICIAL SYNOPSIS:

Written by: Berens

Director: Singer

Filming Dates:  

Airdate:

Photos:

Promo:

Sneak Peak:

Castiel ? Jack ?

Guest stars:

Other Spoilers/info (newest to oldest):

________________________________________________________

Past Episodes

Episode 15x01

Title: Back and to the Future

OFFICIAL SYNOPSIS: Picking up where we left off last season, Sam, Dean and Castiel are left to defend the world after all the souls in hell have been released and are back on Earth and free to kill again.

Written by: Dabb

Director: Showwalter

Filming Dates:  7/30-8/9 (no filming 8/5 for Canadian holiday)

Airdate: Oct 10

Photos: http://www.ksitetv.com/supernatural/supernatural-season-premiere-photos-back-and-to-the-future/196183/

Promo: (for at least ep one and two) ttps://youtu.be/V232RpcCdTY

Sneak Peak:

Castiel? Yes Jack ? yes

Guest stars:

Other Spoilers/info:

The first episode will start right where the previous left off

Misha posed with the John Wayne Gacy clown

Jensen posted a series of pics- one clean shaven, one vid of him shaving, and one where he    appeared to be in character with blood and dirt on his face and in Dean plaid, but with his beard… confusing- some time jump theories are developing for ep 4.

Jensen was photoed filming (wearing an FBI jacket)outside with Alex

Misha and Jared filmed outside with a woman and young girl. They were running from the clown guy and a few other zombie looking creatures. CAS WAS NAKED (haha just no trench) and holding a shotgun. It could have been rehearsal and there was no camera in the clip shared by a fan which might explain the coat? Another fan said it was hot and Misha kept taking the coat off, so I’m sure this just a piece of rehearsal footage.

Alex was filming in white sunglasses. Other set photos indicate he had makeup on his eyes making them look burnt out. There is some spec that Jack will come back blind.

Misha posted a pic of the 4 of them in the impala

According to Variety, the boys will escape the zombies in a temp shelter. They are working together, but Cas feel “detached.” Misha seems to indicate that Cas feels unfairly blamed in Mary’s death and is deeply upset about Jack.

According to TVGuide, after they fight past the zombies, they end up in a mausoleum. They end up making a “deal with the devil” to get out. This is particularly upsetting to Cas.

Posing as FBI agents, the boys seal off the town as a gas leak to contain the monsters temporarily.

Dean’s time in hell is brought up

Sam’s wound might have more meaning

Jack’s body is being used by an entity that will help the boys get out of the zombie situation.

[omegas-reincarnation]

6, 21, 33, 34!

Ooh, fun!

6- favourite death.

Oh, no question about this one.

So, we've had to kill a *lot* of bandits. It's been our party's fourth most common occupation, after being idiots, unsuccessful metagaming, and trying to physically prevent the Druid getting us all killed.

My Drow Ranger, Mana, hadn't been *that* involved in the fighting at first, due to being seriously underpowered compared to our Cleric/Fighter/Tank, Guthrum, and our surprisingly deadly halfling Rogue. BUT THEN she found a longsword, and I managed to use levelling up to get her proficiency in it, even though it's not a ranger weapon.

Which led to an incredibly badass moment where Mana pulled Guthrum's handaxe out the shoulder of a wounded bandit, put her longsword to his throat and said "are you ready to give up?" and ran him through when he wasn't.

21 - does your character have any regrets?

Mana's doing okay so far, but it's only been four sessions and some roleplay, so we'll see XD She got bitten by a ghoul and scarred, and she regrets not being more alert, but she's not being too hard on herself about that. She regrets more dismissing her friend Solace’s insecurities, which reflects her own not-ideal way of dealing with life.

33 - how do you write backstory?

Different for everyone!

Meg and Rose, my oldest OCs, I just started writing at the beginning of their lives and kept going!

When I'm creating new characters, like Mana, I always start with a character design, an image in my head, then start thinking about who I'd like them to be in terms of personality. Then I start writing them, and the way they behave in the present gives me backstory ideas. Usually.

SOMETIMES, though, characters are stubborn. I had Ragnar for weeks with no ideas, so when I wanted to play him I had to come up with something fast, so I screamed into the void for five minutes then wrote the first thing that came into my head XD

Valois backstory was just... There. But Val's whole creation process was wierd. I miss-wrote a character, ended up witha great speech it would have been totally OOC for them to give, and decided to make a character to deliver it. Next thing I knew, Val existed in his entirety, and I adored him.

34 - weapons and spells for utility or flavour?

FLAVOUR, ALL THE WAY. I'm giving Mana all spells that increase her weapons prowess, because I've decided she just likes swords hehe. Meg, everything has to fit with very specific and wierd genetic abilities she has. Valois, I'm just obsessed with getting him resurection spells. For Ragnar, its Things That Make Him Look Metal, like a battleaxe and the eldritch Knight subclass abilities XD

[scribeofmorpheus]

Sleepytime, Aurora ~One Shot

A Marvel Spoof Fic

Written in response to this gifset!

Words: 2k  | Masterlist

Premise: Our magical Marvel beings (Loki, Wanda and Strange) as versions of the fairy godparents to Aurora as they protect her from Maleficent (in this case Hela!)

OC: Aurora

Thank you @electroma89 for suggesting I write something for it! I had tonnes of fun, and even though the story isn’t fairy-tale-eque, I hope you enjoy it!

APPALACHIANS, 00:32 am

Energy crackled against the dark night setting of the Appalachians as an interdimensional rift tore through the fabric of the universe. Bright light poured through the rift, scaring the wild animals that slept under the cover of night. A body materialised out of this light and softly fell onto the thick snow -this less than graceful gazelle was named Aurora.

"Get back here!" Hela’s voice boomed across the rift, her long nails stretching out to peek through the dimensional curtain.

"Make me!" Aurora stuck out her tongue before she clasped her hands together to seal the rift.

Energy pulsed around her as she lay unconscious in the snow.

SANCTUM SENCTORUM, NEW YORK, 00:32 am

Strange had his nose firmly stuck in a thousand-year-old book; its words written in Aramaic -a translation spell causing the words to move and shift until legible with each page turn.

Wong was polishing the brass Centurion of Dismemberment downstairs, leaving the Cloak of Levitation to wonder about the room aimlessly.

Shimmering out through half-closed curtains, a crystal ball became agitated, displaying images of a mountain peak, a woman falling through a rift and darkly painted nails being severed once it was closed.

Curiously, the Cloak hovered close to the heavy drapes but was unable to move them apart.

The crystal ball began to whisper in a thousand angry voices too low for any of the mortals within the Sanctum to hear. In a panic of human-esque movements, the Cloak hovered in front of Wong's peripheral trying to get his attention.

"Not right now, I'm busy." Wong swatted the Cloaks coattails away carefully. "This is a very delicate procedure. One wrong move and I risk awakening the Centurion of Dismemberment. Even the slightest gust of wind could risk awake--"

The Cloak wouldn't take no for an answer and wrapped itself around Wong's midriff, pulling him backwards.

"The hell's gotten into you?" Wong frowned before using his sling-ring to singe the ends of the Cloak, causing it to let go abruptly.

"Oh, shi--" Off-balance, Wong's head hurled directly into the Centurion's folded brass exoskeleton.

GONG!

The noise travelled through-out the Sanctum.

Strange rolled his eyes when the loud noise disrupted the flow of his spell.

"Wong, can you keep it down?" Strange shouted before he mused quietly to himself in annoyance: "Is it really too much to ask for a day of quiet?"

In a hurry, completely ignoring the magical animatronic machine coming to life in great puffs of steam and groaning metal, the Cloak flew up to the sound of Strange's voice.

It tapped on Strange's shoulder several times only for him to subsequently brush him off. Then the sound of something large stomping around and crashing into things finally caught his attention.

"What in the--?" Strange turned to head down the stairs, the Clock tugging him in another direction.

The top floor of the rotunda was filled with several frightened apprentices using sling-ring whips to try and keep the Centurion in one place as his sword crashed into every glass casing.

Wong, having just been woken up off the floor, shook his head and used his magic skills to move each magical artefact away from the Centurion's path destruction.

"Strange, get down here! We need you!" Wong said with great effort as his magical abilities were being stretched thin.

Just when Strange took a step down the stairs, the Cloak had managed to pull his attention towards the shimmering light behind the thick red drapes.

"Hmmm," Strange said as he walked towards the strange lights.

The Cloak finally bringing itself to rest easily upon the Sorcerer Supreme's shoulders.

"Str- Strange? Where the hell are you going?" Wong demanded as he watched his friend walk away with disinterest in his eyes at the fact a live Centurion was slashing and knocking and stomping about.

"You've got it under control," Strange said nonchalantly without looking away from the light. When he pulled back the drapes, he read the inscription plaque fixed upon the crystal ball's stand out loud: "Upon this cutting of the Great Oak of Knowledge sits the Orb of Impending Doom. Beware the day its eyes are opened, for when the screams of guardians past gain their voice again shall be the final lament that foretells of the end of days..."

Strange rose his eyebrow in though, his arms folded around his midriff, one anchored up to rest his chin upon, "That doesn't sound very comforting."

"Wong! Hold down the fort!" Strange shouted from the other room as he opened a portal.

Between deep pants, Wong nodded his head, "Hold… the… fort! Right, no problem… it's not like that wasn't exactly what I've been trying to do!"

 APPALACHIANS, 00:40 am

Strange stepped through the portal, his cloak dethatching itself to hover to a humanoid looking figure a few feet away.

"This better not be aliens," Strange hoped.

The Cloak wrapped itself around a sleeping woman’s frame and lifted her off the ground like a hammock.

The portal, still open, let out orange shimmers, making the snow appear like it was set aflame. On the other side of it, the loud shouts and shattering noises coming from the Sanctum permeated through the cold air.

"So… this is the bringer of the end of days," Strange pursed his lips in thought. "Huh, I pictured something a little more… Well, more. Let's bring her with." He told the Cloak.

"Strange!" Wong's shout trickled out.

"First things first. Let's go deal with that Centurion."

 SANCTUM SENCTORUM, 06:30 am

Wong used magic to make the clean-up efforts go faster while the rest of the sorcerer's carefully levitated the now deactivated Centurion towards the vault in the basement.

When he was done, Wong made his way to the communal resting area where their newfound guest slept on a couch while Strange -floating cross-legged- looked through several hovering books open on different pages simultaneously.

"Anything?" Wong asked.

Strange just furrowed his brows.

"Maybe we should just ask her?"

"What if her waking up creates more problems than it solves?"

"Then, just like earlier, we'll deal with it." Wong was a bit bitter from earlier.

Strange set down from his sitting position and placed the palm of his hand on the sleeping woman’s face, "Wake."

Despite his awakening spell, the woman stayed asleep.

"That's unusual..." Strange uttered.

Then he felt the cloak tap on his shoulder and point at something at the end of the room.

Wong and Strange were surprised to see a copy of the exact same woman, partially translucent and standing with the edge of a coffee table passing right through her knees. She was incorporeal.

"Det er et bord som stikker ut av meg!" The projection shouted frantically.

"This is new," Strange stood from the girl’s unconscious body and walked closer to the semi-transparent version.

Wong cast a translation spell as the projection kept shouting and pacing about, "I think she's astral projecting."

"Who are you?" Strange asked after she passed through him. The feeling was odd.

"Polarlys, Goddess of Limbo and soothsayer to the restless dead. But my Uncle's call me Aurora," she said matter-of-factly.

"I'm Stephen Strange and this is Wong."

The Cloak swatted Strange's hand.

"And this is the Cloak of Levitation," He added.

The Cloak made a waving gesture.

"Greetings," Aurora said with a pleasant sing-song voice that made Strange and Wong stifle sudden yawns.

"Would you mind telling us why the Orb of Impending Doom thought you'd somehow be responsible for the end of days?" Strange asked when the outside world was overcome by an ethereal green hue, blocking out the sun and turning the sky a bluish-green colour.

"What is happening?" Wong said as he peered out the Sanctum's circular windows.

"That would be the impending doom you speak of," Aurora said with bulging eyes.

Out of the corner of the room, rainbow streams of light beamed down like a flashlight as Loki stepped out of the bi-frosts portal perimeter.

"Aurora, would you mind explaining to me why Helheim's gates are opening? And while you're at it, would you also explain why you're on Midgard?" Loki questioned with his finger waggling about, staring at her with disappointed brows.

Aurora shrugged like a teenager, face pulled into a long pout making her doe eyes seem even more pronounced. Immediately, Loki's expression changed into one less scary.

"Ah, Loki," Strange greeted.

"Imposter," Loki replied in greeting.

"You know her?" Wong asked.

"She's my concern, and the reason all mortals on your realm have fallen into an endless slumber.

"What?" Both Wong and Strange said completely unaware of that last sentiment.

"You're probably conscious because you possess magical attributes, or at least what humans pass for magic anyway," Loki said with his nose pointed high.

Wong conjured several birds-eye-view portals around him to confirm Loki's words, and sure as day, through each portal he could see countless humans slowly beginning to fall into a slumber causing chaos to erupt around them.

"I'll gather the apprentice's and other sorcerer's and try and contain the situation," Wong assured Strange before he made for the other room.

"Come on Aurora, get back in your body so I can take you back," Loki ordered.

"No!" Aurora pouted again, arms folding around herself. "You can't make me?"

"Yes, I can and I will," Loki inched further to her. "Now get back in your body or so help me I will--"

Having grown impatient with Loki's interaction, Strange had opened a portal to Timbuktu and swept Loki through it, forcing him out of the room.

"Now that we have some peace and quiet, mind telling why you're causing everyone to fall unconscious?"

Aurora sighed, "It's a protection spell..."

"Why do you need a protection spell?"

"It wasn't my idea. My mother is a little overprotective."

"Your mother?"

Before Aurora could elaborate, Wanda and Vision flew into the Sanctum through the open observatory window.

"Hello, Doctor Strange? Monk wizards? Anybody home?" Wanda asked the seemingly empty space. "Viz, you sure you detected an anomaly here?"

"I'm positive Wanda," Vison replied.

"We're in the back!" Strange shouted.

Suddenly, Loki rematerialized angrier than before, "Do that to me one more time, mortal and I'll have your--"

Strange accepted the challenge and swept Loki away into another portal.

Loki rematerialized just as quickly as he had disappeared, "That's it!"

Loki was about to charge at Strange when Wanda used her abilities to separate them to either side of the room when a subtle rumbling caused the walls and floor to trail cracks.

Several skyscrapers were threatening to topple into one another when Wanda shouted, "Viz take care of that, I've got things handled here!"

With a crack and a thunderous streak, a tear was sliced through the sky as a woman dressed in black and green with a helmet affixed with several sharp prongs sticking out of it descended from the sky -hundreds of swords materialising to form a circular perimeter around the Sanctum.

Wanda let go of Strange and Loki before she jumped out of the Sanctum and landed by an empty park in full view of the ethereal looking woman.

Loki and Strange followed suit.

"Wait for me!" Aurora groaned as she shimmered to their location.

"Who is that?" Wanda asked.

"I believe, that's Hela, Goddess of the Dead," Strange said knowingly.

"That's my adoptive older sister," Loki corrected.

"That's my mother," Aurora said with a deep exasperated sigh.

Everyone but Loki turned to her.

"What? Nobody's family is perfect!" She protested.

Loki chuckled as he summoned his sceptre, "Oh, she doesn't look happy."

"Aurora! I warned you about travelling to Midgard without my permission! You're in big trouble young lady."

Aurora's projection gulped, "Uh-oh..."

"Can't we just reason with her?" Wanda asked.

"Not when she's lost her temper," Aurora warned.

"So what's the plan?" Strange asked.

"We tire her out until her ears aren't blocked by all the blood rushing to her brain!" Loki said sarcastically.

Red, green and orange. Uniformly, Strange, Wanda and Loki took defensive stances as their signature magic colours wisped to life.

“Why couldn’t it just be aliens?” Strange whined as several magical swords embedded themselves into the tarmac and soft grass.

***

Permatags: @gruffle1 @thechickvic @notawarriorjustyet @savethehoneeybees  @500daysofbecky

[gwendre-simoneau]

Chapter 7

From facing the flames, to facing the throne.

Somehow, the latter was more intimidating.

Tamlin's heart was pumping hard, and he was sure Jennet's would be too. The rapid beats might as well be the only sounds in the vast throne room, despite the crowd of citizens seated in rows behind them, whispering and tittering. One of the three thrones in front of the warriors - the smallest throne - was occupied by a smiling teenager just barely younger than adulthood: Ellon, heir to the throne.

Ellon's smile was less reassuring than it was probably supposed to be - this was Tamlin and Jennet's first real evaluation. Back in their village, the townsfolk had no choice but to accept the outcome of the pair's actions, no matter how effective - but, to be quite honest, they were usually very effective.

Now, however, the two had been specifically tasked with this mission. The Queen had given them resources, for the Lares’ sake! They didn't just have to work with whatever was lying around the town.

And whether they'd succeeded adequately was in Ellon's hands.

"Why Ellon?" Jennet hissed at Tamlin. "Their mom couldn't come and talk to us herself?"

"Shh," Tamlin hissed back, alarmed. "They can probably hear us! Ellon probably needs practice anyway, if they're going to reign next."

"I can, and I do," Ellon said lightly. "There's a lot of pressure on me, as I'll be the first nonbinary ruler of the kingdom. But you know all about pressure." They grinned conspiratorially. "It's what you're feeling right now, isn't it?"

"Well," Tamlin started, thinking back to how the two had been instructed to address the heir - they/them pronouns; prefers to be addressed as Sir, Sire, Your Highness, or Ellon; be polite but not overly deferential - "to be fair, Sir, the pressure's over now. It's out of our hands. What we're feeling now is more like…" he trailed off, searching for the right word.

"Trepidation?" suggested Jennet.

"Trepidation," he agreed, nodding. "So, Ellon, how did we do?"

"Marvelously," Ellon said, graciously not making them wait any longer. "It's a pity about the research burning up - Mason's methods were terrible, but it's still a loss to scholars of magic. You did avoid the most precious loss from your involvement, of course: Loss of life."

"Didn't realise the standards were so low," muttered Jennet. "'Don't kill anyone'? I 'don't kill anyone' for breakfast."

"We wouldn't have hired you if your most important meal of the day involved a side of murder," Ellon joked. The guards beside the thrones looked uncomfortable with Jennet's irreverence, and the front rows of citizens didn't seem impressed, but Ellon was unfazed.

Tamlin chuckled, relaxing. "Glad we could help." He paused, leaving space for Jennet to take over the next step.

"So am I," she said. "But 'hired' implies payment. Just to clarify, is the reward still on the table?"

"And spilling off of it," Ellon nodded, waving a servant forward. The woman rolled a cart, which was - as promised - nearly overflowing with bags of gold. "I wouldn't expect you to accept anything less. Or to leave it unmentioned. Not to worry."

Tamlin glanced at Jennet, giving her a small smile. He was glad that Ellon approved of her forwardness. In this kingdom, Ellon's approval was probably worth more than all the gold on that cart.

"I'll ensure that your heroics are noted and publicised," Ellon continued, nodding again at the servant, who placed a sealed envelope on the cart and wheeled it out. "Now that everything official is out of the way, would the two of you care to join me for brunch?"

Tamlin's breath hitched in his throat, but Jennet was already speaking. "Of course we will!" She reached out and squeezed Tamlin's hand. He squeezed back, face frozen. This was already the longest conversation he'd had with anyone more important than the village leader. Could he survive another whole meal?

**

It turns out the food was distracting enough to help him survive anything. His mouth watered as he looked at the spread before them: Plates of toast with jams and honey, sliced and spiced meat, fresh fruits, and more types of pastries than he even knew existed. He barely cared to turn his attention from the offerings to admire the royal family's dining room, which was opulent and clearly meant to impress. Deep red and purple wall hangings - a darker shade than Tamlin's own purple robes - hung between vast paintings and coats of arms, symbols of important allied families throughout the kingdom.

The three of them had the dining room to themselves, not counting some guards and servants posted by the doors - it seemed that Ellon was expected to bring a retinue everywhere. "Mostly for appearances," the heir said, when Tamlin gave the guards a nervous look. "It wouldn't do for any member of the royal family to be unprotected," they said, in a remarkable imitation of the queen.

The three clustered together at one end of the massive room, Ellon facing their guests across the narrow table. The first few minutes were free of conversation as everyone dug in.

"So," said Ellon, finishing a glass of juice, "how are you enjoying the castle?"

"It's great," gushed Jennet. "Our living quarters are perfect. I wish I'd had more time to explore the whole castle, though. I've heard great things about your training grounds. And your bands of horses are supposed to be second to none."

"The view is magnificent," Tamlin added. "And the decor. Is it true that every tapestry is specially commissioned?"

"Yes," Ellon grinned. "Usually to commemorate a moment in our history. I'll see if someone can give you a tour."

"Before we leave, I guess," Tamlin said. He took another bite of breaded chicken, eyes dropping.

"Actually," said Ellon, "that's what I wanted to talk to you about." They leaned forward, looking at the other two in turn. "If you'd like to stay longer, we'd be thrilled to have you indefinitely."

"I knew it!" Jennet punched the air. "Why else would you ask us to a private meal? Surely you don't do that for just anyone."

"No surprise, then?" they asked, eyes twinkling. "And I was so excited to spring that on you."

"Doesn't make it any less welcome," she said. "And our answer is -" she glanced at Tamlin. He smiled. "Yes. Our answer is yes."

"We'll write back home," he said. "Figure out all the logistics. But those are the small details."

"Don't worry about the small details," Jennet and Ellon said in unison. The trio laughed, startling a servant in the corner.

"I'm glad someone else is on my side about this," Jennet giggled.

"There's a time and a place for details," Ellon replied, setting their finished plate aside. It was instantly whisked away by a servant. "Thank you, Hana. Big decisions are - Well, you've seen the demonstration about the jar of rocks and sand?"

Tamlin nodded, snapping his fingers to conjure a magical image of a jar in midair. "When you put the sand in the jar first, there's no room for the big rocks. But if you fill it first with rocks, the sand can fill in the gaps in between, and everything fits." The image moved with his words.

"Exactly. Make the big decisions on their own, and the small details fit into place afterwards."

Tamlin smiled. "Not sure that always applies," he said through his teeth to Jennet, "but I trust you."

"I know." She bumped his shoulder with her own. "We've got this."

"I know you do," said Ellon.

"Woof!" said the corgi.

Tamlin was on his feet in an instant, looking around for the source of the bark. "I thought you had all the corgis under supervision!"

"We did," said Ellon, frowning as they rose and waved to Hana for their discarded plate. "One must have escaped. Here, bait." They plucked a bone from the plate and tossed it at Tamlin, but he was distracted casting a spell.

Jennet managed to swipe the bone out of midair before it collided with Tamlin's head. She crouched and wiggled it near the floor. "Here, doggy."

Arms extended in front of him, Tamlin flicked his wrists outward, then inward. A ribbon of solid magic at ankle-height materialised just inside the room's walls, then slowly contracted, pulling anything living towards him but leaving the furniture unharmed. "Sorry," he called to the servant who scrambled to stay upright as her feet were pulled out from under her.

"There!" Jennet called, pointing at a mahogany sideboard. A tiny black nose was emerging from the shadows underneath, then a head, then stubby legs, scrambling for purchase against the smooth floor as the ribbon of magic nudged the corgi forward, resisting even as it raised its nose in the air to catch a whiff of the scrumptious bone.

Tamlin released all but the section of magic cradling the corgi, and he dropped, crawling forward. Jennet followed with the bone, the pair of them forgetting the heir, who was watching bewilderedly.

"Is it you?" he whispered. Jennet held the bone out, and the dog finally stopped its wriggling, scrambling up and chomping its chompers around the treat. "Is it… Megadog?"

The dog barked happily, and the bone fell out of its mouth. It froze, confused, suddenly with one fewer treat than expected.

"That has to be Meg," Jennet grinned. "No other corgi could be so adorably stupid."

"Megadog," Tamlin corrected. He replaced the bone in the baffled corgi's mouth, and gave her an affectionate scratch behind her ears. The dog barked again, dropping the bone, and climbed over as much of Tamlin as she could reach.

Jennet gave an exasperated sigh, but shared a smile with Ellon. "I don't suppose…" she started.

"Yes?" Ellon prompted, raising their eyebrows, grin as wide as ever.

"Could our quarters be outfitted to accommodate a small dog?"

Tamlin gasped, looking up, clutching the bundle of fur, and Ellon replied, "I think that can be arranged."

[lake-lyn]

EW’s exclusive excerpt of The Tyrant’s Tomb by Rick Riordan (2/2)

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Dude, this isn’t cool

Dude just tried to eat my dude

That’s my dead dude, dude

I like flying cars. I prefer it when the car is actually capable of flight, however.

As the hearse achieved zero gravity, I had a few microseconds to appreciate the scenery below—a lovely little lake edged with eucalyptus trees and walking trails, a small beach on the far shore, where a cluster of evening picnickers relaxed on blankets.

Oh, good, some small part of my brain thought. Maybe we’ll at least land in the water.

Then we dropped—not toward the lake, but toward the trees.

A sound like Luciano Pavarotti’s high C in Don Giovanni issued from my throat. My hands glued themselves to the wheel.

As we plunged into the eucalypti, the ghoul disappeared from our roof—almost as if the tree branches had purposefully swatted him away. Other branches seemed to bend around the hearse, slowing our fall, dropping us from one leafy cough-drop-scented bough to another, until we hit the ground on all four wheels with a jarring thud. Too late to do any good, the airbags deployed, shoving my head against the backrest.

Yellow amoebas danced in my eyes. The taste of blood stung my throat. I clawed for the door handle, squeezed my way out between the airbag and the seat, and tumbled onto a bed of cool soft grass.

“Blergh,” I said.

I heard Meg retching somewhere nearby. At least that meant she was still alive. About ten feet to my left, water lapped at the shore of the lake. Directly above me, near the top of the largest eucalyptus tree, our ghoulish blueblack friend was snarling and writhing, trapped in a cage of branches.

I struggled to sit up. My nose throbbed. My sinuses felt like they were packed with menthol rub. “Meg?”

She staggered into view around the front of the hearse. Ring-shaped bruises were forming around her eyes—no doubt courtesy of the passenger-side airbag. Her glasses were intact but askew. “You suck at swerving.”

“Oh, my gods!” I protested. “You ordered me to—” My brain faltered. “Wait. How are we alive? Was that you who bent the tree branches?”

“Duh.” She flicked her hands, and her twin golden scimitars flashed into existence. Meg used them like ski poles to steady herself. “They won’t hold that monster much longer. Get ready.”

“What?” I yelped. “Wait. No. Not ready!”

I pulled myself to my feet with the driver’s-side door.

Across the lake, the picnickers had risen from their blankets. I suppose a hearse falling from the sky had gotten their attention. My vision was blurry, but something seemed odd about the group. . . . Was one of them wearing armor? Did another have goat legs?

Even if they were friendly, they were much too far away to help.

I limped to the hearse and yanked open the backseat door. Jason’s coffin appeared safe and secure in the rear bay. I grabbed my bow and quiver. My ukulele had vanished somewhere underneath the inflated airbags. I would have to do without it.

Above, the creature howled, thrashing in its branch cage.

Meg stumbled. Her forehead was beaded with sweat. Then the ghoul broke free and hurtled downward, landing only a few yards away. I hoped the creature’s legs might have broken on impact, but no such luck. It took a few steps, its feet punching wet craters in the grass, before it straightened and snarled, its pointy white teeth like tiny mirror-image picket fences.

“KILL AND EAT!” it screamed.

What a lovely singing voice. The ghoul could’ve fronted any number of Norwegian death metal groups.

“Wait!” My voice was shrill. “I—I know you.” I wagged my finger, as if that might crank-start my memory. Clutched in my other hand, my bow shook. The arrows rattled in my quiver. “H-hold on, it’ll come to me!”

The ghoul hesitated. I’ve always believed that most sentient creatures like to be recognized. Whether we are gods, people, or slavering ghouls in vulture-feather loincloths, we enjoy others knowing who we are, speaking our names, appreciating that we exist.

Of course, I was just trying to buy time. I hoped Meg would catch her breath, charge the creature, and slice it into putrid ghoul pappardelle. At the moment, though, it didn’t seem that she was capable of using her swords for anything but crutches. I supposed controlling gigantic trees could be tiring, but honestly, couldn’t she have waited to run out of steam until after she killed Vulture Diaper?

Wait. Vulture diaper . . . I took another look at the ghoul: its strange mottled blue-and-black hide, its milky eyes, its oversize mouth and tiny nostril slits. It smelled of rancid meat. It wore the feathers of a carrion eater . . .

“I do know you,” I realized. “You’re a eurynomos.”

I dare you to try saying you’re a eurynomos when your tongue is leaden, your body is shaking from terror, and you’ve just been punched in the face by a hearse’s airbag.

The ghoul’s lips curled. Silvery strands of saliva dripped from his chin. “YES! FOOD SAID MY NAME!”

“B-but you’re a corpse-eater!” I protested. “You’re supposed to be in the Underworld, working for Hades!”

The ghoul tilted its head as if trying to remember the words Underworld and Hades. It didn’t seem to like them as much as kill and eat.

“HADES GAVE ME OLD DEAD!” it shouted. “THE MASTER GIVES ME FRESH!”

“The master?”

“THE MASTER!”

I really wished Vulture Diaper wouldn’t scream. It didn’t have any visible ears, so perhaps it had poor volume control. Or maybe it just wanted to spray that gross saliva over as large a radius as possible.

“If you mean Caligula,” I ventured, “I’m sure he’s made you all sorts of promises, but I can tell you, Caligula is not—”

“HA! STUPID FOOD! CALIGULA IS NOT THE MASTER!”

“Not the master?”

“NOT THE MASTER!”

“MEG!” I shouted. Ugh. Now I was doing it.

“Yeah?” Meg wheezed. She looked fierce and warlike as she granny-walked toward me with her sword-crutches. “Gimme. Minute.”

It was clear she would not be taking the lead in this particular fight. If I let Vulture Diaper anywhere near her, it would kill her, and I found that idea 95 percent unacceptable.

“Well, eurynomos,” I said, “whoever your master is, you’re not killing and eating anyone today!”

I whipped an arrow from my quiver. I nocked it in my bow and took aim, as I had done literally millions of times before, but it wasn’t quite as impressive with my hands shaking and my knees wobbling.

Why do mortals tremble when they’re scared, anyway? It seems so counterproductive. If I had created humans, I would have given them steely determination and superhuman strength during moments of terror.

The ghoul hissed, spraying spit.

“SOON THE MASTER’S ARMIES WILL RISE AGAIN!” it bellowed. “WE WILL FINISH THE JOB! I WILL SHRED FOOD TO THE BONE, AND FOOD

WILL JOIN US!”

Food will join us? My stomach experienced a sudden loss of cabin pressure. I remembered why Hades loved these eurynomoi so much. The slightest cut from their claws caused a wasting disease in mortals. And when those mortals died, they rose again as what the Greeks called vrykolakas—or, in TV parlance, zombies.

That wasn’t the worst of it. If a eurynomos managed to devour the flesh from a corpse, right down to the bones, that skeleton would reanimate as the fiercest, toughest kind of undead warrior. Many of them served as Hades’s elite palace guards, which was a job I did not want to apply for.

“Meg?” I kept my arrow trained on the ghoul’s chest. “Back away. Do not let this thing scratch you.”

“But—”

“Please,” I begged. “For once, trust me.”

Vulture Diaper growled. “FOOD TALKS TOO MUCH! HUNGRY!”

It charged me.

I shot.

The arrow found its mark—the middle of the ghoul’s chest—but it bounced off like a rubber mallet against metal. The Celestial-bronze point must have hurt, at least. The ghoul yelped and stopped in its tracks, a steaming puckered wound on its sternum. But the monster was still very much alive. Perhaps if I managed twenty or thirty shots at that exact same spot, I could do some real damage.

With trembling hands, I nocked another arrow. “Th-that was just a warning!” I bluffed. “The next one will kill!”

Vulture Diaper made a gurgling noise deep in its throat. I hoped it was a delayed death rattle. Then I realized it was only laughing. “WANT ME TO EAT DIFFERENT FOOD FIRST? SAVE YOU FOR DESSERT?”

It uncurled its claws, gesturing toward the hearse.

I didn’t understand. I refused to understand. Did it want to eat the airbags? The upholstery?

Meg got it before I did. She screamed in rage.

The creature was an eater of the dead. We were driving

a hearse.

“NO!” Meg shouted. “Leave him alone!”

She lumbered forward, raising her swords, but she was in no shape to face the ghoul. I shouldered her aside, putting myself between her and the creature, and fired my arrows again and again.

They sparked off the creature’s blue-black hide, leaving steaming, annoyingly nonlethal wounds. Vulture Diaper staggered toward me, snarling in pain, its body twitching from the impact of each hit.

It was five feet away.

Two feet away, its claws splayed to shred my face.

Somewhere behind me, a female voice shouted, “HEY!”

The sound distracted Vulture Diaper just long enough for me to fall courageously on my butt. I scrambled away from the ghoul’s claws.

Vulture Diaper blinked, confused by its new audience. About ten feet away, a ragtag assortment of fauns and dryads, perhaps a dozen total, were all attempting to hide behind one gangly pink-haired young woman in Roman legionnaire armor.

The girl fumbled with some sort of projectile weapon. Oh, dear. A manubalista. A Roman heavy crossbow. Those things were awful. Slow. Powerful. Notoriously unreliable. The bolt was set. She cranked the handle, her hands shaking as badly as mine.

Meanwhile, to my left, Meg groaned in the grass, trying to get back on her feet. “You pushed me,” she complained, by which I’m sure she meant Thank you, Apollo, for saving my life.

The pink-haired girl raised her manubalista. With her long, wobbly legs, she reminded me of a baby giraffe. “G-get away from them,” she ordered the ghoul.

Vulture Diaper treated her to its trademarked hissing and spitting. “MORE FOOD! YOU WILL ALL JOIN THE KING’S DEAD!”

“Dude.” One of the fauns nervously scratched his belly under his PEOPLE’S REPUBLIC OF BERKELEY T-shirt. “That’s not cool.”

“Not cool,” several of his friends echoed.

“YOU CANNOT OPPOSE ME, ROMAN!” the ghoul snarled. “I HAVE ALREADY TASTED THE FLESH OF YOUR COMRADES! AT THE BLOOD MOON, YOU WILL JOIN THEM—”

THWUNK.

An Imperial gold crossbow bolt materialized in the center of Vulture Diaper’s chest. The ghoul’s milky eyes widened in surprise. The Roman legionnaire looked just as stunned.

“Dude, you hit it,” said one of the fauns, as if this offended his sensibilities.

The ghoul crumbled into dust and vulture feathers. The bolt clunked to the ground.

Meg limped to my side. “See? That’s how you’re supposed to kill it.”

“Oh, shut up,” I grumbled.

We faced our unlikely savior.

The pink-haired girl frowned at the pile of dust, her chin quivering as if she might cry. She muttered, “I hate those things.”

“Y-you’ve fought them before?” I asked.

She looked at me like this was an insultingly stupid question.

One of the fauns nudged her. “Lavinia, dude, ask who these guys are.”

“Um, right.” Lavinia cleared her throat. “Who are you?”

I struggled to my feet, trying to regain some composure. “I am Apollo. This is Meg. Thank you for saving us.”

Lavinia stared. “Apollo, as in—”

“It’s a long story. We’re transporting the body of our friend, Jason Grace, to Camp Jupiter for burial. Can you help us?”

Lavinia’s mouth hung open. “Jason Grace . . . is dead?”

Before I could answer, from somewhere across Highway 24 came a wail of rage and anguish.

“Um, hey,” said one of the fauns, “don’t those ghoul things usually hunt in pairs?”

Lavinia gulped. “Yeah. Let’s get you guys to camp. Then we can talk about”—she gestured uneasily at the hearse—“who is dead, and why.”

[millennium-thejiaqiverse]

Chapter 0: A Pilot

Summary: It’s up to a 15-year-old birthday boy to save the day! How exactly is he involved? What could be rapidly ripping his home universe apart? And how on earth is he going to stop it? Let’s find out!

21:30, Miles is lying in bed, ready to catch some sleep.

Today’s his bday. Before school ended Meg handed Miles a “Happy Birthday!” card coated with glitter. It was beautifully hand made. She had a big smile. She stood a little in front of lockers 51, 53, and bottom row 52, 54. Some glitter stuck to her hands. Elly and Rose were busy with their lockers (48 and 49, a piece of lime green sticker stuck out from locker 49, which was placed there by Rose exactly 3 days ago), while they too wished him a happy bday. At the same time Rodney Lee Jr. flashed a smile at Miles, opened his locker 54 by a crack and dug his jacket out with an almost inaudible “excuse me” then quickly vanished out of sight. Whilst recalling details of his day at school, Miles thinks about his plan to hit the bowling alley with a late bday party after midterms, ah what fun awaits him. If only everything is fun and simple on his bday.

Without fail, Miles has the same dream every night of his bday. In this dream he will be approached by this girl he’s never met face to face before, ever, still, she seems strangely familiar; she will always ask him to play hide and seek along this peaceful little creek. However, every time Miles covers his eyes he ends up waking up. Well, Miles is in full control of his dreams, but not this one. Of course he is curious as to what happens next but one, he somehow can’t avoid covering his eyes, two, he can’t stop himself from waking up, and three, he can’t pick up from where he left off afterwards. Not only that, the dream leaves a strange feeling, like he should be expecting something in the near future, or he missed something important that the dream is communicating to him. Eventually, Miles reluctantly learns to shrug these feelings off, because nothing unusual follows, pretty anticlimactic.

21:50 rolls around fast. Well, must get some sleep, time to jump right back into this routine of receiving the same dream, trying to take control, failing and being confused plus weirded out. With that on his mind Miles sighs as he shuts his eyes.

“Guess who I am?” A cheerful feminine voice sounds from behind him.

“Oh, I dunno,” but Miles knows where this is going. “Let’s play a game!” The girl suggests. “Like tic-tac-toe?” Miles tries. “No, like hide and seek!” She laughs. “Then I’ll go h...” Miles didn’t get to finish. “I’ll go hide, cover your eyes,” the girls cuts him off, “no peeking!” Miles covers his eyes before he realizes and he’s ready to beat himself up for it (I mean he had certainly lasted longer in this game of trying to avoid covering his eyes before), except he doesn’t wake up this time. It appears that he’s sunken into another layer of this dream, the sight of the city he lives in submerged in crystal clear water appears a little after he covers his eyes. Now this is new!

Miles sits straight up in bed, very startled. It’s morning already—and the city is not submerged. 15 years of curiosity and that was his answer? Really? With a glimmer of hope Miles groggily decides to carry on with his day and see if anything else is new. It appears that he doesn’t have far to look.

Each physical item in the house is right where he remembered it should be, the energy of the place is not off, but somehow it’s all wrong; and the grogginess... is he really awake at this point? Miles believes this place he now perceives is like a holographic image projected from his own photographic memories of the reality he is familiar with. Bizarre. Right as the thought comes to him, which brings him to see this place differently, this projection appears less and less vivid. All this seems to be happening in his head. Remembering what he’s learnt on the subject, Miles considered a possibility that he’s now stuck in a mental concoction of his home out of information carried in a loose piece of energy; this could happen when lots of energy from a universe is loose and rearranging into a new balance, Miles knows that events like this never happens unprovoked. He also knows that he’ll be more and more disoriented if he doesn’t snap out of whatever this is right away.

The feeling of being lost in a debatable state didn’t last too long. The sound of something pushing its way through the wall caught Miles’s attention. There’s water again, pushing out from the ground and flowing erratically throughout the house. Awake or asleep, it is clear to Miles that this isn’t just part of his bday dreams anymore, all this is some sort of vision, it’s as if his mind’s been trying to confirm something with himself, unknowingly leaving a clue—water, why all this water? With absolutely no time to loose, Miles has to figure out what caused his home universe to lose it’s former harmony and fix the problem.

To do that, he needs a vantage point to set his foot down and examine the situation, and fortunately he’s always had one. He just needs to visit the Junction to check things out—that’s his own up-to-date mental image of universes and such, therefore the perfect vantage point for him. Miles’s Junction is a train station, and his home universe is represented as a train stopped at one of the boarding platforms. Major parts of the train are falling apart rather quickly and contorted into a bare dark branch growing into other carriages. It is all crystal clear to him once he discovers this, therefore this deduction is made: a new plane has grown from this universe, a cancerous plane, relentlessly consuming everything it’s rooted on, if it’s not stopped it will pry loose and take away all the energy this universe needed for itself to exist: this universe will disappear; without this universe the overcharged cancer will then blow apart or get planted onto another unsuspecting universe and continue it’s destruction. Whoever planted this plane clearly knows what they’re doing and must have a foolproof plan (they must have thought of everything in order to not be stopped ahead of time). What exactly is their end goal? Why target his home universe? Miles decides the best course of action is to go to said plane and work from the inside out, once this is done there’ll be plenty of chances to get everything else back on track.

With his fingers crossed, Miles boards the train through the cracks of the branch, and he freezes for a sec as he arrived at the plane, stunned by the sight. There it stands, a growing tree—the cancer draining all that energy away.

Surely, Miles has expected retaliation as he knows for sure he’ll be spotted instantly once he entered the plane (part of the foolproof plan by whoever built this plane). The tree branches started to grow a lot faster, taking up space with a surprising pace. Miles establishes a forcefield to blast away branches growing towards him, but that’s obviously not a lasting plan, not that he would eventually cave in once there’s no space left and get crushed (trust me he wouldn’t), but more because this plane will be draining up energy much faster to combat him. Hmm. Not a problem, he thinks to himself, just have to wrap it up right now before this escalates any further. Drawing out the stolen energy from the tree and returning it to the universe does the trick nicely, soon this nightmare plant is no longer able to support its already grown branches and crumbles into pieces. “Problem solved.” Miles nods, “though I have to admit the person who planted and developed this plane did a pretty impressive job, all that wouldn’t have been easy.”

Hold on, what’s going down there? Mixed in with the crashing branches is what appears to be a dark humanoid figure. Miles sees this and rushes over to check it out. He makes it just in time to catch this figure he’s seen—surprise, surprise, emerging from the dark tree sap is a young woman, she had been cramped inside a branch all along. Miles recognizes her instantly, this is the girl from his dreams, but she definitely looks older than that version of herself. An odd plum flower is rooted into her skin, and by the looks of it possibly deep into her skull. That’s probably the reason why she’s unconscious. Miles lays her down onto a broken off branch to inspect the flower.

Except this is not a flower!

It’s in fact a rare single use artifact that customizes itself to its victim, it grants full control of one’s mind as long as needed and no one affected is able to get it off by themselves up until now. The victim will also be very worn down. Whoever’s got their hands on one of these would not want to waste its power, it is rumored that one of these artifacts can be passed down through generations without being used just because of the lack of a suitable target. Apparently the “plum tree”—the cancerous plane came to exist because of her; she appears uncommonly lively after this ordeal too. At this point Miles had a choice to make, either pull the “plum flower” out or leave it there. Needless to say whoever used this young woman to build the plane would do harm, but she is a force to be reckoned with herself, her identity is still a mystery for now, she could be evil.

A gut instinct keeps telling him that freeing her is a priority, as long as the artifact is still attached to her, she might be forced to carry on with the mission to destroy. On top of that, Miles starts thinking long and hard on his bday dreams. It feels that not only does he know her from somewhere but he was quite close to her as well. Deep down he trusts her somehow, he cannot explain it but he does.

Hesitantly, Miles yanks off the flower from her forehead, and right after he does, she opens her eyes.

[trtledove-blog]

meg, in the other boat, was delightfully situated, face to face with the rowers, who both admired the prospect and feathered their oars with uncommon “skill and dexterity.” mr. brooke was a grave, silent young man, with handsome brown eyes and a pleasant voice. meg liked his quiet manners, and considered him a walking encyclopedia of useful knowledge. he never talked to her much; but he looked at her a good deal, and she felt sure he did not regard her with aversion

[contractual-archive]

"Five times laughed."

Five times….. (accepting) 

One.

“Hans?” Meg called out, doing circles to find him amongst her surroundings. When had asked her to meet him in the rose garden, she hadn’t expected to be the first one to arrive. Usually, he was there waiting for her with some sort of surprise. So having to wait on him didn’t sit right with her.  Moreso when she had heard noises coming from the rosebushes.  Meg started progressing further into the garden to get away from the noise.  Carefully she stepped behind her keeping her eyes glued on the spot where the noise was coming from. 

  The noise stopped and so did she.  Suddenly the silence was eerie. Which contributed to why she almost jumped out of her skin when she felt hands on her sides and was lifted into the air, even if it wasn’t that high, she was still a firm believer in the fact that her feet belonged on the ground. Her hands raced to grip on to the wrists of the person holding her to tear them away–and then he chuckled. “Why Megara, what’s the matter? You seem a little startled.” He asked, doing little to hide the smugness in his tone. “Zeus’ sake!” she cursed, letting out a sigh of relief at the fact that this wasn’t a situation with ill intent –and that her feet were again on the ground. His hands squeezed her sides before letting go but she was quick to grab them so she could pull him close and wrap his arms around her.  “Okay Mr. X-I-I-I,” she cooed, letting a laugh tickle her throat. “You’ve had your fun, now it’s my turn.” One hand reached behind her to scratch delicately under his chin. 

  ______________

Two.

   The room rumbled and buzzed with the sound of chatter that echoed off the wall as party guests mingled.  The room was filled with stuffed shirts, typical for a celebration hosted by the Westergaards. Meg stood in the corner and observed them.  As hard as she tried. she had difficulty in these types of situations. She couldn’t keep up with the conversations that people often initiated.  Talking about their personal estates. Boasting about things that meant very little to her. Meg was really terrible at being a royal. Material items meant nothing to her. Then again, in her homeland, it didn’t really matter how nice possessions were–you were lucky to wake up in the morning. 

  –Was that wine she smelled? She looked down to see a full glass being swirled around under her nose.  She accepted the glass and her eyes followed the arm like a trail that would lead her gaze to the person offering the wine to her. He’d snuck up on her–he was good at that. She nodded at him as a non-verbal token of thanks. Her elbow lifted and tapped against his side. “Get a load of that couple over there.” She said, gesturing with her chin. “They look like they are having a riveting conversation, don’t they?”  She asked over the rim of her glass.  Hans hummed in agreement. “They’re probably comparing the palace with theirs.” He mused dryly.  A smirk took hold of Meg’s lips. “ ‘I do say, Allistar, this ballroom is rather marvellous.’ ”  She did her best to mimic what she thought the woman’s voice sounded like. “ ‘Simply splendid, Prudence! However, I do believe it would be more marvellous if they had a chandelier like ours.’ ”  He joined in.    

   She laughed under her breath as she sipped from her glass. “Okay, what about those two over there?” He looked to see two gentlemen chatting. Both appeared to be around the same age as his eldest brother.  “That’s easy, they’re probably discussing how lucky the world is for their existence. That or they are swapping stories of mistresses they take on when their wives aren’t looking.” Meg got quiet and stared at him with a blank expression. He was going to ask what was wrong but as he opened his mouth he remembered–her past.

     He laughed nervously “–Though I’m certain neither of them happen to be fortunate enough to have wives that are as radiant and wonderful as you.” The smile that spread her lips was instant, as was the blush that coloured her cheeks. Giggling with delight, she gently pushed his shoulder with her palm. “Nice save, you big ox!”  She teased, though her words had a hint of fondness in them.

______________

Three.

   She’d been waiting for this since he’d told her about it. It had been so long since she had last had the opportunity to enjoy a good play. It meant a lot to her that he had pulled the strings needed to make this happen. She found herself in complete awe the entire first act. So much so that she didn’t really notice her surroundings. The stage and what was on it was the only thing that mattered right now.  That was– until Hans tapped her shoulder, instantly receiving her attention. 

  She expected him to whisper something in her ear but what she got was what she thought would have been the least likely outcome. Hans looked like he was ready to crawl out of his own skin because the person in the seat next to him had fallen asleep and was leaning against him, pinning him to his seat. “Help!” he whispered. “Okay, hold still.” She leaned across the seat to gently ease the stranger back into their own seat. She let go a second too soon and they fell back over, this time in Hans’ lap. Meg shot out a laugh. “Let’s try this again…” her hand rested on the man’s shoulder to nudge him awake. “Excuse me, sir, I think this is my date you’re snoozin’ on.” 

  The man woke up, once realizing what had happened he shot straight up in his seat. She assumed it was embarrassment that caused him to get out of his chair and walk away.  Meg looked back over at Hans once the man had gone and as soon as their eyes met they threw their heads back to howl with laughter. 

______________

Four.

   Nights like these were common for Meg. Sleep evaded her–mind too busy being consumed with horrific images that her time in the Underworld had burned into her brain. Thankfully though, this time she didn’t have to be alone.  Hans was there with her. At first, he had just stared at her–an observest person could note that he was trying to assess the situation before trying to do anything. 

   Eventually, he placed his hands on her shoulders and eased her onto the bed. “I’d fight him for you if you wanted me too. Just say the word and I’d lead an entire army to his front door.” there was silence as they both wondered if he actually meant that or if it was just something he was saying to make her feel better.  “It wouldn’t do any good. You couldn’t defeat him. He’s a god.” Her tone had little emotion in it.   “Well, what if I were to tell you that I happen to know a guy–at least I think he’s a guy.”

   Her brows furrowed, prompting him to further elaborate. “You see, there’s an abandoned dungeon down the hall. I made a wrong turn once and discovered that there is a skeleton there. Over the years I made that wrong turn so often I eventually named him: his name is Bartholomew Bones. I’m sure he'd be willing to help if I needed a favour.” Okay, now that was said just to cheer her up. And it worked.  The mental image of him befriending a decaying pile of bones amused her. “Oh, why didn’t you say that sooner? That changes everything.”  She leaned into him with her forehead nestled into his neck as laughter bubbled up and chased away any images of terror that had previously clouded her mind.

______________

Five. (mildly suggestive)

    Words could not describe the euphoric feeling that had washed over her. That’s why she laid there, a grin on her face and her teeth sunk into her bottom lip. Her toes curled, back arched and she giggled with delight. It sounded different than a regular laugh as if someone had said something funny. This was a laugh that was the product of being so profoundly happy that her body didn’t know how else to express it. 

     Hans was plopped down beside her, catching his breathing while he looked at her with mild concern.“Everything okay over there?”   She nodded. “Yes…wow. That one kept going. I thought it was over but nope. It’s done now, I’m good.”  Hans grinned, taking pride in the fact that she was having such a positive reaction to their passionate exchange. “I could do it again…”  He offered  “I’d love to but I honestly don’t think I could handle it right now, I need a minute.” He chuckled, allowing his grin to grow wider.  Megara scooted closer to him until there was little space between them. She rested her forehead on his chest. All she wanted now was to relish in this moment. 

@princeofthesouthernisles

[kimwexlers-brownhair]

Yellow Rose, Chapter 59

A/N: Holy crap, next chapter's the epilogue, then I'm done! I can't believe it! Love to you all.

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/10695372/59/Yellow-Rose

Erik walked solemnly down the beach for what was left of the night. He moved with the slow gravity of a lone mourner leading a funeral procession of one. From a distance, all that could be observed of him was a dark, lean silhouette against the black sky and sea; that, and the porcelain sheen off his mask. As the night darkened, his figure became so obscure it was as if the mask were disembodied, floating in the sky above the waves like an errant crescent moon.

He heard Christine singing, her voice floating in from the waves and wind. Her voice lingered in his mind, in his heart. As it always would.

Yet louder, clearer, were images of Meg: humming to herself while sewing, tapping her foot impatiently backstage, yawning like a kitten in the morning.

"Meg is in love with you."

He shuddered.

Some twisted part of his heart recoiled: who could love him? What horrible flaw must such a person possess to see anything worth loving in him?

He'd yearned for love, killed for it, yet now that there was a slight but still very real chance it was within his grasp –

He winced away as if from a flame.

He tried to calm himself. Reasoned with himself.

Christine might have misled him, hoping to channel his adoration elsewhere. Or she'd guessed wrongly.

Yet the steady look in her eyes was confident, sure…once there was all doubt and wonder there, but no more. Now she knows what she says is true.

Meg.

All at once the dark figure walking the beach hunched over, his hand on his chest. He felt bile rise in his throat – not bile of disgust, but of something too enormous to take in, too fragile in its immensity, too unbelievable –

He panted.

Meg.

The breeze picked up. It battered against him, and he felt the cold lick of the tide lash at his foot.

What did he want?

Did he want her love?

He desired Meg, obsessively. This he now faced squarely. There was no use denying it, when he had – here he winced again – kissed her five years past. He'd hoped the feelings would fade over the years, particularly amidst the busy chaos of their new uprooted lives.

They had not, but slowly they had changed: the leap of passion was sweetened by a companionable fondness, an all-encompassing warmth reserved for those who know us truly.

Meg knew him truly. And Christine thought she loved him, all the same.

He….

He wanted her to love him.

To be loved by her…to love Meg….

Another great shudder and he turned his face sharply away, as if the sun and not the moon blazed down into his eyes.

There was still, coiled wickedly around his heart, the snake of who he once was. The mad ghost, the Phantom, who like a spoiled child wanted his original fantasy to still satisfy him: Christine Daae as his eternal underground siren. All these years later, it still stung that his muse had turned away from his labyrinth into the sunlight outside, into the life of a happy viscountess.

He's secretly taken pride in his steadfast devotion in the face of Christine's rejection. He wanted to maintain a purity that separated himself from the rest of humanity, so that it would not just be his face that did so. If he could not become a dashing Don Juan who enthralled his lady, he would instead become a sorrowing Werther, or a grief-mad Heathcliff: forever faithful to his love, even as that love turned him away.

How could the Phantom settle for anything less than a grand ending, whether happy or sad? He was no mere man. He could not live a normal life, so he must live a sweeping fantasy instead: his operas brought to life.

But Meg Giry skipped in and trampled all over those high-flung dreams with her delicate toe shoes.

Meg Giry, with the hated sunlight in her hair. Meg Giry, with the hard, inescapable truth in her dazzling, straightforward eyes. Meg Giry, with the high, thin voice of a sparrow, prattling away quickly about this, that, and everything under that hated, hated sun.

Meg Giry and her kindness. Hers was a devotion truer indeed than Erik's, because it sprang from a genuine font of love for those around her, not a desire to isolate herself in her goodness.

Meg Giry who looked at him as no one ever had. Unblinking, unafraid.

Could she truly love him?

The more time that passed from his interview with Christine, the more ridiculous the notion became. Bitterness was quickly displacing hope.

After all, what did Meg Giry know about love?

Love was unending, it conquered. Could Meg be conquered? By him?

No.

No, Meg could not be conquered.

Because behind the prattling, the dancing, the insatiable curiosity, the deep well of compassion, was a heart of steel. This steel shot out of her pale emerald eyes with inescapable brightness. A murderous opera ghost, arrest, espionage, exile – none of it tarnished that steel in her. She'd grown from these experiences, learned from them, but that brilliant steel would always keep her upright. Keep her true.

He knew now that regardless of his presence, Meg would have starred in the own play of her life. She did not need him for that. She had herself to guide her.

Her life was hers, and hers alone.

Could there be any place for him in the story of her life?

He remembered the envelope hidden in his desk in his room.

With an even stormier frame of mind than when he first started his long journey down the beach, he finally headed toward home.

He did not sleep. He sat staring at the envelope, where printed was a name he hadn't seen or truly thought of in years.

His fingers absently traced this name.

His head buzzed, his eyes stung, his heart burned.

He felt resigned, but to what, he did not know.

Eventually he felt the sun sneak in through the curtain. He was still officially a butler of sorts to the Giry women, at least as far the public was concerned – which viewed him more as a jack-of-all-trades secretary than anything else. And so he lived in a room smaller than the ladies, as befit a servant. When Meg and her mother protested, he waved them off indifferently. He who once slept in a coffin was not prone to care much about his sleeping place.

At last he heard the city outside start to rustle to life. Streetcar bells rang out, and he heard the clink of the milk man's bottles.

It was still early when he heard a knock on the front door. Erik frowned. He stood, but stopped as he heard the quick patter of feet outside. Meg.

He put his ear to the door and heard a muffled male voice say "Important letter from Comptesse de Chagny". A murmured thanks from Meg, then the door shut again.

A few moments passed. Then she squealed.

All at once a rapid knock on his own door. He answered and Meg flew in.

She was still in her mint green dressing gown, and her hair was half up in rags. "Erik…Erik!" Tears rimmed her eyes, but she wore an ecstatic smile. She held up a slip of paper. "Read it!" She was as beautiful as the sunrise.

Without a word, without anything in his face, Erik took it and read the hasty missive.

"I was going to wait until after the show to tell you, but I can't keep it in! Raoul just received word from his superiors: you all are allowed back in Paris! You see, Meg, Raoul learned from his chief that it was you who told the commissioner to give Raoul a chance in Sweden - and he learned that was because you were working for the police. Well, Raoul knew the least he could do is try to bring you home. He and a few of his detectives looked into the case, and found a loophole: since that man Hermes Verron has fled with all evidence against him and his associates, there's nothing left to accuse you with. All Raoul needed was permission from your fellow officers in the secret police, and they gave it! We're waiting for official word now, but you're coming home, Meg!

Yours so very happily,

Christine"

Meg shook Erik by the arms, laughing. "Can you believe it? Raoul is such a good man. I knew I made a right move telling Darius about him soon after we joined the force! Well, aren't you going to say anything? We're going home! We're going home!"

She peered hard at him. His half face – he was wearing the old mask again! – was empty of all emotion. "What's wrong? I…I know Paris doesn't hold all the good memories for you that it does for me, but it was your home all those years, just as it was mine! Aren't you the least bit excited?"

The way he treasured the pressure her warm, small hand gave his revealed to him, once and for all, the depths of his feeling for her.

He took a great, long sigh, and Meg followed it with every beat of her heart. "Erik?"

He laughed gently, gazing dreamily at the note. "It is a fine thing, Meg. I wish you much happiness. But when I return, it shall not be with you."

She froze. "…What?"

He presented her with a letter of his own. It was addressed to Baron Eric de Castelot-Barbezac. "I'll save you the trouble and tell you what's inside." He sat on his bed and stared ahead of him, his wrinkled suit that he hadn't changed out of incongruous to his serene, elegant posture.

"Stephen Marcus tracked down my origins, apparently. I grew up in Reims. My father was a wealthy baron, who died hurrying home during a thunder storm after a hunting trip. He was hurrying home because my mother was in labor with me. When she saw my face, then heard of my father's fate, she declared I was the devil's child, not hers. This attitude was shared in a more ferocious, violent vein by my older brother, Tristan. He…he was the reason I left at age eight. I never saw him or my mother again; I never thought to hear of them again, either. But then…."

He gestured to the letter in Meg's hand.

Meg read. In a quiet voice she said, "Tristan is dead, Marcus says. Drank himself to death. You're…you're the heir to your family title, now. And the estate."

Erik laughed again. "If you read further, you'll see that apparently my late mother spread the rumor I'd been abroad all this time, sequestered in a monastery to pay for my sins. However, as there's no proof anywhere that this is so, the property is still mine, per the will Father made when he was sure he'd have another strapping son." He raised his eyebrows. "At first, I thought I'd ignore all this, just as I ignored my family in life. After all, I didn't think I could ever go back to France." He looked at her pointedly.

Meg licked her lips. Her world was spinning a bit. "But now…now you can go back."

"Now I can." He stood slowly and turned his back to her, staring through his gauzy curtains to the early sun outside. "I can have a domain all my own again. Isolated. Protected. I can retire in peace."

Meg let the letter fall to the floor. "Retire?" Her nose wrinkled at the idea. Why…why would anyone want to retire? When there was still so much to experience, to achieve? Erik had a reputation in the theater now, he could take that to Paris and…and….

But what else was it hammering away in her chest, until the tears filling her eyes now were quite different from the happy ones she'd entered with?

"You can't retire, Erik! You can't isolate yourself again! You just can't!"

He whipped around, and there was a violent panther staring out of his eyes. "Can't I? Tell me, what else do you see me doing with the rest of my days, eh?"

"You can do anything! You can compose, teach" –

"Why? Why not simply retire and compose in private?" He shrugged with brutal callousness. "What difference does it make?"

She said nothing, just stared at him as if she'd been struck by lightning.

Life without Erik...

This was unfathomable to her now. She had her own life, her own goals and dreams, but...there would be an emptiness there, without him.

An emptiness that caused her pain just contemplating.

His eyes narrowed and he was somehow almost nose to nose with her. "Meg? Does it make a difference?" His voice was low, penetrating.

Meg tried speaking twice before actual sound came out. "It…it makes a difference, Erik."

"How?" His voice was sharp.

She closed her eyes and bowed her head. "It makes a difference to me."

The tears rolled freely down her cheeks.

A gentle hand lifted her chin. She braved opening her eyes.

The violence was gone, and in its place deep, overwhelming warmth. "Meg…."

His dear half face, the dear mismatched eyes, and that voice! – Soothing and rich and unlike any other mortal's on earth….

"I love you, Erik," she said.

The steel shone proudly out of her tear-filled eyes.

She hadn't intended on saying that. It rushed out in a burbling brook of panic. However, a great weight seemed to lift from her heart. She was glad she'd said it. She had known this was so, all this time, without knowing.

She loved him. She loved him, she loved him. And now he knew.

"There." She wiped away her tears with a childish gesture that tore at his heart. "That's why it makes a difference."

He was still, like a statue touched by fire. His eyes never left hers, and she couldn't read the storm there.

All at once she was pulled into his arms and his mouth was on hers again, after all these years. She yielded gladly. The warmth of his lips against hers, his arms squeezing her to him as though she were his only raft on a lonely sea, turned her tears glad again. She playfully pushed away his mask, so she could kiss him unobstructed. She ran her fingers into his scant hair. She loved that scant hair, and she loved the crevices she felt, then the smoothness of the unblemished side of his face.

At last they broke apart for air.

A solemnity as old as time itself poured out of his revering eyes. "And I love you, my little Meg."

She closed her eyes and smiled, and in a sleepy gesture rest her head against his chest. "You love me. You love me." She repeated this like a healing spell.

She, little Meg, was loved. By him.

His hand stroke her back as if she were a precious child entrusted in his care. "Can such a thing be true, my Meg? That we both love each other so much? I…I thought such a thing was available to me only in my dreams."

"Well, that's always been your problem, if you ask me," answered her sweet piquant voice. "You've always lived too much in your dreams, and missed what was right there in front of you."

He chuckled and kissed her wild hair. "I've never missed seeing you, Meg. It's impossible to miss a lone firefly at night."

He hugged her fiercely to his chest, and they stood there that way for the rest of the morning, rocking silently as the sun rose in the sky.

[bloodandcream]

Title: as you are Pairing: CastielxMegxRuby Rating: General Wordcount: 2,381 Notes: I cannot find the original tumblr post but this is a complete rip-off of the suggestion that asexuals are immune to sirens and the subsequent rebuke that maybe sirens lure asexuals with songs about food because it’s just about what your heart desires most right, so ya, Ace Cas and Sirens Meg and Ruby Square: Mermaids/Selkies Aus (or sirens? Sirens are good too right… aquatic monster au?)

-

They could feel it in the depths long before it came, disturbing the tides as it steered through the waters. They could feel the slap of oars rippling through the waters and it called them to the surface. Several staid below, to lay in wait, and several breached the churning frothy water that beat around the dangerous rocks of the small island’s eastward cliffs. The scattering of clouds moving across the sky overhead provided erratic shade, but even a little sun was harsh to delicate pale skin.

Tossing matted braids over her shoulder, Meg heaved herself up onto one of the coarse jagged rocks, minding the delicate webbing between her fingers, wrapping her powerful scaled tail around it to lift up onto a perch where she could sprawl, breasts bared to the wind as she turned towards the approaching dot on the horizon.

Men were coming in their long wooden vessels that skimmed over waters they had no business invading.

The sirens next meal was coming.

On the rocks around her, Abaddon and Ruby and Lilith spread themselves like offerings to tempt the sailors. As one voice, their lullaby rose to drift across the winds and pull the men closer by the strings of their hearts.

Meg had been human once, although it was distant now, as if seen through the distortions of thick sea glass. But she remembered some things, she knew what the men heard in their voices. Their siren’s songs were only gentle suggestions, promises that they offered to pluck at what was desired most. Meg knew what men desired of her.

Sirens were born of violent death and the immortality of spite, after all.

As the vessel approached, their voices swelled and grew frenzied, tails beating the white-capped waves crashing against the rocks, hands lifted to reach out to the men and beg them closer.

-

It was a known fact of legend that these waters were infested with mermaids and sirens and selkies and all manner of nasty water monsters eager to lure sailors to their deaths. That is why Castiel was the one chosen to stand watch while the other men plugged their ears with wax and kept their eyes on the oars they worked.

There was wealth in trade and treasure waiting for them, if Castiel could steer the ship through these dangerous waters.

He was confident, and trusted by his men, that the siren song would not affect him. For the tales spread by what few lucky men had escaped disaster - if such tales were to be believed - told of lovely women, bare in the sunlight and clinging to rocks begging for help, who would offer themselves and promises of carnal pleasure, only for the lusts of men to be dashed to pieces against the rocks along with their ships and their bodies.

Castiel was not, however, susceptible to the lures of women, or of anyone for that matter.

It was only the wind, he thought, those first strains of a gentle lullaby, ethereal and sweet that drifted like lazy clouds over the boat. He was merely curious, for there was only a lovely song on the wind. Soon enough, he could see a small island, the curve of a cliff face impossible to approach safely.

Images began to form in his mind, scenes as if from a lively play where he was the only audience in the amphitheatre and the show was entirely for him. It was distracting, certainly, and his natural inclination to sate his curiously was a dangerous thing, but he couldn’t help warily letting the ship drift closer.

The rowers had stopped rowing, listless at their posts. The tides carried the ship forward.

Tearing himself away from the fast approaching sight of uncivil women lain across the rocks, the sharp teeth in their mouths and mossy-dark scales of their tales apparent to Castiel’s gaze as it avoided their bared chests, he moved swiftly from his watch-perch to shake a few rowers from their stupor.

Maybe they were not as clever as they thought, to plug their ears.

-

Meg squinted at the narrow, long ship that drifted towards the cliffs. It did not come in fast and blind, as most did, to crash on the rocks and offer it’s men for meat. There was someone moving frantically on board, and she could just make out rows of men swaying at their oars while the dark haired one ran around trying to call them to action, before he gave up and darted to the front of the ship, hanging off and squinting across the waters at Meg and her sisters.

“What by the skies above is that human doing?”

Abaddon sounded irritated.

“They’re just… drifting.”

Ruby sounded confused.

Meg was both.

She considered diving back into the waters to call the rest of their pod into moving out and tearing the ship apart by their own hands, when a deep voice called out to them.

“You can’t possibly have any lamb stew! Are there even sheep on this island? You’ve got fishes tails instead of legs, you haven’t got any stew!”

The four sirens blinked and looked between them. Meg shrugged her shoulders and slipped into the water, weaving through the currents to the side of the boat. Surging upward, she grabbed the lip of the rail and heaved, hanging half over it and finding a very startled man with eyes as blue as the sky staring at her.

“Stew?” She asked.

“You, you kept promising the best lamb stew I’ve ever tasted, and after so many months at sea with only dried jerky and stale bread, I am not ashamed to admit it was a little tempting.”

He was an attractive man, and Meg certainly wouldn’t mind making a toy of him, before eating him.

“But you could have anything you like of us, you need only come a little closer. My sisters, you see, they cannot swim as well as I. You must come closer, and we will give you more pleasure than you have had in your entire life.”

Lifting up on strong arms, keeping her sharp teeth hidden behind her lips and her tail below the rail, Meg leaned into his space and reached for him.

“I. Uh. No, thank you, that’s very kind of you. But we might have something to trade for food, if you have some?”

“Are you serious?”

“I’m not really interested in… that. That other thing you offered.”

“Is it… men you like? We have brothers, as well, hair like spun gold and mouths that will make you weep, you will want for nothing.”

It was a lie, they had no brothers.

“I, no. Listen, do you have any food or not? This doesn’t seem like a safe place to put in to land, we really should be moving on, I think.”

Meg pouted. She might not get what she wanted out of him, but he was strange and she desired his company. A ‘no’ simply wouldn’t do.

“We can give you fish, and oysters, there are delicious plants that grow in the depths we can offer. Come closer, come let us take care of your men.”

“Oh.” He startled and looked back at the rest of the men, some stirring at their oars and blinking confusedly. “I, that’s right, this isn’t a good idea at all.”

Reaching out to him, Meg grasped his arm and tugged, she’d pull him overboard if she had to. Just one man wouldn’t make a meal for all of them, but she desired him.

“Come with me.”

A hand clapped around her wrist and held her firmly.

“Hold on. Why don’t I take my ship around the island and look for a safe place to land, if you can promise you won’t hurt my men.”

Meg stared at him, mouth open, unable to think of anything at all to say.

“I don’t know if anyone has traded with mermaids before, I’m sure we could both profit from this.”

“We’re sirens, not mermaids.”

“Oh. The tails, I just thought...”

“Why are you immune to our song, anyway? Maybe you are not a man yourself.”

“I am a man! I told you, I simply do not… lust for the things you offer.”

“But you want food from us?”

“Gods above and below, yes.”

---

They could feel it in the depths long before it came, disturbing the tides as it steered through the waters. They could feel the slap of oars rippling through the waters and it called them to the surface.

As Meg breached the surface, she raised a hand to shield her eyes from the sun and peered at the approaching ship. There was a bright white flag hung from it’s rail that fluttered in the wind.

Just on time.

Castiel was a punctual one.

Diving, she called all her sisters to come to the surface. This would not be a fight and feast sort of day. These humans traded. They bartered. If the sirens did not hurt them, then the men were perfectly happy to pass along strange things like sharp forged sticks that were very useful and netted materials that could catch many fish at once, and in exchange the sirens brought them food.

Apparently, it was a long and arduous journey across the waters and food meant much to them.

Swimming around the island to a safer stretch of sandy beaches, the sirens heaved their goods to the shores, some grumbling about the sand getting under their scales, the lack of shade, but Castiel and his men were soon there, bringing shiny baubles and lovely things and dangerous useful things as well as the stammering flirtations some of the men dared to offer.

Meg and Ruby had gathered the tender sweet plants from the depths and the crabs that scuttled in the shallows that they knew Castiel favored, and waited for him a ways from the rest of the group.

“He’s so weird, look at his feet, that must awkward having to walk everywhere like that.” Ruby said.

Meg slapped her tail against the sand, sitting coiled on it in the shallows, sun warmed water lapping up to her belly as the waves rolled.

“It’s funny how their genitals sway between their legs, isn’t it. I liked those tight pants he wore last time.”

Ruby burst into laughter, falling backward across Meg’s lap.

Ruby was her favorite of all their sisters, and although they all shared each other and shared with each other, everyone had favorites.

“Hello.” Was the simple greeting Castiel gave, as he sat down next to them.

Ruby slid off Meg’s lap and curled around Castiel to close him in between them. He didn’t seem to mind at all.

“Here,” Meg dropped the bundle of food in Castiel’s lap, a wet leafy mess.

“Thank you. I have something you might like. Something new.”

“Something new?” Ruby parroted.

Untying a little satchel of goodies, Castiel pulled out a long wooden handle that had many fine teeth.

“Turn around, may I touch your hair?”

Ruby smiled and turned her back to him, leaning against Castiel, sighing with an exaggerated pleasure as he started to work his fingers through her hair, untangling knots and undoing braids. The object he carried looked almost like the bone picks they used to manage their hair, but it was smaller and finer.

Meg watched intently as Castiel worked through the long dark mess of Ruby’s hair, dragging the thing through it again and again and again, then twisted her hair with deft fingers to create a weave of beautiful braids.

“That’s pretty nice handiwork, for a man.” Meg told him.

“Thank you, should I do yours as well?”

“You could get your hands a lot more than my hair if you wanted.”

“Just the hair is fine.”

Twisting around on her tail and leaning against Castiel, Meg closed her eyes to the brightness of the sun and relaxed into the simple, innocent pleasure of Castiel’s fingers and his strange tooth-tool working through her rough hair.

Ruby’s long nails tickled over her belly, and Meg opened her eyes to see her sister draped across Castiel’s lap, tail still twined behind him, bringing her face to rest on the tender spot where skin turned to scale on Meg’s stomach. Ruby had eyes as light and golden as the sun, the better to see with in the deep, shimmering as she pressed a kiss to Meg’s stomach.

“Do we get to keep that pick?” Ruby asked.

“The comb?”

Castiel paused his work, fingers sinking through Meg’s hair to massage her scalp and oh it made the same shivery sensation ripple down her spine into her tail that a fun toy or a good meal could, but he was gentle and sweet and undemanding. How strange.

“It’s called a comb?” Ruby curled an arm around Meg’s waist, Castiel thoroughly trapped between their tails.

“Yes. It’s not a very fancy one, but if you like it, I could bring you more. There are different kinds.”

“Bring me a shiny one,” Meg told him.

It would be seasons before they saw the humans again, but Castiel always held true to his word and brought what was requested.

“I can do that,” he murmured, distracted, tugging at strands of her hair and weaving them into something complicated.

“I wonder if we could find a lamb for you.”

Meg wasn’t entirely sure what a lamb was. She didn’t remember much from being a human, vague emotions and angers, she couldn’t remember what it was like to walk on two legs. Or what, exactly a lamb was. But the contented ease of trust between her, her sister, and Castiel, it felt like something long missing or buried in murky sands.

“Ah, you don’t need to do that. I like the fish you catch.”

“Would a fish stew be good?”

Castiel paused in consideration, “Do you even have anything to cook with?”

Ruby rolled her eyes, “How hard can it be?”

“Don’t worry yourselves about it,” Castiel said, resuming the soothing repetitions of his fingers pulling Meg’s hair this way and that. “I like things just as they are.”

Meg was startled to realize that despite the things she thought she wanted from him, that yes, yes she did like things just as they were.

[joandfriedrich]

Your Smile: A Valentine Story

It didn’t matter where anyone was, Jo realized, be it in Concord or New York, everyone loses their minds over Valentine’s Day. 

Many of the college students made plans to go out, the children were making valentine cards for their classes as well as the borders. Even Friedrich had the holiday on his mind.

The day before the fateful holiday, Friedrich were with the boys and girls in the dining room, helping them make the valentines when Jo came in to help out. The kids seemed very excited at the idea of going to school the next day, and when they left, Friedrich and Jo stayed behind to clean up. 

“And you Jo,” started Friedrich, “what shall you be doing for Valentine’s Day?”

Jo shrugged, “Not much.”

“Did you not celebrate it at your home?”

“Our parents would always leave a card and a box of our favorite candy for us and then we would give each other cards we made for each other. But, that is the extent of my valentine knowledge.”

Friedrich looked at her surprised. “Really? Nothing from the boys or girls from school?”

She shook her head, letting out a chuckle, “No. That was never for me, but for girls like Meg.”

“What do you mean?”

Pausing from her work, she looked at Friedrich and explained,“Take the four of us girls; if Amy got a valentine, she’d go, ‘That’s nice, but you are not the popular guy, so no’. For her, it has to be the best or nothing at all. Beth is the girl that friends will give her cards, and if that one nice boy gave her a valentine, she freaks because she can’t believe that someone would actually like her. And then there’s Meg. She’s the kind of girl who gets flowers at the age of eleven and in abundance.”

“And you?”

Jo sighed, “And me? I am that girl who gets nothing. No flowers, no cards, nada. And it doesn’t matter.”

Friedrich watched as she went back to making cards and he, seeing how it seemed to actually bother her, asked, “Doesn’t it?”

She shrugged again. “In those developing years it really hurt. Those times where your body was changing, your self esteem was low, that intense need to be told by someone that was not a family member tell you that you were special. But, one day I decided that I would not care. So what if I hadn’t felt anything for the past eleven years.”

She stopped, bit her lip and looked at Friedrich. “Sometimes, I wonder, could I love, or even be loved? Would I even know how it feels when it comes around? I can’t imagine what it really feels like to be in love like that.”

He wanted to tell her that someone did love her, more than she could ever know, but he refrained from that, but he openly admitted, “Love is beautiful. It makes you feel beautiful, even when you have felt ugly for so long. It makes you want to do beautiful things for the one you love. And although you want to be loved by them, you’d do anything, even sacrifice your own happiness, to be graced with the most beautiful thing you could ever hope to see, their smile.”

It wasn’t often that she saw the romantic side of Friedrich but when she did, it entranced her in a way that she never been entranced before.

“Wow, sounds like you know the feeling.”

Friedrich shyly smiled, running his hand through his hair, he diverted, “So, what do you plan to do? Besides nothing?”

“Well, I am in New York City after all. I’ll probably treat myself, get some writing done, an get some pizza while watching some good old classic movie musical. Afterwards, call home and hear their voices again. You?”

Following him into the kitchen where he was dumping the garbage he explained, “I take the boys to dinner, then a movie, and we get ice cream as we sit in the park. I think it is important to teach that Valentine’s day is not only about romantic love.”

Jo wished that more people thought like he did.

It was not as bad as Jo had feared. The weather was wonderful so she had spent most of her time in Central Park, writing, reading, just enjoying the peaceful day, not at all concerned with the lovers who came to the park. She returned to the boarding house after getting herself a box of pizza, lucky to slip by Mrs. Kirke, who would have no doubt tried to question her endlessly about her and her Valentine’s day. 

The first thing saw when she entered her room was the vase of roses on her desk. There were pink and yellow roses, but right in the middle was a red rose. Finding the card against the vase, she opened it and read, “Eleven roses for all those missing years, and one for what I hope may be the first of many. The Happiest Valentine’s Day to a wonderful woman. Friedrich.”

This was perhaps the sweetest thing anyone had ever done for her, and she wondered how she could ever repay him. Then, pulling out her phone she looked up something and then hurried down the stairs. Running into Mrs. Kirke she asked if Friedrich was home, grateful to hear that he was till out. She hurried to the kitchen and started to work.

Friedrich came home, Emil asleep in his arms and Franz holding his hand, nearly asleep. Helping them into bed, he kissed them goodnight and sneaked out, wondering what Jo must have thought of her gift. 

Entering his room, he plopped onto the bed, taking his shoes off, imaging her smile. Turning to get his pajamas from under his pillow, he noticed a note on his pillow. Picking it up, he laughed, “Roses are red, Violets are blue, This isn’t ginger, I hope it will do. Thank you for the flowers and I hope this brings a smile to your face. Happy Valentine’s Day”

He spotted a neatly wrapped gift, and when he opened it, he saw that it was a heart shaped cookie with colorful frosting around the edging and in the middle, she had written, “Meine Shatzi “. Seeing this reminded him of Valentine’s day back in Germany, when his mother would make ginger cookies that looked like these. 

That night, they both went to bed with the joy of imagining what the other looked like when they saw their gift. Happy to see the other’s smile the next day. That was all they had ever wanted. 

Sorry this was late. I was planning on posting this on Valentine’s day, but it kept escaping me. Here it is at last. Based off my modern au, and I hope you guys like it. 

[kimwexlers-brownhair]

Yellow Rose, Chapter 57

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/10695372/57/Yellow-Rose

"Come on, son, kick the ball here!"

"Raoul, don't encourage Gustave to kick balls in the hotel!"

Christine shook her head, laughing lightly. Little Gustave, whose personality tended toward the serious and taciturn for a four-year-old, was now giggling so fiercely he hiccupped as he kicked the football with his spindly legs back and forth to his father across the 5th Avenue Hotel's ornate rug.

Two-year-old Phillippe was whining from where Christine and the nanny dressed him, the youngest child craning his neck to see the game. He was usually the more athletic of the two, evident even at this young age, and his righteous indignation at being left out was palpable.

"Kick ball!" He stated emphatically, staring at his mother with his little brows drawn down toward his brown eyes. "Papa and Gusta kick ball! Philly kick ball!"

Christine sighed. "See what you've done, Raoul? Wicked husband."

Her husband only chuckled evilly. "I'm a stinker, aren't I, Gustave?"

"Yes," Gustave said in distraction, focusing on the ball. Raoul only guffawed.

"There, little sir," Christine said after finishing buttoning up Philippe's sailor suit. "Go and rampage with your brother and irresponsible father." She kissed him on the forehead.

She received an impish grin in return, reminding her of his father. Then he sped off on his chubby little legs, crying out "ball!" as he intercepted a pass between Gustave and Raoul.

Christine now finished getting herself ready, straightening her hat in the hallway mirror. She was becoming in a high-necked lavender dress, with silk trimmings on her hat to match. "You'll be ready to meet us for lunch, then?"

"Sure thing, madame!" Raoul momentarily stopped the game to kiss his wife, making his boys groan in disappointment. "Go surprise Flibbertigibbet, now. Tell her we'll see her in about an hour."

"I will," Christine said, straightening his tie by force of habit. She pecked him on the cheek and then left, casting one more soft look at her trio of darling boys: happy Gustave, wild Philippe, and the oversized one she called husband.

The ecstatically warm imaged stayed with her until she reached outside, then a strange dread filled her bones. She of course looked forward to seeing Meg, but there was a great chance she'd see him again.

Her former Angel.

Marriage, motherhood, and a growing career tutoring children in music had brought a great serenity and tremulous joy to Christine's life. Raoul was now deputy of the Uppsala police department, and had recently passed his detective examination. Although nervous and unsure at first, Christine found herself a capable tutor, combining tricks she'd learned from Erik with her own empathy and understanding, having been so often in the role of the pupil in the past.

But no more.

She raised her head as she walked down the street.

She was her own person now.

And she had people in her life more precious than anything before.

She smiled as she always did when she thought how ironic it was that Gustave should look so much like Raoul's side of the family but resemble Christine in personality, while little Philippe was the opposite. Gustave had her husband's sandy hair and liquid blue eyes, but he was shy, creative, a little moody; he was a practical genius on the piano. Philippe, although he did not yet strongly favor either parent in looks, did have his mother's dark brown curls and expressive eyes. Though he shared some of his brother's serious nature, he was more adventurous, more the leader, just like his policeman father.

Her boys – all three of them – helped Christine stay sane during some of her dark moments. These moments were fewer now and were more quickly dispelled, but still they came on occasion. She resigned herself to the fact they would always be with her, in one form or another.

Otherwise, she was a happy woman. And she felt she'd earned this happiness, which contributed to her satisfaction.

Yet she felt the wintry chill of those dark moods creep into her bones the closer she came to the Metropolitan. Was she truly wise to come? She'd missed Meg like mad, and after getting over her anger that Meg up and left without telling Christine, she had continually urged Raoul for a visit. But then came Philippe, and they had to postpone.

Which reminded her….

She first noticed once the ship reached the dock.

She was a few days late.

And her breasts were oddly sore.

She'd felt faintly nauseous, too, but on the boat she blamed it on seasickness.

Deep inside, she knew the truth.

She was pregnant again.

The thought filled her with a joyful fire, and it was with this flame in her cheeks that she straightened her shoulders and entered the Metropolitan with little fear.

Meg answered her dressing room door in full costume as Odette, the White Swan. She looked like an angelic little fairy, aside from the exaggerated dark eyeliner all dancers wore.

Yet the fairy turned into a crowing bird when she recognized Christine. She flew into the singer's arms then stepped back abashed, giggling out an apology for smudging some of her pancake makeup on Christine's cheek.

"I wouldn't have a hug from you any other way," Christine replied, laughing.

"Where are Raoul and your boys?"

"They'll meet us for lunch. I just wanted to surprise you early. You don't mind, do you?"

Meg squeezed her hands. "Not at all. I'm glad you did."

Christine looked her over. "Meg, you haven't changed a bit. You're still so youthful and lovely!"

"And look at you, regal as a queen, and beautiful!"

Christine laughed. "You're still as sweet as ever, too!"

The friends sat down and reminisced.

"Did you hear about Justine?" Christine asked.

"No!"

"She just had twin girls with that officer husband of hers, Stephen!"

Meg squealed. "I knew she was expecting but hadn't heard that she'd given birth yet!" She'd admitted to herself a nagging wistfulness when her former admirer and rescuer married, but she was glad it was Justine. She knew they'd both treat each other well. "That's wonderful! Have you visited Cecile and Michel's new hotel yet?"

"I have, and Meg, it's so lush! With that perfect view of the bay! Cecile is such a wonderful business manager."

"She always was the smart one among us. And La Carlotta's book, is it still wildly popular in Europe? It's selling like hotcakes over here, to borrow an English expression!"

"Yes, and she's giving about a million interviews a day. She's singing again, too. Makes me almost not mind her negative portrayal of me in that tell-all trash she wrote."

"Oh, you didn't get it as bad as some. I think she's realized over the years you weren't to blame."

"I hope so. I do find it so nice that she's donated half the proceeds to that charity in Piangi's name."

Meg smiled and nodded. She didn't mention that Erik had, under a pseudonym, designed a statue of Piangi that he sent to Sicily, Piangi's hometown. Or that he'd donated all the proceeds to that very charity.

Meg knew that Erik would most likely come up in conversation sometime today, but she would let it be Christine who brought him up first. Meg remembered the promise she'd made Christine.

"Well," Meg announced, jumping up. "Shall I dress and meet you at the restaurant?"

Although Erik reveled in his unofficial consulting position at the Met, which allowed him to once again surround himself with music, art, and the theater, he did often miss the luxury the Paris Opera afforded him where hiding places were concerned. Here he could not just disappear behind a sliding wall or mirror.

He must hide in open.

And so he sat incognito at a table adjacent to Meg and Christine's. He wore his most nondescript costume; a gray mustache and wig with double-breasted suit and heavy coat. Even if Meg weren't so preoccupied chatting away with Christine, Erik wasn't sure she'd recognize him.

As it was, both women were so distracted they paid no mind to the older gentleman watching them from above his coffee cup and newspaper. Erik could watch them unhindered.

Christine.

It had been five years since he'd seen her face.

She was a vision in lilac. Her dress was of a better class than what she wore as a struggling dancer and singer, but not as ostentatious as most other society dames.

His head pounded.

He looked at both her and Meg, radiant herself in a pale pink dress.

The sun and moon were side by side again, each as luminous in different ways.

How did he feel seeing Christine again, just able to hear her angelic voice over the chatter of the other restaurant patrons?

He felt….

Affection. Warmth. An odd pride in her.

But…what else?

There was a time when the mere sight of her face drove him mad.

Now….

An intense melancholy, to be sure, but….

Obsession? Ecstasy? Any desperate longing?

He heard Meg laugh and he shivered.

He felt he did not know himself anymore.

Then Raoul and the two little boys approached the table.

He watched as Meg hopped up and embraced him, Raoul-- more muscular than before, somehow -- picking her up in a bear hug, making her shriek in laughter. She then turned excitedly to the children, presenting them with a toy sailboat and a toy soldier. The younger boy simply sucked on the sailboat and looked curiously around the room, at the various people in their sundry dress. The older one looked up into his godmother's face as if transfixed. He was obviously infatuated with this beautiful young creature in pink with a grin and light in her eyes that made her seem almost as if she were their age.

They all at last sat, the older child scooting his chair closer to Meg, his worshipful eyes never leaving her. Raoul leaned over and kissed his wife on the cheek.

The waiter took their orders and then the group all started talking at once. Laughter bubbled from their table, and the little boys were giddy that their parents were acting just as excitable and energetic as they. The boys bounced up and down in their chairs, and every once in a while Raoul or Christine without even looking would sense when one of their children bordered on going too far in their shenanigans and the parents simply reached a hand out to one of their shoulders or laps to steady them.

People at neighboring tables looked on approvingly, undisturbed by the noise because of how cheerful and contented the group of friends looked.

And Erik at last felt fury rise in him.

In New York Erik had found a chance to integrate himself into society, to blend in with the masses, while still imparting his influence over an opulent opera house.

Yet here he was, sitting at a table alone, watching Meg play with the children of Raoul and Christine, as the couple sat comfortably and serenely together.

Erik was still on the outside, no matter how he'd tricked himself into thinking otherwise.

He looked at Christine's merry brown eyes and felt a tug at his heart – was this a rekindling of his original passion for her and regret at her loss, or regret about what she had once represented to him and no longer did?

He winced at that last thought. No, no, of course she still meant that much to him, for otherwise, what would this have all been for? What would his murders, his heartbreak, his halfway redemption, his dragging the Girys into the secret police and then exile, have all amounted to? A feeling that inspires such upheaval can't just die. It can't.

With her smiling eyes watching Meg turn a napkin into a bunny to amuse the children, Christine reached out a gentle hand to Raoul's, squeezing his.

And Erik almost burst into tears of rage and remorse.