#This is true for most magical settings admittedly

[esamastation]

Babes.... what is the Very Specific Flavour of Probably Very Niche Fic That Would Cater Your Interests Specifically... perchance one of us will write it for you

Alas, the mood has passed, but the thing that triggered the Very Specific Desire was reading a Naruto fic where the characters were resigned to eating bland travel rations while on the road and while reading it I just wanted someone to whip up a sealing scroll full of cooking supplies. If you can seal a dead body in a scroll, surely you should be able to fit a grill, charcoal, and some ingredients in them too.

And then I wanted a story of a ninja who does just that - no fighting, no striving for the most cosmically epic way to punch people, nah - just using ninja abilities to make life easier and more comfortable. A master of ninjutsu whose most impressive feat is creating an instant sewerage system - or a ready to use hotsprings, with buildings and everything. Illusionist who makes fully immersive and interactive movies. Stuff like that.

So, like. Awesome Magical Abilities Used Only For Convenient Creature Comforts, that was the flavour I was hankering for.

[prokopetz]

On the one hand, it's true that the way Dungeons & Dragons defines terms like "sorcerer" and "warlock" and "wizard" is really only relevant to Dungeons & Dragons and its associated media – indeed, how these terms are used isn't even consistent between editions of D&D! – and trying to apply them in other contexts is rarely productive.

On the other hand, it's not true that these sorts of fine-grained taxonomies of types of magic are strictly a D&D-ism and never occur elsewhere. That folks make this argument is typically a symptom of being unfamiliar with Dungeons & Dragons' source material. D&D's main inspirations are American literary sword and sorcery fantasy spanning roughly the 1930s through the early 1980s, and fine-grained taxonomies of magic users absolutely do appear in these sources; they just aren't anything like as consistent as the folks who try to cram everything into the sorcerer/warlock/wizard model would prefer.

For example, in Lyndon Hardy's "Five Magics" series, the five types of magical practitioners are:

Alchemists: Drawing forth the hidden virtues of common materials to craft magic potions; limited by the fact that the outcomes of their formulas are partially random.

Magicians: Crafting enchanted items through complex manufacturing procedures; limited by the fact that each step in the procedure must be performed perfectly with no margin for error.

Sorcerers: Speaking verbal formulas to basically hack other people's minds, permitting illusion-craft and mind control; limited by the fact that the exercise of their art eventually kills them.

Thaumaturges: Shaping matter by manipulating miniature models; limited by the need to draw on outside sources like fires or flywheels to make up the resulting kinetic energy deficit.

Wizards: Summoning and binding demons from other dimensions; limited by the fact that the binding ritual exposes them to mental domination by the summoned demon if their will is weak.

"Warlock", meanwhile, isn't a type of practitioner, but does appear as pejorative term for a wizard who's lost a contest of wills with one of their own summoned demons.

Conversely, Lawrence Watt-Evans' "Legends of Ethshar" series includes such types of magic-users as:

Sorcerers: Channelling power through metal talismans to produce fixed effects; in the time of the novels, talisman-craft is largely a lost art, and most sorcerers use found or inherited talismans.

Theurges: Summoning gods; the setting's gods have no interest in human worship, but are bound not to interfere in the mortal world unless summoned, and are thus amenable to cutting deals.

Warlocks: Wielding X-Men style psychokinesis by virtue of their attunement to the telepathic whispers emanating from the wreckage of a crashed alien starship. (They're the edgy ones!)

Witches: Producing improvisational effects mostly related to healing, telepathy, precognition, and minor telekinesis by drawing on their own internal energy.

Wizards: Drawing down the infinite power of Chaos and shaping it with complex rituals. Basically D&D wizards, albeit with a much greater propensity for exploding.

You'll note that both taxonomies include something called a "sorcerer", something called a "warlock", and something called a "wizard", but what those terms mean in their respective contexts agrees neither with the Dungeons & Dragons definitions, nor with each other.

(Admittedly, these examples are from the 1980s, and are thus not free of D&D's influence; I picked them because they both happened to use all three of the terms in question in ways that are at odds with how D&D uses them. You can find similar taxonomies of magic use in earlier works, but I would have had to use many more examples to offer multiple competing definitions of each of "sorcerer", "warlock" and "wizard", and this post is already long enough!)

So basically what I'm saying is giving people a hard time about using these terms "wrong" – particularly if your objection is that they're not using them in a way that's congruent with however D&D's flavour of the week uses them – makes you a dick, but simply having this sort of taxonomy has a rich history within the genre. Wizard phylogeny is a time-honoured tradition!

[broadwaytheanimatedseries]

Obsessed with the set up and payoff in every hatchetverse show:

TGWDLM hides it in its comedy pretty effectively: "take out the head, and the whole thing goes down!" The key to the main conflict buried in a nonsense monologue by the one note jerk character

Black Friday takes full advantage of their magical psychic child to be cryptic and ominous: "two doors not one" probably being the most obvious example, but a notable one is "Cross" as I think it's not just about Wilbur but also about Lex, who reaches across the threshold into the black and white

(Admittedly, that last bit is probably a strecth)

And NPMD drops all pretenses and leans into the horror of a doomed narrative by telling you exactly what it's about: "it's true! Human sacrifices! Demonic rituals! Sex magic!" All promises fulfilled by the summoning and the subsequent bargain made between Grace and The Lords In Black.

Then there's like, chronologically reversed foreshadowing? Okay so like what I mean by that is like, so you know the Hatchetmen?

Yeah, the angry mob that killed the Waylons and their starry children cultists?

You ever notice how they're never praised? Never honored or spoken of fondly?

Oh sure the town is named after them, but that's probably because they were the only ones around left to name it, and they named it after that time they did that murder together.

But they keep being referred to as hatchet wielding maniacs, even as they are recalled as the ones who put a stop to an evil cult it doesn't change the fact they weren't good people either.

There are no good guys in that story, not really.

And uh, how did Ted put it again, exactly?

"There are no creeps. There are no heroes. There are only people who are alive, and people who are fucking dead!"

Hatchetverse is really fucking good at fulfilling narrative promises, is what I'm saying, I guess.

[theeoriginals]

Something with Klaus based on this quote from The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel

“… You listened.”

“To you? Always.”

I NEED the tension PLS

what a feeling | klaus mikaelson

klaus mikaelson x psychic!female!reader (no y/n)

author's note; this + the oneshot I did with the ozark quote are so fun to do, if y'all have any more tv/movie quotes you want me to do fics with send them in <333

warnings; umm vague mentions of violence but ultimately nothing besides fluff, reader is kind of an anxious mess but it's short and sweet

Her powers had always been somewhat of a burden. They were unreliable at best, dangerous and deadly at worst. She'd been on both ends of the spectrum, and even though the power that ran through her bloodline hadn't skipped her, it might as well have compared to everyone else in her family.

It'd made her somewhat of a black sheep amongst wolves. Her dreams, visions, couldn't be trusted. She couldn't be trusted.

Her family never really let her forget that, so the first time two Originals walked into her family's innocuous shop, she figured they wanted her mom or dad, or someone else– anyone but her.

But Klaus had set his eyes on her and said her name like it meant something. Like it wasn't basically a curse in and of itself.

The Mikaelsons were kind to her, despite all of the trouble she came with. Rebekah was sweet and mostly understanding, though she could sometimes be a bit hurtful without realizing it. Elijah was ultimately the same, and his interest in witchcraft always made her remember how much she really did love it, even if she was considered cursed by most witches in New Orleans.

Elijah had told her all about how their mother was the Original witch, and that if they hadn't been turned into vampires, they'd all have a bit of magic in them still. Their sister Freya, and Kol, were both lucky to have that part of their heritage still, apparently.

In the months of working with the Originals, helping them to the best of her ability, though, it was Klaus that she'd come to enjoy most.

She'd heard stories of the infamous hybrid her entire life, stories of bloodshed and needless violence, painting a picture of an unforgiving, ruthless man. Admittedly, when he'd first sought her out, she thought he'd come to kill her. For what reason, she didn't know, but there was no other reason he'd want to speak to her unless she'd unknowingly passed on a piece of her cursed magic to him.

But that hadn't been the case, and he'd just been in need of her specific powers, needed her help to keep an eye out for certain people and any future threats that would bring harm to him and his family. She'd quickly learned that above everything, Klaus just wanted to keep his family safe, and she was more than happy to help in any way she could.

Even though most of her visions were unreliable, he still urged her to share them just in case. Even though not a single one of her visions about the Mikaelsons had come true so far, he still made her tell him and his siblings. He never let her doubt herself.

She supposes that's why she's trying not to be upset right now, listening to them talk over her like she's not sitting right in front of them.

"We can't just sit back and let this happen, Niklaus," Rebekah says, her face twisted frustratedly. "Her visions aren't fact, they're mere possibilities. And very low possibilities at that."

She flinched, ducking her head down to hide the hurt Rebekah's words inflict on her, because she can't really be upset when the blonde is right. Sometimes it's just a feeling, not even a vision. She can't blame them for not trusting a vision of a future that is constantly changing.

Elijah, ever the mediator, gives his sister a slightly scolding look before looking at his brother with something apologetic in his eyes. "Rebekah's being... harsh, but brother, she's not wrong. There's no way to prove that it will come true, and because of that, we have no real reason to not fight back. We have to do something, otherwise every vampire in the Quarter will be in danger."

Klaus pinches the bridge of his nose, his face twitching in a glare. His eyes drift to the quiet witch sitting down, twisting her fingers together anxiously in her lap. He catches her gaze and softens at the sadness in her eyes, feeling it pang in his chest.

"I know," He says finally, an apology swimming in his glacial eyes as he looks at the witch. Her sadness deepens with hurt at his words and he tears his eyes away from her, looking to his siblings. "We have to go."

She stands up abruptly, looking at him in disbelief. "But Klaus, they have white oak stakes, and they're going to use them on all of you. They kill you all, and they don't stop until you're all gone, even Freya! I saw it happen, I swear! You have to believe me, please,"

Elijah says her name with pity in every syllable and she swipes a hand out, turning to look at him with pleading eyes.

"You have to believe me, you're going to be killed if you go. They have laid a trap perfectly made to capture you, and you're walking directly into it!"

"We have to," Klaus shakes his head, already walking towards the doors, Rebekah and Elijah following. He looks over his shoulder, giving her a firm look. "Stay here until we return. It's not safe for you anywhere else."

He walks out before she can say anything else, pretending that he can't feel the heartbroken look on her face burning into his back as he leaves.

──────

She hasn't moved from her seat on the couch in the entirety of their absence. With every minute that shows no sign of their return, her heart beats faster, guilt beginning to seep into her pores.

Stuck in this spiral of horrible, self-deprecating thoughts, she's startled when the doors slam open and the three Originals come marching into the compound.

She stands up, eyes wide as she takes in the drying blood staining their skin and their clothes, but can't stop the wave of relief that washes over her at the sight of them all alive.

Rebekah has a slight limp to her step and Elijah seems to be favoring his left side more than usual, and there's blood on Klaus's face that she knows is his, but they're alive.

She lets out a shaky breath as Klaus walks towards her, Elijah and Rebekah heading for the stairs to likely clean themselves up and find a blood source to suck dry and finish healing.

"I was wrong," She sighs, eyes closing in abatement. "I'm so glad I was–"

She's cut off by Klaus's palms cupping her cheeks, and her eyes snap open when she feels the press of his plush lips against hers. She makes a noise of utter surprise that quickly dissipates into a noise of pleasure, and her eyes flutter shut as she lets him deepen the kiss, stealing the breath right out of her lungs.

She chases him as he pulls away, but he stops her, dragging his thumbs gently along her cheekbones as he looks at her with a look she'd dare call adoring.

It takes her breath all over again and she squirms beneath it, feeling like she's teetering on the edge of something big.

"What," She breathes out, licking her lips like she can still feel the weight of his on them. "What was that for?"

"You were right," He says, his voice rough. "You were right. They had white oak stakes and they tried to kill us. The only reason we survived is because of what you told us,"

Her eyes widen and she looks up at him in disbelief. "But... I'm never right. I'm cursed,"

He shakes his head, lips pulling up into a smile, creasing the dried blood on his cheek. "No, you're not, darling. You saved my life. You saved my family,"

Her throat tightens, thick with emotion, and she isn't entirely proud of the way her voice shakes when she speaks. "You listened?"

Klaus's gaze warms with fondness and he gives her a smile that makes her heart race for entirely new reasons. "To you? Always."

[nanowrimo]

When Is a Small Press a Good Fit?

When it comes to publishing, many writers will think about big publishers first. However, there are a lot of different publishing options out there to explore. NaNo participant and author, Clara Ward, talks about their experience publishing with a small press and gives you questions to consider while you think through your publishing options!

NaNoWriMo inspired me to write. Signing with a small press gave me the support I needed to publish a book I love. 

I’d published books before—starting with NaNoWriMo sponsor deals in the early days of online publishing—but I never had the right skill set to promote those books. As a result, they never truly found their audience. 

In November of 2020, I poured my heart into a genre-blurring near-future tale of sailing across the Pacific and building a neurodiverse, queer, and possibly magical chosen family. In 2021, I titled it Be the Sea and asked myself: What am I going to do with that?

1. Are you looking for fame or family?

Small presses are as varied as the people who form them. If you read widely, you may already have a treasured book on your shelf from your publisher-to-be. Try asking NaNoWriMo friends who share your interests if they’ve discovered any surprising or emerging sources for great reads. (At the very least, you may find books you’ll love in unexpected places!)

Admittedly, a small press doesn’t have a fortune to spend on paving your path to fame. But I have never felt as seen as when my soon-to-be publisher, E.D.E. Bell at Atthis Arts, wrote back, “I’m really in love with what you are doing and would like to talk about it.” 

2. Do you have the bandwidth for working with others?

Even with the most supportive small press, you may have to push outside your comfort zone. I know authors who love the absolute control and freedom of self-publishing. For a time, I felt very comfortable just posting my NaNoWriMo fanfiction novels on Archive of Our Own. At most, I had one or two beta readers to offer feedback on those works. Whereas E.D.E. told me in one of our earliest conversations that in addition to our three rounds of editing we’d need “a good number of betas” to cover the range of topics we were working on together.

I was delighted! I knew what I’d written was ambitious, and I welcomed all the feedback I could get. But it turns out, each extra person in a process adds new challenges and delays. I had to stretch my empathy as well as my publishing timeline because, to quote E.D.E. again: “It’s a lot of emotion (as well as brain cycles) to go through...” Outside perspectives will only improve your writing if you are willing to work with them, to truly listen and learn.

3. Can you handle the two-way commitment?

No form of publishing is easy. The myth that authors write while others handle business and promotion is not true at the top, and certainly not with small presses. In my experience, working with Atthis Arts was like joining a team or chosen family. Beyond certain paid tasks, such as editing and sensitivity reading, I discovered a community of authors who freely offered coaching before my first public reading, social media boosting, tips for author webpages, and an extra pair of eyes on letters requesting bookshop readings or other events. While not all small presses work the same way, this supportive culture proved to be an excellent fit for me. Naturally, I wanted to give back whenever possible.

Small presses can only succeed with community. This month, as I promote the launch of Be the Sea at bookshops in Mountain View, Davis, and Sacramento, I will be introducing many Californians to my Michigan-based small publisher, Atthis Arts. When I stand up as a panelist at Norwescon in Washington state or at various science, library, or Pride events later in the year, I’ll be promoting more than Be the Sea by Clara Ward. I’ll give back by sharing my appreciation for small presses, the supportive and inclusive practices they can normalize, and the opportunities they open up for future writers and readers. 

Clara Ward lives in Silicon Valley on the border between reality and speculative fiction. Their latest novel, Be the Sea, features a near-future ocean voyage, chosen family, and sea creature perspectives, while delving into our oceans, our selves, and how all futures intertwine. Their short fiction has appeared in Strange Horizons, Decoded Pride, Small Wonders, and as a postcard from Thinking Ink Press. When not using words to teach or tell stories, Clara uses wood, fiber, and glass to make practical or completely impractical objects. More of their words along with crafted creations can be found at: https://clarawardauthor.wordpress.com

Photo by Hümâ H. Yardım on Unsplash

[yuurei20]

Translation from Twst the 2nd novel: Cater, Grim, Riddle, Ace, Deuce, Grim and the prefect split up into pairs to ask about the accidents befalling Spelldrive players:

"‘Yuu will come with me.’

‘Eh? 'Yuu will come with me?’’ Yuuya echoes Riddle’s words back at him with a puzzled look. ‘The two of us will be doing the investigation together?’

‘Yes. I believe that this is the best arrangement.’

‘Eh, but, no, uh…I can’t use magic, so I think I will only be a burden for you.’

‘That is precisely why I am pairing you with myself. The best possible solution is us working together so that you will have my support, as the person with the strongest magic and the deepest understanding of the school.’

‘I was thinking that I might do all right with one of the others, though.’

Riddle points a finger at each member of the group, in turn, as he explains: ‘Cater is to pair with Grim. Cater can get along with anyone, and he will cover for Grim’s erratic behavior. Ace and Deuce are to investigate while seeing to their various tasks around the dorm. The first-years are busy with dormitory work this time of year, as the upperclassmen must prepare for the Spelldrive tournament.’

Riddle’s plan makes perfect sense. But there is no allowance to be made for Yuuya, who can already feel himself becoming overwhelmed.

Yuuya and Riddle have hardly ever held a conversation. And those rare times that they have interacted have not been on particularly friendly terms. And now they are to be alone together, and Yuuya cannot tell how he is even supposed to interact.

He is uncomfortable about approaching Riddle casually, like Ace and Deuce, and he cannot imagine Riddle initiating a friendly conversation, as if he is no different from Trey and Cater.

‘Do you object?’ Riddle asks with a curious look, in response to Yuuya’s stuttering. Despite Yuuya’s frankness, Riddle seems oblivious to the possibility that he may be disliked.

Yuuya is, honestly, somewhat afraid of Riddle. Possibly even more so than he had been back when Riddle was called the tyrant. Because, now, he has seen Riddle’s overblot form.

How can a human possibly harbor such forceful rage, such crippling sadness?

As someone who avoids all conflict in favor of going about his life as peacefully as possible, Yuuya has difficulty understanding this ruthlessness. Does Riddle feel nothing towards these people with whom he clashed barely a month prior? Is Yuuya the only one uncomfortable with the idea of being alone with him?

Yuuya glances to Ace and Deuce for help, but they both shrug. While nothing is said aloud, Yuuya manages to deduce what they mean through the movement of their lips: ‘Sorry, Yuu.’ ‘We can’t stop him.’

Flustered, Yuuya looks to Grim, who is quite happily focused on his tea and cookies. Blissfully oblivious to Yuuya’s situation, Grim is most content.

While looking a bit uncomfortable where he sits at Riddle’s side, Cater manages a smile. ‘Well, not much we can do. If you insist, Riddle-kun, then…’

Riddle gives a firm nod in response.

‘Our hands are tied,’ Cater says, with a wink and a wry smile for Yuuya. ‘It’s true that, for efficiency and to keep Yuu-chan safe, this might be the best option. Leave Gri-chan to me.’

‘Good. No objections?’

‘Can’t be helped. I’ll look out for Cater for ya.’

‘Got it! Understood!’ Ace’s reply is enthusiastic, and he spares a side glance to the flustered Yuuya. Ace has been grinning all the while, likely entertained by the combination of Yuuya and Riddle.

‘In that case, let us go our separate ways. Everyone get an appropriate amount of rest in order to be prepared for tomorrow.’

The three groups set their rendezvous locations, and the strategy meeting ends.

While they are, admittedly, making progress, Yuuya leaves Heartslabyul with a heavy heart.”

[justbelievinginmagic]

ariadne's thread ⎯ pt. 1: a deal, a deal, a deal!!

pairing(s): hyunjin x fem!reader series summary: when tempted by an intoxicating offer by hyunjin the goblin king of the underground, you fight against him to find your own sense of self once more while in his labyrinth. glimpse: she said the words - "i wish . . . i wish the goblin king would save me." what is said has been said. nothing can take back a wish except for even more powerful magic - a fae deal. warnings/tags: inspired by the 1986' movie Labyrinth, follows majority of the movie's plot points with lore divergence, 3rd person POV, use of Y/N, pg-13 themes with no explicit smut, world building!!, strong language, suggestive language, faerie lore!!, tension, enemies to lovers, unequal power dynamics, manipulation, faerie glamour, implied kidnapping, blonde, long hair hyunjin being a beautiful faerie king. word count: 4.7k -> next chapter series masterlist

Y/N was floating through life with no goal in sight. Except to wander home to her small childhood bedroom after college courses and her job at the local supermarket to read her books. Vanilla-scented and yellow-tinted pages felt like heaven under her fingertips as she fell into her books’ world day after day.

Pages of books kept her company for many years – as the world spun past. Fantasy worlds that were pretty and dangerous and wild and dreamy. Worlds where the heroine wins and the damsel finds her true love. Admittedly, she wished for it. Wished for something far away – someone to twirl her into their arms and keep her safe and sound. Fantastical but safe. A place to be herself while someone loved her. Instead of facing the world, invisible as she greets the next customer and walks the halls of a university as another face of the hundred-person class and returns home as the adult daughter locked up in her bedroom.

Never did she imagine it’d happen – late at night, on a rain-soaked Sunday. Her family was away from home, and Y/N left alone in the darkness of her childhood home. It hadn’t bothered her. Not as long as she had her books.

There was a clatter of rain against the doors of her balcony. Her eyes flashed away from her book to look over at them. A rickety branch scratched at a door like an old witch’s finger prodding at the glass, casting an eerie shadow onto her carpeted floor. It was frightening in the orange-yellow light of the slowly-dying incandescent fluorescent lights of her childhood room. The ancient lights aching to be replaced painted the room in a sunset nostalgia most days, but, tonight, it was painted her bedroom in a grimy film of age. Everything felt eerie and old and off.

The wallpaper, a fading pink and white with soft bears painted by the baseboards, rotted into a yellow tinged thing. Her bed was a hand-me-down full bed of fluffy duvets and old laced comforters with her bed posts holding a long sagging canopy of white tulle she insisted upon a tween.  She had always favored the fantastical and soft and, despite aging, she had to admit she forgot how long ago it had been when she had chosen the sets of softened bedding and moth-eaten tulle.

Her knick-knacks were of the same theme, gentle and girly of old childhood memories she couldn’t bear to toss aside even in her young adult age. Beloved stuffed animals (some that were soft to the touch while others had hardened scratchy fur from sitting collecting dust on long forgotten shelves), sparkling shimmering water globes (of places she had never been), paint-chipped jewelry boxes on a creaking overfull vanity (the wooden boxes were full of costume bracelets, rings, and necklaces of theatre days long passed), crafts and hobbies piled in a plastic bin in the corner (from bracelet making tools to dried-out paints and moth-eaten yarn balls), and old piles of high school notebooks peaking out from underneath her bed skirt (something she kept in the phantom fear that she may need them for college courses.) College courses that she felt empty when attending. Everything felt fleeting yet not. It felt stupid and overwhelming and – she wished things could be easier.

Easier like diving into her books. With her favorite book in her grasp, the yellow old book crinkling in her hands, she sighed as she whispered to it.

“If I could be any place but here…” she hummed. “I don’t want to work tomorrow – especially with the rain.” A deep sigh escaped her. “I wish…”

There was a pause in her words as she settled back into comfortable pillows. The rustling of her sheets disguising a murmured ‘she’s going to say the words’ from under her bed, from her closet.

“I wish the Goblin King would save me – steal me away to be his and only his.”

It wasn’t said in agony to a lucky penny or in plea besides a wishing well. She had simply laughed a little laugh as she curled up in her bed, hugging the book closer to her face as she read on. It was almost her favorite part – the royal ball!

Now, wishes don’t care for rhyme or even sincerity. (Both were lacking from her plea.) However, it was the perfect time for a wish to be granted - the words have been spoken at the stroke of midnight on the highest of full moons on the first day of spring.

There is a shatter somewhere; the branches of the tree outside her window scraaattcching the glass with a shriek. The wind made the house tremble and rumble as energy flooded the air, tangible enough it made her eyes look up, before with a snap - the lights switch off.

A crash of lightning and a roar of thunder clashed louder than ever. There was no settling silence of electronics and fridges and fans. No, the world growled as the storm grew. Until in a whirl of sparkling shimmer star dust and a burst of cold storm air, the balcony doors flung open to reveal a man. No, not an ordinary man. He was far too ethereal to be a normal man. (The idea of it being a robber didn’t even flicker through her mind. Though, the possibility of this being a dream did.)

The soft chimes of bell rang in her ears as he took a step into the room. He was near glowing like an angel, haloed by some shimmering light. Blonde hair that tickled the back of his neck in long strands fluttered in the storm wind. Dark thick brows pursed, partially hidden by strands of his golden hair that framed his angular face, and striking blue eyes lazily stared at her from within the dark shadows of his brow. Poutful raspberry-kissed lips that smirked at her. Gilded chains hung around his lean neck, displaying his collarbones with a sharpness. Elaborate piercings decorated both of his curved elf-like ears; all gold chained, red jeweled, and shimmering from the distant amber streetlight.

He wore fine tailored dark clothes as if he were part of the night storm himself; leathered pants that gleamed in the light, a lacy sort of shirt that curved tightly over rounded muscles and sinewy tendons and shadowed by a heavy cloak made of oil-slick dark feathers. Darker than night and covered in that sparkly dust that had brought him into her bedroom. His hands were adorned in many rings and one hand that had twists of dark silver that formed a sort of claw, covering his knuckles and fingertips like a gauntlet. He had tawny-tan skin that glowed from the nearby streetlights, with an unnatural. . . gloss of sparkle. As if his skin was made of crushed starlight.

Beautiful. . . tempting. . . frighteningly ethereal.

He stole her breath away and he knew it as he stared at her. The look in his eyes… it was like nothing  she’d ever seen in someone’s gaze towards her before. Dark and broody and yet something sharply cutting in his eyes. It wasn’t adoration. It wasn’t jealous or anger or frustration. Magnetic. Possession, yearning, power. He was powerful. He demanded attention, no – he demanded her attention. His head tilted as he looked on at her. Her gaze trickled down the fine tendons of his neck to realize he hadn’t taken a breath since entering – his chest did not rise or fall as he stared on at her with dark storm eyes. Her legs curled closer to her chest as the old book tumbled from her grasp, falling to the floor. Forgotten.

He didn’t move and, for a moment, she didn’t either. Her heart rushed in her head like the ocean; the rhythm a calling drum to his ears. She took a shuddering breath as she spoke.

“You’re him . . . aren’t you?” Y/N breathed. Realizing, he felt familiar. Not in the sense that she had seen him before– she’d remember someone so handsome. But rather it was like déjà vu. A familiarity with someone you’ve never seen before. But she had read of him over and over and over. He wasn’t what she pictured but maybe it was because she couldn’t imagine someone so hauntingly striking. She scrambled from her bed, almost tripping over the plentiful blankets and comforters.

“You’re the Goblin King.” she clarified.

That was the only explanation. He wore no crown, but she realized he didn’t need it. The power that radiated from him felt tangible like static before a lightning strike. She had read about him in her storybooks for years – folklore of faerie and the Underground something that had always intrigued her but. . . she had never thought it real. Not in reality. It was just a fantasy. A dream that she had wished upon many times before.

He didn’t smile at her, but his petaled lips twitched. His lips were so beautiful and soft looking (she wanted to kiss them, dedicate herself to making the soft flesh swollen and red from nips and kisses. She needed to. She had to.) The thought made her eyes widen in surprise at herself. Swallowing, she blinked glancing away from him.

He smiled then, the curve of his lips forming a sneer of sorts as he watched her with his engulfing eyes.

“Why are you here?” she queried out, hand reaching for the bedpost of her bed for support as she raised her gaze again.

Red-cheeked, she tried to maintain his hypnotic gaze. Was this a dream? She saw a man appear out of nowhere, so, maybe it was. She had been reading more romance books recently. . .

“Think closely, Y/N,” the fae finally spoke, voice low.

It felt like it shook her bones despite its strange gentility compared to the storm that still roared behind him.

Think closely. . .

She had been reading his book but… she had…

“I wished for you,” Y/N queried.

It wasn’t quite a question but it felt… not enough. How could a simple wish of him come true? If that was the case, wouldn’t fae be stealing women and men left and right? She had said those words before over the years (especially as a child)… so why now??

“I’ve come for you; to save you, dear thing,” he agreed.

“It was – I’m sor- I didn’t think you were real,” Y/N babbled, brows pursed almost painfully so.

“I am, just for you,” he replied as his hand rose to flick with grandiose. The balcony doors tumbled shut with a slam.

Silence. Darkness.. Just him and her…

“I don’t mean to be rude but—I can’t really, uh, go with you?” she said, still wrapped around her bed post.

His brows crinkled into a furrow beautifully like a Greek statue. Brows of agony and despair, beautiful despite its emotion. But just like a marble statue, his darkened blue eyes were inhuman. Like obsidian glass or a creature’s eyes, reflective and eerie. Angered. Betrayed even. Before they rose to meet yours once more. And like a façade, his eyes gleamed with light, sparkling and enchanting sea blue rather than the crashing waves before.

“I’ve brought you a gift,” he tempted instead, stepping closer into the room. Closer to her.  

His smile was one of sweet temptation, almost candy-sweet with his soft lips and pearly teeth, as he prowled closer. A part of her wished that if fae stories were true that other tall tales – such as the vampiric tale of the supernatural being unable to enter one’s home without permission – were true too. A chill climbed up her back as he inched closer to her.

(Little did Y/N know that she had given him permission. Not, just now with her conversation, her wish, but when she read her little Labyrinth book ‘til it was worn soft and yellowed from the oils of her fingertips. Devotion and curiosity were all the fae needed to make a link.)

He lifted something up between them – something that he hadn’t had in his hands before. An orb of some sort. Crystalline and faintly glowing in the moonlight that poured into the room. The metallic-claws that decorated his fingers in rows of rings didn’t graze the thing nor did they reflect in the perfectly clear orb. The man’s hand wasn’t visible through it either– like he was a ghost or a vampire in a mirror. A perfect bubble of gleaming light, crystalline and shining with chromatic aberrations. Her ears rung as she looked at it.

“What is that?” she queried carefully, stepping away from the safety of the bedpost to get a closer look.

“It’s a crystal – nothing more,” his voice was low as thunder, rumbling and grumbling like a tiger’s purr as she watched him.

With grace, the orb danced upon his hand, rolling this way and that with the fae never dropping the thing. It didn’t even look difficult for him. Y/N kept her gaze on the crystal for a moment, getting dizzy as he continued to shift it over his hand like it was a boat fighting the tides.

“But –” he tossed the crystal up.

Y/N followed the orb’s trajectory only to be spooked when there was a presence behind her rather than in front of her. The King – through some sort of magic – was beside her, a hand outstretched to catch the orb right beside her face. Y/N startled jumping away a bit, into his chest. She felt caged in by him. His proximity was frightening tempting.

When she breathed in, his smell engulfed her; there was something ancient in his scent. Not like old perfume but something like earthly old. He smelled of fire-smoke, damp moss after a rainshower, something deeper like rosemary or thyme, and something sweet like. . . honey? She wanted to lean back into it, rub her face into his neck like a cat would preen against their owner. She wanted to decipher each scent, find its earthly copy and make a cologne just so she’d never leave its whirlwind of comfort.

Instead, she froze against his cold form.

She knew the Goblin King in her books was tricky - fae often were. There were a handful of types – from those who stole away women from their husbands, to those who caused mischief, and to those who would serve but at a price. It was easy enough to read, not easy to live. She couldn’t tell why she felt this way – sure, he was handsome but… she had control. She wasn’t some teenager. The fact she kept falling into these daydreams of him, him, him, him, him, him, him, him, him, him – it scared her. Not knowing where the faerie traps were and how to evade them was scary for her.

The Goblin King smiled; cold snow-sky eyes met crinkled before he raised the crystal up to her eye level.

“But, if you turn it this way,” his hand tilted the orb, as did her head as if she were a puppet on a string, “look into it; it will show you your dreams.”

There was a beat as a hand rose to rest on her hip, cold as ice through her white long-sleeved shirt.

“I’ve seen them.” He whispered tauntingly.

Y/N did not look into the orb. Her eyes remained locked on his. His cruel eyes. How could he have such a sweet smile, and yet the deep blue sea of his eyes felt bottomless, cold and dark?

“But this is not a gift for an ordinary girl.” He chided, tilting his head to lean closer to her. “Who works a job at the store and lives trapped in her childhood home.”

It was cruel – a cruel reminder of the words that those around her all say. How she is stuck in time, stuck in her hometown, stuck, stuck, stuck. Ordinary girl, ordinary town, ordinary job. Nothing like the faerie in front of her.

There was a snicker in her room, and her head whipped around to look about the dark space. It was empty.

He yanked his hand away from her, drawing her attention to him once more. Her eyes steeled at his words, and the king’s smirk grew. He hummed a melody, familiar and distant. It was almost a pleased tone before he stepped in front of her once more. He was taller than her – especially when she saw he wore heeled boots.

“Do you want it?” he offered, the orb held out once more.

The words were said almost kindly. Knowing if she took it, it’d be taking an apple from a serpent.

“It’s tempting. . . but what is the catch?” she finally said, swallowing as she looked at the crystal once more.

His smile was sharp then, and she saw fangs then.

“Your loyalty, your belief, you.” He listed. “You. Everything from you. Your mortality will be mine and you’ll never see this place again, these people again, this dwelling again.”

There was a tenderness to his face as he continued. “I’ll save you, sweet thing. You can live in your dreams with me – beyond this realm.”

“No.”

It was an easy answer. No. She would not devote herself to someone so wholly. A fae of a man especially. Y/N read all the fairy tales out there – all the romance novels and stories of love, deceit, devotion, and betrayal. This would take and take and take. She could see her future – a shell of herself. Hell, she had seen it in the moments of delusion tonight where she wanted nothing but him.

“Don’t defy me.” he warned, so gently. Almost helpfully.  

Defy. This was not being saved. This was no prince riding on a stallion and climbing to her balcony to steal her away. No. . . no, this man was no savior. She had read the fairytale he was from – read it from cover to cover more than she could count. The Goblin King – cruel as he is merciful - will grant your wish for a price.

“I do not want to be saved then. I take back my wish.”

“What is said has been said,” he stated with a chuckle.

He was laughing at her. In fact, she heard a chitter in her room like a guffaw behind her bed skirt. Her head whipped around to look.

The corner of her duvet swayed in the wind. Nothing was out of the ordinary again.

“I don’t care – I say no.” she claimed, glancing back him.

“The words have been spoken,” he claimed again as he bent down to whisper to her.

“You’re no match for me, Y/N. I will treat you well, little thing.”

Thing. It ached of ownership. Of possession rather than protection or freedom.

“I don’t want to be your thing.”

“You should’ve thought of that before making such a wish. What do I gain in saving you otherwise, hm?” he retorted, as if explaining something to a child. “I want you – or another human for my trouble.”

No way! She’d never sacrifice someone for a wish! Her eyes widened at the very thought before her brows furrowed. What could she do? What could she do?

“What if we made a deal?” She fought back.

Her question made a crack of thunder rumble the house like an electric field. It buzzed and hummed… or maybe it wasn’t thunder at all, but voices. She heard them then. Chittering and chattering. Low hums of interest and the haunting chants of “a deal, a deal, a deal!!” Little voices, squeaky and animalistic chant in excitement. It was then she finally saw a goblin’s head from within her closet. One and then another and another. Too many as if her room was nothing but a zoo to the creatures. A crowded room of voyeurs, an unknown audience to her and the King’s dispute.

Long limbed apparitions clung to her white and pink walls with spindly hands. A monstrous thing under her bed with glowing eyes heaved a rumble, the bed skirt fluttering. A winged creature on her tulled canopy swayed with the buzzing excitement of a cicada. Little things peering out at her with wings and horns and fangs and yellowed eyes and radioactive red pupils.  

It was a thing out of nightmares. She yelped a bit, eyes widening in fear.

There was a tsk from the King, and the creatures disappeared into their hiding spots in a rush and a huff. Like they were playing hide and seek. Her room looked normal again but she could feel their pupils trained on her back now. Her gaze settled back onto the Goblin King. Annoyance lingered on the corner of his mouth, the pouty thing twitching faintly before he asked: “You’d like to make a deal instead of seeing your dreams come true?”

A faerie deal never meant anything good. But neither was losing herself for a man, no, a creature of another world with far too many secrets as shown by the creatures prowling under her bed and in her wardrobe.

She nodded slowly. “Yes. Any way to have this wish be forgotten.”

The King sneered. The flash of emotion so quick she almost didn’t spot it.

He was insulted by this human. How dare she be so outlandish… special but if she so wished to be rebellious. He’d give her a challenge fit for such insult.

“A faerie deal is serious matter, Y/N.” He warned before, with an air of nonchalance, he moved aside.

Circling her once more like she was nothing but a soon-to-be carcass and him a vulture bird.

“The terms shall be this. If you can defeat my labyrinth and reach my true throne in the castle beyond the Goblin City within 13 hours, you will no longer be mine; my claim will be relinquished. Your will shall be your own once more. You will be a human.”

He said the final words like they were sickly – he couldn’t imagine wanting a human life when high fae have everything. (But she wouldn’t be a high fae, would she? No, a human became a changeling if caught or stolen away. And that was different.)

 Y/N had no choice but to agree. She had read faerie tales. Humans and faeries didn’t mix – they weren’t meant to. If she followed her wish, if she went with him, she really feared what would become of herself. The idea of forever as someone’s is only good when there is trust. And she couldn’t trust him. A stranger, a king of magnetic power, a faerie. Someone who wished to own her for his own gain. Not out of affection or respect.

“And if you do not succeed,” he continued on with a laugh at the tips of his words. (The goblins echoed him with chortles that crawled up her spine.) “You are mine – as promised by the power of the Wish. All of you. Soul, mind, and form.”

He was behind her again, his words soft in her hair as he brushed it aside observingly. His fingers chilled her throat; his touch felt icy cold.

“Do you agree, Y/N? If you break this contract by your own will or demise,” It was formally said as he placed his hands on her shoulders. Caging her in his arms as she heard the hum of anticipation from the ghouls and goblins in her room. “You shall be mine.”

She didn’t hesitate even as her form shuddered. “I agree.” Y/N said.

There was a change in the wind outside; a flash of lightning blinded her as a deal was struck.

“Pity,” he murmured, low in his throat as he let go of her.

As he passed her, she saw the world in front of her melt away in a wash of watercolor blurs. No longer was she in her childhood bedroom with the comfort of her novels and objects. No, now it was a desert. An orange-purple atmosphere like a distant fire roared over the sea of sand. Rolling sand dunes tumbled towards a grand darkened maze. The Labyrinth. A twisting series of winding paths that seemed endless, all leading to a far-in-the-distance castle. It looked impossible. Dead-ends galore and sections that seemed to be completely unrelated to one another. 13 hours. How was she to get through this in less than a day! A clash of despair rattled her bones – especially when a damp chill danced over her skin. A suffocating heaviness was in the air, as well as the realization, she was underground. Dust and dirt and old air from centuries past lingered.

Looking up, there was no sky, no stars, nor moon above but a darkened cave ceiling full of stalactites and in some cases large sky lights – or cracks in the ground. These cracks let spots of sunlight in, shining over the desert sea in pools of light. Where there was no sunshine pouring down on the maze, there was a haunting golden glow from roaring fire pits high above the maze in watch-out points and floating candles she noted. Squinting her eyes, she could make out thousands of candles decorating the rocky labyrinth. It made everything look orange-red hazy. Shadows cast into the maze making it look even more confusing.

In each of these sunspots away from the Labyrinth, there were different things flourishing outside the maze she noticed– some sunspots were home to a jungle of vegetation; others were conveniently where rain-water ponds appeared; most had small huts and communities.  

She and the Goblin King were in one of those sky lights’ brightness now, sunshine cascading over the pair of them. Half dead foliage and trees curled up from the barren sand, with long tendrils of rotting vines and branches twisting out. The bark and rockwork, despite its dead nature had the same type of glimmer to them as the fae man. It sparkled in the sunlight like someone dropped glitter on it. Magic thrived here – even in the dead and inanimate.

The King looked out of place in such a desolate land – his desolate land. Something beautiful around such emptiness and darkness. His form seemed to glow in the natural light, especially when shadowed by such darkness in the Underground, but Y/N’s gaze focused on the daunting path ahead instead of his angelic beauty.

How could he be so beautiful? It was unnatural.

Her eyes tried to map out a path, only to find no true path to the distant grand castle. The world seemed to curve and prevent her from following a straight line to the grand dark castle. It seemed hopeless. Surely there was a way to plot a way onwards, but the Labyrinth didn’t deal in kindnesses it seemed.

“Turn back,” his voice startled her as he encouraged from her side. “While you still can, my dear Runner.”

Biting her lip, she swallowed as she looked between him and his castle.

“It doesn’t look that far,” she commented, her back turning to him.

(Bravado.)

The King lurched forward, his own back bending to be beside her ear once more.

“It’s further than you think,” he taunted, almost sing-song in tune. “And time is short.”

With a flick of his hand, a grand clock appeared floating in mid-air. She startled, jolting back. Her back settling into his broad chest. His smirk was in her hair as a metal claw-tipped hand steadied her.

The clock – the grand clock of the Underground - was haunting as it was magical. It was a golden shade of wood and its clockface made of intricately ornate stained glass. Its numbers were curled and elegant, counting from 1 to 13. As of now, it was at the top of the 13th hour.

“13 hours, as promised,” he cooed. “13 hours and, then, you are mine, dear Y/N.”

And in an icy rush of wind and soft chimes in the air, her hair was pushed forward, blowing into her eyes, and his form, once lurking over her shoulder, was gone.

“Such a pity I must wait for you,” his voice hummed in the cold.

Then, Y/N, the Labyrinth Runner, was alone in a different realm she heard of in storybooks, but, unlike her many books, she didn’t know how the story would end.

[sebastianswallows]

The English Client — Thirty-four

— PAIRING: Tom Riddle x F!Reader

— SYNOPSIS: The year is 1952. Tom is working for Borgin and Burkes. He is sent to Rome to acquire three ancient books of magic by any means necessary. One in particular proves challenging to reach, and the only path forward is through a pretty, young bookseller. A foreigner like him, she lives alone, obsessed with her work... until Tom comes into her life.

— WARNINGS: none

— WORDCOUNT: 3.4k

— TAGLIST: @esolean @localravenclaw @slytherins-heir

I

Tom hardly ever experienced the sort of things he read about in books from wizards out on adventures or in the midst of danger — pulse racing, nerves alight, body hot and cold at once. But he’d already felt it twice tonight: once with her behind the stage, and now as the auction was coming to a close.

“To complete tonight’s lot,” she announced, “we have a copy of the Delomelanicon by Aristide Torchia. Printed in Venice, in 1666. In excellent condition, as you can see, it contains masterfully done illustrations attributed to Torchia.”

A murmur ran through the crowd like a wave of shivers, the very texture of it wavering beneath the wind of her words. Tom could not help but smirk at the sight, at the raw atmosphere that she had summoned all on her own — aided admittedly by the presence at her side, in a stony jaundiced light, of a book reputed to have been written by the devil.

“We start at one hundred million Lira.”

The first bid came right away.

“Signor Luce with a hundred and five.”

Silence for a while, then…

“Mr. Malfoy with a hundred and twenty. Signora Portas, a hundred thirty. Luce, hundred fifty. Hundred fifty-five, Malfoy.”

Tom had to smile. He doubted the old wizard was any more honest than he was and intended to pay with real currency. It was true, the Lira was still highly depreciated compared to the Pound and by extension to Galleons, but that was still a prohibitively high sum and it was bound to go higher. Tom stepped further backstage while the bidding went on and took two little bottles from his coat pocket.

Mr. Malfoy had hardly bid on anything that night and had not won a thing, but he would win this. Everything was set, from the speed of her reactions to the way she handled the crowd, and how she modulated her voice to go from encouraging and soft to harsh and intimidating. He had trained her himself just as he had seen Ambrogio do, and with the Delomelanicon being kept for last, the highest and most daring bidders were sure to have exhausted their funds. Only the obsessives remained, and none could outbid Malfoy.

II

He found Donatien waiting by the entrance to the auction hall. By then, the bidding was over. The boy was supposed to collect Mr. Malfoy’s prize and bring it to him because of course the old man would not be lowered to doing something on his own. Donatien was waiting in line with all the other successful bidders and smiled when he saw Tom approach.

“Bonsoir, Tom.”

“Donatien. A happy night for your master, I see.”

“Very happy,” he laughed, “yes.”

“I suppose that after this, you are due to leave Italy?”

“Monsieur has not shared it with me, but he did not mention any other business after this.”

“Quite sad…”

“Why is that?” he asked, somewhat intrigued, as they both took one step forward with the queue.

“I just hoped we would have more time to get to know one another,” Tom said with a wistful sigh. “You know, since it’s rare to meet another foreigner these days. At least one who isn’t an American… Someone who is more…”

“More similar, no?” the boy provided, a wondrous glow lighting up his pretty face.

“Precisely,” Tom smiled. “I’m surprised, then, that he is so quick to dismiss you.”

“Dismiss?”

“Your employment.”

“Ah, well… This was our arrangement, you see. From the beginning.”

They took another step forward with the others and Tom looked around cautiously to make sure no one was eavesdropping — not that it was difficult with people standing close together. He leaned closer to Donatien and whispered.

“And you had no… other reasons for visiting Italy?”

“The views, of course,” he said with a quiet laugh.

Tom smiled knowingly. He could remember clearly the discussion with the other French boy, Clement, when they met on the train. How many Donatiens were there in Italy on business with a wealthy older gentleman?

“You are fortunate though,” said Tom quietly as he shifted his weight from one leg to the other. “To get the book, I mean.”

“How so?”

“There was another young man after it long before the auction,” said Tom, pretending to strain his memory. “Came sometime in the summer, I believe…”

“It must be very popular.”

“No,” smiled Tom, “it is not.”

They moved another step again and it seemed as if the line was never going to end.

“Come to think of it, I believe he was French as well,” said Tom.

The friendly shine vanished from Donatien’s eyes, replaced by a shadow of suspicion. His elegant brows arched to form little wrinkles on his golden forehead. He looked Tom up and down then fixed his gaze on his dark eyes as if he could divine the truth from them.

“You must have a good memory.”

“Oh, this boy was quite memorable,” he chuckled, shoving his hands in his pockets suggestively. “Brown hair, blue eyes, lovely smile quite soft and sublime —”

“You are a poet, Tom,” he chuckled.

“You know what, now that you mention it, I believe so was he! He said something about a poetry book…”

Donatien tilted his head. “And what was the name of your paramour?”

“Hmm? Oh — I, well, I never,” Tom said with an awkward laugh and a quick look around them. “I’m already taken, of course.”

The boy smiled faintly, not believing a word.

“But I believe his name was… Claude? No, Clement.”

The young man nodded, feigning interest with a cock of his soft brows. “Funny, you know, I went to school with a Clement.”

“Is that so? Did he like books too?”

“He devoured them.”

“I’m sure he did,” Tom grinned. “What became of your Clement?”

“Oh, I lost touch with him some time ago,” he said, to which Tom nodded thoughtfully. “And what became of yours?”

“He vanished,” said Tom, leaning in to whisper once again. “Quite mysteriously… For some reason, the Baron didn’t like him asking about that book. I believe it’s cursed.”

“Well, good thing it’s going to Mr. Malfoy, then.”

Tom chuckled. He didn’t believe that for a second, and as he looked into Donatien’s eyes he could see the duplicity there. He almost felt sorry for him… The boy had no idea what was to come should he try to rob Mr. Malfoy. For a moment, Tom was tempted to let him go and give Mr. Malfoy the pleasure… But he had a job to do.

“It has been good to know you,” he smiled. “Even with Ambrogio skulking about…”

Donatien nodded, and something in his posture seemed frozen at the mention. “It is sad, yes, that we could not know each other better. Especially because we are here under such similar… circumstances.”

“Quite,” said Tom wryly. “I see we understand each other very well.”

“Perhaps even better than we imagined.”

“Could I then… Oh, I can not ask it of you,” he sighed, finishing it off with an awkward chuckle like the ones he’d heard her make when she was playing coy. It worked as well on Donatien as it did on him.

“Tom,” he said, stepping a little closer to lay a hand on his shoulder and whisper, “you can ask me anything.”

“It’s just that I had so much more to say to you, and now… you’re so close to leaving…”

“I am still here.”

“But the queue…”

“Nevermind, nevermind. I can always return.”

“So, if I were to ask to speak to you in private…”

Donatien smiled a little too eagerly, and for a moment he seemed to Tom like any one of those old witches that Burke sent him off to.

“You could ask,” he said with a cocked brow.

“Perfect.”

They abandoned the line, confusing the people around them but leaving before anyone could think twice about it. Tom led Donatien through the more unused corridors, hand placed on his lower back. They walked faster and faster and, upon looking into one another’s eyes, a giddy smile took over both of them like two imps on an adventure. The sounds of other people grew more distant and the glow of the sparse lightbulbs shined just for them. They could pretend they were lost, that they were free, that their future was completely open. With a twinkle in his eye, Tom led the boy into a room that was out of sight and sound from the old auction hall. It was an area he had scarcely seen before during his early explorations, but he knew it to be deep enough inside the tunnels that sounds hardly carried far. It had rarely been disturbed judging by the amount of dust and cobwebs — even Oso hadn’t ventured here.

“In here,” he said, holding the door for Donatien.

The boy stepped through backwards and Tom followed, closing the door behind them. After a moment in the darkness his hand reached for the wall and he turned on the sole lightbulb in the room.

“So,” he started, “Malfoy won’t mind waiting for a little longer?”

“No, he is upstairs, waiting on the comfortable sofa in the room with the big maps,” said Donatien.

He turned around and looked at where they were, his nose curling at the state of it. It was perhaps less charming than what he had expected but he moved through the space gracefully with still an air of playfulness about him.

“I see,” said Tom.

“He does not like these subterranean places.”

“Yes, well, I don’t much like them either.”

“What do you like?” the boy asked with a sultry glance over his shoulder.

“Intellectually stimulating conversation.”

Donatien laughed. He grinned delightfully as he kept walking, Tom following his every move. With the upturned furniture and the bare lightbulb illuminating a stone storage space the place was rather offputting but the boy seemed to mind none of it. He walked now for Tom’s pleasure, his fetching figure clasped tight by his suit and straining in all the right places. Tom couldn’t help but wonder if he’d played the coquette for Ambrogio too.

“So, what did you want to talk about?” Donatien asked, speaking in such a girlish way that it set Tom’s teeth on edge.

“About our positions,” he said calmly, “relative to each other.”

Donatien stopped his aimless pacing and turned to face him, soft plumes of dust rising from his little pirouette.

“Which positions would that be?” he grinned. Casting his eyes down Tom’s body, he stepped even closer. With a smile that curled his lips gently at the edges, he placed his coltish hand upon Tom’s waist. “Do you have a preference?”

“As it happens, I do.”

Tom’s turn of tone from flirty to deathly cool did nothing to disturb Donatien. On the contrary, his hand went lower, smoothing down the straight line of his hip, then curling down toward his loins. Tom swallowed the knot in his throat.

“You know, I think you do not mind the position either way,” Donatien purred, closing his hand around Tom’s length, soft and still sensitive from earlier. He gasped mutely at the touch of it. “You seem quite ready for… anything to happen to you. Although I must say,” he chuckled, “what you have, I would be more than happy to take.”

“Oh you will take it, that’s for certain.”

III

Donatien was the last to pick up the book. She had begun to fear she’d done something wrong when he never showed up. Perhaps she was supposed to go to him or find Mr. Malfoy, but she was so tired and sleepy by that point that she could hardly sit upright. All the other guests had begun, slowly, to leave. But then he turned up. Donatien came from around the corner into the glum antechamber with a spring in his step and she would be lying if she said she wasn’t happy to see him.

“Ah, there you are,” she laughed, her voice weak and hoarse by now.

“Est-ce que vous m’attendiez?” he asked. His voice too sounded a little low and tired.

“Oui. Vous êtes le dernier,” she smiled, then turned around for the book and the readied receipt.

Everything was ready. She placed the book inside its box and wrapped it in red velvet as Donatien looked on. The packaging was held together with a black ribbon tied up in a bow like the world’s most malevolent Christmas gift. She had decided together with Tom that it was an apt presentation for the Delomelanicon. A part of her was sad to be giving it away, knowing how much Tom wanted it… But perhaps it was for the best. It was a notoriously evil book and she should have been relieved to part with it.

As she did her best to tie up a pretty bow she felt someone approaching from behind — a cold presence, and the same clipped steps she’d heard so many times before. She turned with a bright smile expecting to find that Tom had joined them, but it was just Donatien.

“Yes, well, here you are. A-and payment, of course. If you have it. But you must have it, right?”

The closeness made her blush and stutter. She’d never seen him look at her like that before… Donatien had given her a few sweet smiles and polite glances, but now he dragged his gaze across her, undressed her with his eyes — or seemed as if he already knew what she looked like naked. He reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and took out an envelope. She opened her hand for it, but he merely placed it on the table by her side. His eyes, as she looked up into them, seemed harder than before, more confident and playful… There was a hint of stubble on his chin, so faint she almost didn’t see it, and so different from Tom’s pale skin. Her eyes were fixed on his full lips when with his arm still braced behind her he leaned down.

“N-no!” she said quickly, her hands moving to push against his chest. “I’m sorry, I can’t…”

Donatien chuckled lowly, a far too confident sound for someone who’d just been rejected, but he paid her no mind and placed his hands on hers, trapping her against him as he leaned a little lower still. His mouth hovered above her own, parted in the promise of a kiss. She giggled, feeling so spoilt for choice as her thoughts shifted from him to Tom. And Donatien’s hands were warm, so warm, and soft like kitten paws, not hard and cold like his. It was a different thing entirely, to look up into bright blue eyes with golden speckles in them. His warm hand closed around the nape of her neck, holding her head tilted in just the right position for a kiss.

“I can’t,” she whispered, “Je suis désolée.”

His pretty face came closer until his lips hovered over hers and with a playful smile, he shook his head. She could smell his scent… It seemed so familiar but there was something musty too, like an abandoned cellar. His lips were pink and smiling, his eyes amused, and however much she wanted to taste all of him, she couldn’t do it.

“I don’t belong to you,” she said.

Donatien clenched his pretty, perfect teeth behind a wider smile and kissed her anyway. She moaned into his mouth, mumbling weak protestations, but when she closed her eyes it was as if Tom was there with her again. His arms caged her against the desk and then he slid a knee between her legs. His silky locks brushed against her forehead, much softer than Tom’s, and the warmth of his body encased her. She pushed against his chest, smiling in spite of herself at the soft flesh underneath, how more defined the muscles than the sleek body she was used to. With a sudden motion, he spread her legs a little wider and her skirt was raised by his insistent knee. She gasped and their kiss deepened when he tried to lift her to the desk. Panic flashed through her body when she realised how close she was to betraying Tom — and, on a more personal level, of her dirty little secret being found out once he pulled her panties down. She could still feel his cum there, dripping slowly out of her as the night went on.

“No!” she said again, pulling away from him.

His lips chased hers, following her quick escape and landing on her cheek, her jaw, her neck, tongue coming out to lave at the little dip between her clavicles. He lapped the sweat and dust from there, the lewd and rhythmic motion a naked promise of more. She shivered at the feeling.

“You French boys are impossible,” she mumbled, trying to sound angry but managing to lose grip of a giggle that was bubbling in her throat.

Donatien mumbled something but his kisses slowed down to little pecks laid on the tops of her breasts. His arms closed around her waist, pressing her to him in an almost innocent embrace. She could feel his whole body against hers — wider, stronger, soft and so inviting… He had the same clothes on from earlier but they were all ruffled now perhaps from him brushing against her. She placed a gentle hand over his nape, letting his warmth sink into her.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “If things were different, I… I’d like to, but I — I can’t.”

She’d almost confessed to him but stopped herself at the last second. Why was it so hard for her to tell, even a stranger, that she was in love with Tom?

“Pourquoi pas?”

She pulled away from him and as she looked into his eyes again she felt herself begin to shake. He was so close… She’d spend forever in those blue eyes if she could.

“Well, that’s none of your business, is it?” she whispered, blushing at his closeness.

Donatien noticed her reaction and couldn’t help but grin a little smugly. His head tilted and he dipped again.

“Ah, ah! No. Your business... is getting this book.”

He sighed but didn’t seem too hurt by her rejection. His hot palm at the back of her neck slid around to grip her jaw and gently brushed a thumb across her cheek. For a moment he looked into her eyes with something like regret, or maybe longing, but before she could say anything more to him he pulled away from her. Donatien reached behind her again and picked up the envelope with the payment, handing it to her.

“I, erm… Well, goodbye. Thank you.”

“Hmm. Au revoir,” he muttered.

His deep and silky voice sounded so different when he stood so close… She let her eyes roam his soft features one last time. There was something so sweet about his countenance, and so seductive too, sensual in the way that writhing snakes are. Perhaps that was why it felt so good to kiss him. They may have looked like opposites, but at least in that small sense, he reminded her of Tom.

“Erm, have you seen Mr. Riddle?” she asked.

“What?”

“Mr. Riddle. Tom… I haven’t seen him for a while.”

“Ah, erm, n-non.”

“Oh. Alright…”

“Ahem. Pardonnez-moi,” mumbled Donatien. He held the package tightly to his side and looked at her with the guilty expression of a child caught doing something naughty. Perhaps he knew about the two of them… Her heart froze at the thought. But he just smiled politely and, as if nothing untoward had just happened between them, took her hand and kissed it, and before she could say anything he turned quickly on his heels and left.

She braced herself against the desk and breathed for what felt like the first time in ten minutes. The soft swish of his jacket haunted her from down the hall and she could still taste those lips, feel that tongue on her, and oh the knowledge burned inside her that they just kissed. Tom would never know. Should never know. But as Donatien’s steps grew distant she couldn’t help the feeling that she could hear Tom walking through those corridors as well.

[talonabraxas]

The Transmutation of Jacob Boehme

“I did not climb up into the Godhead, neither can so mean a man as I am do it; but the Godhead climbed up in me, and revealed such to me out of His love, which otherwise I would have had to leave it quite alone in my half-dead fleshly birth.”

(Jacob Boehme, Aurora, VIII, 7)

Four years prior to the birth of John Bunyan, a shoemaker named Jacob Boehme died in the village of Goerlitz, Germany. Throughout his adult life Boehme had supported his wife and children by laboring at a rough and dingy workbench. But he was more than a cobbler; for as Alexander Whyte observes, “While working with his hands, Jacob Boehme’s whole life was spent in the deepest and the most original thought; in piercing visions of God and of nature; in prayer, in praise, and in love to God and man.”

Under the spell of Paracelsus, Boehme had in his youth taken a keen interest in alchemy. But in his maturer years, disillusioned with what he came to regard as the groundless claims of the science of transformation, he began increasingly to attach a spiritual and eternal significance to its conceptual framework. In the process his outlook altered radically; yet when speaking of this profound inward change, he naturally reverted to the language he knew best – the argot of the old spagyric art.

There was a difference, however. For now when he referred to the Philosopher’s Stone, Boehme no longer envisioned a magical catalyst possessing the power to turn one substance into another. Instead, he understood the Stone as an image of the New Birth. And so it happened that Jacob Boehme, shoemaker and alchemist, abandoned his efforts to transform lead into gold and exchanged them for a quest to be transformed in the inner man.

In the story of The Sword of Paracelsus, Morgan’s father, John Izaak, finds himself compelled to follow a similar quest. This part of the tale is, admittedly, wrapped in shadow. Yet as it unfolds, one thing becomes sufficiently clear: it is largely under the influence of Jacob Boehme that Izaak has set out upon his journey – inspired, we may imagine, by passages like the following:

“The eternal fire is magical, and a spirit, and dies not. It is the same fire as a dying, yet there is no dying, but an entrance into another source, that is, out of a painful desire into a love-desire …”

(The Signature of All Things)

“For man’s happiness consists in this, that he has in him a true desire after God; for out of the desire springs the love. And the love tinctures the death and darkness, that it is again capable of the divine sunshine.”

(Ibid.)

“He that will not seek thereby a new man born in God, and apply himself diligently thereto, let him not meddle with my writings. I have not written anything for such a seeker, and also he shall not be able to apprehend our meaning fundamentally though he strives never so much about it, unless he enters into the resignation in Christ. For the way is childlike, plain and easy.”

(Ibid.)

“Awaken in me the fire of Your great love. Ignite it, O Lord, so that my soul and mind may see these evil beasts and kill them by means of proper, true repentance and Your power.”

(The Way to Christ)

“If love dwelt not in trouble, it could have nothing to love.”

(The Supersensual Life)

This is the true alchemy as Jacob Boehme — and John Izaak — understood it.

[ Artist • Jakob Böhme ]

[writing-frenzy]

Mob Protag Ichigo and the Puppet Master (UraIchi Isekai Idea :3 )

So yeah, for anyone who's read my first idea with the Kurosaki Fam Isekai, they'll know all the stuff that has inspired this and that I've already mentioned an idea with a Mob Character!Ichigo and a Puppet Master Benihime (AKA Urahara Kisuke)

Let us set the scene :3

How will Ichigo go to a fantasy world, especially with how he is? Well, as Ichigo was growing up, one of his sisters was really, really sick; they weren't sure if she was going to make it tbh. Ichigo did all he could, but being a little guy, there wasn't much he could do. One day, he came upon a weird being who said they could grant wishes; Ichigo immediately asks if they can make his little sister healthy. The being said yes after a moment, but it will cost him a peaceful afterlife. Ichigo takes the deal, the being is admittedly touched by this child's goodness and unselfish desire, because for such a sweet child, they know of death and the loss it brings already. So the being actually doesn't twist the wish like so many others he does, letting the children live out their natural lifespans in peace.

All is well, until a 17 year old Ichigo saves his other sister and her friend from dying to a truck. Our World's Divine Being is like; damn, you still had way, way more life span and time than you should have to had died now... but since you have a contract, I can't just let you survive :/ eh, I'll use it to at least give you perks to survive your reincarnation in that hell hole. (not to mention how they too are actually touched, they're a sucker for loving families)

Ichigo: wut

Godly Being: *throws a book series and some powers at him* Wish you luck out there!

After feeling just a bit violated and like someone was digging around in his head and blood, Ichigo wakes up in an abandoned house in some modern looking steampunk like city. Looking around he doesn't have much but some basics for survival, weird as heck items, and a book series. Not much to do, he reads the series, which answers a whole lot of questions even as makes Ichigo scowl like a thundercloud.

See, this is a very, very dark fantasy like series, it's gonna have all the canon Bleach fighting and gore but with magical surprises and such, with a very, very bittersweet ending. It's kinda like a modern setting meets with a very eco-friendly way because the world will crush those it sees trying to abuse it (mother nature don't play around here) so it's kinda steam/water/wind/solarpunk. Don't know who I want as the OG Story's protag to be, maybe Rukia or one of the Karakura Kids, but it follows them in a world were contracts/pacts/deals with spiritual beings is over everything; it can be with weapons, it can be with bloodlines or any such. Not all pacts and such are unequal, some in fact are real and true bonds, the pact bound loyal to their contractors to obsession... others, it is is very much a thing of slavery and torture, which can go both ways depending on what was exactly contracted.

Ichigo goes about trying to figure out his own contract/pact thing, which while so long ago, is just something he has never been able to forget, seemingly inscribed onto his very soul in a way. He knows he was picked because his soul was the most compatible for the spirits the being wanted for him, and he already knows its going to change his body as well, but it still confuses him.

(maybe something like;

A mix of holy power and darkness that would find most be consumed,

Flames properly controlled that can reach the moon,

Cut it from the sky and devour it if so desired,

But yet all one wants is to protect their own wary lost and life tired,

For One such as you a power so great is to be entrusted,

It will find you, change you, leave your life chain broken and rusted,

In Time it will be shown if you can make this power your own,

But already, your fate has sown.)

(LOL, this is Ichigo, he's gonna break his fate and make friends with his Hallow and Ossan, because I love the idea of the three together again in this au :3 later tho)

But yeah, so Ichigo is figuring things out, especially with controlling his body once more because his strength went a bit wonky, but I also like the idea of a different weapon Ichigo if that makes sense? Like, he will still be an op power house, but the thought of him using spells and martial arts makes me grin evilly? Like, with his Hollow more bonded later, he can make claws come out to rip soft bellies apart and such. And Ossan just insists he learn a bow for those times he needs long range and such, even if he gets a bit despairing when Ichigo occasionally gets too frustrated and just throws the damn arrow (all three in Ichigo's head are quiet whenever the move proves highly effective, which is always.) Oh, but now I can't help but think of Childe from Genshin Impact's fighting style :D maybe instead of blades though, Ichigo switches to a hand to hand with bracers of some sort covering his arms that are hard as fuck, easy to move around in because of magic.

But ah, getting sidetracked again, this all comes later down; for now, Ichigo is still figuring shit out, avoiding protagonists and co because yeah, people not protected by plot armor tend to die really, really messily around them and he still can't do jack right now (doesn't mean he doesn't do what he can, even if its just simple things like helping the elderly, making sure kids get home safe, or even knocking out some regular thugs harassing some ladies.

Ichigo, despite all his scowls and looks, still draws people in with his kindness and protective nature in this dark, lonely otherworld.)

Its as he's helping someone shopping, this sweet little lady who goes on and on about her sweet grandbaby, that Ichigo goes to the Urahara Shoten for the first time; not much gets his attention, besides the fact that the protagonist has only been here once or twice in the early chapters for some odds or ends, this place being some mixture of candy/pawn/tea shop.

But then something in the shop resonates with him; with his very soul. Looking around, Ichigo tells the sweet grandma he'll be right back, and call him when she's done, to which she gives a cheerful reply before Ichigo goes off, looking high and low before he finds a strange book and block with it, like a set. Picking it up, it just feels so damn right... till he looks at the price tag and cringes. While he has odd jobs here and there to help him out, it's just enough money for him to live with since he doesn't have to worry about rent with his questionable abandoned house, covering his food expenses and the public bath fee.

"Find something you like dear customer?" is said from behind him, which makes Ichigo jump like a few feet into the air, clutching his book and block set to his chest, before turning to the one who startled him.

And so thus the first meeting with Urahara Kisuke, Geta-boshi as Ichigo likes to call him. After a bit of back and forth between the two, Ichigo admits he can't afford the book and block set, too which Urahara merely hums, eyes oddly shadowed from his hat as he considers that. one thing leads to another and somehow Ichigo not only gets the set but even a steady job at the shop, even if his paycheck will be cut because of said set. And sure, Geta-boshi is sus as fuck, but Ichigo doesn't sense any ill will from the man, not too mention the man even helps him with understanding the book, a soul book as its called, which strengthens souls and their contracts, enabling them to get a growing weapon called an Asauchi that transforms with the soul. Its not bad.

On Kisuke's part, he is actually pretty intrigued by Kurosaki, this youth who carries the potential of a predator but the heart of a protector, actually reacting to the soul book and Asauchi Kisuke had made more for curiosity and boredom then to actually make a functional weapon. Not to mention just how much fun it is too mess with Ichigo, the boy shows he has a clever mind and a strength that just seems to constantly grow more and more. Kisuke is actually considering just how he can possibly use this youth for his goals, wondering if he can be the chest piece he needs to finally topple the king in this game between Puppet Master Benihime and Greater Lord Aizen.

Ichigo does know about Puppet Master Benihime from the story, they were a neutral character only focused on making sure the world would not collapse, no matter the amount that would be needed to be sacrificed in the end. But in the story, it only ever showed Benihime herself, never even mentioning that she was actually contracted, and 100% loyal to said contractor, so Ichigo has no clue about just how scary his mentor is at first, besides when the man actually did finally spar with him and Ichigo couldn't even get a hit on him. In this world, these two have a bit more time, a bit more room to act, and with it they bond, much to Kisuke great surprise even as he still plans to use him.

So things happen, things are reveled, discoveries are had, and Kisuke goes to Ichigo, confirming that he knows.

And then he kneels before this youth; he kneels and apologizes, thinking and knowing in his soul he's done something unforgiveable, thinking he won't be forgiven and fine with that as long as Ichigo still lives well... only for Ichigo to actually forgive, just like that, just because he could tell Kisuke meant it, scowling still but most of all accepting.

Its a good thing Kisuke was already kneeling because that alone would have made him bow just from the sheer acceptance and warmth Ichigo just seems to shine with. Ichigo has no idea just what he's done, who's utter loyalty and trust he has secured, and Kisuke will kill, die, and live for this boy, he just has to say the word. Even with all the people Ichigo has gathered, from villains to protagonist, people who are loyal and true if to no one else but him, Kisuke feels blessed he can be included, can be trusted even over the others to always remain at Ichigo's back and protect it no matter what.

In return, Ichigo looks up to Kisuke as both a mentor, ally, friend, and after an interesting dream, a damn annoying crush he can not get rid of, going strong for years (no longer a crush then but let him deny it for a bit). Parts of him wants to devour this man whole, never share him with the world, but Ichigo is such a being of freedom he could never dream to rip such a thing from someone else. (Kisuke being Kisuke wouldn't mind if its Ichigo tho >:3 All Ichigo has to do is ask, and this man would give him the world, Benihime right behind him.)

I feel like this story would be a slow burn but not if that makes sense? like, there is a tension from the very beginning of the story to Demi-romantic/sexual Ichigo's awakening of shit, so that's what that feels like (Fight me on this, I will defend it to the grave Very Demi!Ichigo)

But yeah, so far that's it for my Bleach Ideas :D hope you enjoyed them and stuff.

[heartthumpnovel]

Heart Thump: Fantasy AU Short

The Cursed Prince

Word count: 3968

This is just a short story I wanted to write up in a AU where the gang are in a fairytale setting. Kinda an offshoot of Rapunzel but with G/t instead. May or may not cont. this depending on the reception and motivation. Thought something different to refresh myself for the canon story.

Part 1 (You are here) Part 2

cw: Implied past abuse

---

One might assume that being held hostage is not only terrifying but also an exhilarating predicament. In tales of old, damsels in distress yearned for freedom and often found romance with the noble hero who saved them in most derivative literature.

However, Jason's firsthand experience proved quite the opposite.

Perhaps it stemmed from the fact that Jason wasn't kidnapped by a fearsome beast, but rather, he was imprisoned by his own father and the individuals who had pledged their allegiance to the Anderheart royal family since his adolescence. The novelty of being confined in a tower forever gradually lost its appeal over time. Fortunately, those who locked him away occasionally sent servants and mages to inform him what era it was, provided they were brave enough to engage in conversation.

The prince wouldn’t consider himself a hostage, far from it.

In fact, he’s the fearsome beast that needed to be locked up.

It all started with a bit of family trouble back when he was a young boy. Not that he would like to remember much of what happened but, what did happen was his own mother cursing her son before she was executed for being a witch.

What horrible curse was he afflicted with? Falling into a deep slumber to be awoken by a kiss, or turning into a swan at a nonspecific lake?

No, that would be far too graceful for the poor prince. Whenever he felt true love or happiness, he would start to double in size when his heart raced. The second his father found out what happened to him, for the safety of the kingdom and to keep a respectful appearance of the royal family, Jason was locked up in a refurbished prisoner tower which was meant to hold powerfully dangerous wizard prisoners.

It wasn't akin to a dismal prison with meager accommodations and chains, considering Jason was still the prince after all. He occupied two entire floors, and all his possessions from his room in the castle were transported here. His extensive collection of books and plants kept him occupied throughout the years. The tower's walls were even enchanted to withstand his uncontrollable growth, ensuring he wouldn’t accidentally destroy his home. Admittedly, it caused him significant pain when that occurred, but Jason believed he deserved it for allowing himself to become such a monstrosity in the first place. The prince preferred not to view his current residence as a prison but rather as a place of self-reformation and eventual liberation from the curse.

Though things on that front were slow going. All kinds of wizards and bishops had given his humble tower a visit to see if they were the ones that could break Jason’s curse. None of them succeeded by even a little bit. The number of people claiming they could fix him dwindled and Jason could hardly remember the last time a magic user tried to break the curse. It didn’t help either, that no parameters were said on the solution to get rid of Jason’s burden. Thinking about this made his stomach drop and he’d rather not focus on his predicament.

While there hasn't been a recent visit from suppliers from the kingdom, Jason wasn’t completely left to his own devices. It would be idiotic to leave a giant shifter to go mad by loneliness. Years ago around the time Jason turned fifteen, he was given a druid attendant to originally help him cure his ailment. This druid attendant was only a mere apprentice and needed experience for her mage training. Of Course she never did help him with the curse, but she did stay to become his closest ally. She even taught him how to nurture plants and they bonded over book series they both really like.

Strangely enough, Jason couldn’t put a finger on why but she wasn’t disgusted by his curse and actually wanted to be friends. Sure she seemed fearful of him at first, though she ended up going past the whole giant thing pretty quickly.

Oh Ellinor, so sweet yet had an awful taste of companions evidently.

Jason longed for her presence, despite knowing that she would return in a month with supplies to ensure he didn't perish from hunger and would provide him with new books to read. Plus it wasn’t like he could force her to stay just because he really wanted someone to talk to. He’d just find things to do to avoid being needy for attention. Surely, given his expertise in enduring captivity for countless moons, he could find ample activities to keep himself busy.

It was only day three and he was already out of books to sink into.

Loneliness began to eat away at him like moths to a nicely crafted sweater. He could feel the holes in his heart widening and just needed to find something to keep him distracted.

The prince finally rose from his silk sheets from his self reflection and quiet sobs, trying to think of ways a damsel like himself could pre-occupy his time. There were moments when he almost wished he were tormented by a captor, as it would afford him someone to converse with, reminiscent of the stories he had read. Gently dabbing his tears with a handkerchief, he took a deep breath, attempting to compose himself.

“Just a couple of weeks Jason, nothing to get all emotional over.” he whispered to himself as he passed by the solitary window that offered a glimpse of the outside world. Pausing, he leaned out of the stone archway, beholding the tranquil forest that surrounded him. Despite being the sole view he had of the outside, it remained a breathtaking sight regardless of the season. The melodic songs of diverse bird species and the presence of adorable, fluffy rodents never failed to bring a smile to his face. If only the creatures weren't frightened of him, he could approach them closely. Oh, how he yearned to run his fingers through the soft fur of an endearing creature. What he’d also wish he could do was to check out the plant life around him when Ellinor isn’t around to help him pick it. Just after Ellinor left Jason just had to notice a fruitful bounty of lavender had decided to grow underneath a willow tree that was right across from his tower. Jason had read of the calming remedy the herb had and heard that it made for an amazing tea. Having something to help calm him wasn’t only useful in his separation anxiety but may help with keeping from getting taller.

His gaze lingered longingly upon the lavender patch, wondering if it would remain in full bloom by the time Ellinor returned—

Wait, who was that?

Jason hadn't anticipated encountering anything other than the usual lavender flowers nestled beneath the willow's branches, but the sight before him was no mere flower. She possessed a beauty as captivating as the very patch she was avidly plucking from. His extraordinary eyesight allowed him a better glimpse of the woman, who had dark skin and neatly braided hair fashioned into a crown. Her clothes seemed nice, though not too nice to be a high class nobel, but he assumed that was because a dress would be problematic in dense woods like these. Jason couldn’t get a better look at her as she was bent down on her knees to hog all of the sweet smelling lavender.

Normally, it would be ill-advised for the prince to engage with passersby outside his tower. More often than not, they were lost bandits or adventurers mistaking him for a trapped princess. Each encounter ended with Ellinor either chasing them away or their retreat in terror upon discovering Jason's true identity. Fools, all of them.

However, this time, Jason realized his precious herbs were at stake, and lavender was not commonly found in the area. The audacity of this beautiful intruder to take what was clearly near his tower, and to claim one of the few things that could have kept him grounded and normal… no, she had to go.

“HEY- YOU THERE. TRESPASSER!” Jason yelled out as he poked his head outside his stone window and held onto the balcony fence. The woman startled as she looked where the yelling was coming from. “YEAH YOU! MISS!”

The woman stood up from her business and the prince could finally see her face. Her skin was definitely glowing and well taken care of so she couldn’t have been a dirty bandit type he usually saw. Perhaps a traveling noble merchant or a mage? Could be a magic user as he noticed how enchanting her eyes were. Wait- Focus Jason!

Just because this flower thief was pretty didn’t mean she had the right to take his precious herbs. Though perhaps he shouldn’t scare the daylights out of her and just tell her to get lost.

As the woman pointed to herself and gave a puppy dog head tilt, Jason went on shouting from his window. “Those lavender flowers are already claimed!” Jason spoke, trying his best to seem authoritative though it was pretty lacking, “and this is private property you’re standing in!”

The woman looked back at the lavender patch silently and then did a double take at the tower. Raising an eyebrow in curiosity, instead of leaving his yard, the lady decided the best idea was to walk even closer to the tower. Jason cringed and before he could tell her to back off, the woman cuffed her hands around her mouth and started to yell back.

“I don’t see a garden fence around here!” Shouted the beautiful stranger, “Also no offense, it looked like nobody lived in your dinky tower in centuries! How was I supposed to know!?”

Dinky?! Really? A three story tower is dinky to her? Jason’s fingers gripped on the stone window sill. "Well now you know don't you?!" Shouted back the whiny prince, "so why don't you leave my 'dinky tower' alone?"

Instead of just leaving like he asked, she stood there analyzing the scene before her. "You locked up here or something? Need help out of there?" She responded with a tinge of worry in her voice. Jason only rolled his eyes as he found himself again in this bothersome situation.

"You're not one of those Albion graduate heroes are you?" Jason spoke with his arms crossed, "No I'm perfectly fine thank you very much."

Her worried expression turned into a skeptical one as she still didn't make herself scarce.

"Oh really?" She retorted back with her hands on her hips, "Why don't you come down here to get the damn flowers yourself?"

Jason’s cheeks turned a tomato shade of red as his resolve began to crumble. He sputtered out his explanation.

"I-i can't…" Jason admitted, "I can not leave the tower but, I can assure you I'm perfectly fine."

That beautifully annoying woman smirked before she responded, walking over the tiny bridge that was over a stream, "You're literally in the middle of nowhere trapped in a prisoner tower. That doesn't look fine to me."

Oh by the gods, she's gotten so close to the structure that if Jason were to jump out of the window he'd probably land on her. He didn't need her that close.

"Look who ever you are- it's none of your business and I implore you to move on!" Jason tried to appeal to her, "you won't like what you see here I assure you."

The woman's response to that vague warning was to pat the sword handle at her side with a grin. Jason’s palms started to sweat, knowing she could bolt by the sight of his curse.

"What's keeping you here? Ransom? Dragon? Evil wizard? Your hair?" Natasha asked, her eyes looking at the tower to see where the door was.

Well, it seemed like he had to tell her the truth that nobody wanted to hear. That he was indeed the cursed prince of the Anderheart family. Jason leaned over the edge trying to be as stern as a lanky man could be.

He pointed to himself.

"I am, " Jason said, "I have a curse where I grow into a giant monster and I am kept here to keep the world safe."

That should have done it. Once people found out who he was they would either aim their arrows or run.

So why did she just stand there?

She stared up at the prince with an unreadable look on her face before she started to snicker. She put her hand over her mouth attempting to not break out into laughter. Right as Jason was going to ask what was so funny about his predicament, she answered with giggles.

"Seriously!?" Natasha spoke, "with a cute face like that?!"

Th-thump

Oh no.

Jason felt butterflies lunge in his stomach and that dreaded feeling of glee appeared. It was already too late as he felt the growth spurt suddenly making him several feet taller.

He also felt the stone window frame smack the top of his head.

“ACK!!” Jason yelped as his sudden growth caused him to smack the top of his head, he bent over for a moment to rub the bruise, “Ugh bloody hell that stings- I ugh, told you!” Thankfully he didn’t manage to fall out of the window, though he did also realize he wasn’t hearing screaming either. Jason’s eyebrows furrowed as he bent down to look outside the window once more wondering why he didn’t hear a reaction.

…

She was still standing there.

The woman stood there, eyes widened and definitely looked like she was completely caught off guard. Though she definitely wasn’t reaching for her sword as her arms remained crossed. The shock on her face slowly formed into a confused gaze.

“That’s it?” She spoke.

"What do you mean, 'that's it'!?" Jason exclaimed, his voice inadvertently louder, but he no longer cared. "I'm a bloody monster! You shouldn't be lingering around!" Was he actually feeling a twinge of offense that she didn't appear scared of him? It seemed that the years of isolation had truly taken a toll on the prince.

“I mean yeah you’re a little bit taller but like-” she said, gesturing with her arms, "but this? It doesn't scream 'monster' to me." A warm smile graced the woman's face, indicating she wasn't bluffing, although perhaps she lacked awareness of the potential danger. The 7-foot-tall prince cleared his throat, closing his eyes and crossing his arms in annoyance.

“I could be hundreds of men tall if it weren’t for this tower keeping me in check, you should be afraid. ” Jason coldly explained, truly unsure of this situation and the unknown was clearly making him uncomfortable.

“I mean-” Oh bother, she’s speaking again, “I’ve always had a thing for tall guys.”

Before he could react, his body swelled uncontrollably, leaving him scrambling to retreat into his room to avoid getting his head stuck in the window. His desk and bookshelves toppled over as his legs pushed them aside. Jason's back and head collided with the cold stone walls on the other side of the room. Struggling to catch his breath, he felt his face burning red and realized that his room now felt more like a cramped crate. Grumbling, he blew his bangs out of his face, wondering what he had done to deserve this. The nerve of this intruder!

“Hey you alright in there!?” That sweet little voice yelled.

Taking a deep breath was all the prince could do, as he needed to keep his temper in check. Even if the lady made him lose control, it wasn’t like she was trying to cause harm. A royal like him needs to be gentle and stern when asking for things. Especially if he was big enough to cause harm and he really didn’t want to scare people. Pulling himself forward, Jason mumbled a confirmation that he was fine. He then reached his arm out the window, which was as long as a horse, and pointed towards the willow tree.

“Look miss,” Jason said, “Just leave me be please, you can take the lavender if you want.”

There was silence. A very long one.

Jason pulled his arm back inside and curled up upon the cool prison wall. His fingers gripping opposite elbows as he held back tears. Thinking the situation over in his mind and feeling a deep pit in his stomach.

“Oh you gigantic moron…” Jason murmured to himself, “She just wanted to help and you had to go be a rude brute..” He curled into himself as he became a big sobbing mass in his itty bitty tower. The walls have never felt this closed in since the days where he was first thrown in there. Memories of him being chained up for the first few weeks came to mind and being left to starve as the servants who used to keep him alive were too scared to approach his door. He hadn't talked to anyone those desolate weeks and had to beg to convince his father that he wasn’t meaning to be dangerous. That he hated what he’d become and wanted more than anything to be fixed.

Jason grimaced and fiddled with the gem on his crown. Surely a cure was going to come around soon and he could step outside this tower without fear. At this point Jason didn’t even care about being a ruler or whatever. He just didn’t want to be alone.

Clank

Jason’s head rose and graced the ceiling, hearing a noise coming from the window that sounded like metal scraping rock. Hanging there over the window sill was a hook that had a rope tied on it. Was she planning on coming up here to slay him for being rude!?

“Hey buddy could you do me a favor and loop that rope through an anchor?” Her voice yelled up casually, “I’m sending a basket up.”

Wait what?

More confusion came to Jason, he wondered why in the world this person wanted to give him something after he yelled at her to leave. The prince crawled forward and desperately patted the ceiling as he searched for that rope hook he used to use during the first few years of his banishment. He hadn't found a need for it lately as Ellinor wasn’t scared coming into the tower. One of his giant fingers brushed against cold metal and he gave it a tug. Dust exploded from the anchor and unfortunately Jason inhaled a lot of it. He coughed harshly and waved a hand around to try to fan the dust outside the window.

The very kind person asked if he was okay and the giant tried to assure her that he’s just fine. Jason fed the rope through the hoop of the anchor and held onto the other end on the rope with one hand. The rope jostled a bit as pressure was added to the other end outside. It wasn’t heavy at all though there was indeed something tied to the other end. Just then there were two brief tugs to the rope and Jason took that as a signal to pull it up.

While it wouldn’t take much effort to pull it up strength wise, he was very slow and methodical with pulling up the basket. He wouldn’t want to accidentally jostle out the mystery contents in the basket. His eyes brightened in surprise when he managed to spot the basket on the other end and nearly dropped it.

It was a small bouquet of lavender.

The smell was just as wonderful as he thought it would be and they looked beautiful up close. His heart began to race once more as he felt his body push the limit of the tower’s allowance. Though he didn’t care about his desk being completely pushed into the wall or that he was completely cramped in his tiny room. Someone gave him a wonderful gift and it brought a huge grin on his face for the first time in a while.

While he wished he would go face her once more to properly say thank you, his head was just a bit too large to fit through the window, so instead he pushed an arm through the window. His index finger and thumb crossed over to the delight of the stranger.

“Uhm- thank you very much Miss… could I please get your name?” Jason asked with him trying to not sound like was crying.

The new friend spoke cheerfully, “Natasha Maryrose, I come from the Solaris Republic not far from here. Could I get yours as well?”

The Solaris Republic? He remembered that that democratic empire had a tense yet amicable relationship with the kingdom he was born to rule in. It seemed their borders were much closer than he initially thought.

“Prince Anderheart,” Said the prince, “Though you can call me Jason, if that's a bit too formal.”

“Oh so you are the cursed prince! Huh..” Natahsa scratched her grin, “Wow the tales about you are seriously bunk.”

“Wh-what tales!?” The giant arm flinched a little, “There’s tales about me!?”

“Heh, I’d say they’re more like rumors or stories that mothers tell their young kids to make them behave.” Natasha confessed as she leaned on the tower’s wall, “I wouldn’t give it too much thought, it’s not like you actually have claws and bake men’s bones into bread. ”

“Oh by the gods…” Jason responded as his arm went limp on the window’s edge, causing a giggle to come from below, “I hardly even speak to those that come around here…”

“I’m special then?” Natasha retorted as she noticed the fingers of the arms twitch, “I could try to help clear your name out here if you want.”

“Oh no no no, “ The arm crawled back into the window as if a snake was finding shelter in its den, “I would appreciate it if you kept me a secret for now, I honestly don’t want people knowing where I am when I’m stuck like this…”

“Yeah, that’s understandable,” Natasha responded, “Then your secret is safe with me ya little bone muncher!”

A laugh bellowed from within the tower, it was dainty yet shook the stone walls. Not enough to break them but, one would have thought a keg explosive went off in there.

Perhaps, a kind of emotional keg exploded there that day.

Jason whipped his tears with his other arm and smiled, having the outside arm give a thumbs up before gently grasping the window. Tapping his fingers on the sill as he took a large breath.

“Oh man alive…” Jason spoke, “Could I make another bold request if it’s not too much to ask?”

“Shoot.”

“Could you… pay me a visit sometimes? If-if you want that is. I know we just met and everything but, I-I think you’re really interesting and it gets quite lonely-”

“I’d love to.”

The arm froze in surprise, then melted back onto the window as it hung very low along the tower’s aging stone walls.

“Th-thanks, and I’m very, very sorry for the way I’ve treated you,” Jason began to apologize, “You were just trying to be nice and here I was yelling at you for it- Eh?!”

In the middle of his apology, he didn’t realize that his arm could reach so far down that it was just barely enough for someone to reach their hand out to touch the tip of his middle finger. He felt a silk-soft hand pat his finger, which initially flinched at the touch but let itself be petted. Jason couldn’t make out what Natasha was mumbling about, but, deep down he knew it must have been kind.

Finally, the dreaded cursed prince of the Atlas kingdom and Anderheart monarchy, had made another friend.

[mysticstarlightduck]

Song of Thorns - WIP Intro/WIP Wednesday

Jumping on the OPEN TAG by @little-peril-stories (here), and @kaylinalexanderbooks tag (here) because I was really inspired and wanted to give it a try! I tried to give my twist on the same format, because it was really cool!

(Also, I had been wanting an excuse to do an actual intro for this WIP for a while now, even though it's not my main one and is a much smaller side project lol)

By the way, if you like this, please reblog, it helps a lot 💕

Rules: Pick a WIP. Post something about it. On a Wednesday. Or whenever! It can be literally anything! (:

WIP INTRO - SONG OF THORNS

Title: Song of Thorns

Genre: High Fantasy/Dark Fairytale

Tags: #wip song of thorns #song of thorns

Synopsis/What Is It About?

Roselyn, a teenage girl from a backwater fishing village on the edge of the continent, moves to the kingdom's floating capital with her siblings - Jasen, her older brother and a brilliant aspiring sorcerer, and their 12-year-old younger sister, Portia - after Jasen gets a prestigious apprenticeship in the mystical city.

However, after a while, it becomes apparent that something is not what it seems in the city of legend. In fact, something is very wrong. When Jasen mysteriously disappears without a trace, trying to find out what happened reveals the true facet of the up-til-then-welcoming nobility, and gets her falsely accused of treason.

Sentenced to death for reasons she cannot understand, Roselyn finds her second chance when the royal family's youngest prince, the nephew of the King, sets her free in the middle of the night with a proposal - helping him stop the full extent of his family's schemes and save the city before it is too late.

With the help of the now-exiled prince and a couple other outcasts, Roselyn will expose the city's corruption and save her brother before it is too late. All the while she starts falling in love with the charming though lonely thief (Renn) who has stolen her heart. But with strange forces being tampered with and magic swiftly changing, time is slipping away disturbingly fast.

Tropes and Nice Stuff! (Or, a.k.a. What you can expect in this book!)

Friends to Lovers! (Renn x Roselyn, Prince Alaric x Jasen)

Eldritch horror, dark fantasy, and blood magic. The royals are basically fantasy mad scientists and it gets complicated...

The perfect city has some really fucked up secrets that nobody was supposed to find out. Ever.

Epic heists (or as I like to call it: these fools doing absolutely everything wrong but failing successfully)

Fantasy creatures, enchanted forests, a derpy giant talking cat. You name it! There are loads of peaceful sea monsters too, and some very dangerous creatures I've invented as well!

Sad, absolutely heartbreaking scenes and some goofy, silly scenes!

Goth thief who is actually very nerdy and not at all brooding.

An aro/ace druid's apprentice! A bit unhinged and admittedly clueless about the world outside, but the sweetest character ever"

An actually Good Stepmother! (Subversion of the Wicked Stepmother trope)

Enemies to Friends (that's a spoiler!)

A villain who may act childish but is actually not stupid at all and is the most threatening MF you'll ever meet

Whump! (Potentially)

Medieval/Renaissance period with a touch of Fantasy Science

A soft magic system

Siblings, family bonds, and intrigue!

Sometimes the villains kinda win and it is scary (but don't worry the heroes find a way to fight another day so it's not all doom and gloom, almost, but not.)

And more!💕

Meet The Main Cast! (The good guys)

Roselyn Lethia

A curious and opinionated teenager, Roselyn finds herself dragged into a net of intrigue, lies, and bloodied secrets after her beloved older brother suddenly goes missing without a trace, and the kingdom tries to convince her he never existed. She is kind, brave, and determined, though she can sometimes take on more than she can realistically handle, and needs to rely solely on her book-earned wits and sparse fighting skills to get through her fears. Her greatest motive is keeping her loved ones safe, but she also, deep down, yearns for some adventuring.

Prince Alaric of the Hyghsummit

Naive and slightly arrogant without realizing it, Alaric is the youngest prince of the reigning royal family. He is the nephew of the King and was largely raised by his stepmother Catallinah, a motherly but no-nonsense woman trapped in an arranged marriage to his uncle after the death of her husband, Alaric's father. Most of his other relatives from his large family consider him a weak link and most don't even bother with him at all - but Alaric is much more than the capital's "failed prince". He is a brilliant and well-read young man who has spent most of his time honing his abilities to bring down the lies of his corrupted family. He falls in love with Jasen, who became his friend after the latter started working as an apprentice to the court's High Sorcerer.

Renn Atrius

A foreign noble from beyond the royal lands, he was forced into the lifestyle of a thief from a young age, after being orphaned when his father was murdered for refusing to obey their neighboring kingdom's crown. Learning the art of disappearing into the night and taking valuables from the land that took everything from him and colonized his nation, Renn quickly became quite the nuisance for the King. But thankfully to his connection to raw blood magic, his slight vampiric abilities ensure no human soldier ever proves a real threat to him. He starts to fall in love with Roselyn, having become friends with her after trying to steal her coin purse (having mistaken her for a tourist from the capital).

Jasen Lethia

Roselyn's older brother, Jasen is a brilliant and highly ambitious student of the arcane arts. Their home village never provided much chances for his studies, but he kept practicing until he was good enough to earn a highly prestigious apprenticeship at the capital's Evocation Order. He is pragmatic, soft-spoken, and painstakingly patient, and though his studies are important to him, raising his sisters has been his top priority since their parents were killed in a bandit raid to their village when he was twelve, especially because their grandmother was too frail to really do much to raise them when she was alive. Jasen becomes close friends with Prince Alaric, who is around his age, though Jasen dismisses his own personal romantic feelings, believing that he would never be deemed worthy to love a noble and saying anything would only ruin their friendship, when in fact Alaric feels the same. Jasen went missing after discovering the truth about the King by accident.

Oriana Whisperleaf

A quirky and extremely talkative druid's apprentice, Oriana was neglected by her birth parents, who did not care for her. When she was five, she wandered into a local meadow and into the woods - no one came looking for her. She got really lost, but thankfully, she met the mysterious druidic witch who lived deep in the enchanted woods of the realm, a beautiful woman who took her in and raised her as her daughter and apprentice.

Portia Lethia

Roselyn and Jasen's youngest sister, Portia is a very quiet and often sensitive 12-year-old kid, who prefers to spend her time in the company of animals rather than people and wants to become an animal healer when she comes of age. She is smart, perceptive, and polite/well-behaved for her age, though sometimes she has a prankster streak!

Plot Points .... or not🙃 (so far, because this WIP is still early in creation)

"Peace and Quiet and All Things Nice - wait what tf is that in the water? Eh. Probably just a sea monster, it's likely nothing."

"You're saying we're going to the capital - a city literally built in the mountains floating in the sky?! Count me IN dude I am hyped!"

"Traveling. And traveling. And traveling some more. Gods, does this goddamn road ever end -? Oh, and we're there."

"Two unsupervised teenage girls explore an unknown city and shenanigans ensue. Also, meet this suspicious royal High Sorcerer dude who will mentor their older brother and is totally not gonna betray him at all. Trust me."

"Things are looking great! I'm having fun, this is nice!"

"OBLIGATORY ONE-YEAR TIME SKIP"

"I have the feeling some sus bullshit is afoot but I don't know why. And I don't know if I wanna know. Everything's fine! Right?... right?"

"BREAKING NEWS: Watch how an entire kingdom tries to gaslight a teenager!"

"...Why are there bloodstains in the castle? What are those gooey-looking branches? Oh, hell to the nah~"

"So apparently I've been arrested. That's new. They have yet to read me my rights."

"So either I'm gonna be executed or have my mind erased. That's new. How about neither? No? This is not how I saw my weekend going."

"Breaking out with the prince. I don't know which of us is more confused. We're totally not gonna die in like two days at this rate."

"Getting lost in a very cursed-looking forest and finding out that the kingdom is slowly dying. At least that druid looks friendly - if she doesn't try to kill us. Yet again."

"Meet this 100-year-old lady who looks 30. She's nice. A bit crazy though, I think, but nice? Real talk, I'm not sure if this is tea or poison, or if she knows, but I'm too concerned to ask."

"So your insane family has sent assassins to kill us? Neat. And you didn't think that was a priority to mention, why exactly..? OF COURSE IT WAS A PRIORITY YOU GILDED DIMWIT!"

"This goth mercenary guy did just try to rob me, but he did save my life, so. Plus he does look handsome in this light, ngl. Why does he look so cute, tf is wrong with me?"

"🎶And I'm never gonna sleep again, sleep again, lalala, what the eldritch hell did I just see -🎶

"Rival civilization! Finally! Pls tell me there's not an insane guild of blood sorcerers in this town my dude. I need a break desperately and I'm not sure if my sanity can handle any more - Oh thank goodness. It's just horrifying monsters beyond my wildest dreams then. I'd take that any day. How much does an inn cost here?"

"Group of dumbasses tries to pull off complicated plan. Proceeds to forget said plan halfway through and ends up improvising an entire heist. Also, that's a talking cat. Why is there a talking cat."

"Finding out your prince best friend has been in love with your older brother since they met. Pt 1"

"Not-so-Evil (actually the nicest) Stepmother jumpscares teenagers and feels bad about it. She has cookies though so that's okay though."

"The King throws a massive hissy fit, Special Edition (:"

"So. This is bad. This is bad. Thisissobad. I'm traumatized. I regret all my life choices and I think I'm going to throw up. This is so bad."

"We need a plan. A better one to be exact."

"Absolutely not! We are not breaking into that place, oh Hells no! No. Absolutely not-" (shift scenes, deadpan tone) "We broke into that place and I regret everything."

That's it so far! I'm still workshopping the ending from here (:

Playlist

Runaway - AURORA

Only Teardrops - Emmelie De Forest

Shadow - Livingston

Elan - Nightwish

Bad Feeling - Jaguar Twain

Tagging (gently, no pressure!) @kaylinalexanderbooks @littleladymab @cabbojage @lassiesandiego @little-peril-stories @oh-no-another-idea @thepeculiarbird @rickie-the-storyteller @crowandmoonwriting @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @gummybugg @forthesanityofstorytellers @doublegoblin @aalinaaaaaa @starlit-hopes-and-dreams @elshells @illarian-rambling @clairelsonao3 @conkers-thecosy @anyablackwood @diabolical-blue @cowboybrunch and OPEN TAG for anyone else who wants to do their own spin in this challenge!

[sno4wy]

Did you seriously drop that much money to try to make your awful ship more valid? Guess what? You didn't, hope you enjoyed wasting a ton of money. It doesn't matter how much money you pay, you and your lame friends will always be the only ones who prefer your fugly builder with Miguel. Just give it up and go jump off a bridge already.

Hey Anon, based on the three messages you sent me today, it seems that my sharing of my commission from Momodeary in the official Pathea Discord server really upset you. Your rage felt really familiar to me, and I thought about this a lot about why. I'm going to hazard a guess that you're lashing out at me more than usual because of the price aspect, especially for something that seems so frivolous. I get it -- I grew up in abject poverty, and I harbored a lot of rage about it both directly and indirectly for many years. It really sucks not having the money to do what you need, or even what you want, and it can feel like having salt rubbed into the wound when someone else shows off some pricey non-necessity that they got. Everyone deserves to get what brings them joy, as long as it isn't something that causes harm to others, and it sucks that capitalism/corporations/societal structure/etc make most people unable to attain that. I sincerely hope that things improve for you.

I'm fortunate now to do well enough for myself that I can afford a pricey commission like the one that I shared. I got the commission because I like Momodeary's art style, it's not a style that I see myself personally doing, and I'm making it up to myself now for all the things that I couldn't do in the past. I wouldn't be so presumptuous as to say it was to support the artist, as she has tons of clients and certainly didn't need my money, I'm really lucky to have been able to get a slot with her. If you have the means to do so and want to, I really suggest contacting her directly -- the worst thing she can say is no, but more likely is that she'll put you on an (admittedly long) waitlist. The point is, if you're upset about not being able to get a commission from her, don't write it off until you try. Worse comes to worst, she can't fit you in, but there are tons of skilled artists out there with similar styles that you can commission instead. It's ok though if you have your heart set on Momodeary, most artists are very accommodating as long as the client is understanding and willing to wait.

If your anger has to do with not being able to afford a commission from Momodeary, I'm really sorry about that. There are some ways that I can help, if not directly to get you a commission, but perhaps means to address the funds shortage issue. I managed to claw my way out of poverty, and in the process picked up more than a few ideas and tricks, however at the end of the day, there is no magical get rich quick scheme, and everything that you hear about how to find a job is sadly mostly true. For instance, a good resumé is an integral part to finding a job, and a big part of what makes a resumé good is proper formatting. Having gone from someone who sent out hundreds of resumés to someone who's had to review hundreds of resumés, I can tell you that so much of the time, it's a lot less about the contents of the resumé and more about its appearance. Countless qualified, heck, overqualified, people get turned down for positions because their resumés don't even get looked at. I'm happy to look over a resumé if you'd like, and of course I'd understand if you need to anonymize most of it before showing me. Please note that it is sadly the case that having a good resumé, or in many cases, all the correct qualifications, don't necessarily guarantee you a job. Connections are at least, if not more, important, so don't be shy about asking for help from friends and family in this aspect.

Finding and securing a job can be a long-term project though, so picking up some side hustles might be a good way to generate some income, especially as you can keep these side hustles after finding a job. A lot of people have even done so well with their side hustles that they were able to make them into their careers. I'm happy to make suggestions, but I'm afraid that my knowledge is chiefly confined to the US and my ideas may not be applicable or workable in other countries. I have found however that a fairly universal way to generate some income via a side hustle is through selling crocheted items. Crochet is very quick and easy to learn and master, and yarn is very cheap, especially if you get store brands like Joann's Big Twist. Red Heart Super Saver is also very cheap yarn that comes in a ton of colors. There are countless free patterns on the internet, and ones that aren't free tend to be pretty cheap, generally within the $5 range. It is totally legal to sell the stuff you make from purchased patterns; some patterns even explicitly state that this is the case. The best part about crochet is that you can do it while doing other stuff, like commuting to your job, watching a show, listening to music, etc. It's totally possible to churn out a ton of crochet animals (amigurumi) in one day. Dipping into fandom stuff by making characters from a certain franchise is a great way to sell crochet products. Another really cool thing is that there doesn't currently exist a way for crocheted items to be mass produced; while there are items that look crocheted, they're actually sewn together pieces and not true crochet. Machines can't currently make crocheted items. Buyers looking for real crochet products want something that only a human can make.

Online marketing tools are also pretty solid. Etsy is the way to go for handmade crafts, although they do take a pretty hefty fee (15%). You can try to cut down on that fee by listing on your own social media, in which case you'd still have to pay a 3-5% handling fee for payment processors, and it can be a pain trying to beat social media algorithms. If you're handy with TikTok, that's a great way to boost awareness of your brand, and you can use those same videos as Reels on Instagram and Facebook to get your accounts noticed faster.

If you're an artist, you could of course always try to go the commissions route, but I've found that this is a much harder uphill battle than trying to break into the scene marketing crochet goods. If you do decide to give crochet a shot, I really recommend investing in a quality hook -- Clover Armour is many crocheters' go-to. They are pricy, around $9 for a hook, but they last forever and they're super comfortable to use. You only need one to start -- I recommend the size G (4.0 mm) one, as that goes with the most common yarn weight for a lot of amigurumi. Big Twist and Red Heart Super Saver are also both Worsted weight yarn, for which you use a G hook. If this is something you really want to do but are really tight on funds, I'm happy to get one of those hooks for you, just tell me how to get it to you.

I have a lot of other ideas for possible side gigs, which all will require a lot of work, but will return income. However, I'd just be spitballing, so hit me up if you want to talk shop. You know where to find me. ;P

[ohforficsakelibrary]

You Brought Me Poison Flowers

Chapter 1: Larkspur - The larkspur keeps away ghosts.

series masterlist / masterlist

Summary: Joel and Ellie settle into life in Jackson, one more easily than the other, until Joel is reminded of what normal feels like. The kind of normal that he perhaps never had. A series of one-shot glimpses into a relationship (no true plot here, people.) Soft!Joel. Two touch-starved babes. Slow-ish burn.

Chapter subtitles taken from Cunningham’s Encyclopedia of Magical Herbs by Scott Cunningham. Although herbal preparations are consistent with historic uses, nothing herein is to be construed as medical advice.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Herbalist!OFC (age-appropriate age gap)

Word Count: 3.1K

Rating: Eventually explicit 18+ / Minors DNI. tw blood.

A/N: At a Fourth of July celebration in Jackson, Joel starts to feel a little more human again.

It had been three months since they returned to Jackson.

Since they were given a home. A community. Three squares a day and as much whiskey as Joel wanted. 

Which, admittedly, is more than he should have.

And, how had Maria put it—integrating—into the community, well. 

Not quite yet.

Sure, he had been given a position out on patrols. Something he was good at. A way he could earn his keep. And working alongside Tommy again felt more comfortable than he anticipated. 

Familiar, even.

Ellie, on the other hand, had been eager to integrate into the group of other kids her age. She hadn’t much wanted to fall back into the rhythm of school and Joel hadn’t pushed. But she made quick work of finding her niche on her own, helping out at shops in town, tending the animals in the early hours, working the farm and pestering Mitchell with her questions in the heat of the afternoon sun. 

Eventually she graduated to farmhand. Integration achieved.

Tommy and Maria had convinced him to leave the cabin for tonight’s Fourth of July festivities. Independence Day.

Irony doesn’t step lightly among the adult members of the town.

Those who remembered The Before and the abject failure that led to The After.

The scent of freshly grilled meat wafts through the street and a band had set up on the steps of the old bank. Mess Hall tables had been dragged out into the street and kids raced between them, their laughter ringing clear in harmony with the music.

Nights were still cold, he’d yet to learn they nearly always were in Jackson, and Joel kept his arms crossed to keep the chill at bay.

It kept everyone else at bay too.

“You know if you got out there and danced, you wouldn’t feel so cold.” Tommy grinned as he fell back into his seat.

“I don’t fuckin’ dance.”

“You used to.”

“Used to do a lot.” Joel shoots his whiskey and his eyes snap back to the crowd.

The habit of constantly searching for Ellie hadn’t abated. She’s dancing with a woman he’s seen around who runs a store in town.

No threat detected.

The song ends and Ellie returns to the table, grabbing a handful of tortilla chips before adjusting the flower crown on her head. A few of the school teachers had taken the kids out into a nearby meadow this afternoon and taught them how to weave delicate stems. Ellie’s was a blood red shock of paintbrush plant, nearly glowing against her brown hair.

She’s off again just as quickly as she sat down.

Joel’s stare follows her out into the crowd and he notices most of the kids have one along with a handful of adults. Some teachers, some guards. That lady Ellie had been dancing with though was neither.

Speak of the devil.

“Alright, Maria,” she breezes in, haloed in a wreath of purple larkspur and grabbing for a chip, “let’s get you out there.”

“Lennie!” Maria rises with a smile, “Let me introduce you, this is Joel,” Maria casts over her shoulder as she hands the baby off to Tommy. “We finally got him out of the house.”

“It took the promise of whiskey to do it,” Tommy quips, adjusting his daughter into a more comfortable position against his chest. 

“Joel is Tommy’s brother,” Maria continued, “and…”

“Ellie’s dad,” Joel finishes as he stands. Lennie brushes salt off on her overalls and holds out her hand with a grin. Joel takes it, surprised to find a firm grip. 

“Nice to meet you, Joel. Ellie’s real sharp. Helps me out with little things at the store sometimes.” 

“Thanks.”

He doesn’t realize he takes the compliment with a scowl on his face.

She nods at the younger man, hands on her hips, “how’s that gin treatin’ you Tommy?”

“It’s a great blend, Len. I still owe you a bottle of mine, I’ll bring it by this week.”

“No rush, I’m happy you’re enjoying.”

“You guys coming or what?” Ellie yells and Lennie presses her lips together and raises her eyebrows.

“I’m being summoned. Joel, nice to finally meet you.”

“Likewise.”

It takes Joel two and a half songs of silence and a fresh pour of whiskey before he finally opens his mouth again.

“What kind of shop does she have?” 

“Who? Len?” Tommy looks over at him.

Joel grunts something that could mean anything.

“Oh she’s got herbs, teas, soaps, lotions, that kind of stuff.”

“Plant shit.”

“Yeah, but not like…”

“A hippie.”

“Nah not like a hippie, man, she knows her stuff. She’s also responsible for that,” Tommy nods at his glass. Joel directs his scowl towards the glass before appropriating it for a sip. It’s gin, unmistakably, and far more complex than whatever homemade corn swill he’s been throwing back. Tommy’s stock was low and the town default wasn’t exactly cutting it. 

Now he was almost considering switching to gin.

“It’s good, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright, don’t go showing too much enthusiasm.”

“Better’n your shit,” he adds. Just to rile Tommy up.

Joel cracks a hint of a smile before turning his gaze back to the crowd of people as the band starts up with Bob Marley.

He recognizes Lennie, but in this town it’s impossible not to see anyone around. He can’t say he’s ever paid her attention. He can’t say he really pays anyone attention beyond evaluating them for a threat. 

He should probably ease up on that. At least while he’s here.

He settles for uncrossing his arms, fingers drumming against his thigh in time with the music.

He spares a glance at Tommy, baby girl cradled to his chest, fingers gently tapping against her back on beat. His own heart starts to clench.

Fingernails dig into denim.

And Joel settles for clearing his throat and gazing back out into the crowd, eyes drawn to a flash of purple.

Ellie's dancing with another girl about her age and Lennie and Maria's hands are locked, each singing to each other. She's about Maria’s height, dark bronze skin and a head of black ringlets that reach the middle of her back. He can’t really pick up anything else at this distance.

She’s pretty though.

Got a pretty mouth.

He’s old, not blind.

"What's that song called? It's good." Ellie slips back into her chair as the band launches into a Rolling Stones cover.

"Never would have took you for a Bob Marley fan," Tommy smiles.

"'S called Is This Love."

"I like it. Words are good."

Curiosity quirks Joel's brow and he manages to hide a hint of a smirk behind a sip of whiskey.

_____

Out of sheer curiosity he stops into Lennie's shop the next day.

“WILEY’S” the sign out front proclaims in black painted letters. Large windows flank the door and the afternoon sun shines on thick bundles of foliage mounted on racks that span the length of them.

He steps inside and is immediately greeted by the scent of something unmistakably green.

A younger couple sits on a bench at a long dining table to the right, engrossed in conversation and laughing over mugs of tea.

They don’t look like much of a threat. 

They look. Happy.

Lennie stands behind a long wooden bar counter with three large jars spread across the top, chatting with a man he recognizes from the café. 

“Hey, Joel!” She calls. “Give me three and I’ll be right with you. Feel free to have a look around.”

He holds up a hand and tells her to take her time before stuffing his fingers in his pockets and taking a lap. There’s a floor-to-ceiling bookcase along the right wall behind the heavy oak table. The shelves nearest the windows are jammed tight with books, the ones towards the back adorned with heavy jars of some kind of liquid in shades of green, amber, rust, and earth. He comes to a smaller bookcase along the back wall and an array of smaller mismatched jars, their contents opaque. There’s a generous farmhouse sink installed in wooden countertop beneath a window flanked by more shelving on which mason jars and metal bowls sit drying. Shelves to the left of the sink house baskets of fresher plant material yet to be processed. A dormant wood stove sits tucked into the back corner.

As he starts to make his way back around to the bar he notes that the shelving along this wall is stocked floor to ceiling with dried herbs, many of which have smaller jars of liquid beside them in the same array of shades as whatever’s next to the books. 

And finally he makes his way back to the woman herself. Blue flannel and overall-clad, a too-worn canvas apron tied around her hips. Wild black hair is thrown up without care as to what’s falling out. 

“What can I help you with, Joel?” Full lips part in a warm smile.

“I uh,” and suddenly he realizes that he hadn’t actually given thought to what brought him here. “Actually," his voice drops an octave as if to hide his ask, "have you got any coffee?

“If I had coffee, my friend, I’d be the most popular girl in town.” She mirrors his tone. “But, if you don’t mind squinting and overlooking…nearly everything...I have a few options that might hold you over. You looking for a caffeine hit or just the taste?”

He thinks on it for a moment, never quite having had to parse the preference.

“Taste, I guess.”

“Alright,” she wheels around to the dried material behind her and pulls a hefty jar off of a higher shelf. “Forgive me if this is too on the nose, but are you allergic to any mushrooms?”

“Only the kind you’re thinking of.” The distant relative of a smile tries to tug at the corner of his mouth.

“How about I make you a cup to try and then you tell me whether you want it or not.”

“Sounds good, yeah.”

She pulls a french press from underneath the bar and starts up a hot plate before moving easily across old wide planks that creak under her feet to fill the kettle at the sink.

There’s a massive leather-holstered hunting knife snapped into a belt loop on the back of her overalls.

Not a threat yet, though.

“Go ahead and take a seat,” she nods at a bar stool when she returns, scooping a few spoonfuls of what could be wood chips for all Joel knows into the french press. Only then does he realize he’s just been standing there, hands stuffed in his pockets. 

Looming. 

“This has to hang out for ten.” 

He’s noticed she does that. Throws numbers out there without units to keep them company.

“Thanks for the tea, Lennie!” The couple behind him at the table gets up to place their mugs in the sink and she throws them a wave and a big smile.

“Any time, good to see you Jamal. And Sheila, I just did up a batch of that face cream, let me know when you need a restock, yeah?”

“Will do, Lennie. I swear it takes 10 years off.”

“Happy to hear you like it, love. Y’all take care, alright?”

“Later, Len!” The man calls and suddenly it’s just the two of them. Joel runs his hands over the wooden bar top, noticing that at some point it must have been just that given the array of drink rings and cigarette burns marring its surface. 

She grabs two mismatched mugs and splits the pour between both. 

“You take it with…”

“Just black, thanks.”

“Alright then, cheers.” She passes one over to him and taps hers on the side. “Now remember…”

Joel brings it to his lips and downs a gulp before she finishes. 

“Fuck.”

“I warned you it’s not the same. But I haven’t…”

“No. No, I mean…” He takes another sip and holds it in his mouth before swallowing.

“It’s ok,” she laughs and leans down to rest her elbows on the bar with a grin.

“No, Lennie, it’s—good.” 

“Joel, I know you just met me, but I gotta tell you that you don’t actually have to lie to make me feel better, yeah?” She’s still smiling.

“No, I actually mean that.” 

She would have doubted him if this wasn’t the first time she’s actually seen him smile. With teeth, no less.

“This is just plants? And mushrooms?” The look in those big brown eyes is actually sincere.

“Well, coffee is a plant, so,” she straightens with a wink. “It’s chicory and dandelion mostly, with a few secrets thrown in.”.

Joel throws his head back and drains his cup.

I could fuckin kiss you right now.

He quickly casts his eyes up at her to make sure he hasn’t said it out loud.

Being out in the wilds for that long tends to degrade your filter.

“Let me get a bag.”

A bag?

“Haven’t got any bags, but I can give it to you by jar if that’ll do.”

“Yeah. Yeah that’ll do just fine.” 

“MISS LENNIE” erupts from the doorway and Joel is already clear out of his seat, reaching to his waistband for a gun he hasn’t brought.

Good thing, because this is a kid. 

Not an Ellie-kid. Just a kid-kid.

“Miss Lennie, it won’t stop.” 

The kid’s nose is gushing enough blood to stain his teeth. Can’t be more than seven? Eight?

She reaches behind her for a jar of golden liquid and under the bar for a two small scraps of cloth, one of which she rolls up.

“You get hit?” She grabs a metal straw and uses it to suction up some of the liquid to drench the rolled cloth.

“No, it just started and it won’t stop. Like last time.”

“Alright Benny, I got you.” Lennie swings around the corner of the bar and kneels down, gingerly wiping excess blood from his face before gently guiding Benny’s head backward.

“Might sting a little, but you’re brave, right?” She asks him as much with her eyes as her words.

“I’m brave, Miss Lennie.”

“Darn right you are. Alright, one, two…”

She slides the cloth into the offending nostril on “two” and Benny makes a noise like a startled dog.

“Alright, you’re ok,” she coos. “You ok?”

Benny finally opens his eyes and blinks hard a few times.

At least he isn’t screaming.

“You alright there Benny?” She repeats.

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s not that bad.”

“Ok, good,” she chuckles. “Keep holding that there.” Lennie slips behind the bar again to grab a fresh mug and fills it a third of the way with still-warm water from the kettle. She adds a few drops of the same liquid and stirs before drawing some up in the straw and letting drips fall on the inside of her wrist.

“Alright, Bennie,” she kneels again, “can I get you to drink some of that there for me?”

Benny takes the mug and Joel notices the kid’s fingers and arms are streaked red where he had tried to rub the blood away.

“Alright, great job, Benny. Now come on, let’s get you washed up.”

Lennie gently guides him to the sink, hooking her toe under a short wooden step stool that’s slotted under there and yanking it out for Benny to stand on. She helps him to wash his hands and arms before she gingerly removes the rolled-up cloth and inspects his face. 

“You’re all good, Benny. Now go ahead and get your face washed up, I’ll grab you a towel.”

Joel watches as the boy scrubs his face with soap and takes the towel Lennie offers, rubbing gently, and returns to the front of the shop. There isn’t a drop of blood in sight. Benny reaches up on tip toes to hand the towel back to Lennie over the bar. 

“Thanks, Miss Lennie. I’ll bring you a rock tomorrow.”

“Sounds good, Benny. And hey, tell your momma to stop by when she has a chance, ok?”

“Ok, Miss Lennie!” He calls as he bounds out of the door.

A lot just happened, but the first thing out of Joel’s mouth is “a rock?”

“Yeah,” she smiles to herself. “Kids in this town don’t have to trade, but a lot of them still want to. To be like the grownups.” She takes a sip of her tea. “I always tell them to bring me something they find outside that feels special to them, but more importantly to tell me why they chose it.”

Joel smiles again. No teeth this time.

“Plus I like rocks. Pine cones too,” with a grin.

Teeth again now.

“What is that, what did you use?” he motions towards the jar. 

“Yarrow tincture. It’s astringent, but yarrow, she just understands blood. Too much blood? Yarrow. Not bleeding when you’re supposed to? Yarrow. She’s got other uses too, but that’s a big one around here.” Lennie returns the tincture jar to the shelf. “Alright, let’s get you that tea.”

She scoops the coffee mixture into a smaller mason jar, caps it and slides it over to him. Out of habit, Joel reaches into his back pocket before realizing. 

Things aren’t like that anymore, and yet this feels so. Normal.

“I uh, haven’t brought anything to trade.”

She begins to brush it off, call it a thanks for stopping in.

“Is there anything you need?” He points up at the herb shelf. “Figure I probably come across some of this stuff out on patrol, happy to help save you the trip.”

“I could some more of that, actually,” she nods back in the direction of the jar she just returned.

“Yarrow?” He repeats. “What’s it look like?”

“It grows pretty plentiful outside of town. It’s maybe yay high” she gestures near her waist, “tiny white flowers borne in a cluster. The key to it though is these lacy little leaves that…”

She can see the exact moment he glazes over. 

“Gimme one,” and she disappears through a door at the back of the shop, returning with a fresh sprig of white blooms. “I keep a small garden of a few things it helps to have fresh, but not nearly at the volume I need for everyone. But that’s what you’re looking for.” Lennie hands it over. “These leaves here.” 

Joel rubs the soft feathery flush between his fingers.

“Achillea millefolium. Thousand leaves.” She says softly.

“What’s the first part?”

“Achillea. Legend has it that Achilles’ mother dipped him in a bath of yarrow to grant him immortality.”

“I thought that was the River Styx.”

“Yeah that’s what I heard too, but the guy who named that,” she nods at the flowers in his hand, “apparently didn’t.” 

He smiles, grabbing his precious jar of fake coffee. “Alright, Lennie. Thank you.” He extends a hand out of habit.

And most definitely not because her hands are soft.

“Thanks for stopping in, Joel. Don’t be a stranger,” she returns a firm shake.

And with that he’s gone.

next

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[the-ampersand]

About sandbox campaigns

Let me tell you a story.

Last year I went to a big sci-fi/fantasy con in my country. I had been planning to go for years because there is a big emphasis in talks with authors and there were many relating to ttrpg topics. There was one about sandbox campaigns! I was excited!

But sadly, I left many of the talks very disappointed. The one that hurt me the most was, precisely, the one about sandboxes. In it, a national expert in the ttrpg industry explained how there are two (2) kinds of sandbox campaigns, either open world or "social". Maybe three if you also count urban campaigns as sandboxes.

"Ok," I thought "I completely disagree, but let's see where this goes".

Then, the speaker proceeded to explain her prep process. In a social campaign she firts creates the factions. She likes Legend of the Five Rings a lot, so she usually uses the five usual clans of the settings.

"Alright. That's reasonable".

Then, she proceeds to populate their factions with about seven to ten NPCs per faction.

I left at that very instant absolutely astounded.

In my personal opinion, sandbox campaigns don't need to be an exercise of immense prep from the GM. They can be and if it works for some people I am glad for them and I hope they have fun with that prep. But I don't think that's a really reasonable way to manage this kind of campaign for the majority of GMs and even less so for the majority of tables. (And giving a talk about it without properly disclaiming it can set up an impossible standard that might discourage many novice GMs that would consider sandbox campaigns as too labor intensive).

I believe sandbox campaigns should play with the interest of the players. As a GM one should set up an interesting backdrop to explore and interact with, with a varying degree of prep according to one's own interests. And then the players are the ones that will guide the prep needed for the next session by stating their intentions. I have seen several people here clamouring for the many benefits of asking one's players "So what's your plan for the next session, then?". And I think those benefits double when playing a sandbox campaign!

It allows for a true feeling of discovery, not only for the players, but for the GM as well! The GM doesn't need to know everything from the beginning, they can discover it in a fractal way, following the interests of the table (which includes the GM themselves, let's not forget that).

Let me give you an example.

I am currently starting a sandbox campaign based on Skerples' Magical Industrial Revolution. I am mashing it into my DIE campaign, but that's not important. This setting revolves around technology and the grave danger it poses when left unatended to the whims of idealistic inventors and shrewd investors looking to make a fortune. I did as much prep as I wanted:

Being a urban setting, I made small sheets for different neighborhoods and points of interest of the city. I also got the help of my players to do this with a small session of i'm sorry did you say street magic by Caro Asercion.

I set up small scenes to present to the players the different pre-apocalyptic inventions that will destroy the city if left unchecked. (And I added a ninth invention for DIE reasons even though that breaks the number 8 theme in the module)

And that's that! We are already three sessions in and we had an impromptu heist into the university, spent a day selling turnips in the market and met a guy who knows he is inside a narrative (DIE stuff). Next time we are going to attend to a flying machines engineering duel because that's what one of the players asked!

Admittedly, a lot of the prep in this campaign is already done by Skerples, shared with me through the module. But I could have gone with a vibe, a list of cool places to visit, a list of things loosely going on on the setting and a list of names to invoke when a new NPC appears. And you could probably do without any of those things!

What you need to set up a sandbox campaign is not a huge load of prep. Is just enough to present an engaging premise and to answer confidently enough to whatever shenanigans your players throw themselves into.

I have yet to write a single faction sheet. Or a NPC background. I possibly will. But that will be whenever I consider it fun enough.

[mpsansy]

Continuing with speaking to the void, hello void!! I am here to ramble about Casper again. Simply because it's still buzzing through my head, and I love building concepts and hcs. Only this time, I'll also mention other characters and their relationships with our familiar spectral.

(Note: Felt like I should mention that this is my own spin on the characters. So... yeah. Just needed to mention it cause my last ramble about Casper didn't specify that. Anyway, back to the concepts.)

-Casper doesn't scare because he can't. He most certainly can. And be great at it due to his imaginative mind, but he chooses to be honest and polite upon approach.

- However, let's say that who he's speaking to is outright mean spirited and rotten? Okay. He'll give them a fright and run them out of his home. Though admittedly, since he doesn't scare too often, he exhausts himself and will often lay down for a power nap. Do NOT disturb him.

-He sees Kat as a sister. Primarily an older sister cause he's still in the mindset of a young adolescent as opposed to her. Who works and goes to college as a young adult.

-Casper has made other friends throughout the past. And the best ones he could ever have now are monsters like him! A demon and a witch. The witch in question is named Wendy

-The demon, however, didn't have a name, but together, they came up with a name. Inferno. He seemed to like that name. It's a lot better than HotStuff, yet he uses both titles cause those are the first names he's been addressed as.

-To simplify their relationship with Casper. Wendy is like a good influence, whereas Inferno is the bad. Kind of an angel and demon on your shoulder type deal. It can be a little funny to watch if you're his uncles who want their nephew to do something dastardly and goofy.

-Inferno has a terrible time with holding back his fire abilities. Just with one touch, an object is sent ablaze. Conveniently, the things set on fire are often times undesirable to most. So he accidentally does good without realizing it.

-Opposite of Inferno, Wendy is far more than just advanced in her magic skills. She's been claimed in recent centuries as the greatest witch to live yet. What makes her achievements more sweeter is that she is one of few witches to have interacted and befriended monsters of all shapes and sizes.

-With Wendy and Inferno as his friends, they have taught him one very important lesson for his eternal afterlife. Stand up for yourself when no one will. It's a lesson that seems obvious to do, but the two really try to nail it down as Casper doesn't vocalize his true feelings.

-If a ghost were to find a place or object that seems familiar to them, something in their minds will click and send them back in time. When they were alive, experiencing the moment all over. Sometimes, it's a good feeling. Although it's a mixed bag depending on how a person lived.

-Despite being dead for a long time, Casper does have moments of discomfort. Such as looking at cliffs or frozen lakes. Naturally, he avoids them if at all possible. Something like this could be a link to how he died, but that's something he's not willing to investigate. Not if he has to relive all that.

-Casper won't say it, but he does have a favorite uncle. But to say who is immensely debatable. And something he refuses to bring up at all.

-If you've ever wondered if monsters dream, then good news! They do, in fact, dream. But one thing I'd prefess is that monster dreams are so intertwined that many beasts end up meeting each other before ever meeting in person. It's a trip that very few humans have the pleasure of participating in

-This goes with no context, but this is a list of who would kill for Casper with no arguments:

Inferno

Stretch

Stinke

Fatso

Wendy

They'd do happily if something or someone really hurt Casper. To say he'd be thrilled is, uh... well, who knows, really, cause I don't!

-The only time Casper joins in on the spooking is when it involves wannabe ghost and/or monster hunters. Cause most of them do, in fact, suck at their job and are real snobby jerks who disrespect property

-Deep within the manor is a hidden room closed off from all spirits and magic users alike. In this room is a book explaining all things Casper's father had discovered about monster life. As well as things he valued when it came to his own family that were simply irreplaceable. No one in the manor has discovered this room yet.