#Well there’s some crows here why not??? Have a??? Grudge???

[tracle0]

I’m at work without much work to do. Fox Time.

The Fox is a fun god in the simple dichotomy in that it is the god of perception, and is also completely blind. This is because the Fox is a punk ass god, who doesn’t know when to back down from a fight, and as a result got its eyes ripped out by the Crow. This has resulted in a long-lasting hatred between the two gods, which is more often than not expressed through their servants. If you ask me, this is a little unfair on the servants, but hey, what can I do about it? I’m just the author. 

The fight in question came about because the role for “god of death” became available for claiming and both the Fox and Crow wanted it. The Fox ended up trying to cheat its way to claiming it, and when the Crow won and found out, it blinded the Fox in its anger. Fun.

Foxes and Crows tend to not be able to be near to each other without getting pissy. This is in part due to upbringing - Crows, those from Glalis, especially are raised with the idea of the Fox and it’s servants being cruel and callous and inhumane. Foxes have a little more of a sketchy dislike for the Crow, because they are not raised in specific groups, but there is animosity. One of the few times they’ve been able to cooperate was during a successful strike by “all” servants, where, in trying to stop gods hijacking them, they ceased using magic.

Servants to the Fox are granted the ability to fuck with your perception. This is notably not the ability to turn invisible – light still reaches their retinas, they are still capable of being seen. What their magic does, though, is screw with your ability to see them. Rather than seeing a solid, human-looking shape, you instead see this weird haze that your eyes really do not want to stick to. Straining to keep it in focus gives you a headache, gives you eyestrain, gives you a Bad Time. They are able to pull others into this haze and hide them from sight, even if the person in question is not magical.

Something I haven’t talked about an awful lot is drawbacks to magic; every magic type has its own way of affecting the servant, be it mentally or physically, that correlates to what sort of magic you are channelling. Over-use of magic tends to bring this draw-back on quicker, although general usage will add up over time. Similar to how the body deteriorates naturally with age, your magic will wear you down. 

Fox-y draw-backs correlate with the perception thing. Over-use or extended use will often result in the servant going blind themselves. Unlike a lot of cultures, though, Foxes tend to see their draw-back as something to be celebrated – their own god is blind, and losing their vision is just evidence you’ve served it well, really. Those born blind in Fox communities are often celebrated in their own way, seen as closer to their god, revered because of this. This world doesn’t really have priests, but if it did, these people could be referred to as something similar. 

Ah – on that note, communities. The Fox does not sponsor one area specifically. It does not lay claim to a town, or a village, or even a single house. Its servants, however, do tend to lean on the more nomadic side. Those who travel will – in time – find themselves with a few servants to the Fox in their midst, either joining later, or often born to them. You can often find large communities of travellers who are servants to the Fox – either magically, or ideologically. These can be travelling performers, merchants, runaways, bandits, whatever. It likes to travel :)!

Fun little thing – due to the Fox being blind and unable to see itself, it often uses its servants to see the world, as and when it needs. All gods do this to an extent – they are able to express their will and desires through those they grant magic to (or sponsor), and the animals they represent – but the Fox likely does it the most, just to have a little peek at what the vibe is in general. Servants do not know when this occurs. 

Mmmm some gods mark out their influence or servants in various ways. I vaguely mentioned something similar when discussing the Axolotl, and the white sleeves the servants tend to have, but that’s more… a result of magic, not a marking. Foxes who are granted magic are born with black nails. In the TSS world, when you damage your own nail and it turns black, it’s referred to as a Foxes claw. 

General perception of the Fox and it’s servant - excluding the Crow and it’s servants - is pretty good! It’s quite fond of the Deer, and is seen as quite loyal to a lot of ideas.

[yuri-is-online]

Been brainrotting lately and now I present to you what I think is an underused story beat for Yuu. What if “Yuu” isn’t even the prefect’s real name?

Considering that Yuu’s first experience in Twisted Wonderland is waking up in a coffin, wandering around an obviously foreign place, and being questioned by a suspicious man in a crow mask surrounded by people in black hooded robes… I just think most people would not give their real name in such a sketchy situation.

Fast forward to when Yuu is more comfortable with the cast and there is both comedy and angst potential here. On one hand, the reactions to the deception could be pretty funny. (Cue a “woe is me” from Crowley. Of course he can’t find a way home for you when he doesn’t have your real name!) On the other, this could be a great way of exploring the prefect having a crisis. Yuu already lost so much in being taken to Twisted Wonderland, and now in a way even the prefect’s name has been taken.

What do you think?

waking up in a coffin, wandering around an obviously foreign place, and being questioned by a suspicious man in a crow mask surrounded by people in black hooded robes…

Annon, annon, annon, when you put it like that it sounds like Yuu woke up in the middle of a cult ritual of some sort. Which I suppose if you were an edgy Night Raven student idia you might argue that the enrollment ceremony totally is as an excuse not to go

But to be more serious, I have seen a few memes about this concept and I like it a lot σ(￣、￣=) It's a fun character concept, it's not everyday you get a chance to re-invent yourself completely.

That being said, just based off of the few dialogue options Yuu has at the start, I think Yuu is implied to believe that they are dreaming:

Which honestly doesn't make this idea any less valid. If you're dreaming about waking up in the middle of some weird necromancer's rite, why not give him a fake name? It's not meant to be serious anyway. Just go with the flow and hope things don't get too weird (and get offended when your dream doesn't give you magic powers) until it's too late and you realize everyone thinks your name really is that bad joke you made.

If you want to get darker, maybe Yuu really did think they died. A black carriage pulling a coffin really only goes to a funeral, and death has been depicted as an unmanned coach with black horses. Maybe Yuu is only just coming to grips with the fact that they really are alive when they see Riddle overblot and he hurts them. Maybe they now are sitting next to two people who have started to think about them as a friend, a really close one. Maybe they think Yuu is really brave because they charged headlong into danger without a second thought, and won, twice now. Maybe Yuu cries themselves to sleep that night because in a way... you died so yuu could live.

As for reactions, Crowley and the other staff members I think would be the most dramatic, followed by Adeuce and Grim. Jack I can see accepting your reasons and not thinking too hard about it, maybe even respecting your survival instincts, while Epel... well he says he's mad but mostly he's just concerned. He knows what it feels like to have two dueling parts of yourself and trying to find the middle ground. Ortho would be excited, you have a secret identity just like a magical girl/super sentai/anime idol/superhero take your pick really. He certainly doesn't mind getting to know you all over again.

Sebek screams at you for being a threat to Wakasama but it's clear to everyone who actually knows him that he's really just worried about the amount of stress you put on yourself. He would hate for you to have the same issues with self loathing he does. And Malleus? Well he lied to you about who he was because he was worried you would be afraid, even though you didn't know he existed. It would be very petty for him to hold a grudge against you for doing the same.

In general I think this would be something the others would have an easier time understanding as opposed to Yuu's sense of alienation or loneliness at not having magic. Identity issues are common themes in fiction, so I could see them actually seeing it as a problem as opposed to an abstract problem like no government papers (since these kids with one obvious exception don't do taxes.) But it would make for a great way to explore the prefect having a crisis just as you say, in a way it's the perfect example for every problem they might have with being in Twisted Wonderland.

[syllvane]

hold me like a grudge- kaz brekker x reader

Kaz had never even considered the possibility that he would ever fall in love with you, or even feel close to fondness.

Your casual kindness was grating and yet, somehow, it had corroded the carefully constructed walls that he had put up.

You were spring itself to Ketterdam, a burst of fresh air and blossoms in contrast to the bitter cold that was Kaz Brekker.

Your laughter from across the Crow Club broke his train of thought as his head automatically swiveled towards the direction of the sound, his eyes focusing.

Jesper was sitting next to you and a drink was being placed in front of you, courtesy of some stranger; Jesper had presumably made some comment, judging by the look of pride on his face, that had made you laugh loudly.

Kaz felt his grip tighten around his cane, simultaneously annoyed by the laughter and jealous that he hadn’t been the one to cause it.

The bartender set down a glass of kvas and Kaz looked at it and then him.

“I didn’t order this.”

“From your friend over there, boss.”

He looked back over in your direction to find you already looking at him, a smile on your face as you gave him a little wave.

Saints, you were insufferable.

He picked up the drink and walked over to where you and Jesper were sitting before placing it back down in front of you, the dark liquid sloshing over the side.

“I don’t appreciate being messed with.”

You looked up at him, your expression a mixture of confusion and defensiveness.

“And how am I messing with you?”

He motioned towards the drink and you looked towards it before looking back at him.

“That wasn’t me messing with you, Kaz.” You said, standing up and leaning towards his ear until he could feel your breath. Time seemed to slow down and for a split second, Kaz forgot that there was anyone else in the room besides the two of you.“This is me messing with you.”

You pulled away from him, meeting his eyes for half a second before looking away as if nothing had happened, sitting back down.

Jesper, at some point during all of this, had wandered over to the tables and was standing over them, his eyes wide with anticipation as cards were drawn.

“Someone is going to mistakenly think that you care for me or vice versa, and you’re going to get hurt because of it.” Kaz said, waving away the bartender as he approached the two of you, and you smiled.

“I appreciate you worrying for me, but I promise that I can handle myself.” You said, taking a sip of a drink. “Now sit and drink with me.”

Kaz looked around for any excuse not to- he could very well just say no, that he didn’t want to, but it would be a lie and you always had had the uncanny ability to see straight through him.

“Fine, only because I’ve got nothing better to do.”

You beamed as he took the seat besides you, sliding the drink that you had ordered for him over.

“What, you mean you don’t have any sulking to do? No looking menacingly at the patrons?”

“Sulking isn’t good for the business.” He grumbled, already regretting his decision. “Don’t want to scare off the pigeons. Why did you buy me a drink?”

You shrugged.

“Can’t I just do things because I want to? Don’t you ever just do the things you want to?”

“Not without thinking about it first.”

“And do you think that’s not true for me?”

“No. You wouldn’t have sent me a drink if it was.”

“I mean, what’s the worst that happens if I send you one drink?”

“I kick you out of the Crows and throw you into the harbor.” You let out a small laugh. Kaz frowned. “You find that funny?”

“You could at least try to make it realistic. You’d throw me into the harbor? I’ll believe it when my feet hit the water.”

He shook his head, not looking at you.

“You’re… why are you even here?” He asked and you tilted your head. “You could’ve gone anywhere after Ravka.”

Your smile dropped as he turned to face you.

“I’m here because I want to be. Have you not figured that out yet?”

He took a shaky breath as he looked at you, doing his best to muster up any ounce of ill-intent.

“It must be freeing to live without any regard for the people around you.”

“If you want me gone so badly, then say the word and I’ll be gone tomorrow morning. But I think you want me to stay just as much as I want to stay. And I think that scares you more than anything.” You said, polishing off your drink and he turned away from you, unable to meet your eyes. “Anyways, I should go get Jes before he loses all his money.” 

You started to drift away but before you could get too far away, Kaz stopped you by grabbing your wrist, his gloved hand trembling at the touch.

You practically spun to look at him, looking at his hand before looking at his eyes, your gaze softening.

“I’ll be back. Promise.” He let go, only trusting himself to nod in confirmation. “Don’t miss me too much.” 

He rolled his eyes, doing his absolute best to stop the smile forming on his face.

[raydom-gamer]

Okay this is just a general obey me thought.

There's little spoilers in here but most of it is just common knowledge and stories about Mammon, it's just about a demon and his crows.

Am I the only one who finds it interesting that Mammon the Avatar of greed his familiar is a crow. I always just thought it was kind of funny because crows being notorious for liking shiny objects, Mammon notorious for stealing shiny possessions. But today I learned that crows are kind of a pack mentality. If a crow is deemed too greedy or selfish the rest of the crows will actually peck and shun the greedy crow. Which sounds very similar to when his brother is watch him tied up and hung from the ceiling. They point and laugh at him.

Crows are also notorious for getting items for other members of their murder when they suspect others being sad or stressed. I've only seen two examples of Mammon doing this which was when he thought Leviathan didn't win his concert tickets so he spent money on a cheap pin of one of Leviathan's new favorite anime. The other time being Beelzebub spending extra time on practice for his team, Mammon unprompted showed up and brought his little brother some extra snacks to get him through practice.

Crows are deemed some of the smartest animals in the world and their intelligence are considered on par with chimpanzees. Despite Mammon having very low grades in R.A.D., there's a card (in shall we date) that proves that he's actually very intelligent (especially in math) it's just you have to give him the right motivation to use it.

Crows are also notorious for holding grudges for generations. Mammon still complains about what some witches that he hasn't seen in a couple decades made him do because he requested money for them and they requested his services, only for them to give him stupid tasks. (Mostly because he was running away from his debt.) As well as being still upset about the time Leviathan broke into his room to steal a figurine that Mammon won at random.

Crows are also known to mate for life which is why they tend to be very rude and picky about partners even though some crows can be quite promiscuous and mate with other crows outside of their pairing. This could explain why he enjoys the attention but pushes it away most of the time because he has high standards. Of course that immediately changes when he sees MC giving someone else attention. He gets kind of snippety and territorial over MC by claiming that he is there first but is known to forgive MC in the end.

Crows are also known to steal other birds eggs or fledglings most of the time for food but also to study different birds behaviors. Other times is when the crows own eggs or fledglings have been killed and adopt other birds as their offspring. I know technically Mammon did not steal the child or adopt the child but he does send money to some witches to take care of a human orphan child that grew emotionally attached to him. Chances are the witches are going to use Mammon as a sponge to get as much money as they can from him. He's also been caught multiple times taking care of Luke like a little brother.

Crows have mob behavior and tend to harass bigger predators in order to take down the foe or to steal from it. Very similar to when Mammon convinces Leviathan, Beelzebub and MC to try to steal from Lucifer only to then have to take on Cerberus. Most of mamons ideas usually involve him convincing his brothers (not Lucifer) and MC into helping him with one of his scams.

I could keep going on and on by just Crow facts that I've learned today. It just really cracks me up to think about his behavior and realize that he acts very much like his familiar. Obviously there's some big differences in certain behaviors compared to crows but it makes me wonder if the DMs had taken in fact about crows and tried to humanize them so they could make a Baseline for certain behaviors.

After all we can all agree that Lucifer acts very much like a peacock. So I guess it shouldn't be all that shocking on how much Mammon behaves like a crow.

[bitter-panacea]

Goultard's introduction in the Dofus manga, his confrontation with Clustus Part 2

Part 1

Let's get right back to the fight. Clustus tells Goultard he talks too much and attacks first.

Clustus : You shouldn't have been called Goultard the barbarian but Goultard the chatty!

I still think the D at the end of Goultard's name was supposed to be silent. First of all because in french the D is usually silent in words that end in -ard-, just like here in "bavard", but also because they make a lot of rhymes with his name and none of them work if you pronounce the D. Goultard le barbare, le bavard, le bâtard etc

ANYWAY! Back to the fight. Goultard is hoping this fight won't be yet another disappointment...

Goultard : King Clustus, I hope you have more to offer me than a pityful crow spell.

Turns out Clustus isn't king of Bonta for no reason and is actually quite skilled in combat. And Goultard seems pleased to see it. Maybe this won't be as easy and boring as he expected.

Goultard : Well, well, well... This old man can do some damage.

"Bonhomme" is a very interesting word to me. It can mean "man" or more accurately "fellow". For example "bonhomme de neige" is a snowman, "un bonhomme" is also what you'd call a child's drawing of a person, there is something childish about it.... It's informal and can be affectionate or condescending, maybe even both at the same time. Goultard calls Joris "petit bonhomme" (little fellow), but he's not the only one who uses that word to describe him. (If I'm not mistaken, Gou affectionately calls Arty bonhomme... I might be wrong but I'm too lazy to check right now)

BACK TO THE FIGHT

Clustus invokes the royal crackler (whose name happens to be Kabor). Goultard gets crushed by Kabor and buried under the rubble but frees himself and destroys him with ease.

Rip Kabor

And Goultard starts talking again (he wants to be mysterious so bad but he simply cannot stfu)

Goultard : You said earlier that you knew me... But I'm not so sure, you must be wrong. Because, you see... If you really knew me, you would hold more of a grudge!

Clustus basically tells him to "be more clear or shut the fuck up".

Clustus : A grudge? What do you mean by that? Be more clear, if you will, I'm too old for guessing games. / Goultard : I'm much older than you, Clustus, and I still love riddles... But let's not get distracted, what I meant to say... Oh!

Goultard loves riddles apparently, (I find that hard to believe but why not.) Goultard says "let's not get distracted" and immediately gets distracted by a cool sword he saw. Clustus attacks while Goultard has his back turned (to pick up the cool sword he saw.) Goultard parries the blow and slashes Clustus across the chest (with the cool sword he just picked up.)

Goultard: As I was saying...You can't know me, we've never met before. However, I know you, and I've known, your father well. The king Balbosus Sheran Sharm! / Clustus : What... Impossible!

Goultard : a king well-deserves a few explanations before dying! You see, Clustus, I've spent wonderful moments with your father. He even almost "freed" me. Shortly before I took his life!

Clustus' reaction to that information

Clustus : It's impossible. My father died sixty years ago! I don't know what you're playing at but your story makes no sense! He lost his life facing a monster named Dark Vlad.

Goultard shapeshifts into Vlad just a moment to make Clustus understand they're part of the same entity.

Clustus : You killed my father... He was a good man... Generous and certainly the best king Bonta ever had! / Goultard : Maybe...

Goultard : But once again... That changes nothing! You all are nothing but humans. Whether rich or poor, kings or peasants... Only your combativeness and eagerness interests me!

(I will explore this whole thing with Goultard's contempt for humans, how he doesn't see himself as a human yet wishes he could feel like one, his self-loathing, in a future post focusing on Gou and the symbiote)

Goultard : And to get back to your father, know that he didn't hesitate to sacrifice his men to get me! And when time came for him to be reunited with his ancestors, he begged me to spare him...

Goultard : If you're saying the truth and he really was the greatest king this city's ever known... I don't dare imagine what the others must be like!

We don't know anything more about Goultard and Balbosus' realtionship but I go absolutely fucking bonkers imagining what it could have been like. Wonderful moments, knew each other well, almost freed him, but in the end sacrificed his men trying to capture him... I could talk more about it but It's all stuff I completely made the fuck up in my head. In my head Balbosus wished to free Goultard in a messed up dehumanizing savior complex way "I must free this creature and if I can't, i'll be the one to kill it". They fought many times but Goultard would always let Balbosus live because he was amused and intrigued by his weird obsession for him. A sick game of cat and mouse. Goultard enjoying the thrill of being chased... Until the symbiote grew more possessive of his prey, or Goultard got bored of Balbosus, or he felt betrayed when Balbosus sent his men after him... The fact Dark Vlad is the one who killed Balbosus in the end could also imply Goultard lost control at some point before he finally decided to kill him... Much to think about.

Goultard then starts to shift between his different shapes, revealing only now that, all along, Vald (who we thought was dead), was a part of Goultard, or that Goultard and Vald are both part of a whole. He talks briefly about Vlad and Vald having 50% and 5% of his potential strength, respectively. Clustus calls him insane.

Goultard : No, in hindsight... You could have only beaten me in my Vald form.

Clustus : Well, boy... Seems like you have a couple bats in the belfry! Quickly, put me out of my misery, I've had enough of your ravings... (why is he so funny)

Goultard : My... ravings? My ravings, as you say, make my immortality easier to put up with. / Clustus : If you say so!

Goultard HATES being immortal. Being immortal is a curse, unbearable without adapting by developping a dissociative disorder.

Goultard gets bored of talking to Clustus and decides to leave to find something better to do. Clustus realizes Goultard isn't going to kill him after all.

Goultard : Time has already taken its toll on you, Clustus. You're but a shadow of your former self. So don't count on me to give you the warrior's death that you dream of so badly! It's much more cruel to imagine you passing away on your throne like the senile old man you are.

Clustus shouts at Goultard to come back and finish him off. But Goultard is gone.

Volume 6 continues with Goultard's backstory and ends when Goultard finds Arty and offers him to fight. I'll probably make a post comparing Goultard's manga backstory and the animated one.

[snarky-magpie]

You can read the entire fic here.

“Very well. I’m an animagus. Nicely deduced and all. Ten points for Gryffindor. Was there another question?” 

“How long?” 

“A year.” 

“Are there other animagi running around Hogwarts?” 

Regulus narrows his eyes as he bores them into James. “You tell me, Potter.” 

A ball of raw nerves clogs up James’ throat. He doesn’t care about his secret. If Regulus wants to run tattling, well, James has an ace up his sleeve. But threatening Sirius? Peter? Remus? That’s a different kettle of pixies entirely.

Regulus watches him for a couple of moments, then bends over in helpless laughter. “You should see yourself right now. Don’t worry, Prongs.” He draws out the nickname in that posh voice of his until it sounds almost intimate. A shudder tiptoes down James’ spine as it smooths over his ears.

 “I already know your furry little secrets. Knew pretty much since the beginning. You thought you were so sneaky and clever. Well, you have nothing on a dedicated Slytherin. You wouldn’t believe what you can see from the rooftops. People never look up, and unlike your very macho, very obvious forms, crows are inconspicuous and everywhere. I blended in easily and learned what happened on every full Moon. I’ve had the information for a year and never told a soul, so keep your robes on. And a side note—a deer? Really? Do you have some sort of complex? Do you need to shout at the entire forest, oooh, look at me and my huge… rack?” 

A corner of Regulus’ lips twists up in a grin that seems half acerbic and half fond.

“You should know the wizard doesn’t choose the animal form.”

Regulus hums and picks at a loose thread on his robes.

“Believe me, I’m aware. ‘The form an animagus assumes cannot be decided at will, as it represents the reflection of their innermost nature.’ Wonder what that says about poor Peter. My brother is definitely spot on. A big dumb dog, with more fur than sense, always ready to get in line and follow orders.” 

The brief upsurge of gratitude James felt when he learned Regulus kept his mouth shut for a year evaporates the moments he offends his best friend.

“Piss off. You’re a fucking crow, Regulus. A scavenger. An omen of death and bad luck. A creature that makes everyone uncomfortable. What does that say about your ‘innermost nature’? Would you consider it spot on?” 

Regulus balls his hands into fists, and his eyes flash with cold fury while his pale cheeks erupt in blotches. “Crows are intelligent. They recognize faces and hold grudges. Something we have in common.” 

“I’m not scared of you.” 

“You should.” 

“Pass. I save my fears for real threats, not dragons that are all roar, no fire.” James fishes out Regulus’ wand and twirls it between his fingers. “Why were you stalking me?” 

“Get over yourself. I wasn’t stalking you. I happened to be where you were, that’s all.” Regulus tosses his head in a derisive manner that’s so similar to his crow counterpart that James kicks himself—internally—about not figuring out the identity of his stalker sooner. It seems so obvious now that the proof is staring him in the face.

“Nah, I don’t think so.” To mask the embarrassment at his stupidity, James swishes the wand through the air and uses it to boop Regulus on the nose. Hah. Shame there’s not a mirror around here. Regulus should enjoy the sight of steam coming out of his ears. 

[acewithapaintbrush]

Hi there! Just let me say, "A Place For Crows" is one of my favorite fics ever, and I've read quite a lot of them. It is truly a masterpiece in all senses. And you are an absolutely amazing writer. I also would like to ask something about that fic: does the family of the boy Julieta couldn't save and Pepa's former best friend hold a grudge against them or something? I know it's very specific!

I see you in my notifs all the time and your message made me so happy I sat down and wrote this for you. I hope you enjoy!

TW FOR DEALING WITH THE DEATH OF A CHILD AND GRIEF AND A LITTLE BIT OF SELF HARM! PLEASE READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!

🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋

Julieta worries at her blisters. She pulls at the skin and pushes against the sore edges. She needs to stop aggravating them, some of them have started bleeding recently. But she can't seem to stop. 

Bruno says he understands. Bruno says she needs to stop making herself bleed cause that will surely get the adults' attention and that's something she definitely doesn't want. She needs to find another way, maybe knocking or chanting or something. 

He talks like he speaks from experience. 

But Julieta likes the reminder, the little sting in her fingers. Everytime her thoughts stray from cooking, from working, she pulls and it reminds her. 

Her own food doesn't work on them. It makes things easier, but it also scares her. Her cooking has always worked, no matter how small the injury, but for some reason her blisters remain. 

Is her gift getting weaker? Has she forsaken it with her childish behavior? 

Is her sin too great? 

Her mother hasn't noticed the state of her fingers yet. She is too busy comforting others, rallying neighbor's to help the grieving family. 

Helping with the funeral.

They have talked about the incident. Just once. The day after Juli had decided that she didn't want to cook or bake that day and had instead followed her siblings to the river outside of the village to play. The day after a boy had fallen out of a tree and suffered horrendous injuries.  The day after their mother had frantically searched cupboards for any food and then ran through the village, screaming Julieta's name, soon joined by others. 

The day after Julieta had come home, sunburnt and laughing and carefree. 

Too late. 

"It was an accident." Her mother had said, sitting on the bed next to a shell-shocked little girl. "It was an accident and it's in the past. But we can never let this happen again. Do you understand? We need to be prepared for things like this. You need to be prepared, Julieta. Your gift is so important. You can't- We can't let it go to waste. Do you understand?"

Julieta understands. She hasn't stopped baking ever since. All day, every day. Sometimes her mother watches her for a few minutes from the doorway and for a moment it looks like she wants to say something, but she never does. Just nods approvingly and moves on. 

Julieta keeps baking. She heals every scratch and every stubbed toe. Maybe if she uses her gift better, maybe if she saves someone this time, her mother will talk to her again and tell her what she has surely simply forgotten to tell her the first time and what Juli desperately needs to hear. 

'It was not your fault.'

Her hands are covered in blisters and they don't heal. 

But it's alright. There are more important wounds to heal

Julieta stands in the house of the boy she let die, a basket full of pastries clutched in her hands. She clenches the handle tight, feels the rough wicker wood bite into her sores. 

Her mother is arguing with the father. The family wants to leave the Encanto. Too many bad memories here. They want to burn the body and take the ashes with them. 

"If you leave, you might never be able to come back!" 

The father looks at Alma as if he can't understand why he should care. 

But at least he looks at her. He hasn't once looked at Juli, averts his eyes at all cost. She might as well not be here. Juli feels invisible. Wishes her mother hadn't told her to come. 

Her mother sends her outside to the garden where the wife is. Tells her to bring her some of the pastries. 

"She doesn't look well. I'm sure they can help." 

Julieta wants to refuse. This feels like a punishment. This feels cruel, sending her out there. 

But her pastries might help. 

It's her job to help. 

So she goes outside. The mother is sitting on a bench, her back to Juli. Her long hair dances in the wind and her shoulders are slumped. The black dress and black mourning shawl look like a wound in the otherwise colorful garden. Like all life has been sucked out of that one spot. 

Julieta approaches on silent feet and places the basket on the bench next to the mother. She stays behind her, can't bear to look at her face. The woman doesn't react. 

"I have brought you some food." 

Julieta's voice cracks on the last word. What was her mother thinking, sending her out here with food of all things? It must feel like such a mockery to the poor woman. 

It feels more and more like a punishment to Juli. And she deserves it, doesn't she? Maybe her mother didn't forget at all. 

It was her fault. 

The woman doesn't turn around, just hums under her breath. A haunting sound. 

"Thank you."  Her voice is flat. No emotion. Except maybe anger. Surely anger. 

Julieta wants to leave. She doesn't want to look at this shell of a woman one second longer. But the 'Thank you' is like a slap to the face. It strangles her. Makes her see dark spots and makes her head spin. 

"I'm sorry!" she blurts, too abrupt, too loud. The mother flinches and Julieta feels awful. She scratches at her blisters, feels them break open again. "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have- I never should have gone to play. I just wanted to go play with my brother and sister and I-" 

She can see the mother slowly turn towards her and Julieta quickly closes her eyes before she can clearly see her face. The brief glimpse of sunken eyes and chapped lips was enough. 

"I should have been here. I should have been prepared and I'm so sorry. I'm so so sorry. I never should have left for the river and I-" 

A hand strokes her cheek. Julieta doesn't dare open her eyes. The touch is soft and warm, but she is still scared to open her eyes and see hatred and condemnation on that grief-stricken face. Only when a thumb brushes away a single tear does Juli realize that she's started to cry a little. 

"Little Julieta." The woman says and her voice is nothing more than a scratchy whisper, carried away by the wind. "Oh Juli. Don't cry. Don't apologize. It wasn't your fault." 

Juli freezes for a second, but then she is sobbing, big heaving sobs that shake her entire body. She reaches upwards and clutches at the hand still on her cheek. The blisters on her hands hurt and the mother must feel them, the ragged edges and sore spots. The mother pulls her closer and the little girl collapses against her and gets pulled even more and suddenly Juli has crawled half into the woman's lap and holds on to her dark shawl as if her life depends on it. She must be spreading tears and snot all over it and oh, what if mother sees her like this? What will she say? What will she do? 

But she can't stop. Is afraid she'll never be able to stop. 

"Dear child." The mother sounds exhausted, but there is also steel in the words that follow. "It wasn't your fault. It wasn't!" 

"If I hadn't played that day. If I hadn't -" 

"I have told my Lou a hundred times not to climb that tree. Have told him a hundred times that the branches higher up are not strong enough to hold him." She sighs. It ruffles the top of Julieta's hair. "I have scolded and punished and pleaded. And he still decided to climb it again that day. Because he is- he was a child. And children play. They play and they laugh and they don't think that anything bad could ever happen to them. And that's how it should be, for children. They shouldn't have to worry about-" She chokes on her tears, holds Julieta a little bit tighter. "I don't blame him for being a child. Why would I blame you for the same? For playing? How old are you again, dear?"

"Seven." Juli mumbles into her chest. 

"Just seven." The mother whispers. Forlorn. "Two years younger than my Lou. And already so much on your shoulders. So much guilt." She presses her cheek against the crown of Juli's head and her next words are so quiet, Julieta is not even sure she was supposed to hear them. "Sometimes I wonder about this miracle. About these gifts. Sometimes I wonder if they aren't actually a curse." 

Julieta holds very still. She doesn't want to ask what she means, doesn't want clarification. 

Doesn't want to defend the miracle. 

Doesn't know if she can, right now. 

So she holds still and pretends she didn't hear and maybe the mother believes her or she is just too tired to keep the conversation going. They lapse into silence and it feels like an eternity before Julieta can hear her Mama calling her from inside the house. She immediately pushes herself away from the comforting embrace and tries to dry her tears. 

The mother watches her out of sad eyes and then reaches inside the small basket. The pastry she holds out to Julieta is still warm and the child stares at it as the adult rises to her feet, impossible slowly. 

"Eat that." She says and takes the basket. Her voice is flat again, but this time Julieta understands that she is not angry. She is just tired. So tired. "Farewell Julieta Madrigal. I wish you all the best." 

Julieta doesn't say anything as the woman goes back inside the house. She stares at the pastry and at her blisters and feels the wind in her hair. 

"It was not my fault." she says. 

She doesn't quite believe it. Not yet. 

But the mother of the boy who has played without a care and who is now dead believes it and maybe that is enough. For now. 

She takes a bite and her blisters still don't heal but they stop hurting. 

*****

As for Pepa, I might write something for her too and upload them together to ao3, we'll see

[demiboydemon]

Hi! Fellow AuDHD person here. I'm new to your page, and I'm gonna do my best to stick around! I would love to know a bit more about you.

What's your favourite animal, and why?

Do you have a favourite colour?

What are your hobbies?

What are your current special interests and hyperfixations?

Also, I hope you have a wonderful day/night (depending on what time it is for you)

Hello! Nice to meet you! Welcome to my blog :) I hope you have a fun time here!

I go on a rant about how cool corvids are so this post is kind of long. Answers under the cut so I don’t take up everyone’s dashboards 😳😂

My favorite animals are corvids! Which is technically a family of animals, not one specific animal, but I figure it’s close enough, and also I can’t pick. I love all of them so much! Crows, ravens, magpies, jays, treepies, choughs, nutcrackers, and jackdaws my beloveds.

I love how smart, clever, and inventive they are, how much they love and care about their families and friends, and how they have so much personality! They hold grudges and can recognize people they’ve had problems with and get revenge, and tell their friends to get revenge, too. I like that some *can* speak human languages, but often choose not to. Iconic. And they live on every continent except Antarctica!

And I love how much folklore there is about them! Some indigenous peoples believed a raven created the earth, and some Celtic peoples believed they were messengers of the gods.

I also like how they look. There’s so much variety among the corvidae family! On a related note, treepies are underrated and more people need to love them. Everyone in their right minds love crows, ravens, and jays, but I feel like most people don’t really know what treepies are. Like, look at this! It’s a rufous treepie! It’s baby and I love it.

My favorite color is periwinkle! Well, this very specific shade of periwinkle:

I also love seafoam green and *almost* all shades of yellow.

I have 8 hobbies! I like to write fan fiction, read, paint, do digital art, make memes, cook, play video games, and sew. I don’t post much art because 99% of it’s art of my OCs.

Speaking of, my main special interest is one of the universe my OCs live in. I don’t talk much about my OCs because I’m planning on publishing their books, and I don’t want my tumblr-self to be attached to my work-self. People at work think I’m cool and I don’t want them to find out otherwise /j

Every time I see anything interesting, I think, “which of my characters would do that? Yeah, definitely XYZ.” I have 7 different fantasy worlds that I spend most of my time in, not including any tLoZ universes.

Bringing us to my other, slightly less intense special interest! The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild! When I’m not thinking of my OCs and their universes, I’m usually thinking of BotW and related games, such as Age of Calamity.

Thank you for all the questions! I hope you have a good day/night, too! 💕😁

[cornus27florida]

Hogwarts AU Lore - dive deep

Basically my fanart of GwenDerick in hogwarts AU make me thinks of HC story' but IDK if I ever realizes it to be true TBH.. (something to do before going to bed but can't due to me waiting for my energy in Hogwarts Mystery recharge)

Talk about the tags first there!!

Tags:

Mutual pining (Frederick the protagonist of this story instead the Canon CPC where he's the deuteragonist) is fancying Gwen, unaware that Gwen fancies him too as 'the only boy that could be awakes in History of Magic lectures' + very cute hunk that loves shared favorite books

Romance: come mainly from Gwen/Frederick, and the grudging respect-to-lovers Prez/Whitney & Leopold/Jamie, tired to be perfect/accepting the flaws Blaine/Maria, and Triad Quidditch Aces - Lorena Chaser, Lance Keeper, Suzy Beater

Nerd duo that loves ToRT, Monika/Orson

The Divination model student/the Charm model student Nell/Jolie

The counsellors couple SyRon [So.. 7 ships? Well actually 8 haha math sucks)

Mystery and Drama (in short, CPC main goal is to search the Clam then destroy it - unaware that their 2 'missed recruits' is holding the biggest key leads as Gwen's father is the one that hides it and know the exact location while Frederick's father secretly makes 'private dark organization' to sought the Clam's unlimited knowledge power - idk how to lead it to that far

That fic will become pro all Plaid x Pastel thou (except LeoMie cuz it different kingdoms) - Why? Cuz;

make note that not only I am changing age so does years, their persona are also different than CPC Canon - as for example in the world of them inside becomes witches and wizards , so is not making sense to have Frederick still thoughts Gwen as a witch while could makes Freddie fancies Gwen from early on (in their 4th year! It makes Frederick 15 while Gwen 14)

CPC in this story isn't acronym for Cursed Princess Club but "Cursed People Club'" because kingdoms in this story doesn't exist, but Hogwarts are 'elite school' - that the students there come from Houses of Families (also they're 'so assorted' like various races skins etc but generally no difference which bloodline they are, IK it's make no blood purity bigotry but well gotta make things simple and the goal of this story unlike Canon HP after all)

Btw the houses (not inside the Hogwarts, but of families) is still the name of article/element of clothes so we have House of Monochrome for example (same analogy with Sirius' Family, House of Black)

all the interactions and relationship building happened 'naturally' not like CPC which happened due to arranged/forced/accidental event ~> well tbh not all meetings like that but well it dominating like yk arranged marriage, accidental meeting between Whitney and Frederick? Is not happening here, their first meeting is formal one at the first gathering of CPC in room of requirement

Also in this story, curses are not affecting the person's life as heavily as Canon CPC - not because it could be cured easily but because it's more on normality. Because when 'practising' magics, the example of one becomes 'permanently' older looking is not something that grave situation but more like "ouch it happen.. dw you'll lives on and even it not cured we'll understand and accept you in society"

But cursed people also could 'hiding' themself in sense to not inconveniences other (like Aurelia's and Renee situation that granted permission to no need eating in public a.k.a the great hall, because one'll disintegrate utensils (although here it easily fixed with reparo charm) and one will throws out frogs any time she 'talks' - hence the reason they're BFF in this story although in different houses which is Hufflepuff and Slyterin: they're eating at the kitchen together

I haven't fleshed out details about how CPC members become cursed (as no kingdoms, no kidnapping little princess for being a pet crow for example) so some things will differentiate

Also I am WhitPernia shipper and I like to not have them started with wrong foot as Whitney accidentally cursing Calpernia - but they're indeed have a "troubled, mysterious past" - yet they're choosen by the headmaster/mistrrss as respective head boy and head girl with special mission that explained in the next paragraph…

Headmaster/mistress secretly gives mission to respected head boy and head girl to forcing a secret group to find a highly coveted powerful artifact - the Omniscient Clam, and sought to destroy it. It's inherited secret task but always failed till Prez and Whitney decides to taking advantage of their situation being cursed.

Apparently, in this story cursed people could 'detects' curses either be it from people or things - like as being cursed people gives them ability to identifying curses - with various degree and methods (so it's incomparable, cursed people just feels 'curse' without standarized way which make results varied - and curses comes from anything, anywhere, and always changing

I've already imagined how the first meeting go for CPC! Ofc it happened at the Room of Requirement

Frederick mistaken as a cursed people because his exclaim when got a howler from Leland which resulting to him get kicked out from the library being heard by Prez' spider "Urgh, I feel cursed!" - without hearing the next part about mocking Leland silently

While Gwen due to her appearance, unlike half-breed of any 'beasts' known so far in the story world (Braided Island in this story is the origin place of the cursed artifact of the Omniscient Clam and so isolated - only Jack ever visits it with a Professor that inviting Lilyth to study at Hogwarts decades ago)

Our main couple mistaken as cursed makes the CPC wary at first, but this about story of developments and twists - the members that likely not knowing anything actually the jackpot to fullfilling secret mission from headmaster

Non CPC couple (LeoMie, Blaine/Maria, Lorena/Lance/Suzanna) kinda becomes background couples but integral to the story -

they are realizing their youngest siblings gone so often routinely and becomes close with assorted people espc the head boy and head girl

prob the story could leads to Gwen and Frederick trying to give any 'reasons' to hides what CPC is

~ while at the same time realized their father is the key leads to CPC's mission

Also like Canon CPC, CPC in this story is the sanctuary for cursed people hanging out together and feels stronger together

Cursed people in this story have more lightened burden at the society than canon, but doesn't mean the support system' no neededthe moral story' also differs a bit from the Canon CPC which is 'learning relationship of self-love with hunt of romantic love' -> imho it could be: your parents aren't defined you, Power isn't everything, cursed people have feelings toowelp not really romance hahaha also sorry if those ships is not what the readers like, like the Triad if Lorena and Lance and Suzy!

[toribookworm22]

Incorrect Quote Tag

Thank you @axl-ul for the tag!

No pressure tagging: @minutiaewriter @ace-of-rabbits @aestatismors @mschvs @apocalypsewriters @gracebriarwoodwrites & leaving my open tag!!

Using StormWatcher (more under the cut):

Lisbet Hark: And I’d love to be sorry for that, but we all know I’ve done much, much worse.

Kib: Oh, so when crows remember people who wronged them and hold grudges, its “intelligent” and “really cool”.

Kib: But when I do it, I’m “petty” and “need to let it go”.

Merieh: I don’t think the therapist is supposed to say ‘wow’ that many times during their first session with a client, but here we are.

Daran: So what do you have planned for the future?

Merieh: Lunch.

Daran: No, like long term.

Mam: When I first met you, I did not like you.

Merieh: Oh...um, dinner?

Lisbet Hark: I'm aware of that.

Mam: But then you and I had some time together.

Lisbet Hark: Uh-huh?

Mam: So I’m the only one around here who can clean up, huh? You can't even lift a finger?

Mam: It did not get better.

Daran: *lying down and crying*

Kib: Do I get to pick the finger?

Daran: And what do I get out of this?

Kib: There, there. Why don’t you take some time off to not be around me while you’re like this?

Kib: I will give you a dollar.

Daran: What do you think I am? A chump? I would never do it for a dollar!

Kib: How bout two dollars?

Merieh: Kib won’t come out of their room!

Daran: You got yourself a deal.

Daran: Just tell them I said something.

Merieh: Like what?

Daran: Anything factually incorrect.

Merieh, shrugging: If you say so.

Kib: I told Daran that their ears turn red when they lie.

Kib, arriving moments later: Did you just say the sun is a PLANET?

Merieh: Do they?

Kib: No.

Merieh: Then why did you tell them that?

Kib: Because I can do this.

Kib: Hey Daran! Do you love us?

Merieh: You are irrationally angry 365 days a year.

Daran, with their hands over their ears: No.

Kib: Well, that’s just your personal opinion, I don’t have anger issues. Do you guys think I have anger issues?

Mam: I haven't slept in seventy-three hours.

Mam: Well, I wouldn’t really call it an issue. An issue is something you can fix.

Merieh: Eighty. Democratically elected leader of insomnia.

Kib: Bitch, it's been ninety for me. I'm going for an even one hundred.

Daran: You guys are fucking terrifying.

[therummonster]

single quotes from the creation trio

Champagne: Did you just call me a shrimp, you asshole?! I'm still growing, dammit!

--

Benny: You can de-escalate literally any situation by asking ‘are we about to kiss?’ Benny: Doesn't work with getting out of speeding tickets, though.

--

Champagne: Caw caw, motherfuckers.

--

Benny: If I make you breakfast in bed, a simple "thank you" is all I need. Benny: Not all this "how did you get into my house" business.

--

Champagne: Well you see, the explanation is perfectly simple and scientific. It was because shut up. Shut up is why.

--

Champagne: When life gives you lemons, don't make lemonade. Make life take the lemons back! Get mad! I don't want your damn lemons, what the hell am I supposed to do with these? Demand to see life's manager! Make life rue the day it thought it could give Champagne lemons! Do you know who I am? I'm the person who's gonna burn your house down! With the lemons! I'm gonna get my engineers to invent a combustible lemon that burns your house down!

--

Champagne: Oh, so when crows remember people who wronged them and hold grudges, its “intelligent” and “really cool”. Champagne: But when I do it, I’m “petty” and “need to let it go”.

--

Benny: I just found out that humans are capable of fitting a light bulb into their mouth with ease but can’t take it out without shattering it, and now I have to physically restrain myself from putting a light bulb in my mouth

--

Vasilia: I’ve made a spread sheet of all the crime in Brooklyn. Vasilia: There’s so much crime in New York, no one should live here.

--

Vasilia: I'd make fun of your height but there isn't enough to make fun of.

--

Vasilia: New year, same me. Because I'm perfect.

--

Champagne: Pros and cons of dating me. Champagne: Pros. You'll be the cute one. Champagne: Cons. Holy shit, where do I begin-

--

Benny: Is this a good idea? Benny: Probably not. Benny: Do I care? Benny: No.

--

Vasilia: cocks gun Go to Bed. This is no longer a request, This is now a Threat.

--

Demon: Hey, I took your soul last month and- Champagne: No returns. Demon: sobbing But it's making me sad…

--

Benny: Fuck capitalism. It's a rigged system that keeps us poor and it isn't fair. You shouldn't need to work three jobs to afford basic necessities. Benny, playing Monopoly: Sorry, if you wanted to win you should have tried not being poor.

--

Benny: Sometimes I'll start a sentence and I don't even know where it's going. I just hope I find it along the way.

--

Champagne: Tired of just deserving better. Gonna start taking it by force.

--

Benny: If I stay in bed I'll be warm. If I get in the shower, I'll also be warm. But the distance between the bed and shower? No. That is not warm.

--

Champagne: I keep a picture of all of us in my wallet. Whenever I face difficulties, I take it out and stare at the picture. The Squad: Awwww- Champagne: And I tell myself "If I can deal with these idiots, then I can deal with anything." The Squad: Oh.

--

Champagne: I don’t think the therapist is supposed to say ‘wow’ that many times during their first session with a client, but here we are.

--

Champagne: I like wearing oversized sweaters. Not just because they're extremely comfy and cuddly, but because whenever the sleeves are really big, I get to flop them around and smack people.

--

Champagne: BEHOLD, the field in which I grow my fucks! Lay thine eyes upon it, and thou shalt see that it is barren!

--

Benny: The only thing keeping me from running away and hiding from society for the rest of my life is spite. I could disappear forever, but there are some bitches whose downfalls I have yet to witness, and I wanna be around when that happens.

[go-whump-in-the-night]

Here's an excerpt that I wrote for an OC of mine. Some context missing, but plenty of nice emotional whump from a very angry young man. This is the culmination of a lot of messed up stuff happening to Warren, including nearly being permentantly enthralled to a vampire who Warren had thought loved him. As well of a laundry list of other little indignities. My boy has a lot of reasons to be angry.

TW: self-injury, implied past noncon, LOTS of swearing if you're bothered by that sort of thing

“Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck fuck!!” 

Warren's fist slammed into the wall, each verbal outburst met with the slam of flesh to stone. He threw his whole weight into each punch, leaving streaks of red on the gray-painted brick of his basement safe house wall. 

And yet through all of it, Warren barely felt the pain. 

Numb, numb, he was so numb. Every day he felt less and less.

Except for rage. That he still felt, crystalline clear and sharp as a knife.

He was always so fucking angry. He was sick with it. He felt like a rabid dog on a short, fraying leash. Every night was an exhausting ordeal, constantly biting his tongue, holding back, holding it in. 

Don't let things escalate. Why was that so difficult? Immediately, immediately, they - Crow, one of their only friends - had done the opposite. Why was it that Warren spent all of his time holding back his rage, his absolutely blood-boiling rage, forced to stay calm, and nobody else was expected to? Why did Crow get away with it? 

“They don't respect you,” Warren snarled aloud, pressing his forehead to the brick as he fought to gain control over his breathing.

Sure, Crow thought of Warren as a friend. But at the end of the day, what mattered was what Crow wanted. 

They wanted to help Trevor. They wanted to give him a second chance. They wanted to be nice.

“Good!” Warren nearly screamed it, grabbing a nearby plate of takeout and flinging it across the room, “Who gives a fuck about him?! He can fucking die for all I care!!”

He wheeled around, searching the room with a frantic, manic energy to his gaze, looking around for something else within throwing distance. When he didn't see anything, he grabbed his chair and flung it to the side. The rage was coiling, coiling, like a viper striking over and over again. 

Trevor's face swam in his view. His disgusting smile. His fake, pathetic apologies. The way he'd tasted when they kissed-

Warren couldn't believe he'd ever felt anything but loathing for that piece of shit. Trevor had manipulated him, lied to him, forced his blood into Warren's body and nearly destroyed his free will forever. 

“You fucking…you s-sick fuck…” 

Words were failing him now; none of them felt strong enough to describe the hideous crawling rage bubbling over now. Warren felt insane. 

He should have killed Trevor when they had the chance.

Why didn't anyone fucking get it?! Why couldn't they see that helping this bastard…see how it looked? Why couldn't his friends understand how Warren must feel, that they're so friendly with Trevor - that hearing Trevor's name made Warren feel like he was being stabbed. Over and over and over. 

“I don't care…I don't care…'' Warren panted, dropping to his knees, blood drizzling from his knuckles as he ran his hand through his hair fitfully. 

But he did care. He cared so much he thought he would die. 

Was something wrong? his friends had asked him. Is something wrong, Warren? Are you okay? What's wrong?

“Of-fucking-course something is fucking wrong!” Warren's voice was getting hoarse, “After what he did to me, you want to help him?! You want me to forgive him?! And then you say you give a fuck about me!! Give me a fucking break!!” 

A burst of harsh, ragged laughter escaped Warren. 

It was hilarious. 

Don't get angry. Think rationally. Be calm. Don't hold grudges, think about the future, think logically. Don't be angry with Trevor. Sure, he manipulated you, took you out on dates, complimented you, kissed you - then, when you showed the slightest signs of resistance, of doubt...forced his blood into your body, shoved it down your throat and tried to break your mind forever. To steal your free will, to make you his. Don't think about any of that.

He heard his father's voice echo in his mind. Calm down, grow up. Don't use that tone of voice with me, young man. 

Straighten up, Saint-Claire. You think the other cadets carry on the way you do? You call yourself a soldier - a man? Shut up and follow orders. 

He was going to fucking kill somebody if someone told him how he should feel one…more…fucking…time.

He sat down. He was gasping for breath, his eyes wide, saliva dripping down his chin. 

He couldn't take this anymore. 

But he had to. 

[hkenvs3000f23]

Blog Post 9

Prompt: Interpret (through this blog) the most amazing thing you know about nature – get us excited. This is your blog – your audience isn’t out in the field with you so bring the field to your armchair reader.

When I first read the blog prompt I was really intrigued, but soon found it difficult to decide on a topic. I mean nature is amazing in itself, so how could I pick just one thing that I think is amazing about it. So that's when I had to sit and just think for a minute, what's something that I've learned about nature which has stuck with me since? After some thinking, I’ve decided to tell you all about something I learned in the 8th grade while watching a documentary. I mean the 8th grade was quite some time ago, however it's still  something I still think about pretty often.

So now to what the most amazing thing about nature is. It’s Crows!

As many of you may know, crows are some of the smartest animals in the world. So let’s look into why this is exactly. Crows are a part of the family corvids. Corvids in general are incredibly clever and are often known for their complex social groups (Clayton and Emery, 2005). They also are known to have the largest brain compared to their body size of any birds. Did you know that a crows brain is the same relative size as the chimpanzees brain? (Clayton & Emery, 2005) They’re  also known for their ability to solve puzzles, use dialects and hold funerals for their dead.

Crows are also famously known for their ability to use tools. Well not just use them, but also create them. They are commonly known to create two types of tools;  hooked tools made of twigs to capture insect larvae from holes, and stepped-cut Pandanus leaves to lure their prey found in soils and tree holes. (Clayton & Emery, 2005) This ability to create and use tools is mainly seen in the great apes, so it's amazing that a bird so small can do this too. (Clayton & Emery, 2005)

Now let's get into what I found so cool from the documentary.

It's that crows can remember faces! Whether it be of other birds or humans.  But wait, that isn't just it, they also can pass information about the faces they remember to other generations.

This was tested in a study done by John Marzluff, a University of Washington professor of wildlife science. Just like “social media, websites, apps, and other technologies assist in informing people of opportunities and becoming more deeply involved” (Beck et al., 2018, p. 466), this documentary offered a similar experience for me. In this study the researchers wore a caveman mask and would net/capture the birds, band them, stretch their wings out to measure them, even going to the length of holding dead crows. Basically things the crows did not really like (pretty reasonable if you ask me), causing them to hold 'grudges'. Later on, when researchers would walk by these crows on the campus wearing the same mask (it didn't have to be the same researcher, just the same mask), they would often get scolded by the birds. However, if the same researchers would walk by without a mask, they would not receive this reaction. The crazy thing is when the researchers completed the same experiment over 10 years later, the crows were shown to give the same reaction, providing proof for the communication through generation.

While this covered a general overview of the documentary, if you want to learn more about this I recommend watching the documentary, “Do Birds Remember Faces?”.

I hope some of you learned something new, and thank you for reading my post this week!

Beck, L., Cable, T. T., & Knudson, D. M. (2018). The Bright Future of Interpretation. In Interpreting Cultural and Natural Heritage for a Better World (1st ed., pp. 466). Sagamore Publishing.

Clayton, N., & Emery, N., (2005) Corvid Cognition. Current Biology. DOI:https://doi.org/10.1016/j.cub.2005.01.020

Here's a short clip:

[coutelier]

Irongate - Magpies

~Another 2000 word excerpt.~

Tenley had to get away from town. After the boy she’d witnessed many going about their daily routines and this bothered her for reasons she couldn’t explain to herself. Even though she knew it wasn’t their fault, it just didn’t seem fair that others could be normal. She had to get away from them. She returned to the woods, to where she’d always felt most at home, where a little dinosaur was flitting and rolling and shaking its feathers trying to extricate its head from a plastic cup. It must have been attracted by the silvery top and cream inside.

The magpie didn’t notice Tenley until she spoke, admonishing, “it’s your own fault you know. You got greedy and ahead of yourself, and now your head’s stuck.” The bird ceased its thrashing, settling down among some leaves with just plaintiff warbling from under the suffocating cap. Tenley huffed adamantly, “no. I don’t care at all.”

Dumb bird needed to learn its lesson. It was like when she put her head through the banisters at home; mother told her to find her own way out. She’d wriggled and pulled, terrified that if she took too long she would grow and be stuck there forever, but eventually she made it. Albeit only after a lot of pain and nearly scraping off her ears. The bird was none of her concern. She had own her problems to deal with. No matter how much it whimpered for help, she was going to ignore it as she walked away. With her changed ears she would have to get some way away before she stopped hearing it and could detect cats and other mammals foraging around. Tension built in her back, trickling into her fist until, “fine!”

Stomping back Tenley gently placed a hand on the magpie’s body. It renewed its efforts to escape even as she tried to as carefully as possible work the cup off. “I’m trying to help you, you stupid tuxedo wearing crow,” she muttered. There was little chance of it getting away until after twisting and loosening the cup slid free. Rather than fly off it remained seated, clacking gratefully at the girl. “You’re unlucky,” she wagged her finger under its beak, “you’re greedy, a thief, and no-one wants you. But you’re welcome.”

For a moment she felt not so tired. Even felt herself smile. Then a drip, a splash of red across the magpie’s eye startled them both. The bird took off. Tenley’s hand covered her nose, coming away briefly for her to feel warm crimson liquid between her fingers. Mother had subjected her to plenty of nosebleeds, but she had no idea what had caused this. Her heart began to race. Was whatever was in her blood, whatever was changing her, was it going wrong? Why was this happening now?!

Her spine tingled as above her a voice yawned, “adorable.” Ella. She had found a red flower of her own, tucking it behind her ear before swinging from the tree to land on her tiptoes before Tenley. “How does that rhyme go? One for sorrow?”

She was likely still bearing a grudge for the fight that got split. At least Tenley did, although she would rather not go again right now. That didn’t mean she wouldn’t. “What the hell do you want?”

“Relax, tough girl. I just saw you looking so glum so thought I’d come over to brighten your day. Two for joy, hm?”

“Three for a girl,” Lilian stepped around Tenley, kneeling to gently guide her hand from her nose. “Show me,” unused to being cared for Tenley remained suspicious yet, perhaps due to the softness of Lilian’s voice or just the fact she needed to know what was happening to her, she allowed it. “It is nothing to be concerned with. The old you is being pushed out as your body is remade. See? It has stopped already.”

“Congratulations,” Ella flicked her golden locks whilst grinning like a wolf, “soon you’ll be just like us.”

Tenley wiped her nose on her sleeve as she stood. “So, you’re just here to annoy me?”

“Well, not just that.”

Lilian held up a hand with her thumb tucked in. “Four for a boy.”

“That’s right,” Ella nodded, “the drones have been hard at work finding that gang you’re after. Ever wonder why it’s more for a boy? Think magpies are sexist?”

“I don’t think the magpies care at all,” Tenley sighed, “it’s just a dumb rhyme. Just tell me where they are then get lost.”

“Not so fast tough girl; we got another thing to give you.”

Lilian leaned on a tree, continuing the rhyme, “five for silver, six for gold.”

“Here,” Ella untied a leaf wrapped package from behind her waist, “her majesty wants you to have this.”

It landed at Tenley’s feet, unwrapping to reveal some kind of vine. “It’s a rope,” she shrugged.

Ella snorted, “maybe in the hands of a feeble human. For us, it’s whatever you want it to be.”

“It’s name is Ebba,” Lilian explained, “when you take hold of it, it’ll connect with your nervous system, becoming an extension of you.”

The vine began to move when Tenley picked it up. Twitching at first, but she could feel it almost like it were a part of arm. If she focused a bit, she could make it hold itself straight becoming a staff. A little more and the end sharpened to a point making it a spear. Little more and an edge extruded becoming a glaive.

“Of course,” Ella gestured with one hand balled on her hip, “it’ll take a while for a runt like you to master-“ her hair lifted as Ebba’s tip whooshed through it. It had not, on this occasion, been aimed at her face, but the flower behind her ear now pinned to a trunk with petals floating around it. Ella puffed like a fish cooking in the sun, soon settling into a simmer. “What was seven?” She asked.

“A secret,” Lilian answered, “never to be told.”

“You still want to find those people, right? Maybe we’ll help you. Then again, maybe you should show a little more gratitude for all these gifts you’re given. A little bit of ‘please’ and ‘thank you’.”

Tenley found herself in a quandary; not wanting to give in to Ella, but on the other really wanting this conversation to end so she get on with important matters. In the end she decided she wanted more to get rid of them, so bowed and said, “thank you for the weird spear-tentacle thing. Now will you please point me to where my targets are.”

Lilian looked from Tenley to Ella. “Eight for a wish.”

“It’s better,” Ella considered, cupping her chin and tapping her mouth with a finger, “but, don’t think I’ve forgotten about that cheap shot the other day.”

“Nine for a kiss.”

“I tell you what; I’ll grant your wish, but you have to catch me first,” before Tenley could protest that she wasn’t interested in any dumb games, Ella had already hopped back into the branches. “You better run,” she winked, taking off and leaping from tree to tree.

This was bullshit, Tenley thought. She didn’t care about winning a race with Ella, but she did want the information, so fine. But Ella already had a head start. Surely no way to catch up unless - the vine could stretch. By whipping it and gripping one of the sturdier branches she could catapult herself.

“Ten,” Lilian frowned as Tenley flew away, “for a bird you must not miss.”

Tenley felt like she was flying, the wind brushing back her hair, but of course it was really more of a glide, springboarding from branch to branch with a jeep some way in the distance looking like it was standing still. Further exhilarating was that she was catching up, yet lost sight of Ella as they came up on an old brick building. She paused there, reasoning she must have disappeared inside.

It was really just the shell of a building; just gaps where the doors and windows would have been, nature creeping through any space it could find. Almost hidden among the unkempt grass there was some rusted playground equipment. Maybe it had been a school. Before heading inside Tenley pushed aside some leaves and dirt to find a fallen sign that said ‘Saint Clarions’.

Ella was seated on the stage in an abandoned hall, slow clapping as Tenley entered. “You kept up,” she said, “well done, Tych.”

Tenley had forgotten for a moment what the chase had been for, finding it strange that somewhere that must have once been filled with voices could be so quiet and empty. “What is this place?”

“This is where Lil and I grew up - Saint Clarion’s Orphanage. Never anything saintly about it though. The nuns here… well let’s just say they really hated fun. So one day we ran away and, well, that’s how we became the fair folk we are today.”

“But what happened here?”

Ella seemed to ignore her, snapping her fingers, flames bursting forth like they had in the cave, but this time she sat with just a small orange ball reflected in her green eyes. “Do you like my fire? You might receive a gift like this too. We can draw power from The Witch Way, although it takes a bit out of you too. Lilian says exactly how it manifests is psycho-so-something.”

“Psychosomatic,” Lilian finished, her approach as soft and quiet as ever. “Your mind affecting your body, and anything that may spring from within.”

“I always loved flames. The way they dance… like seeing spirits.”

There were black marks on the walls, like shadows trying to escape. “You killed them,” Tenley guessed.

“I thought I would teach the nuns a lesson for a change. Sadly it didn’t stick; kind of hard to retain anything when you’re a pile of ashes. Oh, don’t look so horrified - they got what they wanted. They’re all up there in the sky with Jesus.”

The empty playground… “the kids?”

“Yeah,” Ella shrugged, “suppose they’d have been here as well. Honestly most of them were as bad as the nuns.”

“They,” Tenley slowly shook her head, “they can’t have all deserved that.”

“Deserves?” Ella scoffed, “what’s that got to do with anything? The children, the nuns - they all had the same disease. So I burnt it out.”

“Disease?”

“They were weak. Very few are worthy of our gifts. To be honest, I’m not sure about you yet, Tych.”

Tenley was in fact a very average height for her age. She’d never hung around kids her age much, but she had looked it up on the internet.  And at least she could grow, unlike them who were just shadows. “You are psycho-something,” she said.

The fireball struck Tenley’s shoulder spinning her around only to be knocked down by Ella’s fist. She rolled back up but Ella was on her like a tornado of hands and feet. She wasn’t skilled, but Tenley had been unprepared for the ferocity of the attack. It was all she could to keep blocking it, all the while being forced further back until Ella decided to just shoulder charge her through the wall. Tenley found herself on her back sputtering amid a cloud of brick and dust, Ella’s heel on her chest grinding her further into the concrete.

“I knew it,” the elder girl sneered, “you’re soft.”

The wind knocked out of her and the debris and her adversary’s foot making it hard to get back, Tenley nevertheless made an attempt to force Ella’s leg away but it only encouraged Ella to push harder. Her eyes darted looking for anything that could get her out, but it was Lilian who intervened. “That’s enough,” she said, gently guiding Ella away. She nodded to a window where a cat was sitting, intensely watching.

“Think I’ve made my point anyway,” Ella grinned as she turned away. “Later, Tych.”

[sp00kworm]

Black Oak (Part 2)

Pairing: Alcott Glyn (Headless Horseman) x Gender Neutral Reader

Warnings: Body Horror, Murder

PART 1 

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The police arrived about an hour after you had woke-up the whole village screaming. Peswick was far away from the nearest city’s response, and you sat shivering, wrapped in a blanket from the house, clutching it close as Mrs Shaw rushed to bring you a hot drink. She and her husband were dressed, but neither went into your house. They rushed back home, bringing you a cup of tea from their own kitchen along with a foil blanket for the shock. You weren’t allowed to touch the body, and you tried to ignore the swinging noise of the corpse as you sat perched on the front doorstep to your home, sniffling into the cup of tea. The police took off their hats as they stepped past your gate, and you watched as the crime scene investigation and forensic van pulled up behind them. The two officers nodded at Mr and Mrs Shaw before smiling as best they could.

“Would you like to come with us, please?” The male officer asked gently, “Lets go inside and we’ll get your statement of events, okay?” The female officer with him looked back at the tree and swallowed hard as Forensics suited up to remove the body and take evidence.

“Come on, Sully.” He ushered his companion as he helped you to your feet and nodded to your neighbours. He whistled and smiled as he opened the door for you, “Nice old place you’ve got here.” He complimented kindly, the corners of his eyes wrinkled with crows’ feet, “Mrs Finch used to live here. Are you a relative?”

 You shook as the officer led you gently into the front room, “It…She was my aunty, distantly.” You whispered as you eased yourself back onto the sofa, clutching the lukewarm tea tightly, as though it was a lifeline in your grasp.

“She was a kind woman. Made a lot of oils out of her garden, but she had nothing but trouble and vandalism with this place. Kids used to make a mess of the sides of the house regularly.” He tipped his head to the wall where the fireplace was, “It was always on the chimney. She never did anything, but the kids called her a witch and all that trollop.” He shook his head.

“You haven’t introduced yourself.” Sue gave him a lopsided smile as she pulled out the clipboards full of paperwork to be completed.

“Ah, so I haven’t!” The officer dipped his head, “I’m Officer Perks.” He pointed to the blond woman with him, “And this is my partner Officer Sullivan.”

You nodded shakily licked your lips, “It was nice to meet you. Thank you for coming. I know...Its far.” A breathy sigh left you as Sullivan took out her pens from her vest and smiled.

“We just need an account of what you did this morning and if you knew the victim.” Percy offered as he sat on your couch, “Spare no details. Even something small to you might be important to us.”

 Conflict burned in your throat and gut as you thought about what had happened, “I don’t remember anything of relevance from last night. I spent the night in bed. I’ve only just moved in, so I was exhausted.” You took a shuddering breath and continued, “I went out this morning to the tree and…and I looked up… and he was hanging there, without his head.” You looked into the tea in your hands, noting that it was now ice cold.

“How long have you been here?” Sullivan asked as she shorthand filled in the details on the paperwork, “You said you moved in recently?” Perks looked from the paper to you and smiled reassuringly.

“I moved in yesterday afternoon.” You whispered and Sullivan gave you a pitying look.

Perks shifted against the cushions, “Did you have anyone with a grudge against you or motive from where you used to live?” He asked.

“No one that I know of.” You answered as you put down the cup of tea, fighting the tears and upset.

“Okay so what time did you find the body?” Perks asked. You took a deep sigh and continued to answer the police officer’s questions well into the afternoon.

 Perks and Sullivan could drink their weight in tea, it turned out, and you offered them many drinks over the course of the few hours. They had a couple each, pens scratching papers as they took notes and an official account of the events for the records. You looked out of the window as Sue and Percy signed the bottom of the page. Crime Scene Investigations were hoisting the body down from the thick black branch of the oak, working to preserve the noose he was swinging by. Three people held the corpse up as they cut the rope carefully, keeping the knot intact and bagging the rope before they got the body down into the bag on the stretcher.

“He’ll need to go to pathology to determine cause of death…though I think I have a pretty good idea.” Sullivan whispered, trying not to be heard as she eyed you sat across from them. Perks rolled his eyes and elbowed his colleague.

“Here. Let me draw the curtains.” Perks stood and reached for the curtains before drawing them over the forensics team dragging the body into the bag, impassive to the blood that stained their tunics and gloves.

“I think we have everything.” Sullivan announced as she stood up and took hold of both their mugs, “I’ll put these in the kitchen for you.” She offered with a small, pathetic smile.

 Perks nodded his head as Sullivan as she left towards the kitchen. You heard her bang the cup on the countertop before you tugged the blanket closer and shifted uncomfortably.

“Thank you for your cooperation today.” Perks took his hat and tucked it under his arm, “I know these kinds of cases are very difficult to talk about. I have this card for you.” He held you out a green printed business card, “That’s the helpline for a couple of organisations and the other side has someone you can seek out if you would like some help talking through all this.”

You looked at the numbers vaguely before nodding and placing the card on the coffee table, “Thank you.” You replied quietly before Perks replaced his hat on his head.

“We’ll see ourselves out. Thank you once again and good afternoon.” He looked at his watch before he opened the lounge door and quietly exited.

Sue scoffed at him in the hall, “Come on. We’ve got these reports to write up.”

“Coming, coming.” Perks grumbled, “Nothing wrong with being nice. They just witnessed a damn corpse…” The voices trailed off as the front door closed behind the two of them with a bang.

 Silence.

 You looked to the curtains and stood up, letting the blankets finally fall from your shoulders as you fisted each side of the heavy curtains. They were old and embroidered with curling leaves. You tugged them open with a heave and watched the police vans trundle away back down the old stone roads, back towards the hills where they had come from this morning. With a deep breath, you tied the curtains back before taking one last long look at the gnarled, black oak in the garden, and heading towards the stairs for a shower and to get dressed. You hoped that a shower would wash away the sticky feeling of malaise on your skin and mind. Hot water usually purged bad thoughts, or so you hoped as you tried to erase the memory of the swinging corpse from the shrivelled branches of the old oak tree.

 You shivered through the house after your shower, wrapped in a jumper and heavy jeans as you tried to navigate the halls without looking out into the garden. The memory of the body lingered with the burning feeling of the heavy box in the other room, filled with an old skull. It was a skull inside. A perfectly preserved ivory skull. The teeth were yellow with age on the enamel, and you looked to the table where the muddy box sat with the key in the lock. The headless creature had moaned and groaned as its head screamed from the other room. You turned and looked at the ornate metal decorations before daring to turn the key again. The lid popped open and flew back to reveal the skull again.

 It sat perfectly still on the cushion, staring at you with empty eyes. With a deep breath, you dared to reach out and touch the skulls surface. It didn’t move. No magical energies tore out of the eye holes. It was perfectly still. It was just a skull. But the memory of it screaming and cursing inside the box was burned into your memory and you carefully picked the skull up, cushioning the bottom of its jaw before your strokes over the place where the eyebrows had once been when it was a man. It had to belong to the headless horseman, but why your aunt had it locked away in her home was another question entirely. You held the skull up to your eyes and peered into the bone of the eye sockets as you pondered your decision. There was a glimmer of gold inside the mouth which caught your eyes, and you dared to open the jaw wide enough to snatch at the shiny object. It was a single heavy golden coin which had been wedge between the back teeth. You looked at the old print and then quickly replaced it, wedging the jaw back shut as you placed the skull away on its pillow.

 It sat and stared at you, and you stared at it, wondering what happened last night as you clutched at your head and sighed. You slammed the lid closed and snapped the lock closed before you placed the box in the centre of the table.

“What the fuck were you up to aunty?” You asked the air as you rushed to the kitchen to make yourself another drink. As you set the water to boil you continued to curse, thinking about the headless man who what invaded your home chasing the poor man who had ended up hanging from the tree in your front yard. The head had screamed ‘witch’ from its confines, but you had no knowledge about what it could mean. You took the hot water and made a drink before looking at the last few boxes of unpacking and scoffing, deciding that the day would be better spent researching what had slaughtered the man and hung him from your tree.

 The village library was barely a few bookshelves put together and you sighed looking at the poor collection of books before you dated to approach the old librarian sat next to the desk. She had her own book open, some trashy romance novel set in the Victorian era, and she looked engrossed as she flipped the page and took another bite of her current tea cake.

“Hello?” You asked quietly in front of her.

The librarian jumped in her seat before she clutched at her chest and adjusted her glasses, “Dearie me! You scared the soul right out of me, love.” she took a moment to take a breath and close her book before she stood with a small wince and smiled, “What can I do for you?”

You could see the questions burning in her eyes. She no doubt knew you were the new person in town, and about what had happened at your home.

“I’m looking for some history books about the town. I wanted to try and get to know the place, but I don’t think there’s anything on the shelves.”

Her face pursed a little before she smiled again and pointed to the last one of the small walls of shelves, “There isn’t a lot but there’s a couple of books on the bottom shelf of the end one. For the records and such I’m afraid you will have to ask at the village hall. Rose keeps them in good nick there, lovely woman she is.”

“Ah, thank you.” You returned her smile and left her to her book as you went to the last set of shelves in the wall and started to rummage through the folklore and history books.

 There wasn’t a lot, she was right, and you sighed after about twenty minutes of pulling out books. You tugged the last, thick history book from the shelf and dusted the cover to reveal a history of the local mines and hills. It wasn’t what you were looking for. You peered at the shelf again and huffed before there was a glimmer of silver lining at the back of the bookcase. You squirmed your hand to the back and plucked the small book from behind the tattered paperbacks. It was a pocketbook, stencilled with an old name in cursive, faded and marred with cage.

‘Maria Theresa Glyn’

You dusted the front and followed the name before looking around and tucking the book into your bag. You felt bad just taking it, but obviously the Librarian had no idea it was there, and the name was familiar to you. You remembered the coat of arms on the old teapot. If this was the diary of someone with the same name it might have clues, or so you reasoned as you plucked a few books from the shelf and took them to the counter after replacing the rest.

 “Did you find what you were looking for, pet?” The librarian asked as you placed the books on the counter. She smiled and pulled out an old paper ticket to write your name onto. She poised the pen over the paper, and you told her your name before she copied it onto another for you and jotted the book codes down. She tutted at the date stamper and fiddled with it to get it to the correct date. Obviously not many people used the library.

“Yes, I found a few interesting things to have a flick through.” You told her as she stamped the tickets inside the books and stacked them in front of you.

“Well, you have fun...and be careful, huh? There’s a lot of weird and wonderful things that go on around here. It would be a shame if you forgot that, and something happened.” She smiled sweetly, but it sent shivers down your spine.

“Thanks. I’ll try.” You smiled awkwardly back at her before you took your arm full of books and made a quick exit back into the chilly air.

 The village seemed to watch you as you wove between the avenue of trees, crunching autumn orange and brown leaves underfoot. The chill in the air mimicked their icy feelings. You were the outsider among them, and soon enough they’d come to hound you out of their home. You only hoped to solve what you had seen. There was no way a headless man was riding around taking heads...right? You tried to console yourself as you made it to your home, and past the gnarled black tree in the front garden. It was twisted and old, and the branches seemed to creak as a greeting on your return. A glare silenced it, or so it seemed, perhaps it was just the wind dying, but the tree went silent as you walked up to the door with your keys in hand. The door swung open when you unlocked it and you clutched at your books as the wind howled into the mouth of the house, screaming down the hall like a ghost before you kicked the front door shut, shivering. The old back boiler chugged in the background as you kicked off your boots and placed the books in the lounge on the small table by the chest.

 When the chest remained still and silent you left to place away your bags and get a drink. You returned, rubbing your eyes as you opened the little journal you had found. It was penned with ink and quill, that much was obvious, and you ran your fingers over the woman’s name again before you touched the crest and went to find the teapot. You grabbed the porcelain handle and placed the two together over your lap. They were the same. The Glyn coat of arms. You placed the teapot down and opened the diary to look at the first passage. It was dated back three centuries ago, back when the alliance was beginning to form between the different races, monsters and humans alike, though you could tell this village hadn’t had such luxury. The entire populace was human, apart from the dairy farmers four miles outside the walls of the village. They were large goblins of some kind, cave dwelling and gangly limbed from years in the dark, but you had only seen them.

 The first passage was written in neat, printed cursive, echoing the care the woman had taken to write her feelings and events down.

‘Today is the day of my birth. My birthday rather. I was given this journal by the kind Mister Glynn, as a gift, and so I find myself beginning to write down the events of my daily life, so perhaps I can look back on it and reminisce when I am old and grey.

 Mister Glyn is a kind soul. He is part of the King’s Royal Entourage and the Commander of a large cavalry unit. Why he is in this small village is unknown to us all, but my father suspects it is because of the Wood Witch. Perhaps he has been tasked with taking her head? It is rumoured the armour he has is enchanted against such magic, but I feel as though those are rumours made about a dangerous and powerful man to excite fear.

 He is nothing but polite to me. I suppose my father will want to marry me off to this one as well.’

 The passages were perhaps a couple of pages maximum, and you flicked through the dates quickly, watching her words change from cold and indifferent to soft and loving of the man see always called Mister Glyn. It wasn’t until a year later in the diary that you saw his true name.

 ‘Alcott escorted me to the capital atop Mallor, his beast of a horse, though the creature seems to like me now that I bring him sugar lumps. Alcott wished to show me the city and its fruits though there is rather less fruit and more muck and grime. I am used to mud on my shoes, but I despised the odour of the place, much to his amusement. As I write, I can hear him snickering at me across the table.’

 There was a few blotches of ink and another set of handwriting.

 ‘She stood in a man’s excrement.’

 Their trip seemed peaceful, and Maria even attended a gathering at court. It seemed well until you found the final page in the diary, written across a page in shaky ink.

 ‘They took his head.’

 There was no fond farewell at the bottom of the page or a cursive signature. It was stark and naked on the yellowed paper, like a bad omen forever preserved. You ran your fingers over the words before you flicked through the last pages seeing nothing but blood splodges and blackened dark blood at the corners. It smelt faintly of rot, and you recoiled from the smell as you looked at the empty bare pages. The back of the book was burned across the inside of the cover. It was mysterious but it seemed like Alcott Glyn had been killed. But by who? You had no idea but as you looked at the chest again and thought of the head inside you shuddered.

 Alcott Glyn. There had to be a grave. You tugged your bag open and stuffed the book inside before you rushed out of the door, locking it quickly as you rushed towards the little church. It was at the top of the hill, sat in a mound of earth, subsiding on one side with props and scaffolding to try and hold it up. It wasn’t used anymore, the town hall was used to any religious needs, but it was haunting. The stained glass was dirty, and the front doors bolted and chained to prevent anyone entering. You rushed around the side of the church and looked at the dates on the graves and the dates in the diary. It had to be the 1700s. You thought back to your history lessons and tried to recall the date of the alliance war. 1774. You rushed around the small paths and glanced at the years, 1770, 1772, 1773... you looked at the gap where the 1774 stone should have stood. There was nothing, just unchurned earth and a set of roses growing from the floor. A troubling feeling settled in your gut as you meandered down the path to the back of the overgrown graveyard. There were old stones, crumbling and forgotten under blackberry vines and leaves. It was chance that you leaned down next to a short stone and looked at the faded name.

 Alcott Glyn.  

 The name was chipped and faded, like the memory of the man. Vines grew in wild abandon over the grave, and the blackberry vines had taken over the base, winding around the whole stone with wide dying leaves. It was perfectly hidden and forgotten about. The village’s little secret in the secluded corner of the graveyard, forgotten and buried. Or apparently, not buried completely. The earth was turned over, like something had ruptured from the ground and burst free. It was a long patch of upturned soil, as long as you were tall, or even longer, and the earth and stones were wet, fresh with the rain from the evening and being upturned, as though someone had run a plower through it.  Carefully, you ran your fingers through the earth, feeling the soil between your fingers before you took a steadying breath.

“Someone came out of this…” You breathed into the chilly air, your breath making mist with the cold as you stood and looked over the grave. You said it again before turning and bolting from the graveyard before the night could fall over the village.

 When you reached home, you threw your bag onto the couch and grabbed the chest, prising the lock open to peer at the skull inside. It was sat, still as a statue, on the cushion, with the glimmer of gold between its jaws. You lifted it from the cushion, carefully, pulling it up to your face level as the sun set over the horizon, bathing you in a golden glow with the skull clasped between your hands. There was nothing but the distant hum of the hot water pipes in the old house to answer your stare. The skull did nothing. It sat in your hands as the sunlight died over the horizon and the night began to settle in. In your gut, disappointment settled with the cold reminder that you were holding a dead man’s skull. A real human skull. Carefully, you placed it back down on the cushion and sighed as you went to draw the curtains, ignoring the creaking of the gnarled oak tree outside your door.

 The wind blew as you looked back at the head in the chest, positioned slightly skewed on the cushion. You chewed your lip and sighed before you stood over it again.

“Alcott Glyn.” You whispered to the skull. Nothing. The old electrics flickered for a moment, dimming before they brightened again. Silence, except for the hum of the back boiler. The breath you had been holding escaped and you turned away with a grumble before the lights surged bright and yellow, like the sun, before the bulbs exploded in a sudden thunder of noise. Glass shattered and flew across the carpet in a shower, and you gasped, covering your ears before you looked back at the cushion.

 The head was sat, jaw agape, with two lights in the blackened sockets, rolling side to side. The little lights rolled like stoned before they settled on you and the open jaw began to jitter, chattering the yellowed teeth together loudly. The skull didn’t move, just snapped it’s teeth like a scared dog before it stopped, and the eyes dimmed. It was only a moment of silence before there were three heavy pounds on your door. With a gasp you rushed to draw the curtains, and gazed upon the creature stood on your doorstep, his steed kicking and throwing it’s head by the twisted roots of the black tree. The body stood there, breathing, its undead chest moving as though it needed the air.

“Alcott Glyn.” You whispered again with a dry mouth. All the moisture dried up from you and you tried not to shake as the skull slammed against the side of the box, it’s eyes glowing.

It shook and chattered its teeth before a voice screamed from between the open jaw, “Let me in, witch!”

Fear twisted your guts as you rushed to slam the chest shut on the screaming skull. It chanted inside the decorative metal, hollering about burning you at the stake before you took it to the front door. The horseman slammed his fist on the door again, repeatedly, as though he was going to tear it open, and you shivered as your fingers shook by the latch and keys.

 The horseman began to bang repeatedly and the head in the chest slammed around, shaking your arms as you struggled to keep hold of it. You took a stuttering breath and unlatched the door, turning the keys before you wrenched it open. The headless horseman heaved puffs of misty breath up from the stump of his neck, his trachea flexing with the movement as the nerves of his spinal cord twitched and thrummed behind it, imitating life in his corpse body.

“Witch!” the skull screamed again, his head you realised as you stepped back, and the creature followed. His boots left muddy smeared marks on the wooden floors, and you looked down to see the crushed blackberries over the soles. Your heart pounded as you realised, he had crawled from the grave you had sat by earlier.

“I saw you by my grave. I will not do business with you again.” His voice came from his body this time, contorted and dark as it leaked from his lungs like a wisp.

“Business? What business have you?” You asked, voice shaking with fear.

The skull laughed in its box, a malicious and evil noise, dark and tempting, as though you were truly stupid for asking, “What business did we not have? Have you forgotten in your age, crone? Death and blood, that’s what you wanted, and I delivered it.”

“Who did you have the deal with?” You steeled yourself.

“You, you pathetic soothsayer.” He droned before his dead fist slammed the door closed, “Now give me my head. Our bargain is met.”

“I am not my aunty.” You tried, “I have no deal with you.”

 The horseman stopped, his body stiffening as his horse brayed and screamed outside, kicking its hooves at the black oak with a great smash. The tree shook, shedding twigs, but didn’t fall. He stalked closer, the bulk of his frame blocking out the light from the moon and the electric fitting overhead.

“But you have my head.” The skull whispered from inside the box before he grabbed for the chest. He touched the metal of the latch and screamed, the noise escaping the corpse before you and the skull inside the box. It was an ear piercing, unholy noise which burned your ears and made your head swim in agony. The horseman clutched at his chest and the stump of his neck, his gloved fingers pressing into the gored wound of his neck as he wobbled towards the wall and grasped at it for balance.

 “Fuck.” You cursed before you whipped the chest open and grabbed his skull by its eye sockets, hanging it over him as he slid down the wall and screamed again in agony, twitching against the wood.

“If I give you your head, horseman, will you indebt yourself to me? Your previous contract will be null, and you will only serve me.” You announced.

The horseman writhed before going deathly still. He laid like a corpse for a moment or two before shakily he braced his arm against the floor and pushed himself up. With a shudder he got onto his knees and kneeled before you, his neck dipped to expose the sore, congealed wound of his decapitation.

“I... I will serve.” The horseman gurgled.

“Then I give you your head to end your torment, Alcott Glyn.” You promised before you held his skull between your palms and lowered it to the spinal column of his body.

 There was a great groan as the spine extended from Alcott’s body and snapped to the skull, holding it in place as the eyes burned bright with purple light, the colour of blackberries, rolling in his skull as he reached and clasped at the bone, howling as light burned from the base of his neck and enveloped his skull with a whoosh of purple fire. The fire abated quickly as the moonlight disappeared behind the curtains and the skull shimmered as muscle and tendons swarmed the bone, linking and covering the surface before the he howled, and skin crept from his neck to his face, covering the surface in a perfect alabaster coating. His eyes however, remained voids of black, the centres beautiful blackberry lights in the dimness of your home. Black waves of hair grew from his head, dripping over his shoulders like ink as he howled, leaned against the old wallpaper. They finished growing with a crackle of fire, purple flames licking at the ends before it disappeared, leaving a heaving, black eyed creature curled against the wooden floor.

 Your mouth hung open as you watched the horseman shake against the wood, heaving as he reached to clutch at the hair that draped from his previously naked skull. The inky waves slid through his gloved hands and was quickly marred with dirt and blood before he peered at you through the curtain, looking at you with the purple lights in his irises which were sunken back into his skull. His lips parted before he took a deep breath, wheezing out dust and muck, coughing like a goose before he kicked the chapped skin and crawled closer to your feet. He only looked at you, staring before one gloved hand whipped out and snatched your ankle, holding it tightly in an iron grip.

“Bound to your bloodline again...” he growled, “Humiliating.” Before he pushed himself back and stood, swaying on his legs like a new-born deer as his balance came back to him. Having a head was a heavy burden.

“I don’t even know what you’re talking about.” You breathed as Alcott slammed the side of his head and beat dirt out of his ears.

“Of course, you don’t. None of you ever do. Now I’m bound here to you until the day you drop dead and rot. Why can you never let me die?” He growled in a worked-up fury, flinging his hands to the windows before he stalked to the door, his boots slamming against the wood. He swung it open, and his mount brayed in greeting, throwing its giant head back before it caught sight of you and snorted, bowing it’s neck like a graceful Swan.

 “You are all the same!” The horseman shouted before the moon was revealed, a cloud moving away from its white surface. He shuddered and you watched the skin on his face disappear with the muscle, revealing the purple lights in a bare, burning skull. As the cloud recovered the moon, the base of his neck flared with purple smoke and fire, revealing the scar where he was decapitated, and his face reappeared.

“I gave you your head back, Alcott!” You shouted after him.

The horseman shivered and turned back to you, looking at you with his haunting eyes, both hands gripping the pommel and stand of the saddle, “How do you know my name?” He whispered in questioning.

With a small breath, you locked your lips nervously and ducked back to the table, grabbing the little diary from you bag before you stood on your porch and held it out to the wraith, “Maria wrote about you.”

He growled and snatched at the book, and you let him take it with a painful smile, “I know the townspeople killed you. They betrayed you. I don’t know what happened to Maria.” You confessed.

Alcott opened the diary and flicked through it before he looked at the night sky, “She lived in mourning the rest of her life. They institutionalised her after they found her carrying my head, wailing through the town. She died, high on cocktails of medicines, with her head buried in the soft soil of a flower bed.”

 The revelation was something of a shock and you looked at the undead man in front of you with a bitter, pitying look.

“You watched her die, didn’t you?” You asked, barely above a whisper.

The horseman scoffed, “That was the curse after all. To terrorise the town for their betrayal. But not her. I used to try call to her from the window, but she never could bare to look at me. Eventually they gave her more cocktails and she stopped coming to the window all together.”

“Jesus Christ.” You cursed.

“Such foul language.” Alcott sneered as he snapped the diary shut in his gloved hand, “She died from the madness and grief. That is the fault of the town and its yet another reason to run into each of these homes and tear their heads from their bodies.” Alcott spat furiously. As fury overtook him you could see the white scarred seem of where his head had been replaced burning with smoke the purple fumes puffing from it like a new wound before his neck popped and cracked, sending his head to the left, hanging on by a thread of flesh to the other side. You let out a screech and clasped your mouth as the horseman gurgled and reached for his head, grasping it by the hair before he groaned and dragged it back into place, snapping the vertebrae back into place with a twist and a squelch of bloodied tissue. It cracked again quickly, and Alcott held the top of his hair tightly with a groan as the smoke poured from his mouth and his head twisted backwards like a ghoul, spinning on his neck before it snapped again and came free, rolling over the floor to your feet as a skull. The flesh and hair melted in waves of muck from its surface, and you shakily took hold of the skull again.

 The horseman stumbled left and right as he reached towards you for his head.

“MY HEAD, WITCH!” He howled at you, but you dashed back up the porch steps and held it protectively.

“You are under my command. Anything against my wishes is against our contract...so you lose your head. Do you hear me horseman?” You blagged, hoping you were right, “So there will be no killing.”

“Evil, corrupt creature. I'll hang you by your feet and bleed you from the neck!” Alcott threatened as fire and smoke poured from his throbbing trachea. The smoke puffed before he went sent to the floor in agony, the black oak behind him creaking and swaying left and right as though the roots were snaking towards him. Sure enough, the ground rumbled, and the black oak’s roots exploded from the ground, snagging the horseman by his wrists and ankles hoisting him into the air as the branches hissed and his mount, Mallor, brayed and screamed, blood spraying over the fence from the horses broken throat.

 It was a curse. You should have expected as much, but you shook as the tree cinched the man’s limbs, holding them tight before it pulled, making him scream in agony as his joints were pulled tight.

“Stop!” You screamed, and the tree stopped pulling, holding the horseman aloft still as it swayed and bent towards you, its branches touching your head as though trying to figure out who you were.

“He is mine.” You told the tree, “He will obey and submit to the laws of his contract.”

The tree groaned, it’s roots wiggling in the cold, hard earth for a moment before it dropped Alcott like a sack of grain and settled down quietly, smacking at the horse inching closer to its trunk.

Alcott touched at his neck as he rose, swaying as he cracked and snapped his joints back into place like a disjointed puppet.

“Are you going to play nice now?” You asked as the man wheezed in front of you. When he nodded you offered him his skull back and watched the skin and flesh cover its surface again before he snarled behind his curtain of overgrown hair, blackberry-coloured lights burning the void of his eyes.

“You truly are her kin if that disgusting thing listens to you.” He snapped as he headed for his horse and mounted the saddle with a quick bounce on one powerful leg, his thighs locking tight around the beast’s sides as it bucked and brayed. Alcott turned his horse and tipped his head with a wave of purple smoke and fire, “Call on me then, witch, and see what havoc I can wreak for you.” Alcott laughed bitterly as he turned Mallor onto the cobbled drive and rode onto the road, his face becoming bone and flesh intermittently as the clouds passed overhead.

“I’m not a witch!” You screamed after the horseman, but he was gone into the mist and the trees, unlikely to have heard you cursing against the stairs of the porch as you collapsed.

[razieltwelve]

Allure (Rebirth)

Atalanta - who had once been Taylor Hebert - took one look at the expression on her older sister’s face and immediately turned to run. Alas, one did not simply outrun Ragnarok.

“Why so quick to leave, sweet sister?” Diana was suddenly beside her, and Atalanta found herself guided over to the front porch by her smiling sibling. It was terrifying how easily Diana could keep a smile on her face while casually dragging Atalanta around despite her best efforts to resist. “I heard an interesting rumour...”

Atalanta decided that if force wouldn’t work, she would employ an ancient Dia technique. She gasped and pointed. “Wow! What could that be?”

Diana laughed. “Atalanta, I can literally see in every direction around myself even without eyes. I know there’s nothing there. Plus, that’s a Dia thing. I might be Yun, but I’ve been an honorary Dia since the first time I picked up my shoe and vowed vengeance against a bird that crossed me.”

“...” Atalanta saw her twin walking past and shot him a desperate look for help. Taren glanced at Diana and then did what anyone else - except possibly Averia - would have done. He threw her under the proverbial bus and went back inside. Fury, who was right next to him, was even worse. The chocobo plodded out, found a spot nearby, and settled in to watch.

That little bastard. Well, not little anymore. Fury was eleven feet tall. He was still a bastard, though.

“Kweh.” Fury smiled sunnily. “Kweh.”

He might be a bastard, but she was completely screwed.

“So...” Diana’s smile turned into a smirk. “I heard from a little bird that somebody has been visiting Paddra using some of her Semblance constructs to make sure that she doesn’t have to log her details in when she takes a transport.”

Atalanta made a choking sound. Beaky! That asshole must have sold her out. Then again, he had always had a grudge against her. He probably dreamed of pecking her in the head. “Is... is that so?”

“Don’t bother denying it.” Diana laughed. “Beaky has me on speed dial.”

“...” Atalanta made a choking sound. “He does?”

“Although Aquila does have more... normal security, the crows and ravens do their own thing too. Beaky is in charge of the birds watching over her, so he contacts me whenever she heads our way. She did that a lot as a kid, so we keep in touch. Plus, he likes talking to the geese, avian solidarity and all that.”

“...” Atalanta would never quite understand how animals could be so intelligent and obnoxious here in comparison to their Earth counterparts.

“So... it seems as though you’ve been captivated by the allure of an older woman.” Diana waggled her eye brows in ridiculous fashion. “Although I do have to compliment you on your taste. According to Remnant Social Monthly, Aquila is one of their top ten most eligible bachelorettes.”

“You read that garbage?” Atalanta asked.

“Nope. I have some programs to trawl through it for anything useful or anything I need to suppress. I know what they’ll publish long before it goes to print.”

“You are so evil.”

“I prefer to think of myself as being villainously benevolent. Anyway...”

“We’re just friends.” Atalanta knew it was a mistake the second she said it.

“Oh? Could it be that my little sister doesn’t know how to put the moves on someone?” Diana put one arm around Atalanta. “Listen well, little sister, and I will teach you how to wield your deadly Yun-Farron charm against her. No woman will be able to resist you!”

X     X     X

“I should probably go out there and save her,” Averia said as she listened to Diana explain the finer points of courtship and wooing to Atalanta in overblown fashion. “I think Atalanta might actually die of embarrassment once Diana pulls out the holographic flow chart because we all know she’s got one.”

“No.” Lightning shook her head.

“No?”

“This is way too funny.” Lightning’s lips twitched. “Give Diana another five minutes.”

“Make it ten,” Fang said. “This is hilarious.”

“Maybe we should step in,” Taren said. “I mean... oh!” His eyes widened. “Diana is about to pull out the flow chart. Never mind!”

X     X     X

Author’s Notes

Ah, nothing like family caring. It’s why Taylor later takes a bit of a shine to the Undersiders. Their dynamic reminds her a bit of her family. That said, if Averia doesn’t step in to save her, she’s doomed.

Also, Beaky is indeed a jerk, but he’s good at what he does. It’s also not unusual for him to call the geese, so they can talk shop or complain good-naturedly about their humans. He’s never gotten on with the raccoons, though.