#also this is my first proper attempt at writing jacob

[starlight-time-machine]

Week in Review

10/08/2023 – 10/14/2023

Sunday

I have a tradition on Sundays I like to call, unimaginatively, Manga Sundays, where I catch up on all the manga I follow on the Manga Plus app.

MamaYuyu has unique and interesting panelling as always, but I’m not sure if the story can stand on its own.

Handsome Must Die is just stupid fun and I’m glad that the nice looking kid flipped the bird and that the evil kid is getting his proper redemption arc.

Undead Unluck is fantastic, and I love that Latla and Rip share the leg weapon now – this feels like one of the first big shifts in a character setting we’ve seen this loop, other than everyone avoiding/circumventing their tragedies, which are a given.

The Ichinose Family has completely lost me, but at least the emotional moments still come through clearly – Taizan 5 definitely has a flair for melodrama (this isn’t a dig).

The power stats in the Oshi no Ko are fun, and the last page was definitely impactful.

Dandadan is as chaotic as usual, and I can’t wait to see what supernatural or sci-fi or who even knows at this point power up the Class Rep gets from being caught up in this friend group. I loved her vampire fantasies, they felt very true to what a teenage girl would write self-insert fanfics about. I do wish Momo and Okarun would get together already, but that’ll probably have to wait until after this new ghost themed arc.

Marriagetoxin is alright, I’m glad to have a romance themed chapter again after all those action chapters I skimmed through. Erina is a cute little boss.

Magilumiere’s new shady private investor character is fine, I like his design but I don’t really care about his investing strategy when I already know him joining the team is a foregone conclusion.

Akane-banashi is a series I keep up with purely because it’s about rakugo (and I like Karashi), but it’s never really grabbed me despite being about a topic I enjoy. I don’t know, most of the art is pretty whatever to me, and its attempts to make rakugo seem interesting don’t interest me, even though I already like rakugo. I have no idea how it has captured the attention of the typical Shounen Jump crowd, but I suppose I’ll be grateful for it since I’m invested in the wellbeing of rakugo as an art form.

One Piece…I’ll admit that I don’t really know what’s going on in One Piece anymore, since I can’t keep track of all the characters and politics and powers straight in my head and I tend to just skim chapters until something cool happens. The old man spider looks cool, though I have no earthly idea why he’s so revered and feared. Eventually I’ll pick up the anime again – I’ll probably retain things better when I watch them as whole arcs at a time. (I also want to rewatch Water 7/Enies Lobby…)

And finally, I always leave Cipher Academy for last on Manga Sundays, because I love Cipher Academy soooooo much. I love all the characters, all the character designs, the puzzles, the art, the Nisioisin-isms, the list goes on. The first Tayutan vs Iroha Code Battle absolutely blew my mind and I felt a renewed love for the comics medium, so I’ve been hooked ever since. This chapter was really fun: I feel a little proud of myself for seeing through the ‘trick’ this time, even though it was pretty blatantly telegraphed with the close up on the arrow. Nohime is also looking gorgeous as usual, and I’m happy to get some lore about her. And of course Byu is checking out the tables for hiding spots. I wonder if Iroha and/or Shitsuke let the bomb explode to open a hole down into the lower floors? Feels very Stardew Valley Skull Cavern to me.

My friend and I have been watching House M. D. together over Discord – she’s watching for the first time while I’m rewatching. Today we finished off S3, and none of the episodes left a particularly deep impression on me. I’m going to miss the Chase Foreman Cameron team though.

Monday

The new Make Some Noise episode is okay, I’m not really vibing with the prompts…but I always enjoy seeing Jacob Wysocki, he’s one of my favourite Dropout cast members.

More House M.D. – the competition style arc at the start of S4 is pretty fun, but the medical mysteries are not interesting me in the slightest. The House/Wilson moments are great though.

I tried watching the first episode of Ascendance of a Bookworm, and it’s cute enough, but the low production quality is a pretty big turn off…I think I’m just going to read the manga. But this means that Fall 2019 gets a whopping 0 shows in my Anime by Season statistics, which is a far cry from the 14 shows of Spring 2016 (then again, I was in high school at the time, which meant that I had more free time and lower standards). Also yes…I’m so far behind on anime that I’m still working through 2019 shows…

Tuesday

Started the day off with the latest Chainsaw Man chapter, since I’ll get spoilers on Twitter if I left it until Manga Sunday. I would love to be a Devil Name Consultant.

Read through the first part of the Ascendance of a Bookworm manga. I like how tiny and cute Myne is, and these types of isekai stories where the protagonist uses their knowledge of modern technology to advance in society are just about the only kind of isekai I can tolerate. It’s a bit silly that she just happens to know all these handicrafts from doing things with her mom though. I think they could’ve just explained it with her already established book obsession. It’s interesting that she revealed her true self to Lutz so early – I haven’t read a lot of isekai but it doesn’t seem like this is a common trope. Usually it seems like the protagonist assimilates easily into their new world and has fun adventures, but this is an interesting development to their relationship. I also love the business wheeling and dealing, and it’s always fun when it’s a little kid doing it. Some of the plot progressions felt a bit weirdly paced to me, and the manga’s structure isn’t anything too inspired, but the story is interesting enough to keep me reading.

Skimmed through the latest chapter of Gakuen Babysitters. I basically only read it to get a dose of cuteness, but I still hang on for the Ryuuichi and Hayato interactions, which are few and far between these days.

Also read the latest chapter of Scary Campus College University. I’m not really digging this Cultural Festival arc because I don’t really care about the backstory stuff, but Fujimiya’s turn has been fun to see, and I’m looking forward to seeing the confrontation between him and Mahina.

Watched some more House with my friend. I’m not enjoying the gimmicky patients like the girl who could see ghosts or the guy who can magically read your insecurities and mirror them back at you. The CIA episode was pretty fun though.

I tried watching Catch Me If You Can, but I wasn’t really feeling it and stopped. This means I can finally continue my daily Movie Roulette though, so that should be fun for tomorrow.

Wednesday

The new Dirty Laundry episode was decently fun, it’s interesting to see guests who I’m actually pretty familiar with for once. The stories weren’t particularly exciting though.

Read the new Asper Kanojo chapter. Anyway,

Read the first few chapters of Shiroyama to Mito-san. I’m really looking forward to seeing how this oddball romance progresses.

Today’s Movie Roulette choice was Fantastic Mr. Fox, which my friend has been wanting me to watch for ages so we watched it together on Discord. It was pretty fun, though the stop motion animation and stares into the camera wigged me out a bit. I’m still not sure how I feel about Wes Anderson’s Wes Andersonisms, but the new Henry Sugar movie is on my list and I actually do love that book so we’ll see…

Thursday

I finally finished reading Sammy Keyes and the Curse of Moustache Mary, which I started weeks ago and haven’t had time to return to until now. Sammy Keyes is one of my favourite childhood book series – I love Sammy’s boldness and resourcefulness, I like that the books are written like kid-friendly noir mysteries, and I like the characters and all their developing dynamics. This instalment was a pretty fun romp, and I was surprised to see a kid’s book talk about meth? As a kid I only remembered the pig (I don’t think I got that far into this one, or reread it a whole bunch). I really didn’t appreciate the slurs though, intentional or otherwise.

I’ve had an on and off headache for like three days now, and I wanted something soothing to watch while I ate dinner so I put on Heya Camp, which was about 30 minutes total for 12 episodes. It was perfectly fine and cute, not much else to say about it. I’m looking forward to getting back into Yuru Camp proper though.

Today’s Movie Roulette choice is In & Of Itself, which I had put on my list because I heard that it was life changing. It didn’t really do that for me, but it was fine. I enjoyed the magic tricks. I think if I were one of those people in the physical audience who he would look in the eye and identify, it’d be emotionally moving, but other than that the platitudes of perspective and identity weren’t all that mind blowing to me. But with this, I’m officially down to 100 movies left on my to watch list!

And then, because I couldn’t help myself, I started the next Sammy Keyes book, which is the Hollywood Mummy. It’s the first Sammy and Lana centric story in the series and I remember nothing about it, so I’m pretty excited.

Friday

I watched some more House with my friend. This crop of episodes was pretty good, with the Christmas one being a highlight. I’m definitely enjoying the more lighthearted silly sideplots than the ones about House brooding about his pain or addiction.

Managed to read the latest chapter of Akuheki before passing out from sleepiness. Today was a very toxic yaoi kind of day, huh? I always enjoy the complexity of the main couple’s relationship in this BL, which is pretty rare to find. And oh my godddddd when Daimon was presented on stage as an object…this is the good stuff.

Saturday

And now to catch up on the BL series I’m following (which I was going to do on Friday night, but oh well). First up is A Second Goodbye to You, which I feel like only barely counts as a BL at this stage? But I’m enjoying the intrigue and the thriller aspects of the story, even if it feels a little like they’re just systematically placing the suspicion onto each person involved in turn. And after the third “Everything’s going to be okay! Oh no someone died!” twist it gets a little tiring. The reporter is an interesting new addition – I really hope he can just help Harusawa out because he’s definitely in over his head.

Next is the latest chapter of Memeshii Aku to Azatoi Suh, which I find to be generally pretty silly and I’ve only gotten this far because I enjoyed the original manga that this is a spin-off of. This chapter was like a lecture on slut-shaming and consensual sex lol. But good for them, now they can get together without reservations.

I watched the first episode of Spy x Family season 2 over dinner, and it was fun! Just more of the same, which is a good thing when the quality’s already pretty high. I enjoyed the experimental animation in the opening and ending, and I’m always down for a Loid/Yor shippy episode.

We’re nearing the end of House season 4 now with a solid batch of episodes. I realize now that I actually like this new team more than the original team – Thirteen is cool, Taub is cunty (this is a compliment) and Kutner is just chilling. Plus Foreman is still there, and he’s my favourite from the original trio. The episode where House diagnoses someone by watching a soap opera is a fun setup, though the ending felt pretty rushed and anticlimactic. My friend and I don’t like the Wilson/Amber pairing, but we do love that it brings out House’s jealousy and plenty of Hilson moments. We’ve left the two part season finale for tomorrow, which should be fun.

Went back and watched the second episode of SpyFam since it was available. And man they really tried their best to fill out the Bond centric segment huh…and it’s like, I like Bond as an addition to the family, but it’s hard for him to carry a storyline by himself. The Damian segment was a lot more fun – I like that shot of Damian with his little cape looking up at the sky. And I like that his friends are a little more fleshed out and that they’re his actual friends, not just henchmen. Pretty cute episode, if a bit slow.

Okay wow I’m only halfway through Undead Unluck episode 2 but I needed to write down my thoughts in case I forget anything. I love the stylistic choices and directing style here, it feels like they’re really taking advantage of the medium to elevate the story and the atmosphere rather than just adapting the manga panel for panel (cough SpyFam is sometimes a little guilty of this when it’s not doing big action set pieces cough). But the big blue sky framing and the stylistic cut into the title card and the UNAVOIDABLE cut was pretty perfect, and captured the impactful energy of the manga’s style. Hanae Natsuki as Shen is also sooooooo good, and I’ve always loved how interesting the Union felt like as villains – knowing what I know now, everything makes sense, but when I first read the manga it was really refreshing to have an antagonistic force that could be negotiated with and seemed to have its own altruistic goals, and also crazy to see people actually die and for those deaths to have consequences on the story…a shocking concept, in shounen battle manga. I really love Undead Unluck’s commitment to its own setting and exploring all its possibilities (well maybe not in the romance department. Which, while refreshing, is very straight lmao).

Also they haven’t announced who voices Mui yet, but I have my fingers crossed really really really really really hard that it’s someone who can speak Chinese…I get why Shen didn’t get that (I don’t even know of a male seiyuu who speaks Chinese) but I have two female Chinese seiyuu in mind who’d be great for Mui…Homoto Akina perhaps…and totally not just because I love her Love Live character…but pleaseeeee I’d love to hear some real Chinese in the anime. The opening was fun and stylish, but I have to admit I was a little disappointed by Queen Bee’s song for it. It was just more lowkey than I would’ve expected…it’s heartening to see so many characters show up in the opening, though. It seems like they’re in it for the long haul and I really do hope we get to see the entire manga adapted. The directing in this episode feels like they’re setting up how this will be a grand adventure, and I can’t wait to watch it play out. I just feel reassured that the people working on this anime really understand what makes Undead Unluck so magical, and their love can be felt through the work.

Wow I’ve never noticed that little opening on Shen’s waist…hip window… Also man I appreciate them animating Andy’s dick censor, it’s pretty funny how it flops around.

LMAOOOOOOOOOOO OKAY JUST GOT TO WHERE HANAE NATSUKI TRIES HIS BEST TO SPEAK CHINESE…I’M ROOTING FOR  YOU MAN…

I completely forgot how Shen just sells out a member of the Union for seemingly his own amusement. It definitely sowed the seed for how interesting of a character he is…and why he’s my favourite heh. And wow that ending was beautiful…

I’ve written so much about Undead Unluck that it’s a little embarrassing ha, but I love this story so much and it’s amazing to see such a great adaptation of it. I love feeling like I’m about to set out on an amazing world-spanning journey…it almost feels like when I watched One Piece for the first time as a ten year old. I’ll definitely be tuning in every week.

And that’s it for my first Week in Review! (I’m forcibly ending it here so that I go to bed and not watch any more shows or read a book.) As you can see, I can talk a lot about things that don’t matter to anyone but myself because I think I’m soooo interesting (this is only half sarcastic). If anyone ever even sees this, I’ll be amazed. But until then, I’ll just be here talking to myself.

[writingsofwerewolves]

Keep in mind, none of these are finished. I'll edit them before sharing them, but they will remain unfinished unless I magically get the inspiration and motivation to continue them. My issue is, if I leave a story untouched for too long, I can no longer force my brain to return to that world and plot. So it just... won't be continued. It isn't because I don't want to. It isn't because I don't know where I intended the story to go. I just can't go back if I don't finish something quickly.

Still, I really like some of these. I personally enjoy re-reading them, even if I haven't completed them. And it seems some folks here are interested in my unfinished works, so I figure I'll give you a chance to pick some.

Some of these are over 3 years old.

I may post a poll tomorrow, but if you want, feel free to tell me which of these interest you the most.

Excuse the silly names for some. I've listed the names of their documents, so that I don't forget which story is which. Ones with quotation marks are simply named the first sentence of the story.

Also, I haven't reread any of these super recently so my descriptions may not be 100% accurate. Feel free to ask for more details if it would help you decide which one you're interested in and I'll look through the story to give you proper answers. That includes content/trigger warnings. Please let me know if you would like any detailed warnings about any of these. I included some I remembered for the major ones but I definitely didn't cover all of them.

With all that out of the way, here are some of the options:

Blood and Wolves -- 103k words. A majority of that was written within the space of a week. Features Damian, Vikram, and a nonbinary person in a relationship with the two of them. Contains consensual sex scenes (mildly dubious consent for one of the scenes), some of which are threesomes and some of which included shifted werewolf sex. Also contains much angst and processing of trauma. Also the main character is often misgendered by side characters.

"The truck rattled down the road..." -- 15k words. Features Damian and a nonbinary person exploring an... interesting relationship dynamic. It takes place in an alternate universe where vampires hold a lot of political power and humans that are deemed to be a strain on human society are given over to the vampire government to be their slaves. Our POV character is one such human. Contains no sex scenes but does cover topics of sexual assult and trauma.

Vampires Among Us -- 37k words. Features Damian, Vikram, and Talia. No sex scenes. Contains homophobia, transphobia, abuse, sexual abuse, etc. It's mainly about the main character, Talia, escaping an abusive situation and un-learning bigotry she was taught growing up. This was my original attempt at The First Life of Talia MacDonald. While I think the new version is better quality and better thought out, this original version has some gems that I still really like.

Twilight AU -- 35k words. Features Damian, Vikram, and a nonbinary character that takes the place of Bella Swan in the events of Twilight. Basically this is my "what if Twilight but my characters?" Damian is in Edward's place, Vikram is in Jacob's, and the POV character is still called Bella throughout it for part of it but later comes out as nonbinary and uses a different name. A lot of the plot follows the first three Twilight books, with changes made to suit my characters. Content warning for major suicidal ideation. Misgendering because no one knows the POV character is nonbinary.

Twilight but better -- 21k words. Features Vikram and a character named Crystal. Basically after writing "Twilight AU", I decided I really liked some of the things I did in that story but wanted to approach them without the limits of following the plot of Twilight. This story explores relationship trauma. Aside from the POV character dealing with a lot of icky feelings about the past, I think this one is pretty light and fluffy. The name is misleading, but that's what the document is titled.

Jillian -- 30k words. Features Damian, Vikram, and a character named Jillian. This is a complicated one to explain, but was so fun to write. It explores how Damian would go about romancing someone he already knows and loves but doesn't know him. Contains a LOT of ableism surrounding the main character's disabilities. Also, fair warning, the main character has disabilities I don't have myself so I can't promise I represented it well. A lot is based on my own experiences and what I've heard people say about their experiences, but I'm sure I messed up somewhere.

Talia story Damian POV -- 24k words. This is The Strange Life of Talia MacDonald, but from Damian's POV. It's only the first few chapters, but I think it provides a fascinating insight into the chaos that is Damian's brain.

Underbeings -- 8k words. Features Vikram and Talia. Hard one to explain... Basically all Talia's life, something's been off. People have treated her weirdly. Turns out it's because a powerful magical creature has magical ownership of her. Go figure. This is about her learning about that. Just kinda a fun romp, in my opinion. I'm sad I'll never finish it but there's cute parts.

Kadan travels -- 8k words. Features Kadan, Kadan's brother and Kadan's brother's mate, and a nonbinary character. It's... very out of context. But it's like the only thing I have written about Kadan. I don't know how to describe it other than to say there's a lot of gender exploration, discussion of various types of abuse and bigotry, and some good queer lovin' between people that don't fit the gender binary. Pretty SFW if memory serves, just some discussions of sex. It's also technically fanfiction of a YA werewolf romance book series I was obsessed with as a teen because unfortunately Kadan's backstory is very wrapped up in that world lol.

Badassius -- 2.8k words. This isn't a full story as much as an outline, but it's the only thing I have written of B.D. And yes, now you know his actual name.

Guardian Dragon -- 4k words. Features Cyrus and maybe Talia? She has a different name but I think it's decently safe to say this is a very outdated version of the character that has developed into Talia McDonald. Explores trauma.

Incubi -- 2.5k words. Features Orion and a nonbinary character. Also wow this story shows a whole lot of the framework of my entire canon so that's fun. No sex scenes just a lot of sexual frustration. I wouldn't include this on the list because it's so short, but like some of the others, it's the one thing I have featuring Orion.

Vampire 101 -- 8k words. Features Damian, Vikram, and a nonbinary vampire character. Damian teaches a class of new vampires how to vampire. Our POV character isn't doing so well and needs extra lessons. 😏 Actually no that makes it sound more sexy than it is. It's not that sexy. But I learned a lot about vampire physiology when writing this. Not all of the facts learned in Vampire 101 are still canon to my brand of vampires, but I still think it's interesting.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" and "Tharzaroth" and "I had just settled in to read..." -- They all are a little over 1k words and are three different takes on Tharzaroth's story. I haven't been able to fully settle on how his plot should go, so those are my attempts thus far. I wouldn't include them here except again, that's all I have of Tharzaroth.

Based on the poll, it looks like folks want to see my unfinished works that won’t ever be finished.

I thought maybe I’d see about posting something today, to celebrate my birthday. But I don’t know which one to do.

Most of course have Vikram because I’m obsessed. Some also have Damian. One feature’s B.D. the dragon but it’s more an outline to a story. I have a few featuring Cyrus. One with Kadan. Probably a few featuring other characters.

So yeah, let me know what type of thing you want to see. I’ll see if I can post a full list of the options when I can get on my computer.

[unclefungusthegoat]

ARMY KNIFE, SILVER SPOON- Far Cry 5 Week Day 2 (The Project at Eden’s Gate)

OK, so this one needs to be taken with total disregard for the Seeds’ ages and timeline, but they don’t make sense anyway so screw it hahaha... Also I promise that I wasn’t randomly inspired by Avril Lavigne’s ‘I’m With You’. And so, false promises made, without further ado:

Sixteen year old John Duncan runs away from home on a cold November night. Lost, alone and desperate to not return to his cruel parents, he finds himself at the mercy of the dark side of Atlanta... only to be rescued by a homeless Iraq War veteran.

Please be aware:

TRIGGER WARNINGS: Attempted sexual assault of a minor, mentions of child abuse, attempted strangulation

You can read this story on AO3: HERE

My whole FC5 Week series can be found HERE

“Hey kid, you got a little something for us?”

John Duncan ignored the slurring coos of the rabble stood on the street. Tried to forget that he was only sixteen and hopelessly lost and colder than he’d ever been before. The late-November air cut through his slate grey cashmere coat, even after it had been buttoned to his neck. There was icy slush seeping into his dress shoes, and he could feel that the bottom of his slacks were wet also, sticking to his ankles. His face was numb. His stomach empty. He hadn’t even had time to retrieve his leather gloves from his room and his fingers were almost as blue as his stinging eyes.

How was he supposed to know what runways took with them? Boys like him didn’t run away. They inherited their father’s estates, attended functions, framed degrees in their swanky offices and had affairs with their secretaries. They lived in penthouses. Drove Lamborghinis. Had sake imported in from Tokyo.

But he couldn't go back. Not even to get his gloves, or a stack of bills from the safe. Not this time, not now that he was out in the world, gone for so many hours that they had surely phoned the police. He’d have to explain himself, beg them to forgive him for being so ungrateful.

And then he’d have to take the lash again.

He just couldn’t fucking take it anymore. Always in pain. Another shirt ruined where his wounds would split. Another prayer to a silent God. Another day watching them stare at him like he wasn’t good enough yet, wasn’t perfect yet.

He didn’t want to know what he’d have to do to get there.

So he’d finally snapped.

And he’d run.

John crossed his arms across his body, hoping to keep in some heat, and kept walking. He didn’t know where he was. Some dark underbelly of Atlanta, sex shops and liqour stores and sleezy bars and the types he’d always been told never to associate with. People who reminded him of Old Mad Seed. Not that he could remember much about him anyway. Just heavy set shapes. Loud voices. Foul breath. Vitriol and disdain.

Footsteps were crunching behind him, hurrying to catch up.

Predators to their prey.

“I’m fucking talking to you, silver spoon, why don’t you take it out your mouth and make yourself useful?”

“Fuck off.” He muttered, aware that the words sounded ridiculous with so many years of elocution lessons slathered on top of them.

“What’s that? What did you say? Didn’t your nanny ever teach you to speak up?”

A forceful hand on his shoulder and suddenly John was pinned against the grimy window of an all night supermarket. Staring up at three leering businessmen who looked far too much like the men at his family’s church.

“He's pretty.”

“Barely legal I reckon.”

Vastly illegal, John almost swiped back, but held his tongue.

That was a skill he’d learned well over the years.

How to stay quiet.

How to survive.

“He doesn’t say a lot does he, for a rich kid?”

“Trust fund, no doubt.”

“Ivy League.”

“Maybe he’s a mute-”

“If he’s dumb then he’ll be nice and quiet then while he proves his worth. He won't scream.”

“Take him in the alley. No cameras.”

They grabbed him by the hair and dragged him, legs kicking towards the looming void between storefronts. Frozen garbage, mouldy dumpsters, not a chance in hell anyone would come looking for John Duncan, of the Duncans.

He screamed, but a hand clamped down over his mouth. The three wrestled him until his back hit one of the dumpsters. Hungry fingers tangled with buttons and the belt and zipper on his pants, drunken and clumsy. Frustrated cursing, as he tried to get away. His foot collided with something hardened and a yowl of pain echoed across the street. Bile straining at the back of his throat, burning acid in his starved insides threatening to-

“Hey, leave the dipshit with the fancy coat alone-” came the thick growl of a tall figure emerging from the alleyway, bundled up in worn, on-it’s-last-legs knitwear. A padded parka with a furry trim on the hood made the giant seem even broader than he probably actually was, but in the shadow of the neon ‘RALPHS’ sign, and through the heavy spit of snowfall, he looked Titanesque. Atlas, holding up the sky so it didn't come crashing down on the young runaway.

“What’s it to you?”

“A big fucking problem, actually.”

The giant fixed a hand around the nearest throat, and John felt himself get released from the heavy grip. He stumbled sideways and cowered behind the homeless man, who now snarled at the lechers and tightened the pressure on the whimpering neck.

“Get out of here before I paint the sidewalk with your brains.” The giant snarled, and John absolutely believed him.

The man nodded desperately, and within seconds of being released, gasping for the cold air, all three were gone. Disappeared around a corner. Slipping on the ice in their haste. Back to their hunt or back to their wives.

The giant slouched back to where he’d been resting in the alley for the night. John made to move on, but the man called back to him and he froze.

“You OK?”

“I’ve been better.” John groaned, tousling his hair to ease the pain in his scalp, but succeeding only in letting snowflakes tumble into his face. He could barely see his saviour as it was, and having pale shimmering flecks in his long eyelashes wasn’t helping.

“Fucking perverts. They’ll get what’s coming to them.”

“No they won’t.” John mumbled, aware that he was shaking.

“You want to take a few minutes to get yourself together?” The homeless man gestured to the space beside him.

There was something about that voice… it felt safe. Gruff, wizened, like it had been through hell. But safe. Safe enough for John to approach and sit on the sidewalk beside him, settling onto a stack of soggy cardboard that he tried to imagine was anything but.

A weird silence.

John pulled his knees up to his chest, cradling them like he used to when hiding in small places. Hoping not to be heard or seen. And he tried to decide what to do. Breathing hard. Mind racing. Yet nothing came to mind. He had nowhere to go. No one who would take him in. A lump gathered in his throat and a hot tear dribbled down onto his nose.

Not for thought of being hungry and helpless and filthy, although all troubled him deeply. Not for the sudden shock settling in that he’d nearly just been raped. Not for the unease he felt staring down the alley, unable to see the end of it through the winter night.

But the thought of having to go home.

“First night’s not even the worst, kid.”

The giant had pulled out a small penknife, army issue in appearance, and began whittling a small wooden block. The feathering of the wood looked like lustrous, thick fur. A fox perhaps, or a wolf? John still couldn’t see the man’s face, but he wondered if he was Native and it was a symbol to keep him strong. 

He could, however, see the patches of flaking skin on the backs of the man’s hands. In desperate need of a moisturizer or medical cream or something, anything to give the impression that the man wasn’t about to shed like a snake. Burns, he realised. And the odd cigarette stub mark between the raw patches. How did a homeless man get so mutilated?

John sniffed and wiped his tears away with his sleeve.

“Is that so?”

The man snorted.

“Even just from that answer, I can tell you won’t last long.”

“How did you know I was... like you?” John didn’t want to say homeless quite yet. It felt like such a dirty word, an ‘epidemic’ as his uncle had branded it once.

“Guessed.”

John gave him a quizzical look that the giant caught out of the corner of his eye. He chuckled.

“If there's one thing I know on sight, it's a miserable kid who doesn’t want to go home.”

John continued to watch him work in silence for a good half hour, mesmerised at the craftsmanship. He thought back to his own work, his fine pencil sketches and pools of watercolours and minute engine parts for impeccably constructed model aircraft. Things to shut him up. Keep him indoors. Train that difficult right hand to function as it should.

“So did daddy not buy you a pony?” The quiet broken. There was humour in it, nothing but a gentle tease, but the insinuation that rich kids couldn’t also face unimaginable pain riled John, and he glared venomously.

“That’s none of your concern.” He spat in a low voice.

“Oh, it’s not, is it?”

“No.”

“Kind of thinking it is now that I suddenly seem to have another mouth to feed-”

“I don't need your charity.”

“Well you're sat in my drawing room, aren't you, your Royal Highness-”

“I didn’t ask for your help-”

“Well you sure as fuck needed it.” The homeless man didn’t even sound angry, clearly used to people looking down their noses at him, treating him like an inconvenience. He just sounded exhausted. “Jesus, could you be anymore uptight?”

John pouted and hugged himself tighter.

“Probably.”

The giant paused his work and rubbed his unkempt beard in exasperation. It was tinged red, even more so in the street lamp light. John noticed the man still hadn't looked up at him, wouldn't make eye contact. He wouldn't be able to identify him to the police in a lineup, or even from a mugshot. Does he intend to rob me? Have his way with me like those men wanted to? 

“Spoilt brat like you won’t last a week. If you’d prefer not to get stabbed or robbed, sell the Rolex, keep your head down, drop the accent and the airs and graces.”

Of course he’d spotted the watch. John twisted it on his wrist protectively.

“You can't have it.”

“I wasn't asking for it.”

“My father bought it for me.”

“Good for you. My father never did shit. Is sharing time over?”

The homeless man was too distracted to concentrate on his whittling and pocketed his handiwork swiftly, choosing instead to pull out a pair of thin gloves. He stretched them tenderly over his mottled skin, wincing a little as the fibres caught and pulled on the rough patches.

“Where did you get those scars on your hands?” John blurted, figuring that if he’d never see this man again after tonight, it didn’t matter if he upset him by sticking his nose in where it wasn’t wanted.

The giant sighed.

“Fought a bear for a bet.”

John’s mouth gaped open and the giant released a chuckle, pleased with himself.

“War. Iraq. Most of the homeless in this city are Vets. An incendiary device got me on patrol. I wasn’t hurt too badly, they look worse than they are. They made me stronger.”

He turned to rummage through a black knapsack and pulled out an opened packet of beef jerky. He stuffed a whole strip into his mouth, before offering it out. John felt his face twist with disgust and his stomach heaved at the prospect of eating meat so soon after hearing how this man burned. He turned away a little at the smell of it.

“Gotta stay strong if you want to survive.”

Hearing the low rumble from his empty stomach, John reached out and took a strip. He chewed on it warily. Salty. Slightly sweet. Hardly gourmet, but desperate times called for desperate measures. When he’d finished one, he found himself reaching for another.

“Why aren’t you there now? In the army? Why are you sat behind a supermarket?” He asked through a mouthful. It still sounded pompous.

The giant didn’t answer, still didn’t look at him, just sat back to rest against the wall behind them, gnawing on more jerky. John imagined a wild face under that hood, rabid eyes that had seen horrors beyond imagining. Sawn down teeth, flesh peeling away. 

“You look familiar, kid. But I don’t suppose I’ve seen you at the soup kitchen.” Something sounded odd, intrigued, hopeful maybe, and John wondered how he looked ‘familiar’ if this unusual creature had barely taken a second look at him. 

“My father owns a law firm in the city. One day he’s going to be District Attorney. I’ve been in the newspapers with him a few times.” John couldn’t help but boast a little, still a little concerned for the $20,000 watch on his wrist, but quite content that this man wouldn’t be holding him for ransom anytime soon.

A resigned, disappointed sigh.

“Yeah? Maybe I’ve slept on one of those papers then.”

Another uncomfortable silence.

“I know what it is.”

John looked up to where the giant was looking- the faded stars in the night sky, barely visible, but Cassiopeia was twinkling between the rooftops.

“You look how I’d imagine my little brother to look, I think, if he was still alive. He was always skinny, like you. Too skinny. Probably starved somewhere, on the streets, poor as shit like me.”

“He’s… dead?”

“Yeah.”

“How long ago?”

The giant didn’t elaborate.

“I… I don't have any brothers.” John regurgitated the lie that had been beaten into him for so many years. No son of mine has delinquents and degenerates for brothers.

“You got a Mom? A Dad?”

Of sorts.

“Yes.”

“They love you?” John could hear the aching loneliness that lay behind the question.

No. I’m innately unloveable.

“They try.” His voice broke a little. “I don’t exactly make it easy for them.”

The giant rolled his head forward and smiled down at his feet.

“Then you want my advice?”

John nodded, feeling tears building again and his lip quivering, threatening to break open into desperate wailing. Something about this felt so strange, so easy and natural. Unconditional. Why was this man being so nice to him?

A gloved hand rested on his shoulder, far more gentle than John had expected.

“Go home, kid. There’s nothing more important than family.”

If only he had either of those. A heavy sob wracked through his slight body and John found himself weeping loudly into his knees, without fear of being caught, judged, scolded and forced to pray away his resentment of his pitiful life. Tears and snot and misery came streaming down his face, body shaking with the effort of it all.

Warmth enveloped his shoulders, and he realised that the giant had removed his parka and wrapped it around him. Tucking him into it, like a child being settled into bed. And he leaned into the towering figure, sharing the warmth, curling himself into strong arms of inexplicable kindness. A kindness he thought he’d never know again.

“Stay here tonight. I’ll walk you back tomorrow.”

John cried until he fell asleep.

He dreamed of red hair, the heat of farmland alight, and a shadow in the back of a police car.

[englass]

Last Line Meme

Tagged by @johnathot-seed – thank you hun!! ❤️

Tagging (although it’s completely optional and I’m pretty sure everyone’s already done this): @seedlingsinner @words-and-seeds @weekend-writer @softseeds @doodwrites @outranks @starsandskies

Have to admit I haven’t done too much writing since my last fic (defo burned me out a bit), but this was the last thing I touched anyway; soz if it’s not all that.

- - -

With a low hum in his throat Jacob carefully reaches out for her, large hand coming up to cover her shoulder with a pensive expression. She jumps a mile high at the contact, jolting aggressively at the touch; eyes snapping clear only for the fog to fall thickly back again.

He feels her start to tremble anew, eyes darting around his face as mumbled words tumble like rocks off an eroding cliff. They’re unrecognisable – jumbled breaths; but despite her looking a little more present than she did initially Jacob knows that she’s far from it. Whatever she’s seeing has her in a pretty tight grip.

Startling enough, it reminds him of when Joseph was a kid.

[missnight0wl]

Olivia being mentioned recently in the game followed by her planned appearance kinda reminds me how Mc gave Bill a book about Rakepick in second year. Like JamCity is trying SO HARD to do some foreshadowing but ultimately the spacing between the events just isn’t right. I didn’t even remember that the book was about Rakepick until I saw it in the memory feature.

I mean, I wouldn’t really compare those two situations, to be honest.

The foreshadowing for Rakepick in the years 1-3 is pretty damn solid. I’m sure a lot of people don’t remember those details, but it doesn’t change the fact that they are there.

First, we had this optional dialogue in Y1Ch9:

Y2Ch1:

Y2Ch3:

Y2Ch6:

Y2Ch9:

(...)

And finally, the end of Y3:

(...)

Sure, her name appeared only once, but I think we can agree it’s way more cohesive and thought-out than the situation with Olivia. Not that I’m surprised by that because the early years were written by the original writing team who knew what they’re doing. And again, you might not remember those things, but believe me that if you’re replaying the game, it feels obvious.

That being said, Jacob randomly mentioning Olivia’s name recently does feel like a very lame attempt at foreshadowing. However, in my opinion, the problem here is not even pacing. It’s quite literally the lack of information. Olivia was mentioned once all the way back in Y5, and that’s it.

You just can’t ignore a character for so long, and then RANDOMLY drop her name again without any context. Not only it was just a flavor text (which quite a lot of the players simply ignore at this point), but also it didn’t even contain any significant information:

Like, we don’t get the proper story, and it’s actually sort of off-topic in the context. Also, Jacob never really mentioned Duncan when it’d be totally appropriate to do so (for example: when we meet him after Rowan’s death). But now, he suddenly remembers some random story about Duncan and Olivia? Bitch please.

Oh yeah, I guess it’s worth to mention here that we had this in Y6Ch43 instead:

By the way, now that you made me think about it, I kind of suspect that in one of the next chapters, MC or Jacob will casually mention their father. And Jam City will be like: “Why, of course they have a father! We never pretended that it’s otherwise! What do you mean we never mentioned him? It’s obvious they have a father, isn’t it?”.

[chyrstis]

Five WIPs!

@hunnybadgerv was kind enough to tag me to share five WIPs, and seeing as I’ve got a slight break from powerpoint slide hell, these are the ones that are definitely trying to fight for my attention the most. 

@writerofblocks @twistedsinews @shallow-gravy @cobb-vanthss @painterofhorizons @tommymillers @jackiesarch @ma-sulevin @redroci @geronimo-11 @unlikelynick @aceghosts @jackalopestride @scarlettkat86 @faithchel @vasiktomis @consumedkings and anyone else that’s interested! 

1. The Trap fic - I’ll get a proper name for this soon, I swear. Hana’s attempts in the Valley to stir things up lead to a shake up on her end, but also a new opportunity. A chance to get John and possibly use him for leverage, but the trick is keeping him alive first (and also surviving the trip). 

2. If you need a hand, take mine, I’ve got two - More No-Cult AU nonsense, where Sharky goes on a detour after helping out a group of stranded Project members only to get roped into helping out at Joseph’s compound. It’s just as much of a surprise to him to be there as it is to everyone he runs into, especially once John shows up and catches him there. 

3. If you need a hand companion fic/sequel - John’s mulling over the events of the other day while waiting for Sharky to come by to help on his day off, and finds himself faced with a few truths about the matter. This one’s decided it wants to be a high priority, but considering it’s a sequel to number two, it might need to cool its jets a bit. And working with John’s POV again after so long, has apparently lit a fire under those ideas, it seems. Because I’m back to working on another where he’s trying to cook while talking to Jacob about things. The jerk.

4. Wicked Ways - Future fic post-game. It’s morning, and Hana’s looking to take advantage of the added time she’s got with Sharky. Okay, I’ve got no excuses here, b/c this is pretty much PWP, but with these two off in the ol’ pine-y woods in Hana’s main series, any frustration over the fact that they’re not kissing yet’s definitely getting funneled here, and they’d definitely be making up for lost time a plenty if given the option. ;)

And these two are definitely tied for #5:

5. The dance - Future fic post-game. Hana drops in on John one day while he’s working only to find him listening to a few records he’s found. It’s something she could even dance to, and both decide to give it a try. I have no excuses here either, b/c I really just want them to dance together, and have Hana make a total dork of herself in the process (while also realizing that there’s friendly dancing, and then there’s this, accidental stepping on his feet aside)

5. How many licks? - Hana and Sharky share a cigarette on their way out of the Whitetails back to the Henbane, and Sharky shares a little story involving him and Hurk. Just a glorious excuse to write more Sharky, and also write about these two and Hurk, because I love it whenever they team up, and I’m so close to finishing it up. I just need a proper intro, and an ending. 

[delphiniumblooms]

fic writer review

thanks @daisy-appreciation-week for tagging!!

1. How many works do you have on Ao3?

28 :D

2. What’s your total Ao3 word count?

44507 and much more in my fanfic google drive - WIPs or never-posted fics

3. How many fandoms have you written for?

i wrote a lot in fantastic beasts (18 out of my 28 works are fb) and potc, and have done a hamilton oneshot

4. Top 5 fics by kudos?

these are all fb because they’re older lol

You’re All I Need - honestly I don’t like this one that much, no idea why it blew up. a slightly angsty newtina fic written for a secret santa fic exchange in 2018 for a newtina discord server.

Special Treatment - a newtina crackfic, where theseus scamander teases tina about showing up to work late with a hickey. one of my best attempts at comedy!

nativitas - a short fic about theseus scamander meeting his baby brother newt for the first time, first in my scamander brothers series

Taken By Surprise - newtina fic written based on the rayllum kiss scene from the dragon prince

discidium - the second instalment in the scamander brothers series. newt sees theseus off at platform 9 3/4. he doesn’t want his brother to leave him.

5. Do you respond to comments? Why/why not?

yes i do!! i thank everyone for leaving comments cause i don’t get that many and they do wonders for my writer’s ego. please don’t be shy to leave comments, i am very friendly and will be eternally grateful for compliments on my fic!!!

6. A fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

as a general rule i don’t write angst cause i treat fic like escapism and so need happy endings. the angsty ends i have are usually in line with canon. duty-bound covers the end of potc3, where will and elizabeth are separated, so that’s pretty angsty. a little fall of rain covers queenie leaving jacob in the crimes of grindelwald.

7. Do you write crossovers?

ive written only one and am not likely to write another LOL

annexus is a fantastic beasts-bbc sherlock crossover. i was thinking about how similar queenie and sherlock are, and how sherlock’s deduction powers have about the same effect as queenie’s legilimency, so boom, this fic was born. also they have the same birthday! i posted the fic on that day last year

8. Ever received hate on a fic?

never, thankfully. i’ve never become well-known enough or written sufficiently controversial stuff in order to get hate

9, Do you write smut?

nah. i write sex but i shy away from the details. i like to say i like subtlety but really i am just a coward. maybe when i become a more experienced writer and grow some balls then i will write proper smut

10. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

not to my knowledge

11. Ever had a fic translated?

no but that would be really cool!!

12. Have you ever co-written a fic?

i think i’ve tried to multiple times but it never really got anywhere

13. All time fav ship?

oh no,,, uhh it’s gotta be either willabeth, newtina or sylki. can’t pick one, all three have had such deep impacts on me

14. WIP you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

this 7k+ monster of a newtina fic that i started in like 2019 and still haven’t finished. kinda cringe at the thought of it, because it was just me projecting really bad. premise was tina has a really really bad period and newt takes care of her

15. Writing strengths?

i think i do emotional impact very well. i know how to use rhetoric devices and things like internal monologue and third person deep pov and i can string words together in a way that create absolute bangers of lines

16. Writing weaknesses?

i am really bad at plot/exposition LMAOO and am also like a really inconsistent writer. i have horrible perfectionism issues and so i don’t write often, only when i’m inspired, though i am making an effort to write more. also sometimes i think i’m too obsessed with certain ideas or certain ways of wording things such that i force them in even though it might not necessarily make sense to

17. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in a fic?

i’ve never done it before! i don’t dare to do it in languages i don’t know, and so far chinese (my second language) hasn’t really been useful to write dialogue in. that might change though because i’m getting into more works with chinese rep, like agents of shield!

18. First fandom you wrote for?

fantastic beasts

19. What’s your fav fic you’ve written so far?

my most recent one, (wolf’s) teeth! it’s a sylki songfic based on teeth by 5sos and honestly i feel like it’s my magnum opus. i love these two so much and the song fit them and the plot so well!! i banged it out during a really busy school week in like 3 days, i’m so proud of myself for doing it

https://archiveofourown.org/users/delphiniumblooms here’s my ao3 page!!

tagging @swinging-stars-from-satellites and anyone else who wants to do it!

[today-only-happens-once]

all the truth i could tell

Title: all the truth i could tell

Word Count: 4864

Summary: The court case is about keeping them together. But Roman’s testimony during the trial might just tear Logan apart. For Isa’s Sanders Bro AU. Familial/Brotherly LAMP angst/hurt/comfort.

Warnings: angst/hurt/comfort, detailed discussion of past abuse (physical/emotional/psychological), courtrooms, badgering witnesses, threats, threats about children, vomiting, second-guessing and self-doubt, emotional breakdowns, arguments, guilt (trauma related and also misplaced in so many ways), cursing, crying (some more than others but a lot across the board woops)

A/N: I’ve been wanting to write this fic for months and months. Perhaps one of the angstiest fics I’ve ever written. Got a little emotional while writing it, so I mostly just hope the emotions of the fic translated from my brain onto the page well enough because... I’m not sure, honestly. But I’m never sure about these things. Heh. My immeasurable thanks to @justisaisfine not only for letting me play in the Bros AU again, but for all the work and love and dedication they’ve put in to this universe’s creation. Edited by yours truly. All continuity errors, typos, and spelling/grammar mistakes are mine.

Inspired mostly by these posts from their AU.

Title is taken from “Praying” by Kesha; a cover of which appears in Isa’s playlist for this AU.

…

“Roman Sanders.”

The courtroom is packed, though Logan can’t say at this point that he finds that particularly surprising. It had been packed for the past several days, ever since it first started. And despite this fact, Logan is reasonably confident he hears the inhale of breath that his older brother sucks into his lungs. It is not entirely steady. Roman stands up from beside their lawyers at the defense table and casts a quick glance over his shoulder to his brothers and Thomas. Logan doesn’t know what his own expression is. He hopes it’s reassuring.

Anything to ease that flicker of fear that crosses his brother’s eyes.

Late afternoon sunlight streams in through the windows on the far wall and leaves squares of light on the wood floors. The benches are hard and uncomfortable to sit on, but Logan had gotten used to their discomfort days ago. Besides, a hard seat was hardly the most pressing issue on his mind. He casts a furtive, fleeting glance over at the back of his parents’ heads at the prosecution table.

Roman makes his way to the witness stand, lays his hand on the Bible, swears the oath they’d all heard half a dozen times by now. It’s all very business-as-usual. Logan wonders if Roman’s hand feels like lead to him. Logan’s had felt that way when he’d sworn to tell the truth, the whole truth, nothing but the truth.

“You may take your seat.”

Beside him, Patton shifts, fiddling with the sleeve of his gray suit jacket. Logan glances at him. Patton doesn’t take his eyes off their oldest brother.

Their lawyer—Walter Coleman—stands, buttons his suit jacket, and casually makes his way over. Logan liked him; he’d been the first person Thomas had called after Logan explained that he’d been gathering evidence just in case their parents came back. He was practiced, successful, and very thorough. Patton had described him as kind, but kindness mattered significantly less to Logan than whether or not Coleman could win.

“Roman, could you do the record a favor—just for clarity—and describe your relationship to the prosecution.”

A routine question, Logan tells himself. One they have practiced several times before. He tells himself this as if it will ease the tension that stretches his spine ramrod straight. It does not.

Roman clears his throat and leans into the mic. “I was their first child.”

“So you are the oldest of the Sanders children, yes?”

“Yes.”

“How old were you when you left home?”

“I was fifteen.”

“Could you describe the nature of the night you left? We have heard your brothers’ testimony regarding that incident, but I think it would benefit to have yours as well.” A brief pause. “Do you remember that night?”

“Vividly.”

“Then please tell us about it.”

Roman nods. Takes a breath. “I came home from school that day. It was late May, I think, and we could hear crashing and yelling coming from inside the house. I ran inside without even thinking about it, really—”

“Could you clarify whom you mean when you say ‘we’?”

Roman clears his throat. “Two of my brothers, sorry. Patton and Logan. Virgil wasn’t in school yet.” He pauses, glances at their lawyer, and continues after his silent, encouraging nod. “When I got in the house, it didn’t take long to realize the sound was coming from the kitchen. Mom was screaming. Shattered plates were all over the floor, and my—and Virgil was sort of hiding in the corner in the middle of the mess.”

Roman’s voice is… wrong, to Logan’s ears. Distant and detached and so unlike his oldest brother that it twists his stomach. Roman’s eyes are boring into their lawyer’s as if he’s afraid to look anywhere else right now.

Roman continues. “Mom was yelling something about Virgil, and she had a plate in her hand and she looked like she was about to throw it at him. So I yelled for her to stop, I asked what she was doing even though it seemed pretty clear, and I grabbed the plate from her hands because I was afraid she was going to throw it at him anyway. She left, after that.”

Their lawyer has his back to the courtroom, so Logan cannot see his expression. “She just walked away?”

Roman’s lips press into a thin line. “I think ‘shoved’ may be a bit more accurate, but yes.”

“And then what did you do?”

“I attempted to talk to Virgil.”

“Attempted?”

For the first time since he took the stand, Logan sees a flicker of something pass through Roman’s eyes. Logan remembers with startling clarity the look in his brother’s eyes when they watched Lilo and Stitch a lifetime ago—and then promptly never watched it again.

“I couldn’t—Virgil wouldn’t respond to me for a really long time.” Roman takes a deep breath. His gaze flickers from their lawyer and drifts out to the crowd. It settles on Thomas, who is sitting on the other side of Patton, for a brief moment before he returns it to their lawyer. “His eyes were kind of unfocused and… eventually, I just picked him up and took him upstairs to patch him up.”

“He was injured?���

Roman nods. “Yeah. He… There were cuts all over his hands. I think he might’ve been trying to pick up the pieces off the floor. His arms too. Maybe his head. I—Truthfully, I don’t remember the specifics of his injuries.”

Another line they’d practiced, Logan thinks. A truthful statement, but a careful one. Not I don’t remember. Not the details are hazy. Roman’s memories are vague around the particulars of Virgil’s injuries, but there is no doubt he was injured.

If he’s being honest, Logan is vaguely surprised at how well Roman seems to have remembered that night. It was a long time ago. And Logan doesn’t think he’ll ever forget the somehow both vacant and desperate look in his eyes as he’d bandaged their baby brother that night.

“Then I told my brothers that I thought leaving was the best decision.”

“Was staying with your parents going to leave you or your brothers in immediate, direct physical harm—”

“Objection.” The interruption comes from the prosecution table, a voice familiar now to Logan from his own experience on the witness stand. It still sent chills down his arms and turned his stomach. The prosecuting lawyer—Tyler Jacobs—is still sitting, but he’s looking directly at the judge. “That question is purely based on speculation. Witness is unable to know what would have happened had they not left.”

“Sustained.”

“I’ll rephrase,” Coleman says patiently. “Did you believe that staying in that house would mean danger of imminent harm?”

“Yes.” The question is immediate, clear, and divisive.

“Did you, Roman Sanders, forcibly remove any of your brothers from their home without their consent or agreement?”

“No. Their own testimonies speak to that.”

“And why didn’t you contact proper authorities rather than leave?”

“I was…” Roman’s voice seems to die for a moment in his throat. His gaze flickers over to the prosecution table for a brief moment and Logan swears some color drains from Roman’s face. “I was scared.”

“Scared. Of your parents?”  

“Yes,” Roman says, his voice returning to that unnatural evenness. “But also of being separated from my brothers. I was fifteen, and they were all I had.”

There’s a surprising pause. Someone a few rows behind them coughs. Coleman regards Roman silently. Roman stares back at him. Logan cannot tell if they’re communicating somehow, or why there’s such a long pause, but then eventually, Coleman speaks again.

“We’ve heard from your brothers about their understandings of the nature of your parents. But could you, in your own words, describe your relationship to them?”

Beside him, Logan feels Patton sit up a little more.

“It was…” Roman hesitates, and Logan doesn’t understand why. “It was uncomfortable.”

“In what way?”

Silence.

Logan feels himself tense. His older brother was a damn good actor but Logan had spent his entire life reading through Roman’s bravado. Alone on the witness stand, it seems unusually brittle to Logan, and he doesn’t understand the tinge of what he can only describe as panic in his big brother’s eyes.

“Roman,” Coleman prompts, in a surprisingly gentle voice.

Roman’s jaw works. He looks away. The panic gives way to something else. Shame?

“You promised this court to tell the whole truth,” Coleman says, still with that surprising gentleness. “All of it, Roman.”

Roman doesn’t look at anybody when he finally answers. “It was… threats, mostly.”

And Logan’s blood turns to ice.

“When none of my brothers were around,” Roman presses on, speaking quickly, like the faster he speaks the sooner he can get it over with and Logan’s head is spinning. “My father would ask if I’d rather he hurt my brothers instead, or said he’d burn Logan again if I didn’t shut up about it, or he’d be sure to tell Mom to hit Patton harder next time if I said anything about the bruises at school, or that he’d lock Virgil away from us for hours—days—if I didn’t—”

Roman’s voice chokes off. He swallows hard, squares his jaw, and looks up. “Sometimes it happened at night. Virgil and I shared a room, and sometimes he’d… he’d come in, knowing Virgil was fast asleep in the bed next to me, and we could both hear him breathing, and he’d ask if I’d imagined what it might be like to not hear that breathing, or to hear it… stop, and that I might find out if I didn’t…”

Patton seizes Logan’s hand and squeezes hard enough that maybe it should hurt but nothing seems to register to Logan right now. Things are spinning and nothing fits together and God damn it, how could he not have known?

Logan doesn’t know if his hand is shaking harder or Patton’s. When Patton clasps a second hand over Logan’s, Logan realizes it’s his own.

“Do you have any regrets about your decision to remove yourself and your brothers from that situation?”

“No,” Roman says honestly. Earnestly. Logan thinks he can barely hear him over the roaring in his ears.

Coleman nods once, then steps back and returns to the prosecution table. Logan watches as if he’s seeing it from miles away as Coleman removes his glasses and scrubs a hand across his eyes as Jacobs stands up.

“How old were you when you left the Sanders’ residence that night?” Logan instinctively tenses at the sound of his deceptively smooth voice.

“Fifteen,” Roman repeats.

“Do you think, Roman, that a fifteen-year-old child is the best judge of what is and isn’t best for other children?”

“I was afraid for mine and my brothers’ safety.”

“But you made that decision for your brothers rather than allowing them to reach their own conclusions, did you not?”

A crease appears between Roman’s brows. “No. Patton said he wanted to leave, too. And I wouldn’t have made Logan come if he didn’t want to.”

“Yes, yes.” Jacobs waves a dismissive hand. “But didn’t you say that Virgil wasn’t responding to you when you tried to talk to him?”

If Logan hadn’t been looking for it, he would have missed the way Roman’s eyes widened imperceptibly. “I… Yes, but—”

“So how could you have known what Virgil wanted? He was five at the time, yes?”

“Yes—”

“So he was capable, physically, of speaking in full sentences. Yet did Virgil, at any point, indicate clearly and without equivocation, that he wanted to be removed from the Sanders household?”

“He had just been—”

“Please answer the question asked, Roman.”

Logan feels Patton’s grip tighten around his own. Logan squeezes back. He wants to look at his younger brother, to see if he is okay, but Logan can’t take his eyes off his oldest brother. Something is squeezing Logan’s chest like a metal band. Sharp and painful and the air feels too thick for it.

“No,” Roman says. “He didn’t. But he wasn’t safe, and I was doing what I thought was right.”

“What you thought was right,” Jacobs repeats with a skeptical glance to the jury. There’s a weighted pause. “Tell me something, Roman, had you ever had a job before you left?”

“No.”

I can’t believe he never told me about dad.

“Had you saved up the money your parents freely gave you?”

Through the weird haze of Logan’s thoughts, he thinks he sees Roman’s jaw tighten. “No.”

“Had you had any prior work experience?”

“No, but I—”

“Legal guardianship experience?”

“No, but—”

“Did you have a specific place in mind when you left?”

“We found—”

“A place you owned that could provide certainty of safety and security from inclement weather?”

“No—”

“And yet you think it was the right decision,” Jacobs cuts in, doing nothing to hide his incredulity. “The right decision for you, a fifteen-year-old child, to remove your younger brothers from their home with no plan, no experience, no job, no nothing. You really believe that was the right thing to do?”

“I—I was—”

“Objection!” Coleman roars over Roman’s stuttered, desperate response. “Badgering the witness!”

The gavel bangs. Logan, Patton, and Roman on the stand all jump in unison. There’s an immediate, ricocheting silence in the courtroom. “Sustained,” the judge says in a tense voice. “Jacobs, you will proceed carefully or not at all.”

“Apologies,” Jacobs says as if its more reflexive habit than legitimate contrition. “Roman, have you ever made a mistake?”

Why didn’t Roman talk to me about any of it? Why didn’t—

Roman hesitates. “Yes.”

“And did you learn from that mistake? Were you capable of change?”

Another beat. “Yes.”

“Do you think your parents are capable of similar change?”

Dad used us to threaten him, and he never—

Roman has a desperate, pained look in his eyes and Logan realizes—so suddenly it jars him—that he’s looking at him and Patton for the first time. “I…”

“You are under oath, Roman,” Jacobs says with a bit of an edge. Or perhaps Logan is imagining it. “You must state your honest opinion.”

“No,” Roman says eventually tearing his gaze away from his brothers. He says the word like it devastates him. “No, I don’t.”

Jacobs eyes narrow. He purses his lips. “Perhaps you have not grown up quite as much as you believe you have,” he says. Coleman jumps to his feet again but Jacobs waves him off. “No further questions.”

Roman scrubs a hand down his face and Logan realizes then that he can see how badly Roman is shaking all of a sudden.

Why didn’t Roman tell me? There’s something hard settled in the core of Logan’s chest that is painful to breathe past.

The gavel bangs. Logan jumps again. “Let’s take a brief recess.”

Patton has jumped to his feet and is out of the courtroom almost before the judge has finished speaking.

…

Logan finds his younger brother forty-eight seconds later in the restroom. He hears the retching before he sees him, kneeling beside a toilet with the stall door still open. Something unnamed clenches impossibly tighter in Logan’s chest.

“Oh, Pat,” he says, as his younger brother flushes and sits back, wiping his mouth. His eyes are dry, and for some reason he can’t explain, that surprises Logan. He grabs one of the paper towels and quickly rinses it in the sink before crossing to his brother and kneeling in front of him.

Patton leans his head back against the tiled wall. “He…” Patton lets the statement go unfinished, his gaze distancing.

“I know,” Logan says, softly, as he wipes away the residue lingering on Patton’s lips.

“Did you?”

“Did I what?”

“Know? Did you know what…what he…”

Logan’s throat is closing. He coughs in a futile attempt to clear it. He still feels a little bit like the ground beneath his feet has shifted. “No,” he manages. “I didn’t.”

And the admittance, out loud, makes something burn harshly in Logan’s chest. Something like anger. Something like grief. Something like… Logan grits his teeth. He had never been good at identifying emotions. But it hurts.

Patton swallows hard. The steel band around Logan’s chest tightens, and Logan moves to sit beside him. He wraps an arm around his shoulder and rocks them side to side. In the back of his mind, Logan is a bit surprised that nobody else had come into the bathroom yet. He figures it doesn’t really matter much.

Patton doesn’t say anything else, although Logan has the odd feeling that he wants to. Patton keeps taking in a breath as if he’s about to say something, then decides against it. Logan doesn’t ask. He hopes Patton knows that he can talk if he wants to, but that Logan won’t press him if he doesn’t.

Minutes pass. He continues to rock Patton side to side a little as his own thoughts wonder, replaying—in a way that never eases the gutted feeling in Logan’s stomach—Roman’s testimony about their father. Logan had always thought Roman was the favored son; Roman was the one that was left untouched, forced instead to use their parents’ unwillingness to hurt him to protect his brothers. Logan had known—had seen—the psychological scars it’d left on his brother.

But that….

Dad used us to threaten him. Logan leans his own head back against the wall and stares hopelessly at the ceiling. Why the fuck didn’t Roman say anything about it? They were supposed to talk about stuff like that. Maybe not Virgil—sure, Logan could rationalize that. Virgil was the baby of the family, and even though he wasn’t much of a baby anymore, Logan certainly understood if Roman was afraid of scarring Virgil more than he’d already been by their parents.

But Logan… He should have felt like he could talk to Logan about it. The world in Logan’s vision blurs further.

How did Logan miss it?

Beside him, Patton sniffles and pulls out of his brother’s arms a little. “Logan?”

“Yeah?” Logan replies, his voice thick.

“I’m kind of worried about Roman. Could… could you go check on him for me?”

Logan’s brow furrows. “You don’t want to check yourself?”

Patton shakes his head quickly, grabbing some toilet paper and blowing his nose before tossing it in the toilet. “I don’t—I don’t think, er… I don’t know if Roman wants to see me….. like this,” Patton offers, but Logan doesn’t miss that the words like this sound like they’re mostly added as an afterthought.

“Patton,” Logan tries, squeezing his arm, but Patton shakes his head.

“Just… Please?”

Logan hesitates, then caves. He gives one more gentle squeeze to Patton’s arm before he stands. “Okay.”

It’s not until he’s opened the bathroom door—a part of him wanting to ask Patton why he seems to think Roman wouldn’t want to see him—when he suddenly understands. With it comes an answer to the question that had been repeating in Logan’s mind with dizzying urgency.

Why didn’t Roman tell me?

Perhaps it was because he blamed them.

…

As it turned out, nobody had been in the bathroom because the couple that had been their neighbors growing up—Martha and Alice—were essentially standing guard at the door. Logan stumbles, startled by the two women flanking the men’s restroom door.

“Easy, dear,” Martha says, catching Logan’s elbow to help steady him. “Is your brother still in there?”

Logan tries to swallow past the growing lump in his throat. “Yes. I… If you could continue to ensure his privacy, I plan to be back very soon.”

He didn’t like the idea of leaving Patton all by himself right now. At least not for long.

Alice nods. “Of course. If you’re looking for Roman, I believe he and that nice movie star he’s always with went in the conference room around the corner. We’ve been keeping a close eye, and I don’t think anyone’s gone back there to interrupt them.”

Logan nods his understanding, surprised at the surge of unnamed emotions that rush through him at the otherwise simple act of kindness. “Thank you,” he says, unsure of how to express to these two women just how much he means them.

Martha winks at him. “Anything for you boys.”

Logan quickly turns around the corner to the first door on the right. Through the long window to the left of the door, Logan sees Roman and Thomas, and something makes him freeze.

Through the door, muffled, Logan can only make out part of the conversation.

“…down, Roman.”

“I’m fine, okay? I’m just...”

“Are you sure?” Thomas sounds like he’s trying to be gentle. Through the glass, Logan can see the vaguely lost and pleading look on the actor’s face. Roman’s got his back to the window, facing Thomas. “Because you don’t… seem…”

“Damn it, Thomas, just—I… Maybe he’s right, y’know? Maybe I… Maybe he has a point.”

“Who? Jacobs?” Roman’s silence is answer enough. “Roman, you can’t think like that.”

“I was fifteen, Thomas. Maybe I… Fucking shit, I can’t deal with this right now.”

“Roman—”

Logan opens the door. The conversation cuts out abruptly, and Logan freezes suddenly as Roman whirls around to face him. Roman’s eyes are red and puffy and startled. He looks suddenly so young and vulnerable and Logan can’t remember the last time he saw Roman like that.

“I—Apologies,” he forces out. “Patton wanted to know where you were and, I… Sorry.”

Because the only thing echoing is his head is that he is, at least in part, responsible for the haunted, broken look in Roman’s eyes and the frantic way he can see Roman trying to piece back together the bravado he so often wore.

“Logan, wait—”

But Logan turns and rushes back towards the bathroom so quickly he isn’t even sure which one of them said his name. He tells Patton that Roman is with Thomas. He’s grateful when Patton seems to relax at that and doesn’t press Logan for other details.

…

When they all go home later that night, Thomas drives Roman and Patton drives Logan. Initially, Logan had refused the offer. But Patton explained that he thought it would help to have something else to focus on—to feel like he was doing something, that it would help alleviate the feeling that he’d been a bystander all day long. And right now, Logan is pretty sure that Logan was incapable of denying his younger brother much of anything.

But Logan can’t get the look on his brother’s face in the conference room scrubbed from his mind. He thinks about texting him.

He also can’t stop thinking about how Roman probably doesn’t want to see or speak to him. Your fault, a voice hisses in the back of his mind. His stomach rolls with guilt. His chest burns with anger.

Logan shifts in his seat. He decides to text Thomas instead.

How is he?

He doesn’t expect an answer for a while. Thomas is driving after all.

Neither Logan nor Patton says anything the entire car ride. It is the longest car ride of Logan’s life.

…

Logan is through the front door before Patton is. Roman and Thomas are already sitting on the couch—Logan and Patton had needed to stop for gas—with their suit jackets discarded on the armchair. Roman has untied his tie, letting it hang loose around his neck. One hand hangs between his knees, covered by one of Thomas’s, and the other is in his hair. He his head snaps up when Logan steps through the door.

Roman opens his mouth like he wants to say something. Logan doesn’t have a fucking clue to say to his big brother. His chest feels like it’s caving and he doesn’t know why except that it presses on the anger that is simmering in his ribcage.

Patton—as he barrels in through the door a moment after Logan—is the one who breaks the silence. “Roman!” Patton’s voice cracks with the name and Roman is on his feet in less than a second. Patton barrels straight into his chest.

“Pat, hey,” Roman says, in that painfully familiar, soft and soothing voice. He wraps his arms around his brother. “Hey, sssh. I’m okay.”

“You really expect me to believe that? You—” Patton’s voice chokes and it’s half-muffled from Roman’s chest but Patton is clinging to him like Roman is the only thing that can keep him afloat. Like he’s afraid to let go. “Roman, you’re my brother and you… you just…”

Logan watches Roman swallow hard. “Yeah,” Roman whispers. He turns a pained gaze on to Logan, still standing by the door, who matches it before his stomach rolls again with a leaden weight. Logan looks away.

“I… How—” The question chokes off with a broken sob and it’s like the dam has finally crashed open. Patton shakes with the force of his sobs against his big brother’s chest.

“I’m sorry,” Roman whispers, and he tightens around Patton like he can feel the way his brother is falling apart and he’s trying desperately to keep him together. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

Patton’s breath is hiccupping. “Can I stay with you tonight?”

Roman releases a breath. He smooths a hand against Patton’s mess of curls. “Yeah. Of course, Patton.”

“You-you shouldn’t have had to…. You…”

“Hey, hey, hey. Sssh. It’s okay. I’m sorry if I scared you. I’m sorry.”

Something is breaking inside of Logan—maybe a dam of his own—and the words burst from his mouth before he can think to stop them. “Damn right you’re sorry.”

Roman and Thomas’s gazes both snap towards Logan. Logan’s hands ball into fists to get them to stop shaking. He clenches his jaw.

“Logan,” Roman tries, but Logan can feel his heartbeat against his ribs and shakes his head.

“You never told me.”

“I…”

“We had a deal.” And damn it, his vision is blurring a little around the edges but Logan ignores it. “We talk to each other. We tell each other things. We don’t… Fuck, Roman, we don’t hide things like that from each other.”

Roman looks like he’s floundering a bit, something fracturing in his irises. Like splinters of ceramic. “I didn’t see a reason to bring it up with you.”

“Bullshit,” Logan grits out, storming away from the door and closer to Roman. “We’re there for each other, Roman. That was the deal, from the very beginning. I was true to my word, even when I didn’t want to be. Even when it was hard to be. Because I thought… I thought you trusted me too.”

“I do—”

“So imagine my surprise,” Logan presses on, even if the heat in his eyes is a bit more pronounced now, “when I find out today that you were threatened by dad. Using us. Using me. Imagine my surprise when I learned it’s my fault that my big brother—”

“Whoa,” Roman jumps in suddenly and defensively. His brows are knit together. “That’s not true.”

Logan scoffs and when he blinks, his blurry vision abruptly clears and he can feel the tears tracing down his cheeks. He scrubs frustratedly at them. “Yes, it is, Roman. Dad used us against you and you never said shit about it. I mean, how am I—” His throat closes and Logan gestures helplessly at Roman, who looks stricken. “You used to patch me up. All those times, all those burns, it was always you that took care of… And not once did I even think that…”

Logan swallows hard and shakes his head. “So yeah,” he manages with a wobbling voice that he wishes would be steady. “Yeah, it’s my fault, Roman. I just wish you would have told me anyway.”

Logan suddenly can’t manage the weight of the silent gazes bearing down on his shoulders—that might be more weight than he can manage—and he turns to head towards his room.

“Logan, please,” Roman says desperately as Logan feels him grab his elbow to stop him. In one fluid motion, Roman pulls him closer and hugs him. Logan is suddenly engulfed in the smell of his older brother—linen and cinnamon and salt—and he feels his resolve buckling.

Logan feels Roman press his face into his hair, one hand cupping the back of his head.

“I’m telling you three times,” Roman says in a choked whisper. “It’s not your fault.”

And just like that, Logan is thirteen again and knowing that no matter what may come next, his brothers are the only place he feels safe. Roman had spent his entire life trying to make sure his younger brothers felt safe. Standing here in the living room of their house, Logan tries to make sure Roman feels that way too.

Logan doesn’t let go of his big brother for a very long time. And if Roman is holding onto him just as tightly, well. That’s what brothers were for, isn’t it?

...

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[carewyncromwell]

Back with another installment of the POTC AU...and we have entered mermaid (and men) waters, folks. These two lovely creatures are Merman!Kai Williams and Mermaid!Keira Jones, owned by @hphm-brooke, based on their designs here, but with more of the “fishy” look the mermaids have while underwater in Pirates 4! (They look much more like Brooke’s concepts, when they’re above water.) I hope I did your kids justice, cherie! Yes, I know this visual logically doesn’t work at all as neat as it looks, since Carewyn should be drowning if there’s a hole in the ship she can see through: I was stupid and half asleep when I originally drew this, but I went ahead and conjured up an explanation for it for the actual writing section, so indulge me. XD;;

Some LGBT+ headcanons of mine for the HPHM cast are also featured here -- namely, McNully as gay, Skye as lesbian, and Charlie as aroace. (I also personally see Carewyn and Orion as ace/pan and gray-A, respectively. ^.^) Feel free to ignore them if you see these characters differently than I do...goodness knows I understand why plenty of people would want to hook up with Charlie!! He can always be interpreted as demi, gray-A, or just a late bloomer here too, if thou dost prefer. <3

For the previous part of this AU, click here -- for the full POTC AU tag, click here -- otherwise, enjoy! And beware any siren song you may hear...

x~x~x~x

The Revenge was an even more oppressive prison than it was when Carewyn was a child. Charles Cromwell had always been a very controlling, cruel man who only saw someone’s value based on what they could do for him. Even when you were family of his -- or, one could argue, especially if you were -- you were expected to never say “no” to him and to always put his desires over your own. So it was when she and Jacob were under his control way back when, and so it was now that Carewyn was alone.

Interestingly, despite Charles’s clear disdain for Carewyn having become a Commodore of the Navy, he actually seemed very coldly pleased by how she’d grown.

“The Navy may be a pathetic institution,” Charles said very coolly as he strode leisurely in a circle around Carewyn, “but at least fighting in the War toughened you up. You’re strong -- ruthless -- talented in swordplay and willing to do whatever it takes to defeat your enemies. You’ve been taught and trained to kill.”

He stopped right in front of her, his cold almond-shaped blue eyes boring into her as his lips spread into a smile.

“You are far from the weak, bleeding-heart little girl you were before, Carewyn. Before, you could only be useful in persuading other men to join my crew -- now, once we’ve finished at Isle de Muerta...you’ll be able to join your aunts by doing that and helping us with our plunder.”

Carewyn’s eyes, which were the same color and shape as Charles’s, met his gaze head-on with just as much coldness, but with no hint of a smile.

“I have no intention of being anything like Pearl or Claire,” she spat, “least of all by being one of your pawns.”

Pearl made a violent move forward, but Blaise grabbed her arm and gave her a dull warning look.

“Pawns?” repeated Charles. “I’m wounded, child. We are family -- we are blood. I raised you and your brother. I provided for you.”

“After killing both Mum and Dad right in front of us,” Carewyn said very coldly.

Charles feigned an empathetic expression, but it only came across as incredibly condescending.

“Yes -- it was a horrible thing. But your parents thought to abandon the crew, our family...to take you two children away from me, your grandfather, who loves you so dearly. And deserters and traitors must be held accountable -- any good leader knows that. It’s awful that it had to happen...but they left me no choice.”

Carewyn’s eyes flashed with hatred.

“First of all...our parents thought to protect their family -- Jacob and me -- from you. Second, any good leader knows that true loyalty is accrued through respect, not fear. Third, you always have a choice to do what’s right, and you didn’t. Fourth, I will NOT hear you try to tell me that my parents brought their deaths upon themselves when you pulled the trigger. And fifth...”

She took a step forward, aiming to get right up in Charles’s face -- Claire Cromwell grabbed her harshly by the arm and held her back, but Carewyn was strong enough to push herself forward right up into her grandfather’s personal space anyway.

“...you don’t know what love is,” hissed Carewyn venomously.

Charles’s face lost all hint of a smile or warmth, instead becoming oddly mask-like and detached as he considered her. The stillness was far, far more intimidating than his attempts at pleasantry -- it was like he truly felt nothing...like all possibility of persuasion or appealing to his better instincts was hopeless.

“It seems freedom has spoiled you, my child,” he said softly. “I suppose I’d have to blame your brother for being such a bad influence on you...at least while he was still alive.”

Carewyn’s face blanched and her eyes widened. ‘What?’

“Oh?” said Charles, raising his eyebrows in mock concern. “Were you unaware? I thought for sure something would’ve trickled back to you through the Navy. But I suppose if they had told you, you’d have had far less reason to be loyal to them. After all...the pirate who killed him ended up getting a full pardon from the crown, and now works alongside the new Lord Cutler Beckett at the East India Trading Company...a thoroughly prosperous woman, by all accounts.”

Charles’s face again grew much mask-like as he stared down at Carewyn.

“One would never know such a woman could be capable of shooting a man square in the back and then pushing him overboard into the ocean...and just when he’d returned from Port Royal, to find that his sister was gone...”

Carewyn could feel her shoulders quaking. Her eyes had fallen away from Charles and down to the deck a while ago, as she struggled to contain her emotions, but what he said --

It couldn’t be true. It couldn’t be. Jacob, dead -- Jacob, having gone to look for her, and not finding her because she’d gone off to War -- Jacob, being murdered right after he tried to come home --

“You’re lying!” snarled Carewyn, but her voice quaked with pain and grief despite her best efforts.

Charles didn’t answer. Clearly he didn’t think he had to. The silence was infinitely worse than if he’d chosen to mock her further -- it forced her to solely focus on the terrible doubt and pain flooding her chest and making it hard for her to breathe.

Charles’s gaze flickered up to Claire still holding Carewyn’s arm.

“Get Carewyn out of that Navy filth and into some proper clothes,” he said almost boredly. “Make sure to pick something that shows off her assets -- she comes from fine breeding, and we want the men of Tortuga to see that first.”

His gaze then rested on Carewyn again, twinkling with a cruel kind of satisfaction, as Claire yanked Carewyn away. Carewyn fought against her grip, but before she could pull out of it, Pearl grabbed her other arm and, with considerably more strength, helped Claire drag her away.

Carewyn was soon forced into a pair of men’s knee breeches so tight that they felt more like form-fitting stockings than trousers; tall black boots; an off-white sailor’s shirt identical to Pearl’s with such an oversized neckline that her chest was largely exposed; and an R-standard dark red coat just small enough that she couldn’t button it around herself to hide her chest better. Pearl had also pointed a pistol at Carewyn’s neck while Claire applied eye-make-up and bright red lipstick. Carewyn normally wouldn’t have minded wearing make-up -- she may have had to dress like a man out of necessity, but she liked women’s fashion a lot. Under the circumstances, though, it was impossible to enjoy it.

Needless to say, Carewyn was in no mood to take orders from Charles or exchange so much as a word with any member of his crew, whether it was her uncle, aunts, cousins, or in-laws. At one point, one night, one of those such cousins -- clearly very amused by how unhappy Carewyn was with her new “look” -- decided to try to force himself into her personal space, and Carewyn was so disgusted that she grabbed his own pistol out of his belt and pointed it right at his head to threaten him to back off. Rather than scare him, though, the cousin merely laughed.

“Go ahead!” he jeered. He clearly thought Carewyn was too much of a “good girl” to do it. “Go ahead and shoot me. Right in the head, come on -- ”

Carewyn pointed the pistol down at his thigh instead and fired.

BANG.

The younger man collapsed in on himself with a cry as his leg collapsed out from under him, the bone clearly blasted open from how close the pistol had been. Carewyn then gave the pistol a light shake to clear the smoke.

“Seems to me that place is closer to where you do most of your thinking than your head,” she said very coldly. She looked around at the rest of the crew, who’d stopped to watch, and added, “Now, all of you, stay away from me -- AHH!”

She suddenly felt a hand seize her around the neck and hoist her up off the ground.

The younger man somehow was back on his feet again, as if he hadn’t been injured at all. Carewyn’s shock only seemed to make him smugger still, even though his smile was oddly humorless.

“You’re so cute, little Winnie,” he said. “Thinking you can hurt somebody who feels nothing but pain already.”

At that very moment, the clouds parted, to reveal an eerie silver-white moon. And it was in that terrible, paralyzing moment that Carewyn saw why everyone said that the crew of the Revenge was cursed.

It seems that the medallion Jacob had stolen from Charles’s office wasn’t just a pirate trinket. It was one of 100 identical pieces from a cursed chest that once belonged to Cortez himself. Anyone who stole but one piece from the chest was cursed trapped between life and death, unable to enjoy any earthly pleasure -- food, drink, or otherwise -- with their true decaying form only revealed under moonlight. Jacob had taken the medallion with the thought that Carewyn could always sell it if they ever got really desperate for money -- Carewyn had kept it because it was one of the only things Jacob had ever been able to give her before he disappeared, and she cursed herself eternally for the sentiment now. Still, she told herself, it also hadn’t seemed safe to try to sell something that so clearly looked like a pirate medallion anyway -- just about anyone would ask where she got it, and that would’ve opened her up to a million more questions. In either case, that medallion Carewyn had was the last piece that Charles Cromwell needed to break the curse -- and thanks to her fame as the newest Commodore in the Navy, one of her portrait miniatures had found its way into Charles’s hands, revealing to him where his granddaughter had vanished to. And now he had both her and the medallion -- in short, everything he’d wanted.

Charles Cromwell decided to punish Carewyn for her little act of defiance by locking her in the brig. It was a very wet and mildew-stained place -- clearly it had been host to more than a few leaks. One hole in Carewyn’s cell in particular even showed clear blue ocean water -- she suspected that the Revenge had been patched up with quite a few spells to keep it from sinking, over the years. She remembered there was a witch on Tortuga that her grandfather sometimes made deals with -- maybe she’d given him something to keep the sea water from rushing in.

Carewyn could’ve easily broken out of the brig, but under the circumstances, she decided it wasn’t worth it. Not only did she not want to show off all her tricks yet, but the cell door would at least serve as a barrier between her and everyone else, for now. And that was what she’d wanted -- to get as far away from them as she could. Jacob would’ve understood. Jacob had always been there as a protective wall between her and the rest of their family, in the past...

The night in that cell was one of the coldest, darkest, and loneliest of Carewyn’s life. Her heart ached at the thought of Jacob -- of Percy, his face white with upset and terror when she told him to retreat -- of Bill and Charlie -- of Jules. She missed them so much, and yet she knew...she would likely never see them again. Charles Cromwell wouldn’t tolerate her insubordination for long, and if she failed to escape -- rather likely, considering that neither he nor the rest of her family could be killed, at this point -- she’d be murdered just like her parents.

...At least then...she’d see Jacob again...

She didn’t know when or how she’d fallen to sleep, but it was in her sleep, when she was most lonely, that Carewyn found herself again in her and Jacob’s tiny, old house in Port Royal, sitting at the side of her own bed, which currently held a young man with a worn brown bandana around his head, a black eye, and bandages around his arms. He looked up at her, his dark eyes rippling like the darkest sea -- and then, he rose from the bed. As he did, he changed, becoming older, with tanner skin and dreadlocks under an emerald green bandana. Orion didn’t say anything in the dream -- instead he held her gaze, drowning her in it as he gently held her hands in his...

When Carewyn awoke, she found her face wet with tears. Wiping her face clean, she sat awake for a while, revisiting Orion in her mind. As bizarre as it sounded -- just like he had many times in the past -- the thought of Orion seemed to bring her a sense of peace and focus she couldn’t quite explain. And it was for that reason that she found herself singing one of the songs she used to sing Orion to sleep, all those years ago...for the thought of him, if not for the man himself.

Abroad, as I was walking one evening in the spring,

I heard a maid in Bedlam who mournfully did sing.

Her chains she rattled on her hands, and thus replied she:

"I love my love because I know my love loves me.

Oh, cruel were his parents who sent my love to sea,

And cruel was the ship that bore my love from me --

Yet I love his parents since they’re his, although they've ruined me...

I love my love because I know my love loves me.” 

As luck would have it, however, her song attracted some attention. For the waters surrounding the dreaded Isle de Muerta contained merfolk -- specifically a mermaid called Keira and a merman called Kai, who hunted as a pair and had heard Carewyn singing through the hole in the ship’s hull.

“Was that you singing?” asked Kai. He seemed the more sociable of the two -- the red-haired mermaid behind him called Keira was staying at a distance.

Carewyn rested a hand beside the hole, trying to peek out at who was speaking. She couldn’t see them very well, but from what little she could see, they didn’t look like how she’d always heard mermaids described. They appeared human enough on top, of course, but she could see scales on their faces and there was no white in their eyes. Kai had one completely brown eye and one completely blue eye, while Keira had completely blue.

“Yes,” said Carewyn.

“I could hear the longing in your voice,” said Kai. “Like a woman in love.”

Carewyn’s face flushed, but she kept as proud of an expression as she could manage.

“...Are you merfolk?”

“Why, yes,” said Kai with a smile. “And you? Are you a pirate? Or perhaps you’re a maid from Bedlam, awaiting her love’s return?”

“Neither. My name is Carewyn...but most people call me Carey Weasley.”

Keira looked at Carewyn through the hole, clearly interested despite her distance.

“You’re different than the other humans on this ship,” she said thoughtfully.

Carewyn scoffed. “I’d certainly hope so. I suppose my grandfather and his crew fear you?”

“Fear, yes,” said Keira in an oddly stiff voice, “but we don’t approach them.”

The memory of her disgusting pirate cousin as a molting skeleton rippled over Carewyn’s mind and she grimaced.

“...I don’t blame you for that. I wouldn’t be here either, if I had a choice.”

Kai raised a curious eyebrow. “You’re a prisoner, then.”

Carewyn sighed and nodded. Kai’s eyes flickered over to Keira before returning to Carewyn.

“...Perhaps we can get you out.”

Carewyn was startled. “What?”

Kai’s lips turned up in a smile. “Come with us...we’ll help you escape.”

It was strange -- Carewyn hadn’t known these two at all, but something in their voices sounded so kind. Despite everything she’d ever heard about sirens, they seemed oddly persuasive...it was like even they were singing beautifully, even while talking...

But...

“No,” she said. “My grandfather and his crew can’t be killed. I’d never be able to defeat them, while they’re like that...and anyone who tried to help me would be killed right along with me.”

Her eyes softened. “Thank you...but I have to stay here.”

Both Kai and Keira looked genuinely startled. Kai seemed to rest on his stomach in mid-air, his tail flopping up over his head as he rested his chin on his fist, his lips spreading in a much fuller, fanged smirk.

“...Well, now,” he said, “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of someone saying ‘no’ to one of our kind in order to protect them before. He shared a glance with Keira. “You truly are different, Carey Weasley.”

Keira exhaled tiredly. “Come on, Kai...let’s go.”

“Coming, coming,” said Kai in amusement, as Keira began to swim off. He added to Carewyn, “Guess we’ll never know if we would’ve been able to tempt you, if we’d met you above water...oh well. Best of luck, little Bedlam maid -- thanks for the new song!”

Kai swam in a circle to follow along after Keira and disappeared into the dark blue depths.

Back on the Artemis, the days of their voyage dragged. Jules had heard all sorts of exciting stories about pirates since she was a child, but now that she was onboard a ship with them, she found that it was far less glamorous than one would think. There was so little to do to pass the time, aside from trimming sails or swabbing decks. Charlie and Bill admitted that was a lot of what sailing on board ships was like in general -- there was plenty of excitement, sure, but only inter-spliced briefly between long stretches of nothing. On top of that, the water on board went sour before long, making it so everyone had to drink rum instead, since it was the only drink that didn’t go bad at sea. The best thing by far for Jules, though, was that there was no dress code -- and so she ditched her fancy dress as quick as she could, traded them in for a pair of men’s breeches, and then belted her chemise around her waist so that it fit more tightly like a shirt. She’d be a little embarrassed walking around in her underwear for a while, but after a while, she concluded it really wasn’t any more revealing than the loose-fitting shirt and men’s breeches Skye was wearing. Bill’s ears turned a very dark red when he first saw Jules out of her dress, though.

Their first real burst of action came when they had to battle a torrential storm that had blown in. The Artemis had been tossed about as if it were a toy in a bathtub, sea water splashing onto the deck with full-bodied waves that could knock a man off their feet. It was likely only thanks to Orion’s bizarre idea to tie everyone securely to the mast with a long piece of rope that served as a life line that no one was thrown overboard. The following day, the storm had fortunately cleared to leave an almost surreal calm. Soon everyone returned to the boring routine of before, mending torn sails and swabbing the deck, as if nothing had even happened.

The helmsman solely followed Orion’s direction of where to go, rather than using a map, so Bill, Jules, and Charlie had assumed he already knew where the Isle de Muerta was. One could therefore imagine how horrified Bill was overhearing McNully talking offhandedly to Orion one afternoon about his compass “not working right for him” -- Jules recalled that it didn’t work at Port Royal either. When the three confronted Orion about it, the Captain responded rather cryptically.

“Lieutenant Weasley said that my compass didn’t point north, Miss Farrier. That doesn’t mean it’s broken.”

Orion turned on his heel and headed back up to the helm. “A bit more to starboard.”

Bill opened his mouth to protest, but McNully climbed down one of the loose ropes enough to pat his shoulder.

“Easy, Mr. Weasley.”

He lowered himself back down into his chair and rolled it around to properly face them.

“The Captain’s compass isn’t like most compasses -- just like Orion himself isn’t like most captains.”

“But you said it wasn’t working right,” Charlie said angrily. “And all he ever seems to look at is that compass. How do we know we’re even heading the right way? Does he even know how to get to Isle de Muerta at all?”

Jules had to admit, she had doubts too. Orion had sounded pretty confident that he’d be able to find Carewyn -- but how could anyone do that, when they didn’t even have a compass that could point north?

The dispute was interrupted, however, when Orion abruptly called out from the helm.

“Put out the lamps!”

The crew immediately tensed up, and bolted around, putting out every lamp. Jules looked around in confusion.

“What are you doing?” she asked. “It’s almost dusk -- we won’t be able to see!”

“The water is darker and colder here,” said Orion solemnly, “and there’s a song on the air. The lamps would only antagonize them further.”

“‘Them?’“ recurred Jules.

“Mermaids, of course,” said Skye impatiently.

“Mermaids?”

“I heard those tales when we were all in the Navy,” said Bill, glancing at Jules a bit uneasily. “Mermaids are attracted to singing and lamplight.”

"Right,” said McNully. “There’s still a 32% chance they might show up even without those, though, so you’d best keep your wits about you.”

Skye nodded. “Mermaids are no joke. They might look beautiful above water, but they don’t look half so pretty under the water when they pull you down to the depths and eat you alive.”

Jules cringed.

“If they’re that dangerous,” she said slowly, “why don’t you do what Odysseus did, to escape the sirens? Just have someone else tie you up really tightly on the mast, and you can’t jump overboard.”

“Yeah!” Charlie piped up. “I reckon Jules, Skye, and I can handle running the ship for a bit on our own -- pretty faces don’t really do much for me.”

McNully laughed. “If being attracted to gorgeous women was the problem, then I’d be a better choice to help than Skye.”

Skye rolled her eyes and scoffed.

“Mermaids don’t just tempt you with sex,” the quartermaster explained. “They’re temptation itself. Everything about them draws you in, makes you open up to them and talk to them...lets them look right through you. They’ll try to tempt you with whatever they think you want most in the world -- and when you give in and get too close...”

She made a knife-like gesture across her throat with her finger.

“There’s only one person on this ship that’s known to have ever said ‘no’ to a mermaid before,” said McNully, and he nodded up at the helm. “And that’s the Captain.”

Bill, Charlie, and Jules all looked up in surprise. Orion had his back to them and was looking out to sea with narrowed, unreadable eyes.

Then, all of a sudden, the crew could just barely make out a eerie, beautiful song, which seemed to float on the wind itself.

“...her chains she rattled in her hands and thus replied she...”

“Stopper your ears!” McNully said urgently. “Quickly!”

The crew hurriedly did as they were told. Orion, however, did not do so. Instead he darted down to the main deck, grabbed one of the lanterns, and set about relighting it.

“Orion, what are you DOING?!” bellowed Skye.

Orion didn’t answer her. McNully rolled hurriedly around the deck as he tried to make sure everyone blocked their ears, but Orion completely ignored him, instead rushing over to the side of the ship with the lit lantern.

The singing was getting louder now.

“Yet I love his parents since they’re his, although they've ruined me... I love my love because I know my love loves me...”

Just as Bill had finished helping Charlie and Jules completely stopper their ears, he caught the sound of a low male voice singing the next line.

“With straw I'll weave a garland, I'll weave it wondrous fine...”

Bill looked up in alarm at Orion. He had a hand cupped over his mouth to magnify his volume as he sang over the ship’s railing.

“With roses, lilies, daisies I'll mix the eglantine...”

“Stop!”

Bill barreled over, grabbing Orion’s shoulder and trying to pull him back away from the edge.

“What are you doing?! Singing and lanterns attract mermaids!”

“That’s the plan,” said Orion, his voice almost frustratingly calm.

Bill saw the water burbling up beside the edge of the ship. His heart clenched with fear.

Orion, however, paid him no mind -- he turned right to the form burbling under the water, his hand beside his mouth again as he continued,

“And I'll present it to my love when he returns from sea... I love my love because I know my love loves me."

Jules quickly grabbed Bill’s arm, pulling him back away from Orion. Bill looked at her anxiously, but she merely reached up to stopper his left ear with some fabric she’d ripped out of her chemise. Orion wasn’t going to explain, so all they could do is get ready.

Within moments, a woman with red hair had appeared out of the water. Her chin and neck were still largely submerged as she blinked up at Orion.

“You know the words,” she said almost shyly.

“Yes,” said Orion. “Where did you hear that song?”

The mermaid blinked slowly. “A maid imprisoned in the brig of a pirate ship.”

Jules had been just about to stopper Bill’s right ear when he straightened up sharply. He turned his head sharply to better listen to the conversation.

"What did the maid look like?” Orion asked.

The mermaid’s eyes flickered over the pirate captain’s face carefully as she eased her head and shoulders out of the water.

“I could not tell for sure. The brig was dark. The hole looking into it was small.”

“Yet you spoke to her?”

“Yes. She was a selfless woman. Very selfless.”

“When did you see her?”

“Very early this morning...before dawn.”

Orion’s dark eyes narrowed. The mermaid reached out to grab onto the edge of the Artemis so as to slide herself out of the water and closer to Orion.

“You know her,” she said.

“Yes,” Orion answered quietly.

The mermaid’s eyes seemed to soften. “...You love her.”

Bill, who had been listening carefully, looked quickly at Orion’s face for some sort of reaction -- but once again his face was remarkably calm, and he didn’t respond.

“I could take you to her,” the mermaid said sweetly. “I know where she is...”

Bill felt his mind drifting slightly, as if he’d suddenly become very sleepy -- her voice sounded almost soothing -- and she knew Carewyn? She could take them to Carewyn?

“No, thank you,” said Orion with the kind of polite finality one would more likely hear at a Christmas function than to a creature that wanted to eat human flesh. “If you saw her this morning, we’ll be caught up with them soon enough. The wind will take us where we need to go, if only we have our sails pointed in the right direction.”

He inclined his head respectfully.

“Best of luck finding your next meal elsewhere.”

The mermaid frowned in immense confusion at him, looking almost put-out.

“You and Carey Weasley are both very strange humans,” she said. Her lips then curled into a faintly wry smile as she added, “She was not tempted by our call either. That should please you.”

And with that, she splashed back into the dark water and disappeared.

Orion blew out the flame on the lamp and turned back around.

“It’s all right now!” he bellowed loud enough that everyone could just barely make out his voice through the stuffing in their ears. “It’s safe!”

Everyone little by little unblocked their ears. Bill turned around to face Orion properly, his brown eyes rippling with amazement and a bit of guilt despite himself, as the pirate captain walked past him.

“You did know what you were doing.”

Orion turned to Bill. The eldest Weasley rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I misjudged you.”

Orion inclined his head slightly to Bill, his lips touched with traces of a smile.

“A common enough thing, for people to do,” he said patiently. “Think nothing of it.”

He strolled back up to the helm, leaving Bill and Jules alone.

Jules turned to Bill. He still had his eyes on Orion’s back.

“Bill...is everything okay?”

Bill glanced at Jules and then back up at Orion, and he swallowed.

The mermaid had said Orion loved Carewyn. He didn’t make any kind of reaction that would prove it was true -- but he didn’t deny it either. And more importantly, back at the church, he’d said he wouldn’t have hurt “either Bill’s or his lady,” when talking about Jules and Carewyn. And immediately after, he spoke of Carewyn’s past, of her history with him...of details even he didn’t know, like her apparently having worn a red ribbon in her hair since she was little...with such a soft voice that it wouldn’t be a stretch to think there was something fond in it, under that detached affect..

Bill hadn’t had a real friend in his life until he’d met Carewyn. They’d connected almost immediately out of their mutual desire to protect and nurture others, and they always seemed to be in sync whenever they had to battle together. Bill had always been a shoulder for others to cry on, but it was Carewyn who had first offered her shoulder to him, while they were fighting the Spanish together. The friendship and caring she’d shown him made her family to him more than her using his name alone ever could have. She was a sister to him -- his best mate -- someone he loved and cherished like few others in the world. And he wanted every happiness for her, just as he knew she did for him...

But what happiness could there be for her, with Orion? He was a pirate. There’d be no way the Navy would pardon him with the East India Trading Company breathing down their necks -- and would Carewyn truly be happy living the life of a pirate, after having been raised on a pirate ship like the Revenge? She’d built up a stable life for herself in the Navy, and Bill knew how much Carewyn loved being able to come back to Port Royal after a long expedition -- to come home, after being at sea. But pirates had no home. There was nothing anchoring a pirate. And no matter what Orion’s feelings were, and how much Bill suspected they might actually be something genuine...it didn’t mean a thing if Carewyn didn’t feel the same way.

“Jules...” he said at last, very quietly, “...is Carey...in love with Amari?”

Jules was startled by the use of her nickname. She glanced from Bill to up at Orion at the helm and back, frowning deeply. 

“...Love, I’m not sure, but...back at the fort, before Captain Amari rescued me...Carey told me that she’d bandaged him up and hidden him from the Navy, when they were young. So when Captain Amari figured out who she was...he let her go. I reckon they probably just made it look like Carey broke free.”

This information startled Bill. His brown eyes brightened in understanding.

“He owed her a life debt,” he said softly.

Jules smiled. “No. I thought the same thing -- that it was gratitude, on Captain Amari’s part. But...”

Her dark eyes softened.

“...Carey said...that he was simply a good man. And I don’t know...but the look in her eyes, as she looked out to sea...I’ve never seen her eyes look like that before.”

She reached out and took Bill’s hand. Bill gave it a squeeze.

“The water temperature has returned to normal,” announced Orion from the helm, emptying the bucket of sea water he’d filled earlier over the side. “Go ahead and relight the lamps -- we should approach Isle de Muerta within the next day or so.”

[unfinishedsweetsimphony]

notice:

(lowercase is intended for the aesthetic but my actual fics will have the proper capitalization and my best attempt at grammar.)

masterlist <3

introduction: 

hi! i’m reddie. my pronouns are she/her but i don’t mind being addressed in a masculine manner. i am a quackity simp first and a human second. this blog is a safe place for all identities, sexualities, and backgrounds. i am a bit inactive due to school, but don’t hesitate to interact! take care everyone, and have a nice day :D

rules for request:

Important: I will not write nsfw  for anybody because I am uncomfortable doing so. I’m also hesitant to write any poly! fics simply because I do not feel educated enough to properly execute them. same goes for more triggering topics (i will not write fics surrounding s3lf h@/rm for my own personal reasons). if i feel uncomfortable with the request, i will post about it so that you are aware. 

i write for:

quackity

karl jacobs

wilbur soot

georgenotfound

dream

sapnap

badboyhalo

nihachu

the_eret

tommyinnit (platonic only)

tubbo(platonic only)

[as I dive deeper into the fandom I might add more names]

I write fluff and angst; imagines, headcannons, reactions, AUs, etc.

I can do ships and x reader as along as it does not cross the cc!s boundaries.

Please specify pronouns, otherwise I will default to using gender neutral pronouns (they/them).

~*~

thank you for taking the time to read the notice. i hope you enjoy your stay here <3

[missjosie27]

Year 3 Part 12- Change is Coming

Hello, everyone!

We have officially reached the end of Year 3 and what a ride it has been thus far. The amount of interest this story has generated despite Hogwarts Mystery being somewhat of a let down is very heartening. It's extremely fun to write, almost like writing therapy in a way.

That being said I'd like to give an update for the future which I will also put in the story notes. This story will not be updated again until the New Year. The reason being I have several other projects I'm trying to juggle not to mention I like to write the story ahead of time and then release it over a period of time.

So, for the month of November I will be writing other things which should be done by December in which I will begin Year 4 and hopefully have completed writing it by January. So I ask for your patience as a I try to get everything done in a very difficult time for me personally. I promise it will be worth the wait. I have lots of fun things planned for Year 4, including for a certain cute Slytherin girl ;)

Anyways, enjoy the chapter! David Grant will be back in no time!

Unlike the previous year, no Professor confronted David about the vaults in the aftermath of breaking into one. He expected McGonagall or Snape to confront him about it. The Potions Master did shoot him nasty glares but asked him no questions and was no worse than he usually was. Of everyone Pince was the most likely to try and either punish or get him to confess but nothing of the sort occurred. Oddly enough, he thought the irritable librarian might be side stepping him on purpose as she consistently avoided his gaze while he studied for his exams. But there was one similarity: as it was with the ice the boggarts seemingly vanished in the aftermath of their excursion. The curse was broken.

As for the other affairs at Hogwarts, Dumbledore had returned although no one knew just exactly where he’d gotten off to in the first place. There were rumors to be sure (including one where he allegedly slayed a Hungarian Horntail and another where he took a two week holiday at a muggle resort in France in order to study the magical properties of champagne) but none of them were substantiated. The third, soon to be fourth year, Gryffindor considered himself lucky that the Headmaster was not present during his latest escapade but nevertheless remained on his guard. Very little got by the old man despite his outwardly friendly, eccentric demeanor.

Exams were soon concluded as was the Quidditch season. Unfortunately for the Lions, Slytherin won their last matchup giving the snakes victory in the Quidditch Cup which was difficult to stomach given their resounding success the previous year. Charlie Weasley took it especially hard, but all were reassured by the words of Bill, who reminded everyone the same squad was returning next year and they had only lost their two games by a margin of 100 points. Despite the disappointing season Skye Parkin and Charlie remained two of the brightest young stars in Hogwarts.

Exams were formally concluded by the second week in June and to celebrate their marks among other things Bill also suggested they celebrate at the Three Broomsticks during the last visit to Hogsmeade. With a not so subtle wink he also made plans to invite everyone involved with the latest vault, signaling their latest triumph.

Though still mentally a bit fatigued, David thought the idea was a good one and supposed if there was any time to kick back and relax it was now. The map of the forest and the broken arrow were safely locked away in his trunk, and despite feeling like he was still far from finding Jacob, he was content for now that the boggarts had disappeared and Hogwarts returned to normalcy. Besides, he had a feeling a proper discussion regarding the latest vault was imminent at the Three Broomsticks.

All the same, it wasn’t a proper school year without one last confrontation with Merula Snyde.

It was a bright, sunny day, the kind that reinvigorates the bones and the soul when the weather turns warm in the highlands of Scotland. Happy to forgo the black robes of his uniform, he dressed himself in a white t shirt, red zip up jacket, blue jeans, and a pair of black vans he was quite fond of from a muggle company called ‘vans’ (he saw the advertisement on a commercial street in London and convinced his mother the value of such a purchase). Glancing one last time at the trunk he kept his things in he muttered to himself.

“Two vaults down. I wish finding you was simpler Jacob, we could be a family again if you just came back...why...why don’t you come back?”

Feeling a rare moment of tears surging through, David wiped them and buried the feelings just as he always did. He did not want to lose face in front of his friends nor indicate anything was wrong. A butterbeer and a few jokes would be enough to keep the pain at bay for at least a little while.

He left Gryffindor Tower which by now was largely devoid of anyone given it was a sunny day, exams were done, and most people were out and about. It was only when he reached the edge of the Great Hall that the Slytherin girl stepped out from the shadows.

“Grant.”

“Good Lord, we need to put a bell on you,” he quipped.

But Merula wasn’t laughing, though she almost never smiled (unless it there was malicious intent) this time there was a hard, stony faced expression that betrayed both frustration and deep seated anger.

“I know you found that vault and I know you broke that boggart curse,” she told him quietly.

“Good job, detective. Do you want a medal for special services for the school?”

It was quite remarkable how easy it was to get underneath her skin, but for once David didn’t have the energy to spend going back and forth with her. He was tired and in no mood to pull out his wand and duel her for the umpteenth time.

By the same token, he was prepared to all the same.

“I hope you enjoy your little victory with your pathetic friends. Savor it while you can,” Merula sneered at him.

“I will, thank you,” he responded coolly. “Can’t say the same for you though.”

The teenage Slytherin’s scowl morphed into a snarl as her fists clenched but she did not reach for her wand.

“Why?” she spoke through the clenched teeth. “Why do you always do this?!”

“You’re going to have to be more specific. I do a lot of things.”

“This!” Merula gestured wildly with her hands. “Every time we fight or battle you just respond with stupid wisecracks! And on top of that you always win!!”

David recognized straight away that this was not a typical tantrum from his long standing rival. Rather it was a plea, a desperate attempt to justify why things had gone the way they had. An answer for all of her failures.

“Merula, you’re looking at this the wrong way,” came his straightforward reply.

“And how should I be looking at it?” she snarled.

“I’m not going into these vaults so I can become rich or hold myself above everyone else...I’m doing it for my brother and for the friends who have my back.”

“I had friends!” Merula shot back. “Until you bloody well took Tulip and Barnaby from me!”

“I took no one from you,” David replied more forcefully. “They chose to join my side because you treated them like rubbish and didn’t feel like taking your orders anymore.”

But Merula refused to heed him.

“It’s your fault! Everything bad that’s happened to me is your fault!”

“Classic Merula Snyde,” the Gryffindor said with an angry sigh. “Can dish it out but can’t take it. Have you ever once thought that you might be wrong? Are you capable of caring about anything except yourself?”

“I-I...you-”

“You don’t know what a friend is because you’ve never had one,” he interrupted her. “I doubt you’ve ever cared to either.“

“Don’t pretend to know me, Grant!” Merula shouted. “There is nothing about my life you could possibly understand!”

“Maybe not, but I do know one thing: if you keep on doing the same thing over and over again expect the same results. And if attacking, insulting, and lying to me hasn’t worked thus far, you may want to consider that the source of your misfortune originates with yourself and not with me.”

For the first time since arriving at Hogwarts, David Grant had left Merula Snyde speechless. No comeback, taunt, or rejoinder came from her mouth. Instead, it was sealed shut in a tight line and once more he could see that same hurt in her eyes. The soft lavender tortured by pain and anguish. Temptation to express sympathy became suddenly apparent but that emotion was pushed back. How were you supposed to feel sorry for someone who tried to make your life miserable just because of their own hubris?

She’s right, I don’t understand. I don’t think I ever will.

“If you’ll excuse me, I have some people waiting for me at the Three Broomsticks. See ya next year.”

As he moved past Merula, he was prepared to engage her again if she attacked. But this time retaliation was absent as the Slytherin stood stock still, posture unchanging.

Taking the staircase down to the grounds, David wondered how long it would be before she moved again.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Thankfully, the Three Broomsticks was a much noisier but merrier environment and sure enough the entirety of his friends were there- Bill, Penny, Rowan, Ben, Tulip, Tonks, and Barnaby sitting at one of the corner booths. All were partaking in a round of butterbeer and to his pleasant surprise there was a full mug of it untaken as though it were waiting for him.

“Dave! You made it!” Rowan exclaimed. “What took you so long?”

“Had another run in with Merula,” he said frankly.

That caused the entire table to give pause.

“Did you have to-”

“Strangely enough she didn’t attack me this time,” he answered Ben straight away. “It was more like yelling and flailing angrily.”

Bill shrugged, edging the glass mug towards him.

“Well no need to worry about her now. Have a butterbeer. Madam Rosmerta said it was on the house.”

“Cheers, mate!” he thanked, raising his glass and taking a sweet sip.

“I propose a toast,” Tulip declared, raising her own glass. “All hail the conquering cursebreaker! Long may he reign!”

“Here, here!” the rest of the group shouted out.

David was genuinely touched.

“Thank you, all. I couldn’t have done it without any of you….though you might want to be careful where you say that. ‘Officially’ we weren’t anywhere near the vault, remember?”

“Nah don’t worry about that,” Tulip told him. “I’ve heard Pince was so embarrassed about the situation she hasn’t said a peep. Not even to Dumbledore.”

“The Professors aren’t dumb, they know that someone broke the curse on the vault since most of the boggarts vanished. I heard Professor Snape was on the warpath at the latest Prefect’s meeting,” Bill informed them.

“He is,” Barnaby confirmed taking a long swig. “Merula told him about Madam Pince, the Restricted Section, and the Cursed Vault.” A proud grin stretched across his face. “She forgot to mention the part where I defeated her and Ismelda.”

“So if he knows why isn’t he hauling my ass into his office right now tearing me a new one?” David asked.

“It’s like what Tulip said,” Tonks replied. “Pince is too embarrassed to admit what happened. Didn’t stop her from giving me detention through next year though.”

“There’s no proof,” Ben agreed. “Even I’m not worried.”

“Thought I think getting detention into next year might be a new Hogwarts milestone,” David said chuckling and raising his glass towards his pink haired friend. “Congrats.”

“That dungbomb was all for you, Dave. It was also totally worth it.”

“Feels good to get off scot free,” Tulip agreed. “Well almost all of us, anyway. I don’t want to say it was all due to my brilliant plan but…”

“What did you find in the vault, David?” Penny asked eagerly. It was a question she had clearly been dying to ask.

“We found a map of the Forbidden Forest and a broken arrow. So more clues just as it was last time.”

“I’d wager all my galleons and gobstone set that the next vault is in the Forbidden Forest. It won’t be like this year where we had to spend an enormous amount of time just figuring out where the location was. I know I’ll be reading about it all summer,” Rowan chimed in.

“You mentioned in our last private chat that the map had the letter ‘R’ in the top left corner,” Bill said. “Do you have any theories on that?”

David’s eyes scanned the table before lingering on Ben.

“I’ve been wondering the same thing….”

If his gaze was accusatory it was unintentional but it had the added effect of everyone else doing the same thing which unnerved the muggle born Gryffindor.

“Why is everyone looking at me?”

He has no idea. He can’t even remember David thought to himself.

“Ben...I don’t know how to explain this because you couldn’t remember anything...but last year we found a letter on your person addressed to me signed from someone named ‘R’.”

“We think they are possibly related given the circumstances,” Rowan added. “But it’s a suspicious part of this whole mystery. Surely you remember something, right?”

“But I don’t!” Ben protested. “I don’t know what happened. One moment I’m on the train looking for you guys and the next thing I remember was waking up in a huge block of ice freezing to death. You believe me, right Dave?”

There was no lie in the boy’s eye. Someone like Ben was practically incapable of harming or hurting another human being and he’d come quite a ways from the frightened first year he once was.

“I do, Ben. Don’t worry, we’re not accusing you of anything. Just trying to connect the small amount of clues we have.”

Ben smiled in appreciation but that was not the end of the topic.

“I hope you aren’t lying to protect us. We can’t help each other unless we know what’s going on,” Rowan said, a harshness to his tone that wasn’t usually there.

Ben’s reply was honest but somewhat cool as he looked Rowan straight in the eye.

“I’m not lying to protect you, I promise.”

Sensing some tension Bill quickly interjected with a positive smile.

“Let’s worry about mystery maps and unexplained memory loss for another day. We’re here to celebrate together and that’s what counts. Now how bout some more butterbeer?”

And so they did, talking, laughing, rejoicing, talking about many subjects. Of particular interest was Penny and Rowan’s regalement of their role in distracting Pince, which took on a whole new dimension when Tonks set off the dungbomb too close for comfort (“It took so long to get the smell out of my braids!” the blonde remarked). Also of note was the fact that the Slytherin Quidditch team celebrated their victory by pulling a prank on top of the Astronomy Tower: hanging a pair of knickers which no one knew how they managed to pull off (“I could have done way better!” Tonks claimed). All in all, it was the perfect end of the year party.

After what seemed like hours and into the mid afternoon, Hagrid made an unexpected but welcome appearance.

“Arigh’ there David?” he boomed coming up to the table. “Celebratin’ with one last butterbeer before yeh all go home fer the holidays?”

“Right you are, Hagrid! Come on, pull up a chair. Join us.”

“I’d love teh, but I was actually sent ter give yeh a message.”

David cocked an eyebrow.

“And what would that be?”

“Professor Dumbledore wants teh see yeh in his office,” the large gameskeeper replied looking a bit sheepish.

The group immediately went silent as they all gave looks of concern that all indicated the obvious question: did Dumbledore, even in his absence, know all along?

“If it makes yeh feel better, Dave the boggarts are almost all gone,” Hagrid tried to reassure him upon witnessing his distress.

“Thank you. But I best not keep him waiting.”

He reluctantly drained his glass, gave a goodbye to his friends and prepared to face the music.

Maybe Tonks will have a detention buddy next year

He didn’t want to think about a possible worst outcome.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Surprisingly, the password to Dumbledore’s office was the same as it was the previous year ‘lemon drop’ which made David wonder if it was an unintentional design flaw or genius due to the fact that most young witches and wizards had no idea what a lemon drop was. Either way, he didn’t think the upcoming conversation was going to be about muggle sweets as he stepped past the gargoyle and up the rotating stairs.

Unlike the last instance in which he’d been inside this office, the outline and appearance was not as wondrous a second time though the layout was still quite impressive. And on this occasion, Dumbledore didn’t waste any time delving into the matter.

“Ah, Mr. Grant. Please come forward.”

David did so, quite afraid that the Headmaster was not going to be so forgiving and direct him to pack his bags, his wand to be snapped in two. The warning at the beginning of the year echoed loudly in his head. However, whatever the old man was feeling he gave no indication as the bearded face and sparkling blue eyes remained passively neutral.

“This has become something of a tradition,” Dumbledore began. “Our annual opportunity to discuss life, love, endless heroics, and egregious misbehavior.”

“It seems so, sir.”

He was almost tempted to give up right then and there but if there was one thing he’d learned about Dumbledore in his time at Hogwarts it was to expect the unexpected. Therefore he decided to say little for now.

“I understand much transpired in my two week absence.”

“Yes, Professor. More than you could imagine.”

“Even the wildest imaginations could not have come up with the tales retold to me,” Dumbledore said, that familiar twinkle returning to his eye. “Dragons in the common rooms, mummies in closets, werewolves in greenhouses, and Voldemort himself lurking in every cupboard.”

You have no idea

“There was more than one report that even I made an appearance in boggart form.”

“I’m surprised people would be afraid of you sir….by the way does this mean the boggarts are all gone?”

A knowing look passed over Dumbledore’s features.

“I believe you have already made the observation for yourself, David. However, yes most of them are gone. It is important to note, however, that boggarts can never truly be banished because they are born of human emotion. Fortunately they can be of some use. Defense Against the Dark Arts classes can practice ‘Ridikkulus’ on the remaining ones for years to come.”

There was a slight pause in which the old man put something away into his magnificent desk.

“But I’m sure that’s nothing compared to what you faced in this latest vault. Please, tell me everything.”

So he did know. David supposed there wasn’t any use in playing dumb anymore as almost nothing got by the Headmaster in the first place. Yet, it was still amazing to him that he was able to glean his transgressions regardless.

“Sir, I-”

“There is no need to lie, David in case you were thinking of doing so. You are not in trouble for the time being. Please be honest.”

Reassuring enough

The third year Gryffindor acquiesced. Though he left out the details of some parts such as Tulip’s plan, his brother’s room, and the full extent of Bill’s involvement, he was truthful to the letter about what horrors lay inside and the fact that his boggart was You Know Who. Upon finishing his tale Dumbledore took a moment to muse before responding.

“This is all quite fascinating. It seems as though someone else tampered with the vaults which released the multitudes of boggarts.”

“Yes, sir. Originally, I did try to do as you asked at the beginning of the year.”

“And do you know the reason why your boggart takes the form of Lord Voldemort?”

Resisting the urge to shudder at the name, David debated on how to properly answer. Though he gave Tulip a truthful answer before, it was not the full truth, one that had only just come to bear by virtue of entering the vault.

“It’s not You Know Who himself. It’s more what he represents.”

“And what does he represent to you?”

Dumbledore’s eyes were piercing over his half moon spectacles but they were also gentle and understanding giving his pupil ample time to respond. When David did finally answer, it was difficult to get the words out.

“Guilt,” he said with tremendous effort. “Guilt over Jacob and why he left. The rumors after his disappearance about joining You Know Who were constant. If you want a reason why I went after the vaults again that’s the main one. To try and find him...I heard his voice speaking to me in the vault again...”

He couldn’t continue but there was no need to say more as Dumbledore nodded empathetically.

“Naturally. And if I had such information I would certainly share it. However, the mystery of Jacob Grant remains. While I cannot speak to his location I can speak to my personal theory that he yet lives...your bond is proof of that.”

David nodded in return but he was unable to discuss his brother any longer. Switching gears, there was a question he had for Dumbledore as well.

“Professor, you’ve gone at certain points in each of the past two years. Where exactly have you been?”

“Ah yes, I believe it is my turn to answer some questions,” the old man said with good humor. “I take it you’ve heard the wild rumors.”

“Almost every single one.”

“Then you must have discerned I was not in France to discern the magical properties of champagne though it is rather tasty I must say,” Dumbledore chuckled. “No, I have been seeking the world’s finest curse breaker. One who has had intimate experience with the cursed vaults. An exceptional pupil of mine back when my beard was shorter and browner.”

“Who is she?” David couldn’t help but ask.

“A woman by the name of Patricia Rakepick. At present she is currently exploring recently discovered ruins under the Brazilian wizarding school Castelobruxo.”

Familiarity with that name rang through the teen’s head.

“Rakepick...I know that name. I gave Bill a book about her adventures in cursebreaking. I had no idea.”

“Indeed, she is considered one of the magical community’s premiere experts on the subject. When the next year begins, she will be at Hogwarts to assist us with these vaults. I am most interested in hearing her opinion of them and of you.”

Dumbledore’s face then turned stern but the blue eyes did not lose all of its twinkle.

“You have directly disobeyed me, yet you have also once again broken a curse that threatened the livelihood and safety of everyone here. I am running out of excuses for you, David. If you repeat this offense again with a professional on staff, I will not be able to insulate you from further punishment.”

This was the Headmaster at his most serious and despite his general easy going demeanor it was not lost on David that this was also the only man You Know Who ever feared. It would not do to openly argue.

“Yes, sir. I’m sorry.”

Dumbledore gestured towards his left, indicating a bright red and yellow bird, sitting on a perch in all its splendor.

“Actions are far better than apologies. Take Fawkes for example. From time to time the Phoenix is reborn- fresh and rejuvenated. You have that power too. Take the summer, and when you return to Hogwarts, start fresh.”

David nodded emphatically taking in the beauty of the Phoenix.

“Yes, sir. I’ll do my best.”

The old man’s faithful smile was back again.

“In the meantime, take one hundred points for Gryffindor. I daresay that might take the sting out of losing the Quidditch Cup this year.”

“You don’t know the half of...I mean, thank you, Professor.”

Dumbledore laughed heartily.

“I can always count on a whimsical remark from you in our conversations, David. However, there is one more thing I wish to tell you. Though the Vault of Fear has been broken it’s legacy remains ever present in our lives. Fear causes human beings to act in ways they would not normally, and though the Voldemort you fought was only a boggart, the real Dark Lord used the exact same method to gain followers and seize power. Remember that it is only by confronting our worst nightmares that we rise above them and truly become better people. No doubt that is one of many lessons you’ve taken this year.”

The wisdom was not lost on the young Gryffindor. He did not need to be afraid of Jacob or him joining You Know Who. The only method now was to move forward in continuing the search for his lost brother.

“Yes, sir.”

Feeling he was dismissed, David turned to leave but not before one last telling remark from the Headmaster.

“David, my last bit of wisdom was not aimed solely for you alone. There are many other students who could stand to start fresh next year. Including one miss Merula Snyde.”

He didn’t respond to that and didn’t need to. The implication was clear enough. Everyone was going to go through some changes in the coming months. What kind had still yet to be determined.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Dumbledore’s last second gesture allowed the Gryffindors to eek by the Slytherins for the House Cup, which did not sit well with the snakes, however given that it was the end of the year, it was too late to do much about it. The party in the tower the night before graduation was legendary. So much so that Angelica Cole even drunkenly admitted how much she cared for and would miss him.

“You’ll be a great prefect,” she slurred, firewhiskey in hand.

David wasn’t overly concerned with that. The naming of prefects for his peer group was still another year away and he knew that Rowan or Charlie were the most likely candidates anyway. At the forefront of his mind was the long summer ahead, a time of relaxation and fun for most people, but for the Grant family there would be little to no vacations. His father would stay stoically silent, his mother constantly hen pecking...only his grandfather seemed to truly sympathize with him.

I reap the consequences of Jacob’s absence, he thought to himself at one point. Mum and Dad are incapable of seeing that

Still, he was able to enjoy the train ride home with his friends, which was a small consolation for the isolated, controlled environment he could expect upon his return to Bath. He scanned the prophet for any signs of beat writers catching wind of the boggart problem at Hogwarts but saw nothing, not even from the notorious Rita Skeeter. Breathing a sigh of relief, he supposed that unless Dumbledore lettered his parents, they would never know he had disobeyed them as well.

“Are you okay, David?” Rowan asked.

He tossed aside the newspaper and rubbed his eyes.

“Yeah sorry, mate. Was just finishing up checking the Quidditch scores.”

“Seems like something else is on your mind, though.”

His best friend knew him better than most people, so he supposed it was fitting he’d realize not everything was settled inside (least of which the eggs and bacon he consumed that morning).

“This year was the most interesting one yet,” he said aloud as he looked out the window. “And yet I feel next year will be even more so. My gut tells me a lot is going to change.”

“It may,” Rowan acknowledged. “But it may not be all bad. You’ll see.”

David turned around and observed the group in front of him- Ben, Charlie, Tulip, and Penny, his hazel blue eyes dilating slightly at the two girls, noticing just how pretty they looked.

“Yeah...maybe you’re right.”

“Besides if there’s one thing I can count on it’s cursebreaking adventures with my best friend.”

David clapped an appreciative hand on Rowan’s shoulder, warmth rushing through his heart.

“Thanks, mate...you’re just interested in reading about the Forbidden Forest this summer aren’t you?”

Rowan laughed at the joke.

“You caught me. Now come on, let’s go play some exploding snap.”

And so they did, and David was able to enjoy the last few sunny hours on the train. All the while he was able to heed the lesson this latest vault had taught him. It did no good to live in fear, especially when you had friends to count on.

But as it was every year, the ride back to Platform nine and three quarters was always quicker than the journey from there. Soon, everyone was unloading their luggage, saying hello to their families against the backdrop of the sunkissed day and over the roar of the hissing steam emanating from the train.

“Another vault down, another one to go,” Bill told him with a grin, shaking his hand. “Can’t wait to do this again next year.”

“As always, Bill. And who knows maybe we can finally get Charlie involved.”

“If you manage to get him away from dragons and Quidditch you might have a shot,” the elder Weasley laughed. “My folks are waiting in the parking lot, but make no mistake mum is very keen to meet you. We have to invite you for Christmas some time.”

“I’d be honored.”

Next was Tulip who had that ever present mischievous smirk but it was much softer in the presence of a farewell.

“Take care, David Grant. You’re a very intriguing person, and I can safely say I’m very glad I met you.”

“I could say the same about you, Tulip,” he responded genuinely. “Nothing we did this year would have happened without you.”

The eccentric Ravenclaw responded with something quite unexpected. She kissed him on the cheek and squeezed his hand once more.

“You’re many things, David Grant. Boring least of all, but most of all a good person. Can’t wait to make more mischief in the fall.”

She winked at him and ran off to join two people, which looked like her parents, one was a stern looking Japanese man with a bowler hat, the other an Irish woman with flowing red hair who also gave no visible emotion on her face. David felt a pang of empathy go through him. His parents may be strict, but he could only imagine what Tulip went through during the summer. He made a point of reference to write to her. Something told they’d both need it.

After exchanging goodbyes with Rowan and Ben, Penny was the last to see him off.

“Summer always seems dreadfully long even if it is my favorite time of year,” Penny told him. “Feel free to write me any time.”

“You know I will,” David said with a smile. “I’ll need all the post I can get.”

The blonde girl rubbed his arm encouragingly.

“It’s not forever, Dave. We’ll see each other again before you know it. Enjoy the holiday with your family!”

David supposed she didn’t know the true origins of his post semester blues, but he didn’t have the heart to tell her it was his family that was precisely the problem.

“I will, Penny. Thank you.”

For the second time in as many instances, he received a big hug and a kiss on the cheek, causing him to go red and touch the spot where he received the affectionate gesture, which made Penny giggle.

“See you next year, cursebreaker of Hogwarts.”

The last thing David had expected was two kisses on the cheek from two of his best female friends and it made him feel quite funny on the inside.

He had little time to dwell on these feelings however as his parents came into view a brown haired man with a goatee and a short blonde woman, waving and walking towards him.

“David!” his mom gushed, giving him an enormous hug. “So glad to see you safe and well. How are you? Did your exams go well?”

“Now, now let him breathe Heather,” his dad said with a light chuckle. “He just got off the train.” He ruffled his son’s dark brown hair in a show of affection. “It is good to see you safe and well, David.”

“Do you have your things unloaded and ready to go? Are you hungry?”

“Don’t worry, mum. I’m all set,” he said quickly to reassure her. Not even a minute in he was already tired of her smothering.

“Very good then, can’t blame a mother for asking.”

“I rented out a ‘Chevro’ something,” his father mentioned to him as they began to walk away from the platform. “Yank automobile. Runs pretty well, I know we can apparate but I’m thinking of buying one for myself. Dead useful these things.”

“John, please keep your voice down lest the entirety of muggle London know what we are.”

“Apologies, dear.”

His mother turned to face him and beamed a great smile but as it was since his brother disappeared there was a subtle sadness and anxiety within them.

“I have good news. We’re going to visit my side of the family this summer at their house for a get together. My brother is having another baby soon. I hope you’re ready for it.”

David thought back to his friends, his Professors, Dumbledore, the map, the broken arrow and the lively face of Jacob whispering to never give up. He looked up at his parents, two people whose lives were still run by fear...fear of losing him.

“Yes,” he replied. “I am.”

[theshatteredrose]

Relic Keepers: Awakening of the Red Lily (Chapter 13) - Original Fiction

AN: Kinda depressing just how long it took me to write this chapter. I’m sorta, kinda coming off of hiatus, but I have no idea when I’ll return to weekly updates. The main point is that I am enjoying writing and planning this project, and I am essentially writing this for me. If anyone takes issue with anything I’ve written, that’s not my problem. I’m just here to indulge in my own interests.

Anyway, enough of that. If you do read, I hope you enjoy. If not, then I hope you move along and have a nice day <3

Ao3 | Wattpad | Inkitt | FictionPress

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Chapter 13:

The morning air was cool and crisp as Eishirou stepped out of the helicopter and onto the dew-laden grass. The rising sun cast the Flutterlight Forest in a golden glow. Draping the greenery in an almost ethereal light. Inviting the unwary into letting their guard down.

Eishirou had to remind himself to stay vigilant. The lush green leaves, golden bark, and small colourful flowers shifting in the light breeze hid dark and dangerous ShadowDwellers. And those ShadowDwellers were not averse to destroying the environment around them to engage in battle.

He had to admit he was both excited and nervous about the expedition.

Heading out into the field with just Team 3 was a little bit daunting without Jacob there. But he got along extremely well with Zayne. Rinka was good company, too. And it wasn’t like they would just leave him out in the middle of nowhere. Jacob would never place him with a team he didn’t himself find trustworthy.

While it was essentially Eishirou’s personal assignment, Jacob did have one request of him during this expedition. And that was the map as much of the area as possible. A reasonable request.

He was also rather curious whether that centipede ShadowDweller created new paths for them to use. And whether its reckless freight-train like tendencies opened the way for new locations or ruins to discover.

Still, he hoped not to run into another.

Eishirou glanced around the landing area in mild curiosity as the Elite team gathered their previsions and equipment. His attention was soon drawn to the small pockets of red and blue flowers. There was a small patch of flowers close to him, so he knelt down and got out his tablet to take a photo. He then cross referenced that photo through the database of already discovered plants and flowers.

He wasn’t surprised when he got a match.

Felicia mauve cloud. Ah, blue daisies. Of course.

And the red flowers were…Ixora coccinea, or Flames of the Woods. Fascinating. He wondered if these flowers had any medicinal use. He’d have to talk to Neriah about it sometime.

“Well, shall we begin this assignment?” Ernesta stated more so than asked as she took the commanding role. “Zayne, you are the one who will see to Eishirou’s safety.”

“Got it,” Zayne replied without any hesitation.

“Eishirou, feel free to concentrate fully on your research. We’ll ensure that ShadowDwellers do not interrupt this expedition.”

Eishirou nodded. “I’ll try not to get in the way.”

Ernesta gave him a placid smile. “How would you like to begin this expedition?”

He didn’t answer immediately as he needed a moment to consider his options. It was his first solo expedition, after all. He didn’t want to be frivolous. “Our best bet is to head for the clearing and work our way around from there. I’m curious to see if that Centipede ShadowDweller unearthed new ruins or possibly another entrance to the mine tunnels below.”

“Very well. Zayne shall take the lead with your guidance, while the rest of us will concentrate on security and protection,” Ernesta commanded.

After securing his bag across his chest, Eishirou pulled out his tablet and the map function. With Jacob’s map overlaying his, he was confident that he could lead the team to the clearing. And ultimately back to that underground chamber with the mosaic. That was his ultimate destination in all honesty.

He was curious to know if his dream from the previous night was just a figment of his imagination filling in the blanks.

With Zayne right next to him, Eishirou took the lead through Flutterlight Forest. The name was quite accurate. Other than a few broken branches here or there, and thick shrubbery having been pushed to the side for a make-shift path, there was little change to the surroundings.

The birds were chittering and the insects were chirping noisy. The air fresh with only a slight morning chill. The wind was still for the most part, with only a tender gust every now and again.

Their trek to the clearing was a thankfully uneventful one.

The clearing where they first discovered the runestone and hidden wooden chest had seen better days, though.

“That ShadowDweller torn up this area more than I thought,” Zayne commented as he glanced around warily.

Eishirou nodded. It really did. Broken branches and heavily damaged trees. Torn up patches of grass and soil. There were even a few depressions that weren’t there the other day. It was highly likely that there was a partial collapse of a mine shaft just below the surface. And it was likelier still that there were numerous tunnels crisscrossing the entire area.

They had better be careful were they stepped.

That Centipede ShadowDweller had also opened up some new paths, rendering his map from back then out-of-date. But only slightly. So, it wasn’t anything to be overly concerned about.

Eishirou felt the distinct feeling of having dropped a few inches. It wasn’t overly dramatic, but it did startle him. Enough for his heart to skip a beat.

Before he could react, however, Zayne did. He swiftly scooped Eishirou up into his arms and jumped back a couple of feet. As he landed in a crouched position, his mana wings flickered into existence and one shifted toward Eishirou in an attempt to shield him.

Just as the ground where Eishirou had stood open up.

And a scorpion ShadowDweller crashed into view.

“I’ve got it!” Leon announced.

The ShadowDweller was still half-in the hole it had created when Leon used his mana-claws to effortlessly cut through the ShadowDweller’s large claws, rending it incapable of attacking him in return.

As the two dismembered claws fell to the ground and dissipated into that mysterious dark mist that seemed to make up the entirety of ShadowDwellers, Leon moved in to finish the creature off for good.

Zayne stood to his full height before he placed Eishirou back onto his own feet. But he kept his hand on his shoulder and pulled him close toward him in a protective stance.

Eishirou stared as mist rose from the corpse of the ShadowDweller, flittering it out of existence. The whole thing happened so quickly that he honestly didn’t even have time to feel frightened or even nervous. Startled, yes. Afraid? No. It was an odd feeling. He felt detached, in a way.

Yet, somehow comfortable.

It was likely because he had seen Zayne in action before. He had protected him numerous times before. So, there wasn’t like he had anything to fear, really.

Still, he was grateful that Zayne had been there. And reacted so quickly. He didn’t fancy another tumble down a hole into utter darkness below.

“Ambush predators, yet recklessly confrontational,” Ernesta mused aloud, both oddly curious and yet dismissive of the previous event. “We best practice extra caution.”

Eishirou returned his attention to his tablet and added a few notes of caution. The mines below made the area ideal for ShadowDwellers to ambush unsuspecting victims, be them Elites or Passive.

“We should move on from here. The ground is clearly unstable.”

The location of where that ShadowDweller appeared from indicated to him that the mining tunnels reached further than previously thought. Also, narrow paths may be more stable thanks to the tree roots and thick shrubbery keeping the ground compact. Though it did lead to the problem of a smaller battle area.

From what he had seen, Zayne and the others didn’t find the scorpion ShadowDwellers exactly difficult to battle. Their reflexes and level-headedness were quite astounding.

But that was what Elites did. They battled expertly against ShadowDwellers. They were truly amazing at what they did.

“Let’s move on to that underground chamber,” Eishirou suggested. “I need to give that a proper inspection.”

Once more, Eishirou took the lead with Zayne close to his side, taking his role of bodyguard seriously. Which Eishirou was honestly grateful for. As the path before them caused him to feel a sense of trepidation.

Broken limbs and felled fully grown trees littered the path. Broken into splinters. Thrown aside with ease. Telling indentations marred the soil. Created by hundreds of black, insect-shaped legs scuttering at an abnormal speed.

“Is this where that ShadowDweller chased you?” Leon asked nonchalantly as they walked cautiously down the path.

“Came barrelling through like a freight-train,” Zayne replied. “Able to hear it coming a mile away, though.”

Well, unlike the scorpion ShadowDwellers that liked to burst in from underground, the Centipede at least gave them a warning. A terrifying warning of breaking trees and thundering feet. But it was better than no warning.

The recently forged path might be a blessing in disguise. From what he could tell from his map, a new path to the underground chamber had opened up. Allowing them to reach it sooner.

They moved through the forest in silence. The birds and insects continued to make their noise, unconcerned by their presence. Other than a few fallen trees that they needed to climb over, there were no other obstacles to slow them down.

Minutes later, they finally reached the entrance that led to the underground chamber.

Eishirou pulled to a stop just outside the entrance, however. He felt the urge to inspect his surroundings once more. Lush foliage, thick shrubbery, flowers of red and blue in small patches.

Huh…the area around the entrance wasn’t damaged. No broken trees or torn up earth. Nothing to indicate that that centipede ShadowDweller emerged underground from here. So, it emerged from somewhere else, obviously. But where?

He…couldn’t see any place it could have appeared from. The area around the entrance looked untouched. Not a shrub disturbed. Not a twig broken. Nothing.

That would be something he would investigate later. He was more interested in inspecting the mosaic and underground chamber.

The stone doors that once barred the way had remained opened. Eishirou wasn’t all too concerned about them, even if they closed behind them. He knew how to reopen them. If they worked once, they were sure to work again. But if push came to shove, he was sure one of the Elites would just blast their way out.

“Hm,” Ernesta murmured as they moved to the centre of the chamber, her gaze forward. “So, this is the mosaic that Professor Chryses was referring to.”

Eishirou turned to look at the mosaic, too. Unmarred and in the same condition he had left it. Which was a relief. “That’s it.” He then pointed toward a small opening to the left of the room. “That leads to the underground tunnels. And they’re connected to mining tunnels.”

“And where we first encountered that centipede,” Zayne added.

Ernesta glanced over toward the tunnels and a frown soon spread across her face. “Hm. I am not comfortable with exploring those tunnels. Especially not with the possibility of encountering other ShadowDwellers in such a restricted environment.”

Especially that large centipede ShadowDweller.

“Unfortunately, if we’re to map the area fully, we’ll need to,” Eishirou explained as he pulled out his tablet. “Though, I’m reluctant, too. I’d feel better if there was a way to get in and out of the mines should we encounter trouble.”

“Blasting through the roof not an option?”

Zayne’s sarcastic quip caused a laugh to escape Eishirou’s lips. “I guess. I mean, if the situation was that serious.”

In all seriousness, though, he hoped they wouldn’t need to resort to such drastic measures. If only they could find a way to monitor ShadowDwellers from a distance or at least discover how far and deep the tunnels actually go.

Eishirou glanced down at his tablet screen. He just remembered how his map had alerted him to that centipede ShadowDweller a couple of days ago. A red dot that moved across the screen. He had honestly forgotten about it due to everything else that occurred. He could only assume that the map function had registered the presence of the ShadowDweller and added it to the data also.

Did that mean that if he encountered a ShadowDweller that didn’t immediately attack them (or is immediately destroyed), it will be registered to the map?

“Eishirou?”

Ernesta’s voice pulled Eishirou from his thoughts and he snapped his head up. “Yes?”

“Professor Chryses mentioned that you are able to see recordings from objects containing mana. Are you able to control what information is given to you?” she queried.

Eishirou was momentarily startled by the question. “Ah, well, it depends.” His gaze flickered over to the mosaic once more as a thought occurred to him. There was an abundant amount of mana contained within. “I could give it a try. Maybe if I try to receive a recording from the mosaic, I might learn just how far these tunnels reach.”

He slipped the tablet into his carry bag as he walked toward the mosaic. He ascended the stairs to the altar. The painting upon the wall was exactly the same. That shouldn’t be a surprise to him. Elites wouldn’t be interested in the chamber or the mosaic on the wall. Their first concern was ShadowDwellers.

But he was somewhat startled to note that his dream of the painting was the same. The rainbow-coloured hair, the flawless face. There was only one minor little difference; the eyes were open in his dreams. The painting before him had the eyes close.

…It was probably nothing.

Pushing his musings aside, Eishirou raised his hands and placed them upon the painting once more. He closed his eyes and attempted to use his own mana abilities to draw out the mana residing within the cave wall. And the mosaic itself.

Just like before a series of still images appeared in his mind. Quick flashes of moments in time so long ago. There was…there was a story attached to the images.

Men dressed in blacken overalls. A partially collapsed wall. Miners moving through the narrow tunnels. Torches illuminating shadowy creatures. Miners running in panic.

An entrance high on a hill side. Framed with wooden beams. With steel and wooden planks hastily baring the entrance.

The recording came to an abrupt end and Eishirou found himself taking a stumbling step backwards. Only to fall back against someone and an arm wrapped around his shoulders firmly.

Eishirou didn’t need to open his eyes to look at the one holding him upright. It was Zayne.

“You all right?”

Eishirou clutched his forehead as he nodded his head. “Yeah. I think it worked. There’s another opening. One…of the ancient tunnel. Connected to a mine shaft not far from here. But…the first appears only accessible from underground.”

Those other images; they told a story of how miners broke through into the ancient tunnels. They inspected the tunnels, curious and amazed. Until they encountered tall shadowy beings. Humanoids of the darkest of black. They ran, terrified. What happened to those miners was up to speculation. But the boarded-up entrance to the mines indicated that the mines were closed.

Was that a fraction of the history of these tunnels?

Were…ShadowDwellers around back then, too?

“Ernesta.” Tatsu’s terse voice prompted Eishirou to open his eyes and return to the task at hand.

“Hm?” Ernesta turned to regard Tatsu with a curious expression. But that soon changed in confused one when the other Elite handed her something. “That’s-?”

“It seems to be a badge from one of the Elite teams,” Tatsu informed briskly. “They must have inspected this chamber, too.”

A deep frown marred Ernesta’s face. “And dropped their badge.”

Zayne kept a secure arm around Eishirou’s shoulders as he guided him down the stairs and back to where the rest of the team gathered. He could see their puzzlement and concern easily. Which he understood. An Elite’s badge was a symbol of their superiority. A badge of honour, so to speak.

…If he was able to see images from an ancient mosaic, could he receive a recording from a badge? Though, that likely depended on the intent of the owner of said badge.

“Can I try something?” Eishirou asked as he reached for the badge.

Zayne frowned slightly. “Another recording?”

“Hm. Maybe there’s enough mana here for me to see what occurred to lead to this being dropped.”

He wrapped his hands around the badge and closed his eyes.

The images didn’t hit him as suddenly or as profoundly as the ones of the mosaic did. He saw an animated recording; one he hadn’t experienced before. It was from the point of view of the fallen badge.

A group of Elites walked through the chamber and headed straight for the side path. Like they had known it was there. The group seemed to be…huddled together. He could only see four members. Yet, Elite teams were made of five.

There was a sense of…uncertainty and fear from the badge. From the owner of said badge. They were confused. Startled…betrayed?

But then…a dark shadow appeared from somewhere behind the badge. It…scurried across the ground. Four limbs. Yet, it appeared human like.

…Just like those shadowy beings he saw from the mosaic.

The recording ended abruptly and Eishirou shook his head. Once again, thankful for the strong arm wrapped around his shoulders. He couldn’t help but feel threatened. And that the life of the Elite which the badge belonged to might be in danger.

“What’s wrong?”

“They entered the tunnels,” Eishirou explained, his voice surprisingly shaky thanks to the remnants of the recording. “But there was something following them. A ShadowDweller, I think. But…I can’t be too sure. They definitely headed deeper in, though. I do know that much.”

“I see.” Ernesta frowned as her eyes flickered toward the side path once more. “We…may need to follow, if nothing more than to sedate our curiosity.”

[andipxndy-writes]

Cheater - Allie & Jake

[[And now what you’ve all been waiting for... lol no one’s been waiting for this, I’ve just been hyped to write about it.

Anyway, ever since @a-simple-rper responded to one of my asks by touching on this topic, it’s been on my mind to actually write some stuff about it. Because it’s actually an important part of my canon timeline and I really want to get it out there. Do my muses like it? No. Am I writing this stuff and putting them through it anyway? Yes. I definitely cried whilst writing this.

Some people already kind of know about this, but here’s a proper thing! Hope y’all enjoy!]]

Cheater

Allie slammed down the research paper in her hands on the table between them. Whether it was for dramatic effect or not, even she wasn’t sure. But it sure got his attention.

Jake looked towards her with a start, eyes wide, before he forced an easy smile onto his face. “I don’t get what was so urgent that you needed to send the kids out so that we could talk,” Jake said with an attempt at a laugh. When he got no response, his smile faded. “What? What’s wrong?”

“Jake, are you a faithful man?” she asked, her voice uncharacteristically cold.

Jake scoffed and answered without hesitation. “Come on, Allie, you know the answer to that,” he responded simply. When the expression on her face didn’t change, he felt a wave of panic. “Allie?”

“Answer my question, Jacob.”

This time, he hesitated for a few moments before giving his answer, seemingly stunned, before starting with, “Of course I a—”

“Don’t you fucking lie to me.”

His blood ran cold. She knew. She knew.

“Nineteen years. Nineteen years we’ve been married. It was going to be twenty in a few months. A milestone, Jake. It was going to be big. You stayed with one woman for twenty years.” She pursed her lips. “Or so I thought.”

“Allison, I—”

“You think I don’t remember that business trips you took to check on Rosie whilst I was pregnant with Daniel? You think I don’t recall calling you to check up on you multiple times, at a time when you should’ve been able to pick up? Except, you didn’t pick up, because you were busy and I stupidly thought you were stuck doing paperwork with her in the office.”

“Allison, please—”

“You went on so many ‘business trips’ that year. And now I find out that you were with her—”

“For God’s sake, Allison, would you actually shut up and listen to me, for once?!”

Anger flared in Allie’s eyes, but she clamped her mouth shut, giving him the opportunity to do something she definitely didn’t think he deserved to do.

Explain himself.

“It was an accident, okay? Probably the worst accident of my life. I didn’t mean to get Mandy pregnant at all – it has never been my intention to have a kid I don’t know about and leave them to be raised with a single parent! It’s the worst feeling ever for both the child and the—”

“That’s not what I’m most pissed about.” She cut him off in the middle of his passionate ramble, stopping him before he could go too far. Though she certainly made it clear that she was pissed about that.

He stopped short, blinking in confusion. “It... it’s not?”

“No.”

“Then what are you—”

“Jacob, how are babies made?”

It took him a second too long to realise what she meant, and that single second caused her face to redden with anger, her eyes narrowing.

“Oh, so you didn’t even think that maybe, just maybe, you actually screwing my best friend was the problem?! Whilst I was pregnant?! And not even just once?!”

“Well her being my ex didn’t seem to bother you when we first got married!” he fought back.

“Well you hadn’t screwed her whilst we were in a relationship back then!” When he stayed silent, she practically exploded. “You’ve been cheating on me since before we got married?! You couldn’t even keep it in your fucking pants?!”

He grit his teeth frustratedly. “You were the one who was so determined to save ‘us’ until marriage! And I swear, I fucking swear, I never touched another woman like that from the moment we started dating!”

“Clearly that’s a lie, because Amanda has your daughter!”

“It’s not a lie!” He paused and then backpedalled. “Okay, fine, maybe it’s not the complete truth, but Mandy was the only one! I swear! And only after we got married!”

She stared at him for a few moments before scoffing. “I can’t even trust the words coming from your mouth anymore. You’re a lying cheat, and have been for the past however many years. And with an ex, no less. You haven’t changed since you were fourteen.”

“Fucking hell, why is it that you always have to bring up my past with me?” Jake demanded. “No one ever picks on Sam’s past!”

“Because Sam didn’t cheat on their wife, dumbass.”

“But they’re not a saint, for God’s sake!” He sighed frustratedly, running his hands through his hair to try and calm down. He had to think before continuing, otherwise this whole yelling match would go on for hours – and he knew for a fact that Allie could go on like this all day if she wanted to. “Look, Allie, let’s talk about this calmly, okay? I made a mistake. A fucking huge one, but still a mistake. And I’m willing to fix it, but God, Allie, you have to work with me, here! I can fix this, okay? I can make this whole thing better than it seems. I’m a problem-fixer, remember? I messed up big time, but I can fix it!” He took a few steps around the table that separated them, his heart shattering when she stepped away from him. “Allie, baby, come on. Please. It’s just one mistake. But I can fix it, I swear.”

The look of anger that had been clear on her features before was wiped away, only a cold stare remaining. “Didn’t you hear me earlier? You cheated on me with your ex-girlfriend, who also happens to be my best friend. You did it whilst I was pregnant with our second child and I was home alone taking care of our first. You lied to me about it for almost the entirety of our marriage. You have a goddamn child with her! And you’re saying you can fix it, like you broke a little pipe or a glass?” It was obvious that Allie completely disapproved of him acting as if he could ‘fix’ the appearance of a child. But she didn’t even address that. “Jacob, I can’t even trust you anymore. You went and did something behind my back when I was at my most vulnerable, and then acted for years as if it didn’t even happen and never even thought it would be a good idea to be honest with your wife and tell her you did something so incredibly stupid. You’ve broken my trust in ways you can’t even imagine. And I cannot be married to someone I don’t trust.”

“Then we’ll build up the trust again, just like we built our relationship at the start! We can start from scratch, from friends to being married, just like we did before! We can even go from the very start, from before we were friends and when we were just rivals! Come on, Allie,” he suggested, beginning to sound desperate. But he knew that look in her eyes. That look of resolution, of determination.

That look he’d once loved seeing on her with all his heart was coming for him, and he had a feeling he knew what was coming next.

Allie turned, reaching for something she’d left on the desk behind her, before turning back to him and handing him what looked like a Manila folder. He stared at it, before his heart plummeted as he realised exactly what it was.

“I want a divorce.”

[the-shadow-guards]

34. Or 52. for Miss Ava (or for whoever you would like!!) for the writing prompts?

HOW ABOUT BOTH

34. “Those things you said yesterday… Did you mean them?”

She was hesitant to knock on the door, but Lady Temple had said he wanted to speak to her. She could just pretend that she’d forgotten, and Eleanor and she could leave for King’s City before the weather worsened.

But her conscience wouldn’t allow it. And leaving before addressing the unspoken would just make a larger mess of things. It would be best to simply get it over with and not drag it out awkwardly.

Ava knocked smartly and waited.

It was already scandalous for her to be in his private sitting room. A young woman in his mother’s employ, unchaperoned and not family. Had the situation been any alternative, she would not entertain his request.

“You can enter, I’m decent!” he yelled through the door.

And Ava opened the door, every fiber in her body refusing to step over the threshold into a Lord’s bedroom.

What she could see was an absolute disaster. Clothing, probably dirty, was strewn into piles. More was on an armchair, accompanied by what appeared to be his Guards cloak. Books were haphazardly stacked in the corners, on his desk, and there was even more books sticking out of the blankets at the food of his bed.

Also at the foot of his bed was a pile of pillows keeping his broken leg elevated.

Ava noticed that his sock had a hole in the heel.

But with the angle of his bed and the door, she couldn’t see his face. And he couldn’t simply get up and walk around.

“El?” Lord Jacob called out. “El, stop hovering there and tell your damned governess that I would like a word.”

She would have to enter his bedroom. Ava gathered herself, promised herself this would be the one and only time she’d be in a Lord’s bedroom, and stepped around the door and into the view of the bedroom’s owner.

Lord Jacob looked as though he was already tired of being bedridden after less than a day with a broken leg. He also looked thoroughly haggard but had put in an attempt to comb his hair. A small condolence was that he wasn’t drunk anymore. “Ah. You’re not El.”

“You asked for me?” Ava didn’t wish to waste time on stating the obvious.

“Ah.”

She pursed her lips. “I presume this is about yesterday’s....” She paused, searching for the right word. “Declaration?”

Lord Jacob shifted in bed, pulling up the blanket like a shield between the two of them, revealing the extensive bandages spiraling up his leg and the wooden robs holding it straight. “Uh...”

Ava tore her eyes away from the injury. She didn’t need to image how horrible it must have been for Eleanor to see it break. 

He was looking at her. It wasn’t that annoyed glare she usually received. Lord Jacob opened and shut his mouth,

She stayed silent. He’d wanted to speak with her, and while she knew what the topic most likely was, she was not going to initiate the conversation.

“I-” He faltered. “Those things you said yesterday... Did you mean them?”

There was no gentle way to do this. “Yes.”

“All of them?”

“Yes.”

Color was creeping into his cheeks. Whether embarrassment or something else, she didn’t wish to know.

Ava looked away first. “I don’t believe I should recount the details. But you must understand how inappropriate it would be.” There, the worst was over with. She glanced back to see his reaction.

He was nodding at his elevated foot as if he was determined to memorize the knitted pattern. “Very well. I understand.” A mournful smile flirted across his face. “I would hate to cause the gossip Mother listens to.”

She stepped back towards the door. Towards the end of the awkward conversation. Her hand was on the door knob.

“Stay warm on the way to King’s City. Make sure Ellie keeps up on her training, I’ve posted letters to Guards there who can work with her. You know enough to supervise.” Lord Jacob gave her a little half-hearted wave.

Ava returned the wave and stepped out of his bedroom, firmly shutting the door. She leaned against it for a beat to compose herself.

This was not the first time she’d had this conversation with men, nor Lords, but this was the singular time that the interested party still retained his respect for her nor tried to wheedle her opinion to something different.

She straightened her jacket and left his sitting room.

Eleanor was at the end of it, silhouetted against the frosted window. Snow was steadily falling.

Ava cleared her throat. “We ought to leave soon.” She needed to leave soon. A week’s worth of travel would put Lord Jacob’s feelings out of mind. It would give him space and time to think. “Do you have something for the carriage?”

Eleanor sighed. “Oh, yes, I’ve got so many exciting things, like cross-stitch and books of manners and dancing diagrams.” She turned from the window, expression sardonic. “It’s going to be miserable, isn’t it?”

“Very.”

52.“Oh, gosh, you’ve insulted me! What ever shall I do? I’ll be mentally and emotionally scared for years!”

Ellie decided that Miss Ava’s lessons on manners were slightly more interesting when there was a second student. Especially when the other student was Vincent and the lesson was about proper conversation during tea.

Miss Ava had them sitting across from each other at a little tea table set up in the greenhouse. Had it been any season but winter, it would been lovely. But everything was coated in ice and snow and the greenhouse was barely warm enough to not need a cloak.

The Temple Manor in King’s City lacked the charm of Mrs. Temple’s manor in Caster. Everything was stiffer, the manor was tall and narrow, and the shrubs still alive in the greenhouse were meticulously groomed to be spheres. Nothing involving the natural part of nature was encourage. There was a study little weed growing between two bricks. Ellie was counting how many days it went before it was noticed. So far it was four days.

Miss Ava was perched on a chair, supervising them and the rapidly cooling tea.

Vincent looked utterly resigned to his afternoon being spent remembering his manners. He’s said exactly three words, her name, and a thank-you to Miss Ava after she’d poured the tea,

He’d also been chided for not pulling out Ellie’s chair for her.

Vincent’s response hadn’t encouraged Miss Ava to put faith in him.

Ellie wanted to take another cookie and cut it open just to scoop out the lemon curd in the center. Instead she straightened her teaspoon and napkin. Across from her, Vincent was scowling into his tea as if glaring at it could warm it up.

Miss Ava sighed. “Are you two this quiet when training with the Guards?”

Ellie shrugged.

Vincent’s glare slid from his teacup to the governess. 

“Well, you both ought to practice proper conversation. Even,” she continued to Vincent, “if it’s just for Eleanor’s benefit.”

Ellie sipped her lukewarm tea. “Let’s just get this over with.”

“Fine.” Vincent nudged his teacup away from him. “I would like to state for the benefit of your governess that when one sends an invitation for Guard training, tea with forced conversation is not what anyone is looking forward to.”

Miss Ava looked like she’d eaten something sour. 

Her tea was disgusting. Ellie set it back down. “Yes, I’m aware. Sword practice with your master would be better. Even against you.”

“Such a charming compliment.”

Ellie knew her smile wasn’t exactly kind. “Would you rather be having tea with Duncan Caldwell?”

Vincent’s glare could have melted the ice caked on the glass panes. “I would rather drink poison.”

“Vincent,” snapped Miss Ava. “Poison is not an acceptable topic for polite conversation.”

He leaned back in his chair, irritated. “Fine. Eleanor, are you liking the weather?”

Ellie kept her expression cool. “It’s nearly as frigid as your personality. And how are you finding the weather?”

His glower deepened. “How is that considered acceptable when she’s insulting me?”

Ellie protested before Miss Ava could answer. “You insult my knowledge at every opportunity you get.” She leaned in. “If you listen closely you can hear nobody caring.”

“That’s not fair, I apologize for that!”

“After I gave you a black eye!”

“Eleanor!” Miss Ava interrupted them both. “You gave him a black eye?”

“I deserved it,” Vincent explained, not looking away from Ellie.

She nodded in agreement and decided that with the direction of the conversation, paying attention to her table manners was not going to be one of Miss Ava’s focuses. Ellie delicately slipped a lemon curd cookie onto her plate. “Vincent made a comment about farmgirls and their supposed talents.”

He flushed. “You’re making it sounds worse than it was.”

“Anthony would agree with me.”

“Anthony is not here,” Vincent added. 

Ellie discreetly cracked open her cookie. “He would agree with me.”

Vincent sucked in a breath. “You claim to know my closest friend better than me? Oh, stars, you’ve insulted me! What ever shall I do? I’ll be mentally and emotionally scared for years!” He slunk ever further into his chair.

Miss Ava simply stared at him, at a loss for words. It was clear she hadn’t figured out what sort of person Vincent was.

Ellie scooped out the lemon curd. “Sarcasm doesn’t suit you, Vincent.” 

“Nor you.” He reached across the table and helped himself to the curd-less cookie. “And I am finding this tea has become an exercise in futility.”

“That’s something we’ve got in common.” Ellie sucked the lemon curd off her spoon and turned her attention to Miss Ava. “Might we go spar now? Master Jacob’s coming in a couple weeks once his leg is done healing and if he sees that I’ve lost progress, he won’t be pleased.”

Vincent broke the cardinal rule of table manners and put his elbow on the table. “Yes, might we go spar, Miss Tremain? It would be nice to learn something worth retaining this afternoon.”

Miss Ava looked between the pair of them. “Yes, I suppose so. I thought Jacob hadn’t been serious when he said you two didn’t get along.”

“Oh, no,” Vincent stretched out the words. “We’re the greatest of friends.”

“Precisely.” Ellie said sweetly. “The greatest of friends. And we’re going to go practice throwing knives at each other once Master Masonwell arrives.”

[anniekoh]

betraying big brother

Leta Hong Fincher’s book Betraying Big Brother: The Feminist Awakening in China is a fascinating introduction to China today -- politics, media, culture -- through the feminist activists trying to change politics, media and culture.

On the eve of International Women’s Day in 2015, the Chinese government arrested five feminist activists and jailed them for thirty-seven days. The Feminist Five became a global cause célèbre, with Hillary Clinton speaking out on their behalf and activists inundating social media with #FreetheFive messages. But the Five are only symbols of a much larger feminist movement of civil rights lawyers, labor activists, performance artists, and online warriors prompting an unprecedented awakening among China’s educated, urban women. In Betraying Big Brother, journalist and scholar Leta Hong Fincher argues that the popular, broad-based movement poses the greatest challenge to China’s authoritarian regime today. Through interviews with the Feminist Five and other leading Chinese activists, Hong Fincher illuminates both the difficulties they face and their “joy of betraying Big Brother,” as one of the Feminist Five wrote of the defiance she felt during her detention. Tracing the rise of a new feminist consciousness now finding expression through the #MeToo movement, and describing how the Communist regime has suppressed the history of its own feminist struggles, Betraying Big Brother is a story of how the movement against patriarchy could reconfigure China and the world.

Given how little the U.S. media reports on China, the book covered new-to-me flashpoints such as the Guangzhou Sanitation Strike, 

[Image source: Around 200 sanitation workers in Guangzhou’s Liwan district scuffle with police during a strike over low pay on 10 January 2013]

[Image source & caption: As basic services get privatized, there's a rising tide of sanitation worker strikes in the Pearl River Delta. But this one was unusual: the striking workers are mostly former villagers, displaced from their homes here a decade ago when the university "Mega Center" took over the island. Photo: Zheng Churan.]

132: In May 2017, Chinese authorities detained another three labor activists who were investigating working conditions at shoe factories in southern and eastern China owned by Huajian International, which made shoes for the brand of Ivanka Trump, daughter of (and advisor to) US president Donald Trump. The three labor activists were held at a detention center in Ganzhou, Jiangxi Province, until the end of June, then released on bail pending a trial. Several workers from the Ganzhou factory reported long hours stretching past midnight, low pay, and verbal abuse. One worker said that an angry manager had hit him in the head with the sharp end of a high-heeled shoe, causing his head to bleed, according to the Associated Press. Ivanka Trump and her company repeatedly declined to comment.

Despite the extremely repressive environment, labor protests and strikes continue, with women workers increasingly on the front lines. In March 2018, around a thousand factory workers—70 percent of whom were women—went on strike at the Simone luxury handbag plant in Guangzhou to demand back payment of their social insurance contributions. The South Korean firm Simone Accessories is one of the biggest manufacturers for global designer brands, including Michael Kors, Marc Jacobs and Coach, with locations in countries such as China, Cambodia and Vietnam. Simone Accessories began moving operations from its Guangzhou factory to cheaper locations in 2017, and the Guangzhou workers worried that they might never receive their long-overdue social insurance and housing fund benefits. The largely women workers went on strike, and after nine days of collective bargaining, reached an agreement with management over their demands.

Zheng Churan of the Feminist Five has linked her feminist activism with a deep concern for labor rights and working-class women ever since she was a student at the prestigious Sun Yat-sen University in Guangzhou. In August 2014, she went almost daily to take photographs and hand out protest stickers to the striking University Town sanitation workers. Their strike attracted a lot of media attention, but Zheng says reporters were only taking pictures of the male workers, even though 80 percent of the sanitation workers were women: “Why weren’t the women workers being shown? I decided I had to take my own pictures of the women, and we also handed out stickers to the women workers to express their demands and stick them on their faces and clothes. It was all very visual.” She posted an online photo essay with the title, “These Are Women with Strength and Power.”

One of Zheng’s photos showed a woman worker smiling at the camera, with a sticker across her forehead that said, “Guangdian Property, Stop Doing Evil.” In another photo, a woman worker had her fist raised, with a sticker on her cheek that said, “Pay Me for My Labor.” Another showed six uniformed women workers huddled together, laughing as they reached out their hands to do a team cheer, their faces covered with stickers saying things like, “She Gave Nine Years of Blood and Sweat/You Used Her Then Threw Her Away.” A male co-worker stood beside the women, cheering them on.

[Li Maizi (left) takes part in a 2012 protest against domestic violence in Beijing. Photo courtesy of Media Monitor for Women Network. Via Dissent Mag]

In Chapter 7, China’s Patriarchal Authoritarianism, Hong Fincher zooms out to the political context of how patriarchy and authoritarianism are being revised for 21st century China. 136: The threat from feminist activists was perceived to be so dire that in May 2017, the People’s Daily online—the official mouthpiece of the Party—published an announcement from the vice president of the All-China Women’s Federation warning that “Western hostile forces” were using “Western feminism” and the notion of “putting feminism above all else” to attack China’s Marxist views on women and the country’s “basic policies on gender equality.” “Some are using the banner of ‘rights defense,’ ‘poverty alleviation’ and ‘charity’ to directly meddle in our country’s women’s affairs, attempting to look for weaknesses and make a breach in the field of women’s issues,” Song Xiuyan warned. 

...

The collection Women and Confucian Cultures in Premodern China, Korea and Japan illuminates how premodern rulers deliberately used Confucian discourse to prescribe models of feminine behavior that would consolidate their hold on power.... In one of the volume’s essays, “Competing Claims on Womanly Virtue in Late Imperial China,” Fangqin Du and Susan Mann write that during the Yuan Dynasty (roughly 1279 to 1368), the government explicitly promoted a neo-Confucian model of family and womanly virtue as its official ideology, which was essential to its statecraft. Yuan rulers followed an early classical text, The Great Learning, which taught that “regulating the family was the first step in administering the state.”  ... It is striking how much recent Communist Party propaganda preaching “family values” harkens back to the Confucian discourse from the imperial era on womanly virtues.

This reminds me of how womanhood and nationalism were mobilized in 20th century Korea, before colonization, during annexation, and after liberation. I’m curious how things have evolved in North Korea.

In March 2017, just as Weibo was imposing a month-long ban on the Feminist Voices social media account and erasing feminist essays posted on WeChat, Xinhua ran an article (picked up by media outlets across China) entitled, “A Review of President Xi’s Greetings to Women over Five Years,” accompanied by photos of adoring female delegates smiling at him and applauding. “President Xi in many of his keynote speeches addressed the dialectical relationship between national development and family construction, showing the Communist Party Central Committee’s great concern on women and family work,” Xinhua reported. “Women play an active role in nurturing traditional family values … Virtues are precious treasures for the promotion of family harmony, social stability and the well-being of the next generation,” Xi was quoted as saying. At no point did the Xinhua article mention the critical importance of working women to China’s long-term economic growth. Rather, it focused entirely on how much Xi emphasized women’s obligations within the family—in particular, taking care of children and the elderly. “Women should take responsibility for youngsters’ education; boost the traditional positive virtues of the Chinese nation; and, contribute to the social ethos,” Xi was quoted as saying.  144: In March 2018, the All-China Women’s Federation in Zhenjiang, Jiangsu Province, started a series of courses for “New Era Women” (for Xi Jinping’s “New Era”) to “raise the quality” (tigao suzhi) of young women by teaching them how to cross their legs, sit, kneel, apply make-up and decorate the home like proper ladies, according to “traditional culture.” These government-sponsored schools are disturbingly similar to the unofficial women’s “morality schools” appearing in recent years, which teach women to obey their husbands.

[fishsona]

Kalo for a Heart Transplant (or: Opihi Wahine)

I fall into sleep off the edge of exhaustion. Drowning in the blackness, with a dizziness in my limbs.

My mind opens to eyes restless in a blaring red light. 

Then, my eyes really open to the brightest star of them all. Spearing his rays straight through my pupils. The afternoon sun has impatiently waited for my arrival.

There is my mother. Across the canoe. Spotted hands twirling above a row of lines. Hair as black and thick as she has always yearned for, gliding and flowing across her body to make her seem an age I’ve long forgotten. Topless, I can see her breasts have not been ruined by the lying man of medicine. Her face and body are full of an unfamiliar plumpness, but it fills me with a great wash of joy. She’s beautiful. She finally sees that I am here.

“Aloha awakea, ku’uipo.” 

This feels like the first thing she has ever said to me; her voice is not the voice I have heard for 18 years. There is something new in this greeting…

“Are you going to help me? Or just sit there for the next half of the day, Hana’ia?”

The words come out in her strange voice. There’s nothing atypical in her phrasing but something feels out of place. Of course, I’m never ku’uipo. I’m Smoochie…

Just as soon as the wave pours over me, I realize that my mother hasn’t said a word of English! How did I understand her displeased rhetoric? How have we both learned ‘Ōlelo Hawai’i overnight?

“Momma, where are we...?”

“Fishing.”

“But where?”

“Here.”

She was turned away from me to examine her lines. So many… When did she braid these? And carve the hooks? Or the weights?

Well, she seems pleased, I thought. It’s been a while since I’ve seen her so upbeat. Such a long, long while. 

Ready to contribute to my mother’s precious happiness, I put aside my confusion to see if there’s room for me to help. 

Once I roll up and start to move towards her, I feel something brush all around me. Startled, I let out an unorchestrated sound of surprise.

Unwavered from her task, my mother simply asks, “What’s wrong?”

“My hair!”

“And?”

“It’s long!”

“So, it is. 

“You are so silly, my opihi…”

She turns to me and presses her forehead against mine. Nose against nose. We breathe in together. Oh, how I can love my mother.

We part and I see her nose is broader than I remember. But, remember from where? Where else have I had a mother?

I sit back and examine my hands for a moment; thinking of all the times I have touched her. I remember a time of repulsion. But when? And… these hands don’t look right for some reason. I look at my mother’s- I see the white splotches always across her fingers. Quick, I see her feet are the same as they were, too. The same? I sense a wrongness… that maybe my hands are the ones to be pale. This knowledge must mean something. We can think about it later. Now-

“Do you need anything, momma?”

“A’ole, opihi.”

“Are you sure, momma..?”

“You could get ready to take the fish. Remember to thank the ocean.”

“‘Ae.”

I sat in the middle of her canoe and asked the ocean permission to take from her the fish we were after and offered her plentiful thanks for allowing us to catch them and eat the flesh from their bones. I expressed my love within our connection and my promise that we would return life to moana where she has given us life in sustenance.

Time passes and the sun makes his way closer to rest.

- - -

We have just as much fish as we need. Nothing more should be taken and what we have been given is our blessing.

I can’t recall the names of these fish- I guess I should know them- but it’s no worry. My mother lovingly handles them. I watch her hands lovingly caress each one’s scales as she rinses them and repeats her prayers over their bodies.

Suddenly, I notice her chanting has come to an abrupt end.

I look up to her face to see it has taken on a scowl. One that gets worse by the second. 

Her eyes bear directly into mine- her stare the sister of the sun’s shine.

“Momma? What’s wrong?”

She doesn’t answer me. I look back to her hands- never being good at handling eye contact.

A minute of silence goes by. I have since closed my eyes. These moments always instill fear within me. What will she do to me? 

I open up to the world to see a woman.

This woman is not my mother. Or how is she here? Is she my mother? 

But, my mother does not have skin the color of sand. Nor are her eyes blue like the sky. And never would she desecrate her hair to have it so pale as kapa.

“Momma?”

My not-mother returns to her stabbing gaze.

Her mouth leads headstrong into its assault.

“I’m disappointed in you, Hana.”

I say nothing. The lump in my throat is here to kill me. My tears are ready to fill my lungs. They fill my eyes even as I hold them shut.

“You’re not good enough. You’re not fast enough. You’re not obedient, or pretty, or likable. You’re so lazy and useless, I don’t know why you’re here!”

The words from my not-mother’s thin lips slice through me like razors.

A lifetime of pain returns to me. The razors come back. The memories come back, flooding me with anguish. The undeserving killers... I’m half-dead, already. All I need is to stop living.

“I won’t help you anymore. I don’t want you. I never wanted you.”

She takes no pauses, but in silence my heart burns for one.

“I wish you died when you should have. You’re not even good enough to do that.

“I hate you. And you’re worthless.”

Pain sears through my limbs. I remember the cuts all over.

I fall into not-sleep in exhaustion. Blackness drowns me. Suffocates me. My mother’s hair steals my breath. 

My mother steals the breath we shared.

- - -

I open up to water. My sun across the Earth. I’m sticky wet beneath my blue blanket. 

The softness was supposed to keep the nightmares away… Or something.

Keep my heart soft.

My small little fan is doing its best to keep me cool. It can’t compete with how hot it is in the room, though. Or the weather downtown, in any case.

And the terror that fills me at night has no match here.

My roommate lies across from me. Still sound asleep. Hopefully I didn’t say anything aloud, tonight…

I nestle myself back into bed, limbs wrapped around the blanket now to comfort my troubles. To release my heat, to release my heart.

I know I said I was tired of Jacob dreams, but this is not what I meant.

29.08.18

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I wrote this last year as a warm-up paper for my Composition I course. It’s meant to deal with the aspects of my trauma I was facing at the time. But, it is still stunningly relevant, up to just this morning. It is also a first attempt for me to breach the exterior membrane of cultural reconnection; the use of language in this piece very clearly lacks proper nuance of a supposedly ““real”” Hawaiian. My familiarity has since slightly improved, but I have elected to leave all of my errors and idiosyncrasies of last year in. All in all, it’s not a very remarkable piece but it is one of my very first tries at writing something that isn’t a “poem”.