#and that goose is really making a nuisance of itself

[pkmnshippings]

put the sound ON. there is another heathen in this video

[dansnaturepictures]

29/04/2021-More goslings and grebes at Lakeside and more 

I took the first picture in this photoset on my lunch time walk of some nice greenery I enjoyed seeing just before getting to Lakeside. As I walked north of the lakes in the extensive shrubbery and tall trees by a wet area between this path and the railway tracks I heard quite the commotion of Blackbirds alarm calling. When I looked into the trees I saw they were chaperoning a Magpie that was making a nuisance of itself, it was possibly dipping into their nest maybe to take baby birds or it could have just been the corvid’s presence that irked the thrushes in a protective way at this time of year. 

I walked between the lakes again after glimpses of the baby birds and did see the Greylag Goose goslings and young Great Crested Grebes on their mothers’ back some more three days running which is great, I couldn’t resist another greylag photo and I took the second in this photoset of this gosling. I walked on and was delighted to notice another bird here with young when I saw my first Canada Goose gosling of the season with its parents. Another special moment taking in a very adorable young bird. It continued my theme of young birds this week so well as coming back off of the amazing leave last week its really been so wonderful to see the spring develop so much at home with these stunning young birds. I took the third picture in this photoset of the baby bird and fourth of it with the parents. 

Enticed by the scene I took the fifth picture in this photoset of today I walked towards it to go back out to the east of the lakes on the main path and walk home. When another pair of Great Crested Grebes, the ones I believe raised the three chicks successfully that I loved seeing so much last year and I’d see them doing the little starting bits of the iconic courtship dance a month ago, caught my eye. They were sat on the water facing each other again and looking at each other, and they began to mimic each others’ movements and I was entranced and just watching this fascinating and amazing piece of nature a real spectacle that another person was enjoying a bit further along from me at the lake’s edge too. It was so mesmerizing to watch these elegant, magnificent and beautiful birds in unison with their crest’s up. Really making me feel so in love with the species as I have always been. I have to say it probably wasn’t one of the happiest days I’ve had lately but under my face covering I smelt a smile firmly emerge just as the sun did as the afternoon went on at home. Showing once again how nature can uplift me so much. I managed the sixth and seventh pictures in this photoset of the grebe pair as one thing standing out in this special moment too was simply how close to the birds I could safely get allowing for photos well and I am very pleased with how three photos I produced of these came out. A very special moment for sure. On the way out I took the third picture in this photoset of nice sky over Lakeside and as the day went on I managed the final two pictures in this photoset of great sky scenes tonight again at home. I hope you’ve all had a good day. 

Wildlife Sightings Summary: One of my favourite birds the Great Crested Grebe, Tufted Duck, Mallard, Mute Swan biting at low hanging tree branches which was interesting too, Moorhen well, Black-headed Gull, Lesser Black-backed Gull, Blackbird, Magpie, Carrion Crow by the waterbirds too, Woodpigeon, Collared Dove, House Sparrow, Starlings well at home and Lakeisde again and a really good Wren view. 

In other young bird news I got my first glimpse of the class of 2021 Winchester Cathedral Peregrine Falcon chicks on the webcam earlier. So adorable and brilliant to see it did excite me I may of course be seeing the adult birds then chicks eventually appearing on lunch times in a normal year if I was in the office and not at home. Its so great to see them doing so well again. https://www.winchester-cathedral.org.uk/the-peregrines-return-in-2020/ We joked how the grebe chicks had become the Peregrines with me checking on them nearly every day at lunch time last and they’re both stars this week for sure. 

[monstersdownthepath]

Monster Spotlight: The Horrible Goose

CR 2

Chaotic Neutral Tiny Magical Beast

Untitled Goose Game, ch. 1~5

It’s a wonderful day in the Inner Sea region, and you are a Horrible Goose.

The Horrible Goose is not so much a creature to be fought as it is an event to be experienced, like a curse, a dungeon puzzle, or a natural disaster. With a penchant for pilfering whatever items its 2 Str lets it drag about and shuffling people’s inventories around when they aren’t looking, the Horrible Goose can quickly make a right nuisance of itself even in the most patient of players. A party encountering its mischievous thievery for the first time will have no real problem in dispatching it, if they even see the need at all, but the main problem lays in the fact that it’s impossible to get rid of.

Imprison it, turn it to stone, Plane Shift it away, even slay it in you must, but the Horrible Goose is too Smooth and Good for these fates to stick, such occurrences an impediment to its fun rather than an end to its story. It will return to torment its chosen ‘foes,’ time and time again, emerging from around corners or from underneath small obstacles the moment it is no longer observed, typically announcing its presence with its Haughty Honk as it does. There is nowhere in the Great Beyond it cannot go in its quest to bother as many people as it can!

A party hoping for an easy way out from under this goosy curse will find their every effort thwarted For Terrible Reasons, the Goose’s strangest and arguably most powerful ability. For Terrible Reasons prevents any form of Divination and any form of magical information-gathering attempt from learning even a shred of fact about the Goose; Scrying sensors reveal empty space, Legend Lore comes up empty, Detect Thoughts reveals nothing but a singular, deafeningly loud Haughty Honk, and any spell that would normally allow communication with the Goose do absolutely nothing to let someone translate its awful noise into anything intelligible. Augury, Divination, Prognostication, and other forms of future sight cannot predict a single action of the Goose, nor do they take the Goose’s interference into account when anticipating the future. Even extreme measures such as Contact Other Plane and Commune reveal nothing and can explain nothing, the Gods themselves blind to the machinations of the Horrible Goose.

Smooth and Good renders the horrible bag of sound immune to not only death, but being charmed, Dominated, or otherwise magically controlled, leaving Animal Handling the only real means someone can use to calm the cantankerous waterfowl’s rampage and finally rid the party of its bothersome antics. Though the Goose does not need food, drink, or rest, it will accept offerings of any of the three in exchange for a few days of peace, and if the players manage to find out what it TRULY wants, they may earn themselves months of gooseless calm... though, inevitably, the Horrible Goose will grow bored and will once again venture into the world to sew chaos among the populous, and all the players can really do is hope it chooses to bother someone else.

You can read more about it here.

[halfusek]

1) I have a theory regarding what happens in Abomination. As you had explained, both timelines, both in Real World and Story World were connected until the break in Story World occurs with the death of S!Thomas, but there are some details that I consider important to understand the reason why Magenta did that. You mentioned that that death altered what was going to happen in the future in Story World, what if it happened... But what if S!Joey did it on purpose to avoid the same fate as

Hey ho hello there! Thank you for submitting this theory, it definitely isn’t a nuisance to me, I absolutely love it when people dive so deep into my story and have so many thoughts about it, I’m flattered! :D

And while it’s an interesting theory, I’ll tell you right off the bat that Magenta doesn’t really have that kind of insight to the reader’s mind nor mine. The 4th wall breaks indeed are supposed to be meta but it also was kind of a jab at the real Joey in that moment from him. There is no input from me as a “character” in the story, as Abomination was supposed to be a theory turned into a comic all along I’m only including there events which I have thought to be possible to be canon [with exceptions for a few “OCs” I had to make - random employees to fullfill other roles].

But there is of course a reason why story Joey is aware of, well, being in a story as there is a reason for him to act different than the real Joey! :D

Characters from the real world being now in the story world are more exaggerated, more “cartoony” as in the values that pop out most about them in reality, pop out here to the max. As for the story itself, their reality consist only of things relevant to the story. And finally, there’s this whole thing with the objectives these characters have and how they interpret them.

In a sense they are different characters. Especially those that haven’t died in real life.

But at the same time they are kind of the same person. Especially those that died in real life.

With a few exceptions here and there. :)

And this is where my answer is gonna get long with pictures attached and rambling so I’m gonna put the rest under the cut~

So, you know how there’s the Tombstone Picnic cartoon with it’s missing ending, right? As in - in the canon Bendy universe - when Bendy runs away from a skeleton and there’s a shadowy figure standing over him which he looks up and smiles and the screen goes black.

I’ve referrenced it a few times throughout the comic because it’s really important.

Like this old-ass panel comes from Part 2 and some events happening in it are Joey and Bendy watching the episode with Bendy getting uncomfortable about being imperfect - he looks at what’s supposed to be his arms and legs.

Generally parts 1-4 aren’t my proudest work art-wise nkjdf but there’s some things Very important to my little universe here.

I’d say especially pay attention to panel 101 in this batch.

Then, eons later, there’s part 33 and it’s one that got a few people confused that the comic is ending because this is the title I gave it when posted:

With the last panel of this part like this:

Because, technically, this is where the story of the real studio ends and is a turning point of the comic. So, in a way, it is the end. But not the end of the story.

What I assumed with the world of Bendy was that there are two worlds: the real one and the story one which is more like a cartoon. Not just because the story world looks cartoon, it even acts like one with repeating over and over again and not being able to change what’s been done in it [save for few details].

An ending of a very important cartoon episode is missing and never comes and that’s probably what is on the end reel that Henry plays when he comes around but playing the end doesn’t stop things from repeating, it simply puts an end to the current iteration of the cycle.

Back to the comic’s timeline - the story world is created.

I’m a silly goose, I know. :^)

Story Joey gets created and yeeted into the story world asmr - that’s panels from part 35 and it’s very short and weird. It’s not entirely meant to be taken literally.

It starts from little parallels between story Joey and story Henry - at least for how it is in my universe, they are both looping and starting from reading a letter from each other’s real life counterparts.

In the next part [36] this is what story Joey is looking at when he breaks the 4th wall and this is where the events start changing and he kills Thomas before he quits - generally part 36 is the “equivalent” of part 18 with some repeated panels and some a bit edited and these entirely new from the new timeline. But this is all for laying down the differences betwen real and story Joey off the bat.

You could say that real Joey “would do anything to make his dreams possible” but reastically speaking you’d expect a person to have some kind of brakes, that stop them from doing literally anything. Well, as story Joey is an exaggerated version of real Joey, those brakes kind of get done. He’s dead pan fixated on doing literally anything. And as real Joey on his way of moral decay accepted murder as a solution sometimes, story Joey kind of just doesn’t hesitate.

Another thing about parts 18 and 36 is the mention of Henry.

I haven’t gotten on it quite yet with the story Joey but what I’m gonna say is this: take real Joey’s obsession with blaming Henry for leaving mixed with leftover feelings he has for him and try to... simplyfy them and turn them Up.

Spoilers: it’s a mess.

OKAY BUT GOING BACK TO THE TOMBSTONE PICNIC WHICH IS REALLY WHAT MATTERS IN THIS RAMBLE-

In part 35 I lay down that I chose Joey to be the shadow in Tombstone Picnic.

At the time I took this decision I did it because I figured it just suits my version of the story better but honestly as of now I’m ever more convinced that it’s the case.

Because the reason why it being Henry would be cool is that if he was in a cartoon then he could be imprinted from this part of the reel - as this is apparently what’s needed in universe to print ink figures - so this is how in-game Henry would come to be.

BUT

Now DCTL has confirmed that regular humans can get inked and in BATDR trailers we met Audrey that kinda just looks like a cartoonified person which is very likely what happened to Henry. Also there’s this part in DCTL:

When Buddy Boris wakes up after being turned his Boris - cartoon - part of their mind is awoken. He sees a shadowy figure that seems dysproportional to him implying he sees someone with human-like proportions.

Then Buddy wakes up and he sees... Joey. 

To me the parallel is pretty straight-forward tbh  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

But, of course, I decided for it to be Joey long before DCTL came out so I guess it’s just a cool thing to point out lol

The one thing with how I presented it in part 35 is that Joey wears the labcoat - technically he shouldn’t be wearing it, he should look like Joey usually looked like when the cartoon was made - in 1929. But not gonna lie it makes more sense for the shadowy figure to look like that with the coat included :P

And so story Joey takes away the ending by... literally ripping it away, tearing it from the reel. It’s kinda literal and kinda a metaphor.

The explanation for it is my main point here. Why I brought up that story characters are kinda different from real characters.

Because story Joey IS his own character. He’s been his own character since 1929. He’s literally a print of the cartoon. Right from the Tombstone Picnic reel.

Both he and THE END.

And here’s a little theory/headcanon - I’d like to think that cartoon reels/parts of them used for printing cartoon figures kind of just... get erased from the universe. It would explain why we never get to see that part of the cartoon and why things like that happen in the Handbook:

Ah, a convenient random splash of ink.

So, that’s why story Joey is literally ripping the end away from the cartoon world, because this part is being taken away. Forever.

And what happens with Henry ending the story is that he... imprints the ending itself.

The end is brought to life, and the end = death and welp to me it appears that Henry has the role of the “reaper” as he’s connected to maaaaaaanyyyy death themes, literally called to “be one to bring death” and can get a cool scythe.

Soooo story Joey isn’t just story version of the real Joey, he’s not just Joey 2.0.

He’s the shadowy figure and essentially - a toon.

That was the main thought of this ramble but as I’m on it I’ll throw more stuff linked to this:

In part 41 story Joey visits Bendy for the first time in the story world - real Joey did it right after Thomas tried to quit, but again, story Joey had different priorities.

And. Throwback. Remember part 2? Where Bendy and real Joey watched the Tombstone Picnic? The reason here it’s Tasty Trio Troubles is kinda because in part 40 Butcher Gang figures were created from Lacie, Shawn and Grant so this is like a follow-up. 

But back to part 2. Bendy was uncomfortable with his lack of limbs back then.

Parts 1-2 and 41 have a few panels that are intentionally drawn to look similiar or almost the same even, same with dialogue, like that:

Never trust me when I do that.

The reason is because-

I’m a clown. :o)

[that-cunning-mind]

The Untitled Chuckie Sputterspark Origin Fanfic Pt.1

(Guess who wrote a fanfic for the first time in years lmao...

Read below if you want to see my take on how @based-ducks​ and me thought up of Quackervolt fankid Chuckie Sputterspark’s origin...somewhat)

As the crisp, evening air descended upon the moonlit shadows of St. Canard, a particular purplish protector of the poor found himself investigating a case of deductive interest. A case of shadowy intrigue and mystery. A case that would decide the future of St. Canard in its epic battle between good and evil.

A case of price gouging tickets at a pizza arcade.  

“Twenty dollars for an adult ticket and twelve for kids over ten years old? Why these crooked capitalist crooks, thinking they can force parents to come in here and charge them extra! I should just quit SHUSH and open up one of these places myself! I’ll be richer than Glomgold!” Part-time superhero and full-time parent Drake Mallard grumbled under his breath as he handed over his card to the tired teenager manning the cashier. His daughter, Gosalyn, was busy putting on the paper bracelets on herself and her other father, Launchpad McQuack. 

“It can’t be that profitable,” Gosalyn said, “I mean, they’re taking out all of their animatronics! Can you imagine Pepper Panda’s Pizza Pagoda without Pepper Panda and the Pie Gang? I tell ya, there’s gonna be rioting in the streets after tonight! RIOTS!!!” Launchpad, not expecting the outburst, startled and ripped his flimsy paper bracelet. 

“Eheheh,” he laughed nervously, “you guys got any tape or...”

“Ten dollars to replace any missing or broken bracelets,” said the cashier. 

Launchpad turned to his husband with big puppy-dog eyes, a method that tended to work about 99% of the time. Drake grumbled some more as he took a solitary bill out of his wallet. 

“If it wasn’t for our case,” Drake whispered harshly as they walked inside the pizza eatery, “I’d leave you outside in the car.” 

“Aww,” Launchpad pouted, “but you know how much I love coming here! Plus, I know how much the animatronics scare you, DW.”

Drake scoffed. “Scared? The daring duck detective isn’t scared of any cheaply-made robot! Drakey Mallard, on the other hand, never recovered from that time he thought Cheddar Charles was going to bite him at Elmo Sputterspark’s tenth birthday party.” As he spoke, a run down animatronic of a child-sized rat in blue overalls and a yellow shirt sprang to life, scaring Drake into Launchpad’s arms. Gosalyn just rolled her eyes and sighed. 

A crackly speaker from the animatronic known as Cheddar Charles started. “Hey kids! Pepper Panda and Pie Gang’s Nighttime Spectacular is about to start in ten minutes! Grab a seat now!”

“I’ll go grab us a table,” yelled Gosalyn as she ran to a booth. 

Launchpad let Drake climb off of him, then sniffed and wiped away a tear. “I can’t believe it, after forty years the Pie Gang is going away for good!”

“Launchpad, the case? Remember the case?” asked Drake. 

“Buh-“

“We’re here to stakeout the joint and lie in wait for that nefarious thief, Dr. Anna Matronic! Dishonorably discharged from the Imagineers, that raving robotics rascal will be using the Pie Gang’s farewell show to unveil her deadly creations. Little does she know that I, Darkwing Duck, will be waiting for her! Now, any questions?”

“Uhh, can we order the extra-large with cheese?” 

Drake simply sighed as he moved to sit down on the sticky seat. 

“Gee DW, what makes you think she’ll show up with all these people around?” asked Launchpad. 

“Because, as a former Imagineer, she’ll no doubt want to watch such a historic show one last time. Although, I can’t imagine what kind of psyche an adult must have to want to watch Pepper Panda and the Pie Gang willingly.” 

———

“Come on Megsy! I’m not gonna miss Pepper Panda and the Pie Gang’s final performance because of you!” 

Little did Darkwing Duck know that behind the scenes, his two mortal enemies Quackerjack and Megavolt would be attempting to watch the show as well. However, they were taking a break from their usual crimes and attempting to have their monthly date night, per Quackerjack’s insistence on coming to see the last hurrah of the animatronics he grew up watching. Megavolt, meanwhile, was trying to carry leftover pizza boxes up the scaffolding over the stage as he and Quackerjack prepared to take their seats. 

“You know, I think I kinda remember coming here as a kid,” said Megavolt. Quackerjack was surprised to hear this, as it was rare for Megavolt to remember anything before his fateful transformation into Megavolt. He pressed on with a simple, “Oh?”, demonstrating a rare moment of selfless interest. 

“Yeah,” Megavolt continued, “I think I had a birthday party here once. Mom forced me to invite everyone in my class, so I spent most of the day playing with the animatronics. I even got Cheddar Charles to almost bite this one duck, Jake. Or was it Lake...” Megavolt trailed off as his train of thought was derailed yet again.

“You must have been quite the kid growing up, a public nuisance in the making,” laughed Quackerjack. He looked off to the side in an almost wistful manner. “Though if I was a parent, I wouldn’t force you to hang out with any snot-nosed brats that stuck their faces into an arcade game!” Megavolt twitched, deciding not to tell Quackerjack that he definitely remembered sticking his face into arcade games as a kid, one of the happiest moments in an otherwise bullied childhood. 

But more importantly, Megavolt picked up on Quackerjack’s wistful tone and cursed himself internally for bringing up his childhood. “Come on Quacky,” he whined, “we’ve been through this already. We can’t just-“ 

“Well, so what?” interrupted Quackerjack, “It’s just not fair! Lots of kids have parents that go to jail!” 

“Yeah, but their parents aren’t criminal masterminds guilty of trespassing, theft, vandalism, and littering!” 

Quackerjack pouted, “You throw a banana peel on the ground one time...”

“I’m serious Quacky,” Megavolt frowned, “we can’t just bring a kid into the super-villain business! Do you want to be like Dorkwing and have a pipsqueak get in our way?” 

“Need I remind you,” hissed Quackerjack, “that his pipsqueak is fully capable of handling herself?”

“Ugh,” shuddered Megavolt, “don’t. Remind. Me. I still have the bruise marks from the last hostage attempt...”

“See?! The two of us could totally take care of a kid! All a kid really needs is food, a loving home, a pocket grenade...,” Quackerjack droned on, almost forgetting the point of his argument. Megavolt had to snap him back to reality if he was ever going to finish this conversation. 

“Hey don’t get me wrong, it’d be nice to have some kids that aren’t just the poor, enslaved bulbs of St. Canard,” said Megavolt. “But, don’t tell me you aren’t the tiniest bit worried of screwing the kid up?” At this, Quackerjack pursed his lips and went uncharacteristically still, not daring to look at Megavolt in the eye.  

“Besides,” Megavolt continued, “what if we go to jail without it? How would a normal kid protect itself? What if F.O.W.L or Negaduck found out about them and-“

“Oh alright fine! You’ve made your point, gloomy pants!” Megavolt shut his mouth quickly, turning to get a slice of week-old pizza and hopefully move on from this talk. Quackerjack pulled out his beloved Mr. Banana Brain, in an effort to calm himself before his temper took over. “Some date night this is! I’ve seen better chemistry in a high school science lab!” 

“Butt out, banana boy!” Megavolt grumbled. “Great, could this date get any worse?” 

The explosion that rocked the building answered that question. 

———

The duck family ducked under their table as dust filled the room, sending screaming families in a panic. A giant hole had opened up in front of the stage, and from it rose a goose in a purple trench-coat honking maliciously. This was-

“Dr. Matronic!” Drake shielded Gosalyn behind himself as Dr. Matronic climbed onto the stage. 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” she cried out, “children of all ages! To all who come to this happy place, Pepper Panda’s Pizza Pagoda is now MY Pizza Pagoda! Which means the animatronics are now mine to keep! Mwahonkhonkhonk!”

Gosalyn stuck out her tongue in disgust. “Ugh, you call that an evil laugh? A baby would sound more menacing than that!” 

“Never mind that now,” said Drake, “we’ve got to get these people out of here! Launchpad, Gosalyn, evacuate the building while I keep her busy.” With a plan of action in place, the daring duck of mystery went off to find a broom closet to change in. Unfortunately, it was a very tight squeeze, as Drake tried to change and avoid the brooms at the same time. 

“This night couldn’t possibly get worse...,” muttered Drake. 

——

“Megavolt! That stupid doctor just ruined our date night!” Quackerjack’s temper had come out in full force, and now he was ready to let it all out. 

“The nerve of some people! I mean, who breaks into a pizza parlor and steals the animatronics??” Megavolt yelled. Sparks started to fly as he locked onto the target of his ire, who was beginning to disassemble the helpless robots. “D’ohhh! Well at least it can’t get any worse.”

The blue smoke cloud that burst out answered that. 

“Gah! Will you stop saying that!” shouted Quackerjack. 

“I am the terror that flaps in the night!”

“I am the cheese pizza that burns on the taste buds of crime! I am Darkwing Duck!” Like clockwork, the purple caped crusader appeared out of the smoke. 

“Oh no. It’s Darkwing Duck. Whatever shall I do,” said Dr. Matronic, not intimidated in the slightest. Failing to frighten his foe, Darkwing pulled out his gas gun as his mood worsened. 

“Listen here doc! I may not like these rusty robots, but there’s no way I’ll let you take them away! Now suck gas, evildoer! Schpadoink!” As he shot off a canister of knockout gas, a Dalmatian puppy came out from behind Dr. Matronic and caught the canister, throwing it away from the doctor. 

“What the-!” 

“So,” Dr. Matronic grinned maliciously, “you don’t like rusty robots, eh? Well, I’m sure you’ll find that they have their uses!” Dr. Matronic pulled a walkie-talkie from her coat, and yelled, “Code 101: ATTACK!!” 

From the crevice, a noise of barking and howling approached, growing louder and louder until from out of the hole, one hundred robotic Dalmatians came bursting out. 

Darkwing gulped, hoping to hide his nervousness. “Alright, you digital dog deviants, prepare to face the might of Dark-AAAACK!!” The dogs never let him finish, immediately pouncing on Darkwing and biting everything that belonged to the flapping terror. 

“WHAT IS IT WITH YOU AND DALMATIANS!!!” 

“Well, since you’re tied up at the moment, I might as well explain my origin story,” said Dr. Matronic as she got to work detaching the Pie Gang from the stage. “You see, those Imagineer fools said it was impossible to make one hundred and one animatronics! They said it was too expensive! That I was a lunatic! Well who’s laughing now, huh?! Mwahonkhon-AHH!” 

Before the doctor could finish her evil laugh, a bolt of electricity from behind the stage curtain zapped her and sent her flying off the stage. In her hands she grasped the Cheddar Charles figurine, the remote controlling the chaotic canines flying off somewhere else. 

Megavolt stepped out onto the stage, a wide manic grin on his face as his hands lit up. “Well, looks like we’re the ones laughing now, and much better at it too! Aheeheeheeheee!” With a flick of a wrist, Megavolt shot another electric bolt at the pack of piranha-like puppies, putting a stop to their attack on the poor, punctured defender in purple as they scattered off.  

“Th-thanks for that...Megavolt,” Darkwing said shakily, as he attempted to stand up and not jostle his wounds at the same time. “Wait a minute, WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?! I swear, if that lunatic toy-maker Quackerjack is here too I’ll-“

What Darkwing would do, Megavolt would never know, for at that moment Quackerjack decided to introduce himself with one of his patented exploding toys. Laughing maniacally, he took out his signature mallet as he attempted to stomp out any robot trying to attack him. Dr. Matronic began turning her attention towards the most annoying threat in the room, directing robot after robot at Quackerjack. 

“What, did all the freaks decide to come out tonight?!” yelled Dr. Matronic, as she whipped out a small flamethrower aimed at Quackerjack. The jester merely giggled and blew raspberries as he dodged all of her flame attacks. Darkwing and Megavolt, however, were not as lucky, and had to hide behind an overturned table to avoid the flames. 

“Oh great,” sighed Darkwing, “the cherry on top of my already lousy sundae. Could this possibly get any worse?” Megavolt let out a yipe and braced himself. 

“Uhh, you alright there Mega-,” asked Darkwing, before Megavolt clasped a hand around his bill. 

“Don’t say that again! The universe has been more vindictive than usual today whenever somebody says that!”

“Alright alright, I’ll stop! Now, either help get me rid of this riddle-some ridicule of our rights, or GET OUT!” Megavolt’s train of thought got back on track, his temper overtaking him as he remembered his terrible night. 

“Uhh, Sparky-“ said Darkwing, before a stray bolt from Megavolt zapped him away as the electric rodent turned back to Dr. Matronic. 

“YOU RUINED DATE NIGHT!!!” roared Megavolt. Darkwing was dumbfounded, for once Megavolt hadn’t responded to his hated nickname of Sparky. Dr. Matronic began to worry, as she was inexperienced against the full force of the Quackervolt duo. Darkwing stepped back, hoping to get the upper hand as the villains fought each other when who should appear but Gosalyn.

“Don’t worry Darkwing, I’ll help ya!” cried Gosalyn. 

“Gosalyn, NO!” Darkwing dived towards his daughter, shielding her from the wayward flames with his cape as he caught the full brunt of the attack. Dr. Matronic took the time to gloat evilly at her fallen foe. 

“Well well well, guess the Pizza Pagoda is serving roast duck tonight! MWAHAHAHAH! How’s that for an evil laugh, by the way?” In her distraction, she failed to notice Megavolt and Quackerjack charging up the remaining animatronics, bringing them back to life. 

“Hey lady, ever heard of the Bite of ‘87!?” they both yelled. 

“The Bite of ‘87? That’s just a-“ Dr. Matronic looked back and saw the looming, terrifying animatronics trudging towards her. She gulped.

“...Just a myth,” she finished quietly. 

As the robots began their attack, Launchpad came in and helped Darkwing to his feet. “Gee DW, how’re we gonna stop those three?” 

“Oww, can’t we jus’...let ‘em kill each other?” Darkwing meekly asked. 

Gosalyn, guilty over her father’s second degree burns, tried to remember about any useful information pertaining to the animatronics. 

“Well, I read online that old robots used to explode from time to time...” she suggested. Inspiration struck Darkwing, reaching into his pockets for a special gas canister. 

“Launchpad, hand me my gas gun!”  With his weapon in hand, Darkwing loaded up the canister and aimed between the animatronics. “Get behind that column,” he motioned. 

Megavolt, taking a break from the action that was almost too exciting to put in words, took a side glance to see Darkwing’s fan club hiding behind a concrete column. As he wondered what was going on, the duck pulled out his gas gun and yelled, “hey Dr. Matronic, see if your pooches can stop this knockout gas!” 

Darkwing shot out the canister towards the animatronics and quickly took cover. As planned, Dr. Matronic took aim with her flamethrower, unable to tell the difference between knockout gas and explosive gas. 

FWOOSH! 

KABAM!! 

“SHPOOSH-“

“Dad! Do ya have t’ make sound effects right now?” 

“Oh, right, sorry,” Darkwing sheepishly said. “Well, better make sure no one died or anything.” As the smoke dissipated, he could see Dr. Matronic knocked out on the ground, singed and certainly not triumphant. Quackerjack, who had tried to run from the explosion, was somehow still standing, albeit close to passing out at any second. Behind them, all of the animatronics were nothing more than scrap, their somewhat cute faces now melted and resembling characters in a subpar horror video game franchise. 

Megavolt was nowhere to be seen. 

“Uh-oh, Megavolt?” The prospect of being arrested for manslaughter began to unnerve Darkwing.  “Hey Quackster, you seen your boyfriend anywhere?” 

The only thing Quackerjack heard through his concussion was ‘Megavolt’, and tried to snap out of his daze as best as he could. 

“Megsy! Sparky-poo, where are you!? Ooooh, I’m gonna get you for this Darkwing Duck!” But before Quackerjack could get him, the sound of police sirens could be heard in the distance. 

“Mmm, but maybe not today,” said Quackerjack, and then took out Mr. Banana Brain. “Time to hit the road, Toad,” he said in a falsetto voice. 

“MEGAVOLT! See you at the hideout!” And Quackerjack ran backstage, toppling over Launchpad who had attempted to catch him. 

“Ah geez, sorry DW, he got away. Should we go after him?”

“Nah,” said Darkwing, “I’ve got enough on my plate with Miss Robot over here. Also I gotta make sure Megavolt didn’t explode or something,...”

“Ughhh,” groaned Dr. Matronic, “that’s DOCTOR- wait. The animatronics! What have you done to them you fiend?!” Before she could freak out entirely, the police came in, slapping handcuffs on her and leading her away. 

“Why I say I say, ah-thank you Mr. Duck sir.” 

The team looked back and saw a rotund rooster in a tacky pizza print suit come up to them, taking Darkwing’s hand and shaking it profusely. “I am the owner of this here establishment, Rolan N. Dough the Third, thought you may call me Mr. Dough. I must congratulate you sir on a job well done!” 

“Ah-yep, yep, yep, all in a day’s work for Darkwing Duck, Mr. Dough!”

“So you’re not mad that he blew up your animatronics?” piped up Gosalyn. Darkwing hurriedly placed his hand over her bill, “Gosalyn! Ix-nay on the obot-ray! Ahaha, kids...” 

“On the contrary, Mr. Duck, I’m overjoyed! Thanks to you, I’m gonna save a fortune on properly preserving those robotic freaks! And receive a rather sizable insurance check! A nice little profit for today’s events!” 

Darkwing soured, remembering his distaste for the Pizza Pagoda once more. “You’re welcome, sir.”  

“I simply must reward you! How does a coupon for a free pizza sound?” 

Launchpad’s stomach rumbled at the sound of that. “Gee DW, can we cash it in now?” 

Darkwing sighed, “Fine, fine, we’re not coming back here anytime soon.”

As Launchpad and Mr. Dough made their way to the pizza station, Darkwing crouched down to check on Gosalyn for any injuries. 

“You ok?” he asked. “I mean, aside from seeing your favorite pizzeria in ruins that is?” 

“Yeah,” she sighed, “I’m just sad the Pie Gang met their end like that.”

“Well it’s an Italian eatery owned by a Southerner themed around China, it was bound to end horribly. You gotta admit though, it was a pretty cool explosion.”

“Okay yeah, it was pretty cool. I mean the way that flamethrower just went GWOOSH and the canister was like SCHPAAAAM! Not too bad from Darkwing and his helpful sidekicks, huh?”

“Oh, that reminds me, you’re still in trouble for running in like that.”

“WHAT? Daaa-uh, I mean, Darkwiiiing!” The two walked away, preparing to stop Launchpad from spending more than $50 on pizza. 

“Hmm, I feel like I’m forgetting something though,” said Darkwing.

“Ah well, I’m sure it was nothing important,” reassured Gosalyn. 

———

In the subterranean hole where Dr. Matronic had come from, Megavolt had begun to regain consciousness, slowly sitting up as he willed the surroundings to stop spinning. 

“Owwww, that’s it, next date night will be at the mini golf...” 

From below, he could hear the faint voice of Quackerjack at hysterics, then fading away. Then he heard the shrill voice of Dr. Matronic screaming over the ruined animatronics. Megavolt perked up, remembering the explosion with clarity now. 

“NO NO NO! The animatronics! Darkwing Duck and that stupid doctor lady ruined my childhood! This is worse than that reboot of my favorite movie with an all-female cast! Why I oughta-OW!!”

In his rage, Megavolt failed to notice an object in his path, and stubbed his already fragile toe against it. He was prepared to blast it to smithereens, when he noticed something familiar about the object. 

Something metallic. 

“Wait...it can’t be,” he muttered. He crouched down, digging through the rubble until the object was set free. It was Cheddar Charles, banged up a little but perfectly intact. 

“Oh you poor thing,” Megavolt cooed, “you must’ve fallen down here after that mean old Darkwing blew us up!” He cradled the orphaned robotic mouse in his arms, feeling his paternal instinct flare up as he gently dusting the dirt off of it. A ghost of a childhood memory panged within him, recalling a time in his life when he felt safe and loved, unaware of the harsh realities of life that would face him later on.

Was it too insane to believe that he could pass that love on to something else?

He loved Quackerjack. He loved his life of lightbulb liberation. But if Megavolt was honest with himself, maybe there was something nice to the whole family concept. Maybe the idea of taking care of something and watching it grow with someone he loved seemed exciting to him. Maybe Darkwing had the right idea about having a kid sidekick-

Nope. It’d be a cold, day in Hell before Megavolt would admit to being jealous of Darkwing Duck. 

He took out one of his trusty light bulbs to illuminate the scene, when an idea came to him. 

“Wait a minute,” he said, “Quacky and I want a kid. This little guy doesn’t have a family anymore. That means...that means! Wait, where was I going with this?”

The Cheddar Charles let out a shock, charging up Megavolt once more. 

“Oh right! Welcome to the family, new son! This is gonna turn out way better than that time I split Darkwing into two.” He took his son into his arms, already bonding with the temporarily lifeless robot. 

“But ya know, Cheddar Charles is kinda long for a name. How about I call you...Chuckie!” 

------

Meanwhile, on the other side of town…

“OH MY GOD,” cried out Drake Mallard, “I BLEW UP MEGAVOLT!”

[miikkasakari]

21

It took Marvel way too long to get around to a movie starring a female superhero, but Captain Marvel does a good job of sticking to its comic book movie roots while acknowledging, yeah, it’s a little different.

There’s nothing inherently special about a comic book movie with a female lead (and a white one, at that), but what I absolutely love about Captain Marvel is how they played it. For the most part, it seems to know it’s not special. It’s pretty standard fare: you don’t see it for a good feminist time, you see it because you like comic book movies. That’s what it is to its core. But it has all of these moments that work on a universal level, but carry gendered undertones - and it’s nice to be able to relate to those.

Like one of the key plot points in the movie: Carol is constantly chastised for being emotional. There are plenty of reasons that makes sense - the Kree not wanting her to be herself, for them to be able to control her and rely on her (after all, it was her disobeying orders that got her captured to begin with) - but, of course, there’s that moment every time a woman is told she’s being too emotional and can’t be taken seriously. But it’s when Carol gets emotional that she has to be taken seriously - whether it’s Maria giving her a supportive talk or her getting the chance to use her powers in full for the first time, Carol getting to be her true self with full expression is when she’s at her most powerful. And there’s a real joy in getting to see her experience it. The final battle is pretty anti-climactic because she’s so strong, but she’s also literally whooping during it - she’s getting to have the time of her life because she finally knows who she is again, and she’s emotional and protective, and she finally gets to express that as she’s found herself. It’s a celebration of a woman getting to do what she wants and anybody who would tell her off for it can go to hell.

And there’s also what leads up to it: Carol always gets back up again because she’s human. And that’s something pretty much anyone can relate to. But it carries that extra weight for anyone who grew up as a girl because it’s flooded with those mocking moments - “too emotional, too weak” - because she’s doing things not typical of a little girl, like going all out while go-karting or playing baseball (and either the kid pitching has absolutely terrible aim or he was absolutely trying to bean her). I remember those moments of being picked last for whatever I wanted to do and the neglect and dismissal that came with them. Carol’s resilient because she’s a human, but she’s also resilient because she grew up being told she couldn’t be.

And and, of course, the final moment with Yon-Rogg, which has so succinctly put into words exactly the tell-off I’ve needed: “I have nothing to prove to you.” Yon-Rogg’s move was absolutely a survival tactic, and it wasn’t inherently gendered in any way - he was completely outmatched, he knew it, and playing on his history with Carol as the one thing that could have possibly actually worked for him - but at the same time it was gendered, because he made himself the centre of her story. Carol used to go knocking on Maria’s door way too early in the day; she replaces her with Yon-Rogg and latches herself onto him because he’s made himself the central figure in her world (and probably gaslit her to do it, at that). He tried to set it up so that without Yon-Rogg, there’s no Carol; everything she did had to tie back to him in some way. That’s how a main character works, after all. But Yon-Rogg was never anything but a side character to her story - a nuisance, really - and Carol refusing to take him seriously at the end (to the point of dragging him across the desert, which was a perfect shot) is that one last weapon: a fuck off to a small, little man who has nothing to do with you and doesn’t deserve the attention he thinks he does. He’s not important and she tells him as much.

But otherwise, you know, comic book movie.

Except for some of the other moments in which it’s tonally different. It feels like there are many more quiet moments in which characters get to just talk - most scenes in Maria’s house are like that. They talk to Talos to advance the story and find new things out. They’re just having a nice evening together after the big battle. Carol calmly gives Fury his modified pager while they’re doing dishes and goofing around together. The movie gets the chance to breathe and explore its characters emotions, a lot, and that’s what i’m missing in a lot of these: something traumatic happens to a character but there’s no time to process it (except for maybe a scene in a sequel) because it always has to be go-go-go, and Captain Marvel is completely happy to just hit pause on things and square up its characters.

It also does a great job tying itself into the MCU canon and weaving itself into decade-old fabric rather seamlessly. For one thing, it finally gives us a Fury movie - not someone who knows all but certainly doesn’t say all and operates behind the shadows, but a Level 3 agent adapting on the fly to new situations because he has no other choice. We finally get to see him as a person, not just a figure, and turns out the person is pretty awesome. He’s competent, he’s curious, he’s a good judge of character. And his quick rapport with Carol makes the entire movie - when they first escape on the jet and are joking around together is when it really hits home, how easily he can make her laugh as her personality actually gets the chance to start shining through (before she knows the truth, even).

It’s easy to see why they’re friends, too: they have similar lived experiences, as he points out rather quickly from his “rogue soldier” remark. He quickly admitted to his faults in not quite trusting her without argument and had redeemed himself pretty much right away, as well. They don’t just end up with similar goals; they genuinely enjoy one another’s company. It’s what will tie Carol so well into Endgame, in all likelihood, judging by the first post-credits scene - she has a real emotional investment in the outcome, she has just as strong an emotional tie as any of the other characters to fight. We’ve only known her for one movie but she’s just as relatable as the rest of them thanks to her time with Fury.

And, of course, the kicker: the very end, in which Fury names the Avengers Initiative after her, with the theme briefly playing before transitioning to the credits. That’s what makes Carol feel like she’s been a long-time part of this universe even though she was just introduced: her friendship with Fury sets the stage for everything that’s to come without ignoring everyone else who built it up. Her shadow touched it all, even though we didn’t know it at the time, and then seeing Fury quietly work to build a legacy around her really drives it home.

Also, it was completely predictable how they’d tease him losing an eye, and once they showed him aggressively playing with Goose at the end it was obvious, but it was still perfect - him losing an eye was essentially played off as a joke, but also he did lose an eye to one of the most powerful and dangerous creatures in the universe, so it’s not that much of a joke if you really think about it.

Though Carol’s friendship with Fury is a big driving point, her friendship with Maria is equally so: she regains her humanity through her (and Monica), nobody else. It’s Maria she has the most emotional moments with, seeing the astounding loss play out from Maria’s point of view, Maria being the only reason she actually finds herself again. The moment in which Carol is screaming at Talos that he doesn’t know her, not even she knows herself - but there’s one person there who does know her, and then they just hug for a long time - was beautiful. The MCU has extremely little in the way of female friendships - Gamora and Nebula reconciling is the only one that comes to mind off the top of my head - so finally getting to see one so genuine and of such consequence was wonderful.

That, and all of the Photon foreshadowing. Monica was a delight as well - though that seems to be expected, since she was basically co-parented by Maria and Carol. (Seriously, this movie was Steve-and-Bucky-level gay.) It wasn’t a movie dominated by women, but their presences were so much more pronounced than they normally are, it really does make one wonder why they can’t do better in this area. Black Panther figured it out; Captain Marvel downsized it and made it more intimate.

But again - even with all of that - this really was a comic book movie. The way Talos uncovered Carol’s memories was unique and set the right amount of intrigue, but the casual way he goes about it really introduces us to Talos as a character, as well. He’s someone with a sense of humour trying to solve a puzzle - highly relatable - and yet when they made it to Mar-Vell’s lab, I was bracing myself for his inevitable betrayal, because Skrull. It’s wild how relieved I was he actually was just a good guy, because it was easy to get attached to him and his straightforward nature (when he finally decided to go in that direction). Skrulls can be tricky but just making this small group genuinely good people caught up in a shitty war was the right way to do it. I hope the MCU never does a Secret War storyline, because it won’t translate to a movie-verse like this - there’s too much time between movies/chapters, too much time to get attached to characters and actors; it would feel like a betrayal. I look forward to seeing evil Skrulls at some point, but I’m happy Talos wasn’t one of them, and he got to hold his share of heart in the movie, too.

That, and Monica’s budding friendship with Talos’ kid - they’ve set themselves up to do more if they want to.

I wish we could’ve gotten more Ronin - he feels so underused in every movie he’s in, and maybe that’s just the gravitas to his character or maybe he’s legitimately being completely underused - but he was really threatening in the bit of screen time he did have. His intrigue with watching Carol go about her business and his respect for her was outstanding and highlighted the both of them: he’s a brutal murderer and he recognizes he’s no match for her.

Getting to see Coulson again was really great as well, especially since I’ve finally taken the time to watch Agents of SHIELD and get attached to his character. Seeing Coulson as a loyal rookie was just the perfect dose, from him being left behind at the Blockbuster to looking upon Fury in awe at the end. He’s kind of just a guy, but you can tell why he’s special, and why he would have looked up to Captain America: ultimately his defining trait is a very warm heart.

And finally: making Mar-Vell a woman was something I definitely wasn’t expecting, but it really did add another layer to the entire movie. It gave someone else for Carol to relate and look up to; her history and Maria pretty explicitly spell out that their being women is a problem, so it makes it all the more believable she would grow close to someone like Mar-Vell and truly want to help, all the while admiring what she was doing, even if she didn’t know the truth behind it all. It carried so much more weight than if they had kept Mar-Vell a man. And she was such a good character that seeing the Supreme Intelligence warp her into someone so warmongering actually did hurt - and seeing Carol fight partly in Mar-Vell’s honour made it so much better, and it makes so much more sense that she would take on her name.

It really shouldn’t have taken Marvel this long to create a movie actually starring a woman and focusing on her relationships with other women. But at least when they finally did it, they did it right - and it made for a really good, fun comic book movie with just that little bit extra under the surface.

[greyskywrites]

Wolf’s Price

[First] [Previous] [AO3] [ko-fi]

XII. Half Wild

5.2k

The young man who’s leg I had taken off was named Vigi. He was healing well, though he was about to go mad from being bedridden. I eased him onto his side, so that he would not fall victim to bedsores, and laid a clean blanket over him. “You’re very lucky,” I told him. “Not many live after they get that sick.”

Vigi said nothing, head resting on his folded arm.

“Has your family been to see you?” I asked.

“They have to work,” Vigi mumbled. “And I’m no good to them now.”

Anarin was just the next bed over, washing arms and feet. She looked over, and shook her head. “Don’t be stupid,” she said. “You’re much more useful alive than you are dead, or else your father wouldn’t have brought you here.”

Vigi said nothing again.

“I’m going to make you a cup of tea,” I told him, “it will help with the soreness.”

As I went to the fire, Anarin finished what she was doing, and moved to Vigi’s bed. From the hearthside, I watched her sit behind him, taking out his braid and combing his hair with an ivory comb she had brought. She gently worked out the tangles of days of neglect, smoothing long brown hair out into her lap.

Slowly, Vigi’s shoulders relaxed. Anarin was braiding his hair again when I returned, from the nape of the neck halfway down his back, where it was tied off with a length of leather cord. Then she helped him to sit, so he could drink.

“You shouldn’t overwork yourself,” I told her, noting how tired she looked. “It isn’t going to get any easier for you as the weather gets colder.” It was yet difficult to tell that she was pregnant just by looking at her, but soon enough the swell would show under her skirts.

Anarin shook her head. “Boredom kills the spirit,” she said. Her son was playing with children outside, because Anarin had grown to dislike leaving him in the castle. I suspected she wasn’t sleeping, but she refused to discuss it with me.

Her men were not happy with her new hobby, that much was clear. Haris was almost always trailing behind her these days, which Anarin muttered was the agreement she had made to continue working. He would sulk out by the door, keeping an eye on Veland, while Anarin and I worked inside. After, we would make our way to the feast hall, and I would watch Anarin instruct the men working there.

Most all of them were Sarenn, and Anarin spoke to them in their own language, so they listened to her as they never would to the few Kressosi officers who sometimes came to inspect and criticize their work. If those officers made true nuisances of themselves, Anarin would remind them who was closer to the commander’s ear, and the problems would go away. This feast hall was her domain to command.

I didn’t know what she was up to until she brought one of her carpenters to the lodge. He was a respectable looking man, not the sort who really wanted to be in the lodge, except that “Mrs. Emiran” had asked him and was paying him for his work.

He had brought the beginnings of a wooden leg and the boot that would fit it to Vigi’s thigh. Anarin explained to Vigi that they needed to be sure it would fit correctly, though he would not be able to wear it until the leg had healed. They took some measurements, the carpenter nodded, and promised Anarin it would be finished soon. “

It will take some getting used to,” Anarin told Vigi, a hand on his shoulder, “and you may not be as fast at first, but you will be able to walk about on it.”

Vigi wasn’t quite so somber, after that. He smiled more readily, and wasn’t so grim when I changed his bandages or moved him to one side or the other.

We were there late one day, I think Anarin thought I wasn’t paying attention. Very quietly I heard her ask Vigi if he would know the man who shot him, if he saw him again. Vigi said he would.

“What do you think you’re about?” I asked her in a whisper, when we had a moment alone. “Or do you think your men just won’t notice if wolves start killing their men?”

Anarin’s eyes gave nothing away. “Do you want justice, or not?”

I let out a breath. “Why don’t you leave that justice to me, and not your forest friends?”

Anarin gave a small smile. “Perhaps. First we have to find him.”  

#

I once nearly drowned in the river I was named for. I was only a child, prone to doing foolish things like playing on the rocks when Alvild had told me not to, heedless of how fast, how cold the river was, until I fell in and my breath seized in my chest and my limbs went stiff as oak wood.

The strangest thing was that I wasn’t afraid. I didn’t have time for fear, I think. My head broke the water and I sucked in a breath before it pulled me down again, into the freezing dark.

I would be rescued by a fisherman’s net, flung out across the river when he had seen me fall in, and hauled to shore tangled in its cords. “Hells, girl!” he shouted as he pulled me free, “You’re lucky to be alive!”

I was surprised, when I saw that I was bloody. The water had numbed me, so that I didn’t feel it when I struck the rocks. “You must have seen the grinning face of Death herself,” the fisherman said, furiously rubbing my arms to put warmth back into them.

I suppose I had. What I did not tell the fisherman, what I never told another living soul because I was not certain I even believed it, was what else I had seen.

The stories tell of the great snakefish of the Lor, who waits for the end, growing fat on the dead who are left to the river.

I saw her, then, the pale grey flesh of the creature lurking in the water, and the great watery eye as big as a man’s head that took me in, and nudged me back to the surface, as if telling me it was not my time to die. Something changed in me that day that has never been quite the same. A sense that I owe that river a debt.

#

The feast hall was completed not three days before the first snow of autumn, and Anarin held a small celebration for all those who had worked on it. It was nothing extravagant—fires in the hearth, a barrel of ale, roast goose with radishes and onions—but there was a general good humor, pride taken in what they had built. I watched Anarin float about the feast hall, greeting the men and thanking them for their hard work and craftsmanship, and I watched the men glow under her attention.

She could have been a queen, if she wanted to. She could perform the right graces, make people feel seen and cared for. It was as if the incident the first day we arrived had never happened.

Anarin was talking about legacy, about this structure they could take pride in. All the attention was on her, so no one noticed as I stepped outside into the thin layer of snow, sucking in a cold breath of air.

I pulled my shawl tight against the chill and leaned back against the wall, closing my eyes. I could feel winter breathing down the back of my neck, and I wondered how Anarin felt when she met the Wolf face to face, if the fear was as deep as I thought it would be.

I heard the crunch of boots in the snow, and opened my eyes to find Emiran, pulling a cigarette from his coat pocket. I was a little surprised—most men of his rank would carry a pipe, if they wanted to smoke.

Emiran noticed me and nodded, cupping his hands around the flickering flame of a match as he lit his cigarette, watching the quiet street. “Does she worry you as much as she does me?” Emiran asked, not looking at me.

“Commander?”

“I’m not blind, Tyna.” He let out a breath, looked very tired. “I can see how you look at her.”

I folded my arms across my chest, pressing my hands under my elbows to keep them warm. “I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about.”

Emiran laughed softly. “I thought Andon’s physician would be a better liar. Ah, well.” He rubbed a temple with the heel of his hand. “I understand, if that’s any consolation.”

“All due respect, Commander,” I said, light as I could, “you don’t understand a damn thing about me.”

Emiran was quiet for a moment, puffing on his cigarette, and he shrugged. “Maybe not. I don’t understand her, either.” He sighed, and for a moment I felt almost bad for him. I, at least, had the luxury of knowing who Anarin was, and why she was important. The poor bastard had no idea.

“Do you believe all this?” Emiran asked. “All this about gods and spirits?”

I watched him from where I stood. “That’s like asking me if I believe the winter wind is cold, or the stars shine at night.” I had felt how barren Kressos was, not the land itself, but its people. Every flower and leaf sang for them, and it was as if they couldn’t hear. Or perhaps they chose not to.

Emiran shook his head. “I know she leaves at night,” he said. “She comes back smelling like the forest, or like dust.”

“She has trouble sleeping,” I said, as if that would satisfy him. “She probably leaves so she doesn’t wake you.” I tried to think of ways I could direct him away from this topic, some way to put any of his fears to rest, for Lya’s sake. Suspicious men were dangerous men. “There are herbs that would help her sleep, if she would take them.”

Emiran looked carefully at me. “You know where she goes at night, don’t you?”

I met his gaze. “I know many things, Commander. Not all of them concern your mistress.”

He looked about to speak again, so I was swift to interrupt him. “This place makes her uneasy. Wouldn’t it be the same for you, if you were in her place? Her people were slaughtered here. I don’t think her sleeplessness has any more significant cause than that.” I turned my gaze away from him. “She cares deeply for you, Commander. It seems to me the least you can do is trust that fact.”

Emiran leaned back against the wall. “I should never have come to this place,” he muttered. “Should have retired years ago.”

On that, at least, we agreed. Fate would have drawn Anarin back here sooner or later. Emiran was an unnecessary element.

Emiran flicked the last of his cigarette into the snow, in a way that spoke of a much younger man, a discontented soldier who knew better than to speak of that discontent. “Promise me one thing at least, Tyna,” he said. “Whatever you have to do to me, don’t let any harm come to her, or her children.”

I glanced away. “I don’t harm children, Commander. I prefer not to orphan them, too.”

He nodded, and left me without saying anything else.

I lingered out in the cold, listening to what I could hear of the celebration inside through the heavy wooden walls.

If Emiran did not rest easily inside Morhall, it was not hard to guess why. Anarin said she was ghost-haunted. Like as not, she wasn’t the only one, not when Emiran was sleeping beside the widow of a man he had killed, harboring that man’s only living son. Whether or not the souls of the dead truly linger, that tension would be in the air, and Emiran not understanding why.

#

I don’t know how Anarin found his name, because so far as I knew, Vigi had yet to leave the lodge since I had removed his leg. I had no way of knowing if it was the right name, but in the end, I suppose I didn’t care. It is impossible for me to watch my people suffer, day after day, knowing why they suffer, and not think that someone must be punished for it. Someone must be prevented from creating further suffering.

It couldn’t be done within Morhall, Emiran’s scrutiny would be on me before the man had drawn his last breath. If it happened outside of the castle walls, I knew I could make sure I was not noticed. I could make sure there was nothing anyone could prove.

It is an easy thing, to follow a man who does not know he is being followed. Easier, when he is already drunk, and means to become drunker. I wore plainclothes, and a hood over my head.

No one noticed me follow the men into a tavern, no one noticed as I hung back and watched where they sat.

I had been hired to kill men for less than this, so I did not know why it sat so uneasily with me.

A slip behind, a pretend fumble, bumping into the man, and muttering an apology as I slipped away again, too quickly for him to notice the needle pricked into his skin. I moved to the hearth, and waited to be sure.

A few minutes, maybe more, and he convulsed, vomiting across the table. People were slow to be alarmed—it was not as if vomit was uncommon in a tavern. Spasms, however, were.

I did not need to see the whole of this. He was past saving, now.

The night sky was clear as I stepped outside, and I could hear the wolves howling in the forest. I did not stop to listen to them.

#

Alvild knew it was me who had killed Agi. We did not speak of it, but I knew it in the way she looked at me. She began to give me new lessons, in how to process the kinds of mushrooms and herbs I had once been forbidden from harvesting.

We wore leather gloves that were coated in oil, to keep the poison from seeping through our skin, thick cloths over our nose and mouth, and a thinner cloth that we could see through over our eyes. “You can kill yourself working carelessly,” Alvild told me. “Remember that.”

The poisons we made were kept out of sight of visitors, in a particular chest, carefully labeled. I hadn’t realized before that Alvild already had a collection, that I now added to.

There was a man that came to the house sometimes, Alvild had always sent me away when he came, and I had assumed he was someone I ought to avoid. It turned out that he was the one that she sold the poisons to. He was dressed like any other Sarenn man, but when he removed his hood, his hair was cut close to the scalp, which shocked me more than the burn scar on the side of his face.

I had never seen a man who didn’t wear some kind of braid, whether the flat plait of the sleek haired, or the several tight rows bound together of those with hair as wiry as Alvild’s. Criminals were sometimes shaved, I had heard, but they were usually condemned to die, and if the judge was feeling merciful, their hair might be given to their loved ones.

This man, when he spoke, revealed himself by accent to be Kressosi. I could see that he would have been handsome, without the burn that marked him. His skin was the same gleaming red-brown of cherry wood, eyes the cool dark brown of forest soil. Had he been a woman, Alvild might have lost me then.

He hardly glanced at me, while he spoke to Alvild. “There is trouble coming,” he said.

Alvild waved a hand. “There is always trouble coming.”

“I may not be able to cross the river for some time,” he said, handing her a purse that alarmed me with how heavy it was. “So, whatever you have, I’ll take it.”

“Are you trying to kill an army?” Alvild asked. “Or maybe their horses?”

The man did not smile. “If I cannot cross again before next spring, I still need to eat through the winter.”

Alvild shrugged, and sent me to fetch the chest. She had me tell him what each thing was, and finally he looked at me, but not the way most men did. He was listening, patiently, and nodding as he inspected the bottles and jars, loading them quietly into his own trunk.

“You have questions,” he said, as I trailed off.

I gazed at him for a moment. “Who are you?” I asked. “What do you need these for?”

His mouth quirked up at the corner. The side of his face that was burned was pulled back in a sort of perpetual grimace. “I sell them to Kressosi apothecaries, who can’t get the herbs that grow this far north. I’m not an assassin, if that’s what you thought.” He pointed at his face. “Too recognizable.”

I think I was meant to laugh, but I couldn’t. “What happened to you?”

He nodded a bit, looked amused. “War. That’s all.”

#

Vigi stood uncertainly on his new leg, wincing a little at the unfamiliar pressure on his not-quite-healed leg. The carpenter Anarin had come with was explaining how the joint worked, how he would have to adapt to the new gait. We had quite the little audience out in front of the lodge, where the light was good enough that we could see and the ground frozen enough that Vigi could stand on it.

It was nice work. Plain, but functional and strong. I wondered how much Anarin had paid for it.

Vigi’s father was so overcome, he could hardly speak. He was an older man, and Vigi clearly a younger son. Vigi had mentioned something to Anarin about older brothers who had been killed when the Kressosi took Morhall. Anarin had spent a great deal of time speaking to Vigi and the others, getting to know them, and I watched them look forward to her visits, while Haris skulked about by the door, keeping his distance.

Veland was often there, too, practicing his Sarenn with the bedridden and their caretakers. It didn’t escape my notice that his favorite people, however, were the ones who could speak at least a little Trader’s Tongue.

Vigi’s father tried to thank Anarin for her help, but she shook her head, refusing the thanks, and smiled, putting her hand on the old man’s arm. “I should be thanking you, for welcoming me.” It was a pretty little game she played, she would have been formidable as someone’s first wife, rather than being wasted as a wife so low-ranked her sons would have had to seek out lords to pledge their service to, and her daughters compete for desirable marriages.

Haris was restless, and it was making the others anxious, so I went to stand by him. “If you don’t stop fidgeting,” I said in a low voice, “they’re going to think you’re liable to shoot someone.”

Haris was grinding his teeth. “This is absurd.”

“If it makes your household more peaceful you don’t have a right to complain,” I muttered. “You don’t have to babysit her.”

Haris did not look at me, but I knew what he was thinking. There was no force on earth short of Death that would make him leave me alone with Anarin.

I didn’t blame him for not trusting me, I just found him to be an irritating inconvenience. “She’s happier, doing this work,” I said, quiet. “Did she do anything like this in Kressos, or did you and Emiran keep her cooped up like a nightingale on a gold chain?”

Haris did not visibly bristle, but a muscle in his jaw tightened. “A man died in a tavern, a few nights back,” he said. “Poisoned.” His eyes slid to me. “I don’t suppose you would know anything about that.”

“I’m hardly the only person who knows how to brew poisons, Mr. Haris,” I said coolly. “Why should I harm someone so inconsequential?”

“Yes,” he said, “why would you?”

A tugging on my skirt drew my attention, and Veland held onto my knees. “Auntie,” he said, “do I have to practice my writing today?”

I arched an eyebrow. “Did your mother say you had to?”

He screwed up his face in a frown, and I laughed. “Bring me your notebook. We’ll practice writing your name and a few other words.”

Haris looked no more pleased about this than he did about anything else. I knew he was fond of the boy, but this jealousy was childish. I left him by the door to settle by the fire with Veland. His handwriting was getting a little better, in that fewer of his letters were backwards. I gave him a sentence to write down, would correct his letters, and have him write it again.

Veland gripped his charcoal stick tightly, frowning in concentration as he wrote. I cleaned my tools while he did so, to keep my hands busy.

“Auntie,” Veland said, looking up, “why do some people write, and some people don’t?”

I glanced at him, and considered my answer. “Some people, like the Hasi,” I said, nodding at him, “focus their time on memory, so that they remember messages and stories correctly, even a long time later. Others spend that time on learning to write, so that things can be written down and kept, and you don’t have to remember them exactly. One isn’t better than the other, but if you only know one, it’s hard to move between the two. Do you understand?”

Veland thought for a bit, and nodded. “I guess so.”

Anarin found us by the hearth, and put her hand on Veland’s cheeks and pressed a kiss into his hair. “Time to go, Puppy,” she said, and seeing his work, she smiled at me. “Thank you, Lady Tyna.”

I nodded, and glanced away.

#

Some young men are given to racing elk during the rut, when the bulls are so riled they would run thrice around the world and still be unwilling to stop. I didn’t think anything of it, when I saw a handful of young men placing flags around the edges of the empty fields, setting the course for a race. I thought nothing of it when I saw a few brave young soldiers and Sarenn boys gathering their elk, each shaking heads and snorting, pawing at the ground with short ribbons tied into their antlers.

Thought nothing of it, until I saw a scarlet scarf wrapped over a head of black hair perched lightly on that demon of a bull I would have known anywhere. Emiran and Haris were nowhere to be found—the sly witch had given them the slip, and sat among all these cocky young men with her chin held high and the reins tight in her fists.

I felt out of place among the many men and the young girls that had slipped away from their mothers to watch, but I had seen elk races before, and horse races in Azira. I knew how badly they could go awry, and my heart hammered in my chest seeing Anarin there. I heard the muttering, people wondering what the commander’s woman was about, even though they must have seen her running the beast ragged a dozen or more times.

I held onto the branches of a weather-worn apple, foot levied against the roots so that I could see above the crowd. The elk were brought into line, stamping impatiently and bugling. Someone gave a blast on a horn, and the muddy snow was tossed up behind them with the impact of a dozen cannonballs.

A ribbon of scarlet out behind her, that was how I tracked Lya, bent low between the arcing prongs of Bili’s antlers.

She had been a girl once. That thought rang in my head like the pealing of a Kressosi temple bell. She had been a girl. When I had met her uncle, Benwulf, he had spoken of his niece, half-wild, who played cards and raced her father’s elk. The memory had needled itself into my brain because of how much I disliked the man when he had made a comment about the kind of husband it would take to tame a girl like that.

Five bulls pulled away from the main pack, Anarin’s among them.

A coal in my chest burned at the thought of what she had been sent away to, the things that had forced her to become small and meek. That was why she liked that demon bull, why she indulged his wilder tempers. She would not beat the wild out any creature like men had tried to beat the wild out of her.

The course took a sharp turn, and I watched Bili leap, twisting in the air so that he was just that little bit further ahead, powerful back legs propelling him forward. Anarin had tied no ribbons on his antlers—she had painted them, a fierce bloody red, tipped in white. There were just three of them in the lead now, one stripling of a boy in a Kressosi uniform and one slightly older Sarenn, with a bright red beard. But I could tell, even then, that their bulls did not have the sheer fury in them that Bili did. He was younger, the scale of his ribs greater. The steaming breath of those bulls whipped out behind them like wildfire smoke.

My knuckles were white around the limb of the tree to which I clung, watching them. I wanted to have known her, the feral girl who had been too big for the men around her. I wanted to have known Anarin when she was still more wolf than woman. I wanted to see her, sixteen and besting every man in Arborhall who wanted to race an elk.

Another corner, this under the boughs of an aged fir that snagged Anarin’s scarf, tearing it from her head. The scarlet ribbon fluttered in the wake of the passing bulls, and clung to the branch that had claimed it.

There is a sound, to the closing stretch of a race. The pounding of cloven hooves. The heaving of lungs. That faded from my mind as I saw Anarin’s face come into view.

I had seen her composed, seen her angry but contained. I think I had even seen her afraid. Now I saw her with her lips curled back in a snarl, thick strands of black hair come loose from her braid and whipping her face, fists white-knuckled around the reins, no trace of the demure mistress, of the soft and doting mother. My heart soared for reasons I could hardly bring myself to name.

The other two bulls began to lag, and Anarin whipped Bili harder.

It is hard to describe the sight as I saw it, the red paint on Bili’s antlers, the way Anarin’s hair—so quickly falling out of its braid—streamed out behind her, the clods of mud tossed up behind them. A woman half-wild.

They thundered past the last pair of flags to a cheer, and I abandoned the tree, pushing my way out of the crowd as Bili slowed, and Anarin circled back, sitting a little straighter, an exhilarated smile on her face, lit up from within like a midsummer bonfire. I couldn’t help but echo it, a strange light feeling in my chest.

I meant to call out to her, to share even a little of her joy—and that was when I noticed Emiran.

He came riding toward her, a look on his face that I knew from other men. Anarin saw him too, and I saw her smile wilt like flowers in a drought. The light feeling in my ribs turned to stone.

Emiran caught Bili’s reins, and bowed his head to speak to Anarin so that they would not be overheard, but I could imagine well enough what he was saying from the way the fight went out of Anarin, and something like embarrassment filled her frame.

I thought that might be the end, everything I had just seen in her would be buried once more.

I don’t know what Emiran said, but Anarin stiffened and jerked back, and Bili snorted and tossed his head, shoving back Emiran’s gelding. Anarin spurred Bili to a trot, and cut across the course to the tree where her scarf hung. She yanked it from the boughs, the pretty thing I knew that Emiran had bought for her, and tied it over her undone hair. She looked half a witch, and the barely concealed scowl on her face made people keep away from her as she returned.

“Sargis!” I called.

Her head turned, and I saw some of the anger ease out of her face. “Lady Tyna,” she said, pulling Bili to a stop. “I didn’t know you were here.”

I went up to her, staying clear of the bull’s head, as he panted and snorted. “You’re insane,” I said, “but that was amazing.”

Lya smiled. “I’m sure to pay for it, but thank you.”

I put a hand on her leg before she pulled away from me. “Lya,” I said, my voice soft. “Please at least wait until you’re no longer pregnant to do something like that again. I want to see you race, but—that was very dangerous.”

She looked at me oddly, and after a moment, she nodded. “I will. You can’t much race during the winter, anyway.” Her eyes flicked toward Emiran, and her lips twitched as she tried to hold back a grimace. “Please tell everyone at the lodge I won’t be able to visit them today.”

I nodded. “You’ll be missed.”

There was such immense sadness in her eyes, when I said that. She only gave me an expression that was more grimace than smile, and clucked her tongue to Bili. The bull gave a great snort and walked to Emiran, who was watching me coldly. I hugged my arms across my chest and met his gaze, hating him and everything that he was.

Anarin went away with him, and if I was glad of anything, it was that I didn’t see her head bow as she rode away.

[nitewrighter]

May I request for some fluffy Gency in a Witch Mercy AU please?

Me, @ me: Please, Sarah, we can’t keep doing this

Also Me, chanting: WITCH! MERCY! NOW!

Edit: Wow, I’m amazed the story has been going on as long as it has, Here’s a table of contents!

Other Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18

Read it on AO3 here.

—-

Many years ago, a witch in Eichenwalde was out gathering mushrooms when she crossed paths with a monk from a far-off land. The monk was terribly hunched over from a great weight on his back and the witch, being a woman of a charitable heart, approached to help him. As she drew closer, she saw the sack the monk had slung over his shoulder wasn’t very large at all. Curious, she addressed him.

“Monk,” she said, “What have you got in that sack there?”

“A terrible burden that I shall be glad to be rid of,” said the monk, continuing to walk.

The witch matched his pace easily. “May I see it?” she asked.

The monk looked her up and down. The witch didn’t exactly look like a witch, she was tall and fair, with white-gold hair and gray-blue eyes, so, supposing he might as well stop for a breath, he opened the sack to her. Inside the sack was a fine porcelain tea leaf pot, painted with chrysanthemums and blooming tree branches, and the pot itself was veined with gold. The top of the pot was corked, and the cork itself sealed around the rim of the porcelain with paper with fine calligraphy on it, though the witch could not exactly make out what it said.

“How lovely!” said the witch, “Why should anyone want to be rid of such a treasure?”

The monk gave a huff. “I’ve trapped an evil spirit in this pot,” he said, “And I go to throw it in the icy seas north of here.”

“An evil spirit?” said the witch. It is worth noting at this point that the witch did not believe him, simply because of the fact that whenever she had to travel with an object of high value, she would tell anyone who asked about it that it was terribly cursed and she was going to destroy it, and usually they believed her and she was able to avoid many a bandit by that means. She was a witch, this much was true, but hers was not a magic of demons trapped in jars sealed off with cork and paper, hers was a magic of healing, of green and growing things, and of ancient texts. For her, demons were minor nuisances who made milk soil and put blood in goose eggs and were easily warded off with a word or a good sweep of the besom. If the demon were any serious matter, she would feel it.

The monk nodded gravely. “I was very lucky, you see, this spirit is drawn to beautiful things, so this pot made a good trap. The first time I trapped it in the pot, it screamed and railed and shook so that the pot shattered. Undeterred, I repaired the pot and filled the cracks with gold so that it was even more beautiful. The demon could not resist, and thus I trapped it for good this time.”

“How did you get it to fall for the same trick twice?” asked the witch with a smile.

“I was also lucky in the fact that this demon is also a fool, and a vain one at that. But now I really must be going. I am not moving nearly as swiftly with a burden like this, and I must reach the northern sea.”

“I could take it to the northern sea for you,” the witch offered politely.

“Would you?” said the monk, and before the witch could sell her suggestion further with talk of how well she knew these lands and how hale and swift she was, the monk shoved the tea leaf pot into her arms and was already walking back whence he came. The witch was stunned for a few seconds, then glanced down at her pot, smiled, and shrugged. It wasn’t nearly as heavy in her hands as it had looked on the monk’s back.

 She felt a bit guilty about taking the treasure off his hands. Holy men were so quick to overreact over boggarts. She herself was not really one for riches, though. It was lovely to look at and would probably be worth a pretty penny to sell for food if her crops blighted or goat sickened. When the witch got home, she set the new gold-veined pot among her apothecary jars. Not in too obvious a spot, for the village would surely be suspicious as to how she got such a treasure, but in the open enough so that she could look up at it fondly as she worked at her cauldron.

The witch lived where the village ended and the wood began, though “witch,” as a title and address, was conditional. She was “witch” until bones needed setting, until boils needed lancing, until fevers needed breaking and until the miller’s wife was with child (again) and needed goose-grease ointment. In such circumstances, the witch was no longer “witch” and called “Miss Gramercy.” The witch herself preferred “Mercy.”

 Save for curing ails, Mercy kept to herself, and the village left her well enough alone. On some days when the children were feeling particularly bold, they would throw rotten vegetables at her when she walked through the village, but aside from that she was a necessary presence in their village that for the most part, the villagers liked to pretend didn’t exist. She didn’t mind this. She liked the privacy—more time for her books, more time for her experiments, more time for her tinctures and extracts, and, while she would never admit this to any of the villagers, more time for magic. Her books were her dearest treasures; texts on chemistry and mathematics and astronomy from Arabia and Greece and China, and several secret texts she kept in a locked box behind a panel in her wall that the village would surely burn her for possessing if they were ever found. To feed herself she kept a garden, and she had a goat and a goose, given to her in exchange for her services several years ago, but her only true companion was an ugly, one-eyed, foul-tempered-with-all-but-her black cat she called “Old Scratch.” 

For the next few weeks Mercy returned to her work and all but forgot about her exchange with the foreign monk, and the gold-veined tea leaf pot on her shelf was little more than a decoration. That is, until one day while Mercy was busying herself with a mortar and pestle, a sparrow flew into the house with Old Scratch in pursuit, and the cat, in leaping after the bird, knocked the tea leaf pot from its shelf. Mercy sat up with a start with the sound of porcelain shattering behind her and she whirled around. “Scratch, you old devil! What have you done…now…” she trailed off as black and red smoke with green lightning sparking through it billowed up from the broken remains of the pot. She covered her mouth with her hands and slowly stepped back as the smoke and lightning formed itself into a human figure wearing a terrifying mask. 

“So you have freed me,” the figure spoke, drawing itself to its full height, “So you have my servi—”

He was immediately met with a face full of broom bristles.

“Back!” she smacked him with the broom, “Back!” she smacked him again, “Back from whence thou came! With this besom, I banish thee hence!”

He caught the broom handle. “What are you doing?” he said flatly.

“Banishing…you…?” said Mercy.

“You expect to banish me with a cleaning utensil?” said the demon, “I, whose sword can stir up great whirlwinds with one swipe? I, whose steps can be as loud as thunder or silent as death? I, who–Gah!” Mercy had shoved forward with the broom handle and he caught a face full of broom bristles again, “Will you stop that?!” he snapped.

“It usually works with other demons,” Mercy said a bit sheepishly, drawing back but still holding the broom in front of herself, ready to strike him again.

“The other demons?” said evil spirit tilted his head. 

“Boggarts, you know,” said Mercy, “Usually no bigger than your hand. Mostly they just turn butter rancid and hide things from you.”

“I–do I look like I have any interest in your butter?!” said the demon, clearly insulted by this comparison.

“I–um…” Mercy fidgeted with her hair a bit, “I don’t know. You’re the first demon of your kind that I’ve seen,” said Mercy, walking around him, broom still at the ready, but moving to get a better look at him. She glanced down. “No cloven hooves or anything…”

“Ah yes, I heard those in these lands had interesting ideas of demons,” he said, “I can give myself cloven hooves if you wish. I can take all kinds of forms, but I like this one,” he removed the mask, “It is the most handsome, is it not?”

Mercy drew back a little, her grip tightening on her broom. He was handsome. with fine cheekbones and a strong jaw, though his eyes were bright red, between blood and fire. She leaned in a little.

“Try not to be too distracted by my good looks,” said the demon with a grin.

“…Do you make your eyebrows look like that on purpose or do they just look like that with whatever form you take?” said Mercy, squinting at his eyebrows.

“What’s wrong with my eyebrows?” he said, some hurt in his voice.

“Nothing!” Mercy drew back again, “Nothing at all!”

The demon put his mask back on sullenly.

Mercy exhaled. “What do you want of me?” she said, gripping her broom.

“It’s not what I want of you, it’s what you want of me,” said the demon, “As I was saying before you so rudely assaulted me with that broom, you freed me and thus, you have my service,” he gave a bow, “At the very least you have no ill-will from me, and are free to send me on my way with no repercussions.”

“Your service…” Mercy said skeptically, “Do you have a name?”

 “You may call me Genji,” said the demon.

“Genji,” Mercy repeated the name, “Very well, Genji.” 

“It sounds lovely on your tongue,” said Genji. Mercy wasn’t sure if he was complimenting her voice or praising the beauty of his own name, “What are you called?”

“I am called Mercy,” said Mercy, “Well… not really. They call me ‘Witch’ or ‘Miss Gramercy’ but I call myself Mercy.” 

“A witch!” Genji seemed pleased by this, “Finally someone interesting!”

“Interesting?”

“Usually most ask just me for fame, or riches, or slaying their enemies and send me on my way. Witches tend to be more… mutually beneficial partnerships,” Mercy could hear the smile in his voice beneath the mask. 

Mercy frowned. “And what is the price?”

“What do you mean, ‘What is the price?’” said Genji, “I said you have my service.”

“Your only true reward to me for freeing you from that pot is the fact that you haven’t possessed me or killed me or done something terrible yet,” said Mercy, “You’re a demon. If you’re offering a service, there is always a price.”

“Several moments ago you were beating me with a broom like I was some second-rate imp and now you speak as if you’re an expert on the nature of demons,” muttered Genji.

“That was practice, this is extending a bit more into theory,” said Mercy with a slight smile, “But there is a price, isn’t there?”  

“You witches are irritatingly clever about these things,” said Genji, “Yes. Fine. There’s a price, but nothing you need to pay now.”

Mercy folded her arms and gave him a sharp look, indicating to him that she would not tolerate being vague and threatening.

“Your first-born,” said Genji.

“Oh,” Mercy seemed to relax considerably at this, “All right then,” she said with the same cavalierness as if she was buying bread at the market. 

“What–Really?” said Genji.

“Yes,” said Mercy, who had no intention of even having a first-born to begin with.

“This is why I like you witches,” said Genji, “Not nearly as much dramatics as most humans. Very well then!” He clapped his hands together, “I am at your disposal, Witch Mercy. What do you desire? Secrets of the lands of the dead? Grant you a silver tongue with which to charm all men?”

“Hmm…no,” said Mercy.

“I’d offer you youth and beauty but I cannot offer what you already possess,” said Genji.

Mercy scoffed and smiled. 

“What can I offer you…hm…” Genji seemed thoughtful, “I could… turn into a dragon and you could ride me stark naked across the moonlit skies?”

Mercy’s nose wrinkled, “What…Why on earth would I want to do that?”

“Because it’s fun?” Genji shrugged. “I saw a woodcut of witches from this land and from what I could gather, they seemed to have a fondness for flying naked,” 

Mercy sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “I don’t want to fly naked,” she said, exasperated, she was quiet for a while before saying at last, “Protection.”

“Is that your desire?” said Genji.

“I have seen witches and innocent women alike burnt at the stake for little more than healing sicknesses or rebuffing a man’s advances. I consider my work important and would not like to die before I am satisfied. You say your sword is swift and mighty?”

“The swiftest and mightiest,” said Genji with no small amount of pride.

“And you can take the forms of many things?” said Mercy.

“All sorts of things,” said Genji.

“Then I would like your protection, against man and demon alike,” said Mercy.

“I could simply devour your enemies,” Genji offered. 

“I don’t have enemies–if I do, then they haven’t really done anything yet,” said Mercy, “Gods willing, I won’t ever need your protection, but it would be nice to have.”

“And so you have it,” said Genji with a bow, “I could also give you the means to escape your enemies–you could ride the wind as I do…”

“You do not have to give me what I intend to gain for myself,” said Mercy with a grin.

Genji chuckled. “Witches always were more interesting,” he said, lifting his mask.

—

Part 2 is here

[thedogsled]

Coda 13x04: Sleep No More! (Castiel doth murder sleep!)

To read on AO3 (or find my other codas) please click here!

Once upon a time, but also before time, before the confluence of existence coincidentally created the concept of chaos, before duality and binary broke everything into two conflicting halves--there was nothing.

Except, well, that wasn’t really true, because even nothing couldn’t exist without the context of everything to exist alongside it, and this was before everything, and so therefore not really nothing either.

Nameless it existed and did not exist, because nothing existed to give it context, and so it was peaceful and simple and seemingly eternal, a blissful state of it that satisfied it immensely.

And then along came something.

Perhaps the duality came out of it’s thoughts. Perhaps it was it’s question What am I? that insisted on context, because the next thing it knew Duality existed, and so did Death, who waited quietly in anticipation until such time as this new Life could be extinguished.

 Worst of all, though? Duality was noisy.

 It contemplated Duality. The Darkness it rather liked. She seemed to like the quiet too. The Light was a smarmy little pest with ideas far above his station. The Light realized quite quickly the power that he had, and he indulged in non-accidental Creation. Silly goose. If he’d known how unpleasant the creation of Duality had been in the first place, maybe he wouldn’t have been so swift to create so many stupid things.

 Duality did not like each other. Duality had constant fights about who was right and who was wrong, concepts among many others that made it’s head spin, and it began to realize just what it was, or rather what it had become now that something else existed. It became part of duality, whether it liked it or not, because duality was awake while it was asleep. Duality was everything, and it was nothing. Duality was full and it was Empty.

 But that was perfectly fine, because while Duality was noisy it generally tended to stay well away from it, indulging itself in all of its awake things far away in the place which was full of everything. The Empty was quiet. The Empty kept itself to itself. The Empty did what it did best: it slept.

 Duality did not sleep. Duality created and it destroyed, which was all very well until the Light created something it could not contain.

 Cosmic power such as The Empty had, and which Duality (and Death) had been created from, was endless. The Empty had become half of itself when Duality came into existence, and now the Light was creating things out of its own cosmic power—things that could never be destroyed; things that were endless too. That was all very well when those endless things contained the tiniest fraction of power, something the Light called souls. The Light could build homes for those souls, and keep the cosmic power safe in perpetuity. But it also made powerful cosmic things and called them archangels, and those were a much bigger problem.

 The Light only made four of these cosmic things to begin with. He named them Michael, Lucifer, Raphael and Gabriel. And then, when one of his things, Lucifer, was poisoned in the Light’s attempts to lock away half of it’s own Duality, it created even more things out of its own cosmic power so that it could fight Lucifer and his influence. And Lucifer, because he had no more restraint than his own creator, made even more even more things out of his own cosmic power.

 Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid!

 That was when it started. Some of the things killed some of the other things, and Death? Boy was it flummoxed. It could collect the tiny little souls of dead things and put them away in the Light’s storecupboards of its own power, but what was it supposed to do with higher concentrations of cosmic power when they died?

 Simple. Death put them in the Empty.

 What an asshole.

 They were noisy. These parts of the Light did not belong here. They jostled about the Empty and were generally a nuisance, making everything much less empty than it had been before. Their existence was a blight on everything that the Empty thought he was, and when he complained to Death about it, Death just shrugged and told him to speak to the Light.

 Which would be fine except the Light was missing.

 That little upstart jerk! When the Empty caught up to him, he’d be in for it then! It had put up with a lot of crap over the years but this really took it to a whole new level.

 But what to do about all the things? What was it supposed to do about them? They couldn’t carry on about the place making such a riot, the Empty simply couldn’t stand it.

 So he made a deal with Death. Death would be allowed to put anything here it needed to – anything at all – so long as those things were all asleep. If they slept then they wouldn’t bother the Empty much at all. He liked sleep, and the angels and demons wouldn’t wake him up if they were dozing too. No. He would be content, so long as they were always sleeping.

 So long as they were always sleeping, his deal with Death would stand.

 So long as they always stayed asleep.

[amazable01]

Spiders

This is a Sanders Sides fan-fiction.

Be warned, this deals with fears, possession, and other creepy, crawly things. If you get triggered easily, I would suggest not reading this one-shot.

"AHHHH!!!!"

Everyone jumped at Patton's sudden screaming. We all ran around trying to find him, but to no avail.

"Patton!" Virgil called out, nervous. "Dad! Where are you?"

I hear Roman calling a similar thing from around the corner. I step into the darkened kitchen. "Patton?" I call out. "Are you in here?"

No response.

I keep looking around, until all three of us come to the one door we didn't want to see.

The Imagination Room.

Although this can be a nice, sweet, innocent place(Usually when Prince is working on an idea or project of some sort), it also can be terrifying(It's where Anxiety works on nightmares and all the other things that keep Thomas awake until the late hours of the night).

And, judging by Patton's earlier screaming, it was the latter. "I told him not to go in there." Virgil says, anxious as always. "There's an EXTREMELY bad one tonight."

"What is it about?" Roman asks.

Virgil says the words we all didn't want to hear. "Spiders."

"WHY?" Roman asks, looking at Virgil. "Why does it have to be about..." He shudders. "Spiders? Also, why did he need a nightmare in the first place?"

"They go hand in hand. Thomas found an infestation of poisonous spiders earlier today, and has to wait until tomorrow to get rid of it. However, he was anxious about it, and I HAD to give him the nightmare. Believe me, I hate them just as much as you do."

"First off," I say, straightening my tie. "They're venomous, not poisonous. Secondly, we should go get Patton before it's too late."

The other two nod, and we step through the door.

"Logic?" Virgil says, getting my attention. "I'm going to ask you to hold my hand while we travel through here. I don't want you getting hurt, or worse, since you've never been here before." I nod, taking his outstretched hand in my own. "Now let's go find Patton before he's trapped here."

We walk into a giant chamber. "N-no..." Virgil says, dropping my hand.

"That's... Impossible..." Roman says, his voice barely above a whisper.

Suspended from a giant spider web in the middle of the room, was Patton. His cardigan was torn into pieces, and is scattered across the floor. His glasses were broken, the glass shards sticking to the web in spots. My eyes widen.

"Virgil, I thought a trait couldn't get hurt in the imagination." I say.

"Not in Roman's part, no. However, this is a nightmare, where the rules of reality itself are bent to make this more terrifying. If we don't get Patton out of here, he could die."

Patton shudders on the web. I now notice his clothes are torn, and cuts and bruises show through. Behind him, a giant spider crawls forward. "Well, well..." It says, training its eyes on us. "I never thought the dream masters would come to my domain, and that they'd bring another friend. What a lovely surprise."

"Let him go." Anxiety says, firmly.

"My, my, quite the eager one, aren't we? Then again, this is a VERY important trait, isn't it? The one dealing with emotion, right?" It chuckles. "Yes, fear is a very pleasant emotion, and, with this one, we can make it eternal."

"Logan, Roman, this is the living embodiment of Thomas' fears. It can be anything it chooses, and feeds off of fear. It's a power-hungry demon."

"That's rough, ANXIETY." The creature says, making Virgil flinch. "Considering YOU'RE the stress that allowed this to happen in the first place."

I grab Anx's hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. Or, at least, Patton said it was reassuring for him.

"And the dreamer is here as well." The creature turns to Roman, tilting it's head. "You're such a nuisance to me. Giving Thomas these 'DREAMS', when he obviously needs nightmares all the time." It smirks. "Then again, you are just a nuisance to everyone."

Roman's eyes widen for a minute, but he quickly regains composure.

The creature then turns to me. "Oh my..." It says, smirking. "You're a fun one, aren't you?" It advances slightly, and Roman and Virgil pull me back. "You're the Logical one. You're the one who tries to convince Thomas I'm not real. You're the 'emotionless' one. And, yet..." It's eyes pierce my skin. "Oh... The fear in you. For someone so prone to avoid emotion, you sure are incredibly full of it."

I feel (figurative) goose-bumps crawl up my arms. Virgil pulls me back further.

"Unfortunately, as Anxiety said, I feed off fear. And, although your comrade here is an excellent source of it," It says, gesturing to Patton. "I need more."

It suddenly produces a smoke, and it shrinks. When the smoke clears, it is now a perfect copy of Patton. The real Patton's eyes glow a soft red color, and he begins struggling, whimpering.

"See, Logan?" The creature says, sounding perfectly like Patton. I step back. "I can be Patton. I can be whatever you want."

Patton silently screams, as if his voice was stolen from him. Tears leak from his eyes.

"It's giving him a vision." Virgil explains. "It feeds off of fear, and is literally trapping Patton in a constant loop of his own fears. It's using him as a source of energy."

Patton whimpers and sobs on the web, struggling as hard as he can. The creature smiles, laughing maniacally in Patton's voice again. It sounds so wrong, such a cold and evil sound coming from Patton. It then stops, and looks Virgil dead in the eyes. "What do you mean, kiddo?"

Roman squints his eyes at the creature. Virgil just freezes. "Y-you're a monster. You're not Patton."

"Kiddo, it's me. Your pop. Are you feeling well, buddy?" The... thing advances, suddenly becoming uncomfortably Patton-like.

"N-no. You're not." Virgil says, his voice wavering slightly. "You're a horrible creature who's putting my dad through pain."

"Virgil, why would your old man lie to you?" The look-alike asks, looking hurt. "Do you think I would?"

"No, I don't think Patton would lie to me." He looks at the creature with a hard gaze. "But you're not Patton."

"Kiddo..." The creature says, looking so hurt it pains me. "Do you really have so little trust in me, you wouldn't believe in my words?" Then, suddenly a wave of emotion seems to pulsate through the room. I brush away the 'guilt' I'm feeling, looking back to the creature. It smirks. "Didn't know I could do that, did ya, Logan? I have an influence on Thomas' emotions, so I also can spread that influence to others."

I see Virgil begin to tear up. "Patton... I'm so sorry..." I grab his arm, holding him back. "LOGAN!! I NEED TO COMFORT HIM!! HE'S GOING TO GET UPSET!!"

I keep a firm grasp on Anx, and Roman seems to be shaking off the trance. "What kind of dark magic was that?" He asks, shaking his head.

"It has the power to toy with your emotions." I explain, struggling to keep Virgil from running into the arms of the beast. "It will do anything to mess with you."

"please..." Virgil begins to break down in my arms. "I need to help him..."

"Son..." The creature says, his eyes beginning to water up. "Why? Do you really hate me that much?"

Virgil burst out of my arms. "NO!" I scream.

But it's too late.

The world seems to go into slow motion as Virgil runs into the arms of the creature. It bites down on his neck, a black sludge beginning to leak into Virgil's veins. Virgil's eyes roll back, and he collapses.

Roman's face is one of pure terror, something that is probably reflected on my own. The creature looks at us, it's Patton-like form becoming less convincing. "It's almost TOO easy." It tilts its head to the side. "But now, all of the host's feelings and fears are mine." It drops Virgil to the ground, his body falling limply. "But, there are more important matters now."

The creature smirks, and glows. Suddenly, Virgil begins to stand, his eyes completely black. His movements are stiff, as if he is a badly controlled...

Puppet.

"ROMAN, GET BACK!!" I pull the egotistical trait back just as the Virgil puppet lunges forward.

The creature laughs. "He's so easy to manipulate. In fact..." It raises its arm, and Patton drops from the spider web. Cuts and lines of blood appear across his body as he falls through and lands on broken glass.

I hold Roman back as Patton stands stiffly, his eyes like pits of tar. Blood drips out of open cuts on his skin, but he doesn't respond.

"Something I've realized over time is that the power of one side depends on the side it is. Patton effects emotions, to the point where extreme emotion can be influenced, or forced, upon others. Virgil's anxiety can be spread out, whether in small doses, or enough to give all of you a panic attack in seconds. Roman has powers of dreams and creativity, allowing him to spread ideas to others. Why do you think Thomas chose purple hair?" I see Roman blush slightly from the corner of my eye. "However, there's one thing that puzzles me, Logan."

It steps towards me, it's gaze piercing my soul. "What do you do? Are you a motivator, protector, teacher? What is your power?"

"That does not concern you." I say, my voice almost a growl. I take a deep breath. It wants you to react. It wants you to be weak.

"Oh, does it?" Its arm reaches out, and pulls Roman to its chest. It holds him, almost mocking his struggle to escape. "Your power is the only reason you're still here, Logan." It bites down on Roman's neck, and he goes limp, his eyes turning black.

I step back. "I do not understand what you are talking about."

"You see everything the way it is. Nothing I can do can make you believe. I can try to influence you, break you down, or plant ideas in your mind, but none of those will work. You don't change your perception of the world unless YOU want to change it. This also affects the whole of the mind. After all," It steps closer and closer to me. "Whatever is real for Logic must be real, right?"

I dodge. "However, I do think what is your strength is your weakness." I move away, Puppet-Patton trying to grab me. "If I get that power, I can make all of Thomas' fears seem like a reality." It laughs, before changing into a vision of me. "Thomas will believe Logic, after all."

The comparison is uncanny. I step back, knowing what it is trying to do. "This will not work." I say, dodging Puppet-Virgil's iron grasp.

"Oh, but will it not?" It asks, no expression. "After all, you are your worst fear, Logic."

I stiffen, the name sounding sterile compared to my true name. "That is not my name."

"Oh, but that is what you are..." It says, staring at me. "You are Logic. You are the leader. You are the robot."

I step back, a little slower than I hoped. Puppet-Roman's arm had brushed past my own. "I'm not a robot." I say, so flustered my grammar didn't matter at the moment.

"Oh, made a mistake there, Logic?" It asks, taunting me with my title. "Better be careful. We do not want to mess up. We could be worthless. Baggage. Completely unnecessary. Useless."

My breath catches in my throat, and It smirks. "Found it." It gets closer to me, trapping me against a wall. "Is that all we are, Logan? Are we just THAT useless? We tried to save Virgil, and failed. We tried to save Roman, and failed. We failed Patton from the very start of this little adventure. And, now..."

It leans over me, whispering in my ear. "We've failed Thomas, too."

I feel something sharp pierce my neck, and I fall unconscious.

Reblog/Like/Comment your thoughts! I’d love to have some feedback on my writing.

[hannahstocks]

’99 bottles of beer on the wall, 99 bottles of beer, take one down, pass it around, 98 bottles of beer on the wall’…

Mild hysteria in both our voices, oncoming traffic lights, lighting up the salt streams running down beetroot coloured cheeks, eyes squeezed together so tightly, with a force in her lungs to be reckoned with.

I’d had a bad feeling about the first camp spot, ‘something just doesn’t feel right’ as I screwed up my face apologetically.  There was something about camping next to a heavily logged area of forest which gave me a sad sunken feeling, a graveyard for trees made me draw a little deeper for air, knotting in my stomach. The fast flowing river on the other side of us juxtaposed the feeling of sadness with life and vitality and an eagerness to swim, but we pushed on, with a slightly passive aggressive tone floating around the van and a groan for dinner in our bellies.

My gut feeling pushed our eta a little later than we’d hoped, most of all, for the little beetroot faced girl sitting in between us.

I had worried a little before departure, we’d traveled in the van so many times before, longer and farther distances.  I was longing for the simple life, basic routines, outdoors even when you’re in doors with the selfish flexibility to stay or go, to see where the wind would blow.  

We were quickly realising that we needed to slow down, rushing from one spot to another was not conducive to a 6 month old, nor conducive to our own level of sanity and it felt good, new perspectives.

The last few nights in the van I had starred out of the window and into the stillness of the night, darkness laden with stars, temperatures dropping, my back covered in goosebumps, wedged against the cold metal of the barn door, with one slightly chilly boob exposed and a hungry little girl attached.  

How life had changed.

Having to get ‘nowhere quickly’ was starting to create a new perspective, a shift in mindset enabling the appreciation of those seemingly mundane moments. Finding something quite methodical and beautiful about piling our bags on the front seat ready for bed, washing up in stream water, putting the bed away and making the bed at night, tag teaming to go to the toilet or brushing our teeth. Feeding into the early hours.

Those first few days, the weather proved favourable for us, gifting us with blue skies and the kind of warmth that feels like you really deserved it, small pockets of Autumnal grace warming the parts of us exposed and making those cold water dips that little more bearable.

The Lake District proved to be some of the coldest water we’ve both swam in yet, painful, stabbing all over our bodies, stealing our breath as we submerged into the most beautifully emerald water, crystal clear. Each of us looking on as the other floats down the river, navigating rocks and mini rapids. A little part of us enjoying the others discomfort along with a sense of camaraderie.  Taking turns, now a necessity.

Have you ever seen a horny Bull? Weird question maybe, but when one sets its sights or its smell on a field of unassuming cows, you soon learn that fences just don’t exist, merely a slight  obstacle, a nuisance if you will and you want to be as far away as you possibly can.

Sheets of glass welcomed us that evening, with that Autumnal late afternoon light, casting favourable sun flares and romanic feelings, I think we even held hands at one point. It was the light to give those van legs a resurgence of energy.

No matter how many times we’ve thrown a ball for Dillon and watched him launch, with pure joy into the water, each time it seems like the first time, somehow still elated by the sight of that moment, mid air, all limbs outstretched, anticipation on his little face.  And honestly, a slight jealously stirs inside that you can want something so bad as if it’s the first time you’ve ever had it, time and time again, like a really really good groundhog moment.

Hot dogs with all the trimmings were on the menu that evening, oh and sliced baby fingers.  Note to self, always remember when you’ve opened a can of beer and placed it in arms reach of your baby, she will want to play with it and most probably, start playing it like a singing bowl. The never ending emergence of guilt revealed itself to me with conviction that evening.  A few tears, a little bit of blood and she was fine, I wasn’t.  A play mate for Dillon began to soften the blow as they played well into dusk, dropping the ball onto the van door mat, eyes drilling into us ‘please throw, please throw, please throw’.  People began to congregate and beach fires started to emerge, embers flying straight up and into the windless night.  We would fall asleep to stillness and I’d wake to feed the babe to chilly temperatures, 3 or 4 degrees at most.

The next morning saw a slow relay of running, swimming and stretching, James held out the baton and it was my turn.  Pausing on the shoreline, bikini clad at the start of the Caledonian canal, water running down my goose pimpled skin, enjoying the surge of heat glowing through my body from the mix of salt and fresh water.  Each rock on the bottom as clear as looking through glass.

Just towards the fields behind the van, we watched a bull, come out from no where and start charging the length of 4 football pitches, barbed wire fences separating each field.  He’d become entangled in each fence and momentarily be stuck, bucking his legs. James and I looked at each other like ‘what do we do?!’ And then he’d kick his way free and onto the next, same scenario, before bulldozing the last fence, straight through and into the woodland and up into the field of grazing cows, blissfully unaware of what was about to hit them.  It amazed us, that sheer one tracked focus, the brutal strength and discard for anything in his way.

Further North and well into Scotland, the good weather came and went and as a good friend recently said, no family holiday would be complete without a couple of nights in a static caravan. We watched low tide turn to high from inside the warmth and through the rain drenched window, the side rain now relentlessly beating down, wind so strong the sides shaking. Normally I would have felt like we were cheating on the van, but honestly, I couldn’t have been happier sat watching the weather, inside and dry.

The caravan sat on the far east of the peninsula, unspoilt and wild, stretching out into the Atlantic Ocean, a single track road leading to the most westerly point on the Great British mainland. 

There was no rush, nowhere to be, no waves to chase. 

The weather cleared, patches of sunshine with rain, rainbows decorating the sky.  

We made the slow way west, the sound of cameras clicking as we inspected the sun kissed ever changing landscapes; enchanted woodland into open pastures, tucked away bays and mountainous passes; taking it in turn to dash from the van, catching precious moments in between showers.  Sometimes, just staring out, cameras down, impossible to capture.  

Castles at low tide, friends with nordic cabins looking out over hills rolling into lochs with mountains lacing the edges, unsuccessful fishing spots revealing hidden bays for swimming and the babe taking her first ever picture, first of many I’m sure. 

We’d been keeping an eye on the weather chart, heavy rain and strong winds on the forecast. Hopping on the ferry we headed north and into the eye of the storm.  Sunshine joined us over the short and relatively smooth crossing, although it doesn’t take much for me to seek out somewhere to lie down, breathing the fresh air in deeply, wooziness on the horizon.

The wind continued to increase throughout the day as we pulled up to our camp spot, positioning the van with what felt like a million micro adjustments to save ourselves from the soon becoming Gail force head winds.  

Watching on, hikers pitched single man tents on the grass in the most exposed of areas which unfortunately just happened to be the flattest.  The swell in the bay was small but what there was of it was boasting white caps, foam blowing onto the shingle and across the bay.

I thought a lot about those hikers over the duration of our short stay.  They were in for a rough night, thats for sure, struggling to erect their tents in the first place, sides bowing into themselves and away from the oncoming wind, no doubt pressing up against them and their kit, now sheltering inside. Condensation building.  They would fall asleep to torrential rain and wake up to it, relentless, no break.  But I envied them.  And not because I wanted to be anywhere other than where I was, but because I know that feeling, the rollercoaster of feelings which come from doing something physical and getting completely drenched, feeling uncomfortable, tired, irritable and ravenous but so full of satisfaction and overwhelming joy that its been anything but a fair weather experience, instead, a full on adventure.  I imagined them finding a pub a couple of days later when their hike was over, pint in hand, hearty meal on the table, cheeks rosy with that immediate fuzzy feeling, contented satisfaction. 

Maybe I’m just a romantic though.  

Maybe they all hated every second.

Walking up the rough track, we gazed out towards the dominant cliffs and across the bay, waterfalls scattered in the hills, watching the weather as it crept in visible sheets across the sky; most of the hikers tucked up inside their canvas sheets, a couple still frantically tying down guy ropes.

‘I think it’s gonna skirt across and miss us’, he says hopefully.  Looking towards the looming sky, I didn't share his optimism. But we kept walking upwards, stretching our legs, tripping over lose rocks, struggling a little with fatigue and the extra weight strapped to me in her pile fleece onesie.

There is always the need to move, in life, in general but no more than when we’re on the road.  So much sitting and snacking, the body gets restless and the mind starts to irritate and there’s only so much van chair yoga before you start to feel the opposite effects.

And so it begins, that piercing side rain that was ‘definitely’ going to miss us. Oh it hurts and it’s so wet, the kind of rain that soaks you instantly, no rain jacket, just a fleece, absorbing all the moisture, jeans sticky and heavy, arms wrapped around the little warm parcel strapped to me, asleep, oblivious.  

The wetness would continue into the night and all of the next day too, completely relentless.

It was a full moon, we were trapped inside the van, tensions were high and there were almost tears over spilt gnocchi.

Luckily we’re still married.

Just.

The problem with being a Pisces is making decisions.  Hard enough with one pisces.  Even harder with two.  We sat in a lay by eating sandwiches, refreshing the iPhone and what the weather was predicting for the next week.  It looked bleak for where we were and there was a pull for sunshine and waves in Ireland, but an even bigger niggle in my belly that we hadn’t even scratched the surface of Scotland, the thought of leaving without further exploration left me feeling a little empty. Plus, how often is the weather right anyway?

And so we made the decision (after five long hours) to keep heading North, further exploring the wonder of the west.

“ROAD CLOSED”.

‘You’re fucking kidding?!’

This wasn’t your usual road closure, this was the kind of road closure which had you driving from the west coast to the east, driving North and then back West again.  What should have been an hour journey, turned into four.  

In the dullness of the fading light, the massive mountains sprouted up from the earth and engulfed us, dwarfing our van and the road we drove along through the nature reserve, waterfalls in mountain sides, precarious sheep teetering on the edge, green everywhere with rock walls lining the way and running off in all directions, at all different elevations across the face.

It was still raining when we found our camp spot, but it was irrelevant.

Our van sat off the quiet road on a small patch of grass with rocks flowing from the sliding door and down into the loch, the tide was high and the sound of mini lapping waves was delicious. The air breathed purity down into our lungs and the anticipation for a swim the next day gave us bursts of excitement each time we ventured for a nature wee.  This trip was quickly becoming the ‘cold water swimming holiday’ and I couldn’t have been happier about it.

Im learning that life, now more than ever, runs in stages, a bad stage feels endless, whilst a good stage is laced with anxiety knowing that it wont last. We had a sleeper, we didn’t even realise how lucky we were but we’d keep quiet when others would talk about multiple wake ups and multiple feeds, didn’t want to jinx it.  We were slowly starting to join the latter stage.

Those early feeds in the vans were also presenting me with a sneaky peak into a very special time of day/night, nobody around, just the two of us awake with wildlife right outside the door venturing closer for inspection, feeding, wandering.  Deer right outside the van, owls hooting, foxes scurrying and those stars, on a clear night, are enough to send you into a dream like state no matter how awake or tired you feel.  So much is happening when we’re sleeping.

A beautiful sunny scenic walk would prove too much for our little girl, icy winds, streaming eyes, goose pimples and mini baby shivers, with the undertone of ‘we pushed it too far’, slight stress in each wobbly step back down to the van.  While there were still snores and deep breaths into my chest, slumber and contentment, we gazed around at the beautiful valley, peering over steep cliffs whilst cliff faces in the distance soared up towards the clouds, pools of water decorating the rocky terrain, adding rocks to cairns along the way.  

‘This one’s for Billie’, he proclaims.

We’d reached the part of Scotland I’d been daydreaming about in the lead up to the trip, the part of the country we could have so easily have missed had we made a slightly different decision, back in that lay-by, back in the torrential rain, the day of indecision. 

Floating on my back, the icy water now spilling over my limbs, a sky of grey mist above, jagged rocks below.  The babe strapped to her dad, Dillon at his side somewhere in the hills.  I let my head fall back, ice-cream head threatening to bite, the air still, no-one insight.  I can feel my energy levels going from zero to off the charts with every second, with every deep breath, the sleepless night washed off and a soothing reminder that the water never fails to be the natural compass back to myself.

Next stop.

The emerald Isle.

[howlifes-blog]

The world’s most infamous animal rating, it makes lots of people’s voices

There are a lot of sorts of creatures on the earth, however there are two several types of creatures. At present we'll come to grasp the dangerous ones. Nonetheless, there are lots of animals belonging to this class. We are able to’t come collectively one after the other, so let’s speak about essentially the most Just a few annoying individuals, the next small collection will deliver everybody to be taught concerning the world's most infamous animal rankings. The world's most infamous animal rankings:Skua, gray squirrel, murderous bee, lionfish, lynx, lynx, caterpillar, chameleon, mouse, fox

The world's most infamous animal rating

1. Skua

Skuas are essentially the most hated animals. They aren't solely hateful to people, however many animals additionally hate them as a result of they usually steal your meals and fly away with instantaneous lightning. It may well't do something, it's a extra irritating place, many animals endure starvation due to it, so many creatures dislike it. 2, grey squirrel

The grey squirrel is a form of squirrel, however this squirrel is a fierce squirrel that utterly subverts our cute cognition of the squirrel. The squirrel itself carries the virus. They unfold the virus by attacking different creatures, permitting extra creatures. They're struggling, their existence has affected the ecosystem, and the pure ecological stability has been threatened. They're actually annoying animals. 3, killer bee

The presence of murder bees additionally threatens the lives of many individuals and animals. It's a very poisonous creature that may trigger injury to different creatures by licking different creatures. First, it'll numb and stun, and it'll result in loss of life. There's additionally a really robust skill to multiply, which can be very troublesome to just accept, in order that extra organic life is threatened. 4, Lionfish

The lionfish is the fourth most well-known animal on the earth. This fish can be very horrible. It's also extraordinarily poisonous. It may well trigger different creatures to not stay usually. It may well hurt many marine life and hurt people. It assaults rapidly and is painful for the attackers. It may well destroy the traditional ecological stability and trigger the gorgeous state of nature to be threatened. 5, 蟋蟀

蟋蟀 is the shackles in our mouths, they usually make harsh calls, particularly at midnight, a lot of them within the grass, they're a big group, they will by no means be destroyed, all the time at evening Listening to their annoying screams makes it exhausting to sleep, they usually look ugly and make individuals hate it. 6, 蟾蜍

Everybody could be very conversant in it. It's the shackles of individuals's mouths. They're lined with dense pustules. Individuals look very disgusting. Their total coloration can be very darkish and ugly. Their our bodies are additionally separated from the flesh and blood. Feeling uncomfortable, and it's mentioned that there might be dangerous luck in seeing you, so many individuals are very disgusted with them. 7, caterpillar

The caterpillars will need to have been knocked out of the goose bumps by many individuals. They're additionally very annoying. They exist in lots of locations. They might be due to appears and actions that make individuals look sick, so many individuals are very proof against this animal. Not solely are many comfortable and weak women afraid of them, however many robust and powerful boys are additionally rejecting them and fearing them. 8, chameleon

The chameleon is positioned within the eighth place on the earth's most infamous animal rankings. It's also an unpredictable animal. Their moods are good and dangerous. Once they change their feelings, their physique coloration will change. Generally they may The encompassing atmosphere is built-in, it's troublesome to seek out its location, it is usually a cold-blooded animal, it's troublesome to domesticate emotions with you, so you're ineffective for a way good it's. 9, mouse

Rats are actually a really annoying animal. They don’t say what they're doing. It’s simply that their appears make individuals really feel sick and disgusted. It has a gray-haired pointed mouth. It doesn’t do good issues in a day, solely is aware of the injury. The farmer’s hard-growing crops solely know that stealing rice could be very nuisance, and their screams are very ugly. Many ladies are afraid of rats. 10, the fox

The fox will need to have the whole lot to grasp. It's a very awkward animal. It has a coronary heart and a coronary heart. Many individuals suppose that it's an unimaginable animal. Within the fairy story, there may be additionally a narrative of a fox and a tiger. Hey and dangerous ideas, we have now a really dangerous impression on the fox, I believe they're all hateful animals. All articles on this web site are shared by customers. If you wish to see extra, please go to howlifes Read the full article

[philthevaliant-stuff]

What Would Be the Plot for a Steven Universe Feature Film? (Part 2!)

@anawinkaro has requested I continue with the potential film plot I was thinking of for a Steven Universe movie. Happy to oblige! Here’s what I’ve come up with since yesterday! Hope you enjoy!

Confused? Read Part 1 here: http://philthevaliant-stuff.tumblr.com/post/163384703337/what-would-be-the-plot-for-a-steven-universe

***

Meanwhile, back on the beach, with the party now in tatters after Anti-Steven's meddling, our friends have taken sides on the whole matter: Pearl and Greg are quite adamant that Steven HAS been misbehaving, with Greg worrying that all of the stress that has been put on his son recently has finally gotten to him; Amethyst and Garnet stick to their beliefs that it's an impostor Steven trying to frame the real Steven for some unknown cause (Amethyst has seen Steven up, close, and personable during their duel in 'Steven vs. Amethyst', so she knows how an impostor Steven would behave if she saw one). Connie is on the fence: she says she can't believe that her best friend, the one she lo---likes, the one who made her feel welcome after her moving into Beach City, could turn against her as simple as a snap of one's fingers - she doesn't know WHAT to think.

As Pearl, Greg, and Connie argue among themselves, Amethyst starts messing around with a smartphone, capturing an image of Anti-Steven from the recorded evidence provided to the Gems earlier in the film and doodling on the photo via a photo editing app. Her eyes bulge, then she tries to get the group's attention. They ignore her. She shouts louder. Nope, still arguing. So she shape-shifts into a megaphone and gets Garnet to shout through the mouthpiece. That gets their attention!

Shape-shifting back, Amethyst shows how the impostor Steven could very well make himself look like a carbon copy of Steven via tapping the Undo/Redo buttons on the paint app a few times. Pearl is surprised that she had been fooled; Greg now feels guilty for telling off Steven for something he never did in the first place; Connie is relieved that her best friend is off the hook, but she'd like to give that impostor Steven a piece of her mind!

Garnet gives her own statements on the matter: having used her future vision to try and solve the mystery, she had found a few paths as to how Steven would suddenly lose his cool and misbehave, and now that Amethyst has given everyone an important clue, those paths have now been filtered and she is quite determined that it was the gem artifact they found a while back that is behind everything.

Evil laughter echoes from behind them, and they turn to see Anti-Steven (having now reformed to his natural self) near the washing line on the stony hand, holding onto... no! It can't be! Pearl exclaims that Anti-Steven has found the Shooting Star ("A powerful artifact that we salvaged from a well" she summarizes to Connie), and demands that he give it back to them. Anti-Steven cackles and kicks the washing line down, before running back into the Temple. The Crystal Gems give chase, with Pearl instructing Connie to escort Greg to safety and warn everyone in Beach City, in case the Shooting Star goes off in the Temple.

Anti-Steven has made a mess of the entire Temple in his search for the weapon: plates smashed, food squashed, furniture broken and upended, the lot! He leads the Crystal Gems on a merry goose chase through their rooms until he escapes via the Warp Pad! Garnet states that he has gone back to where the gem artifact was kept, and that SHE will no doubt be rescued from her prison thanks to Anti-Steven...

Night has fallen in the country. Steven has walked all the way from Beach City to the Barn, carrying a knapsack on his back. He says to himself that before he sneaked out of his room, he would've gotten Lion to hold a note in his mane that he was running away to somewhere where he wouldn't be such a nuisance to everybody, but since he couldn't find Lion anywhere, he assumed that even Lion thought he (Steven) was being naughty. He says that it's for the best, and that he hopes he can find a place where everyone could understand what is happening to him, what has happened to him before today happened ... in other words, where everyone believed in Steven.

As he starts to cry from the stress, he hears a familiar voice:

"HEY, STEVEN!!"

It's Peridot! She's outside with Lapis and Pumpkin, watering the vegetables (and Pumpkin too, of course)! Steven happily runs up to the pair and hugs them, tears in eyes. The duo are confused as to what's been going on, but Steven tells them all about it. Lapis is furious that someone is trying to pretend to be like Steven, and Peridot (after singing a catchy song with Lapis about how helpful Steven really is) decides to help Steven clear his name. It sounds like this impostor is familiar with everyone in Beach City and the Crystal Gems... but because she and Lapis stayed at the Barn all day, would this impostor recognize them if they came to Beach City, assuming this impostor is still at large? They would need Gem tech to solve such a conundrum! This gets cogs turning in Steven's mind, and asks Peridot about a gem artifact he came across soon after he first met her...

Back at the cave, Anti-Steven activates the Shooting Star near a huge pile of rubble and gets to a safe distance near the gem artifact, bubbling himself up for extra protection. The Crystal Gems appear on the Warp Pad, just in time for the Shooting Star to activate! Garnet helps Pearl and Amethyst to get away from the blast as it pushes itself outside the cave, turning the night into day in the process. Fortunately, the Gems manage to escape with just a few bruises and scratches, but they return to the ruined cave in horror as moonlight shines onto a nearby gem and Moldavite regenerates into a powerful warrior-like shape.

Moldavite recalls her last few moments: Tektite and Pallasite, two of her best friends a Homeworld space warrior could ever have, had been shattered by a Rose Quartz and her team of renegades, and they had backed her into a corner, damaged her enough for her to retreat into her gem, when a landslide occurred and buried her alive. She had been trapped and unable to regenerate, but now that someone has freed her, she can finally exact her revenge!

Amethyst doesn't know who Moldavite is, so Pearl explains: Moldavite was the leader of the Diamonds' trio of advanced space warriors; more powerful and skilled than any other Gem on Homeworld, she alongside Tektite and Pallasite were normally used to wipe out any lifeform on a planet that posed a threat of revolt against their planet being hollowed out. When word got out that Rose was kicking up a stink on Earth, Yellow Diamond chose the three to lead the first wave of attacks against the Crystal Gems. It took the entirety of the Crystal Gems to wipe out Tektite alone, and it was through the evolving skills of primitive man that Pallasite was taken out - she had really gotten the rebels on the ropes that time!

Moldavite takes out her weapon (a ray gun) and recognizes the Fusion that was with Rose when she (Moldavite) was poofed: Garnet! Before she can fire, however, Anti-Steven rudely cuts in and demands that Moldavite work for HIM, a half-human, half-Gem being, considering he came out of the same gem artifact that she was using on the Crystal Gems led by Rose, Pearl, and Garnet. Moldavite is surprised at how differently the effects of the artifact have been, creating such an advanced, evil version of the primitive creatures that tried to dodge her blasts centuries ago! She agrees, but reminds Anti-Steven that if he falls out of line, if he tries to usurp her from her position, the same artifact that created him can also DESTROY him! And if she can use this artifact on humanity, they would be hateful enough to instigate another war, this time a Great War* against themselves, and allow the Diamonds to swoop in and hollow out the Earth without incident...!

*Remember, in the world of Steven Universe, World Wars I and II never happened!

(And that's where I'll leave you all tonight. To Be Continued and all that. Fret not! I'll do more tomorrow. In the meantime, if you don't like where this is going, feel free to submit your versions of the plot, and I'll look at them!)

[mollymauk-teafleak]

At the Crossroads

More of mine and @minky-for-short‘s Supernatural AU! More angst! More Alex fucking up with good intentions! 

Explaining why there’s such a history between the Hamilton family of hunters and the Burrs, demons of the crossroads 

Alex spent a few moments he didn’t really have looking at the photograph in his hands.

Finding the ingredients he needed hadn’t been hard, they hadn’t cleaned out the car since they’d cut and run and a thousand different vials and mason jars were still rolling around in the trunk. The photograph, he got from Eliza’s wallet. That had been the hard part, walking away and taking her coat from where it had just been discarded on the hospital room floor, rifling through the pockets in a way that had felt indecent.

A little like grave robbing.

The photo was of him, of course, it had to be for this to work. But it was one of him that he’d almost forgotten about, faded and rumpled from being carried around.

Eliza had taken it what felt like decades ago, a time of happiness and safety that Alex couldn’t even remember right now. He couldn’t remember ever feeling anything but bone shaking panic and fear. This younger version of himself was grinning crookedly, coyly, trying to duck away from the camera but Eliza had been insistent, declaring that he just looked too cute not to photograph, that she wanted to preserve this moment for the rest of eternity. Alex had snorted and blushed and rolled his eyes, wondering aloud why she really thought the sight of him with shower wet hair needed to be recorded for posterity. But then Eliza had simply pressed this younger, happier version of himself against the bed and kissed him, smothering his protests and complaints with her mouth on his, silencing everything in his brain apart from the one thought of how much he loved this woman.

And Eliza had kept it. She’d taken that photo, that careless, silly moment between the two of them, and she kept it by her all the time like a talisman. Like he was something precious.

Alex didn’t realise he was crying until he realised the tears were dripping from his nose onto the photograph. He cleaned it off quickly with his sleeve, there couldn’t be any imperfections or smudges, this was delicate spell work. Then he dried his own eyes just as hurriedly, swallowing back the building storm in his chest. He couldn’t afford to feel that right now. If he backed out now, if he hesitated for a moment, then that would be it. It would be the end of both of them.

This was his last chance to save his Eliza.

 A crossroads hadn’t been hard to find, there was one so close Alex could still see the hospital building peering above the tree line as he stood at the epicentre of it. The dusk was gathering around him, the air was becoming heavy and there was just an inescapable sense of running out of time, of something draining away.

There was still blood on his hands, Alex couldn’t help noticing, as he buried the box. There had been blood on his hands many times before, more times than he really wanted to admit, so it wasn’t the sight itself that turned his stomach but knowing where the blood came from. His Eliza’s blood. The dark, rusty stains that dappled his sleeves were a reminder that all of this was real and he wasn’t just living some insane nightmare. And with that sickening reminder came a tide of other memories he just couldn’t face right now.

He shook his head to send the panic flying somewhere else and tried to focus on the task at hand, scraping the dark soil over the old tin containing the spell ingredients and standing back, feeling lightheaded. He stood and waited, shivering a little in his thin t shirt and jeans as night crept up and the temperature dropped, trying to focus on the small details around him so the thick silence couldn’t punch a hole through his defences and expose him. If he squinted and tried to count the leaves on the trees, if he focused on the sickly colour of the wilding flowers by the roadside, if he centred in on the goose bumps of his own skin then he wouldn’t fall apart. His mind wouldn’t stray back to that hospital room. How small and empty Eliza had looked, how bloodless and limp, how their last kiss had tasted of rust…

No. He needed focus. He needed calm. He had a job to do.

There was no gradual slip into darkness, there was no gentle turn of a dimmer switch. Night fell on the quiet, underused roadside like a sheet, like a sudden wash.

And he came with it.

 “Well, I have to admit, I’m a little surprised…”

The voice was smooth, honeyed, like each note in it was carefully chosen and honed for a specific purpose. It came from behind, Alex span, more rattled than he wanted to admit even though he’d known what was coming.

The demon that called itself Burr was standing in the middle of the road. He didn’t look surprised at being summoned, despite what he said, he looked like he was here at this barren crossroads for no reason other than because he planned it, simply straitening his shirt cuffs. At first glance, he looked like nothing other than a business man, dressed impeccably in a dark suit that looked simple but obviously held a subtle extravagance. Tall, thin, bald, a look of complete disinterest on his smooth, dark face. Unassuming, a man who would rather shake your hand and be done with it, who had probably never raised his voice in his life.

But Alex knew better. And sure enough, as Burr raised his eyes to gaze at him, there was a flash of red in their depths.

Alex knew he was talking to the king of the crossroads.

“You know me. I know you,” Alex stated the obvious, not trusting himself with anything but short, simple facts and even then, his voice cracked and splintered.

“Oh, of course I know who you are, Alexander,” Burr replied smoothly, studying the dishevelled man in front of him, a man clearly grief stricken and clinging to the edge but trying to hide it, “Even if we’ve never had the pleasure of meeting up until now, how could I not know of the infamous hunting duo of Alexander and Elizabeth Hamilton? Every day down there I hear a thousand curses against your names. You both seem to have something against my kind, given how many you’ve personally cast back into the pit.”

Burr started taking lazy, casual steps to close the gap between them. Alex reacted immediately, his body shifting and locking defensively, a hand flying to the silver knife at his belt. Another remnant of their old life found in the trunk of his car. Burr merely raised an amused eyebrow and held up his palms in a placating gesture, his voice ever so subtly mocking, “Now, now Alexander. You summoned me, remember? I’m hardly going to attack you out of the blue, not when I’m pins and needles to hear why exactly you of all people came knocking on my door.”

Alex didn’t relax in the slightest and his hand didn’t slip from the handle of the knife. He narrowed his eyes at Burr; even after good few months out of the game his mind began automatically picking out points of attack and defence. As if it would make a difference, should it come to blows between one of the strongest demons in all the kingdoms of hell and an exhausted, broken ex-hunter. As if Alex really cared about his own safety anymore.

“You see,” Burr continued casually, “For years, you and wife make such nuisances out of yourselves only to suddenly disappear one day? With not a whisper nor a rumour of where you’ve got to; I must confess, we were all a little worried about you. Much wailing and gnashing of teeth and all that, fear that you’d quit or managed to find yourselves an easy, painless death when so many down there have much bigger and more elaborate plans…” The flash of red again, and the beginnings of a slick grin as he savoured the threat, “And now here you are, in the flesh, not six months later, dragging me up here to the middle of nowhere. Why would I kill you when there’s questions still to answer?”

Alex’s lip curled, the smug patter of the demon grating on his already raw nerves in an unbearable way. His voice was a growl, “I didn’t summon you for a fucking chat, Burr. I want to make a deal.”

There it was, simple and plain, his words echoing a little in the space. Even Burr couldn’t conceal the flash in his eyes, a sickly mix of excitement and shock and delight. But he covered it quickly under his smooth business man’s façade.

“So, what, no preamble? No baiting? The demons you’ve exorcised tell me you talk their ears off with curses and jabs and recommendations of things they can shove up their asses. I’m a little disappointed, have to say.”

Alex’s hackles rose, “Look, I am not in the mood for this shit, not in the slightest. So, if all you’ve got for me is a fucking cheap wisecrack, then I’ll go to someone else.”

Burr was quick to change his stance, of course he was. Alex knew what a deal with a Hamilton was worth to him. Easily as a door to door salesman sliding into another pitch, the demon took a step forward with another mollifying gesture. This time, Alex didn’t back away.

“Hey, it’s no skin off my back, none at all,” Burr drawled, appearing to relax while not actually relaxing at all, “I understand the, ah…time constraint you’re under. Because of course you could walk away, you could go and find another demon to make a pact with but it won’t keep your wife’s corpse any fresher, will it?”

Alex winced. His knees nearly buckled, as if Burr’s words had been a physical punch to his gut.

Because of course he knew. He’d known from the moment he saw Alex, standing at a crossroads just a stone’s throw from a hospital, covered in blood and looking stricken and desperate. Of course, there was only one explanation.

“That’s it, isn’t it?” Burr’s smile was all teeth, “Your lovely wife died and you want me to bring her back. For a small fee, of course, though by the state of you, I’d guess you’d be willing to give anything- “

“She’s not dead!” Alex’s voice was raw, almost a sob, almost a shout and his chest burned with shame as it wrenched from him. He slumped a little under the demon’s relishing gaze, almost pleading now, “Eliza isn’t dead…she’s not dead, I still have time…”

“Not a large amount, I daresay,” Burr corrected smugly, “Hence why I’m your last shot.”

“Fuck off,” Alex spat, his eyes flaring as he gathered himself a little, “Can you help me or not?”

Burr stood a little straighter, “That’s what I do, dear boy. A simple soul for soul trade, is it, ten years until collection, an almost Shakespearian act of love and devotion, bravo and all that, so noble…”

Alex swallowed painfully, cutting across the demon’s bluster before he lost the nerve, “It…it’s not just Eliza.”

Burr stopped, looking at the broken man in front of him with a curious expression, “Oh? People don’t usually haggle with me, what else could you possibly want? What’s worth as much to you as your soulmate, alive and well again?”

Alex had to choke up the next words, “My child. Our child.”

 It had all happened so fast. All Alex had had were scraps and scenes he couldn’t put together, like a movie he half remembered seeing rather than memories of his own life. Eliza screaming his name, pulling him away from unpacking that last box of books, she’d been asking him to do it for a week. Running to the bathroom and her standing there, ashen, bracing against the doorframe. A brief, dream like moment of joy- it was happening, it was time! -that only made it worse when the floor fell away and he realised that it wasn’t water soaking her jeans, it was blood.

The way she clung to his hand and whimpered in pain, murmuring his name over and over like she was begging him to fix this and make it better. But all he’d been able to do was hold her as her moans had become screams, as doctors and nurses around them traded cruel, metallic sounding words like haemorrhage and breech. He remembered how hollow and pathetic his words had sounded as he’d held her hand and promised that just one more, it’s going to be okay, just one more push, please Betsey, you can do this, you’re doing great. They’d sounded like lies, even to him.

He remembered the rush and the awful silence, thinking they’re supposed to cry. Aren’t they supposed to cry? Alex had got to hold him briefly, just enough time to think that his son was the single most beautiful thing he’d ever seen in his life before he was taken away. Calls for an incubator, the ICU, blood transfusions, last ditch scrabbling for hope.

And Eliza, her beautiful dark eyes bloodshot and hazy with agony, had pulled him close, kissed him weakly, murmured that she loved him and went limp in his arms.

And that had been it.

Yesterday Alex had had everything. Now he had nothing but this last, desperate hope.

 Burr didn’t even try to hide his mirth at the situation, after a moment of shock the demon actually chuckled, as if Alex had told him an amusing dinner party anecdote.

“Oh ho! I see!” Burr snickered, his dark eyes shining, “So that’s why you two went off the grid! Didn’t pay enough attention in high school sex ed, hmm? Found yourselves in a bit of a bind and had to cut and run before one of the many monsters you two have pissed off over the years heard that there was going to be a very small, very vulnerable, very appetising bundle of joy? Oh, I’m so sorry, if I’d known the good news I’d have brought cigars!”

“Shut up!” Alex screamed, he’d heard enough, “Shut the fuck up! Another word out of your mouth and I’ll fucking end you, I swear to god!”

His words were harsh, his hand at the knife hilt tightened until the knuckles went white but he couldn’t stop the tears escaping his aching eyes and running down his face. There was just nothing else to do.

Burr quietened his laughter but his eyes stayed amused, very much enjoying the state Alex had worked himself into, “Oh but surely you see the irony in all this, boy? Years and years of hunting, countless close calls and hail Marys and it’s a simple medical complication that’s going to bring down Eliza Hamilton, a piece of rotten luck, an accident…” The demon’s eyes suddenly turned solid black, his smile twisting into something purely malicious, “Well, I mean, some blame has to be laid at your feet, doesn’t it? If you hadn’t knocked the poor girl up, she wouldn’t be dying right now. And after all the times you saved her…all the times she saved you…”

Burr knew he was either about to see Alex break and swing for him or crumble. And he wasn’t disappointed as the fight drained out of the poor guy in an instant and he began to sob bitterly into his hands, the silver knife falling heavily into the dirt.

The demon gave a small sigh of satisfaction. It was always easier to make deals with people who had no fight left in them and it would have been so tedious to have to dirty his new suit ripping Alexander limb from limb, even for the bragging rights of dispatching a Hamilton. But now they could really get down to business. And Burr always preferred to gain a little something more than bragging rights.

 Alex realised he was crying quickly and choked off, disgusted and embarrassed with himself for losing control. He wiped his face on his arm, clawing back his composure and facing Burr with a flushed face and streaming eyes, “S-So can you help me? Can you save them, Eliza and the baby?”

Burr pursed his lips as if doing calculations in his head, “Well…there’s a bit of an imbalance in our equation, my boy. Dear Eliza and the little bundle of joy means two souls. You can only offer me one and a pretty poor specimen at that.”

Alex’s expression turned fearful, “I need them both. Both or you get nothing from me.”

The demon tilted his head, the moonlight didn’t reflect in his eyes at all, “Is that so…which would you pick, I wonder, if I really pushed you…who is worth more to you, your wife or your newborn?”

“Both. Or. None,” Alex ground through his teeth, forcing back the ache Burr’s words set in his bones, the things he didn’t want to think about.

Burr lifted his eyebrow for a long moment but eventually he let it drop with a sigh. What could he say, a Hamilton’s soul was a terrific prize. And…if he was being truly honest with himself…he pitied Alexander. He couldn’t help but look at the man and think of his own family, his Theodosias, what he would tear apart to keep them safe.

Not that he was going to admit that, of course.

“Fine, fine, you’ve twisted my arm,” he sighed, noting how Alex visibly relaxed in relief, “So the contract is thus. I save your wife and your baby, bring them both to full health like this whole sorry business never happened. And in ten years’ time, Alex, your soul belongs to me. And believe me when I say, I mean to get my money’s worth…do we have a deal?”

Alex knew he should be ashamed of himself, he should feel guilt and revulsion and horror at his own actions. But there was none in him, all he could feel was desperate, painful hope that his family was going to be okay. Ten years. Ten years to be a father and a husband, to build them a life they deserved, that felt like a lifetime. He’d hand himself over right now for ten more minutes with Eliza. Without her, his soul was worthless.

So many times, during Eliza’s pregnancy, he’d pressed his lips to the swell in her belly and promised himself that there was nothing he wasn’t prepared to do to keep his child safe. And god, he’d meant it.

There wasn’t any hesitation as he nodded and said, “We have a deal.”

 Burr nodded, suddenly all formal, hiding his joy well behind a mask that was all business, “All that’s left is to seal the contract then…”

Alex groaned softly, remembering how demon contracts were signed, but it would hardly be the worst thing he’d do today. He made it on his terms at least, closing the distance between himself and the demon with long strides until he was face to face with the king of the crossroads himself. They were of a height.

Alex leaned in and pressed his lips to Burr’s harshly, with no emotion but desperation. He felt the demon’s hand come up to hold the back of his head, deepening their kiss until some ethereal checkpoint was reached and Burr stepped back, looking bemused. Alex just pulled his lips back from his teeth in a snarl and spat into the dirt.

“A pleasure doing business with you too, Alexander,” Burr chuckled, a slight rumble and echo to his voice now as the image of him blurred, “And congratulations.”

With a snap, the demon was gone and Alex was left alone, trembling with adrenaline and the cold. His head swam, his body begged to just fold and collapse and give up. But there was one thought in his mind that made his eyes snap open and electricity jump through his body.

“Eliza…”

 Eliza jerked awake with a small, frightened gasp. There was panic at first, that was all she could feel, blind panic as her body ached and hurt in a million different places and she felt so unbalanced, why did her body feel wrong, where was she, why was it so dark, where was Alex, where was…

Her hands flew suddenly to her stomach, looking for the comforting weight she’d gotten used to but finding just an empty hollow. That was when she screamed, trying to sit up, calling for-

“Eliza!” Alex burst through the doors, staggering, nearly collapsing at her bedside, wrapping his arms around her tight as he ever had. “Alex?” Eliza’s voice sounded sore, like she hadn’t used it in a while. She clung to her husband, desperately, “Alex, what’s happening, where’s the baby, I can’t remember…”

She began to cry and Alex soothed her, even as he wept himself. He held her face gently between his hands and brushed her tears away as rivers ran down his own sunken cheeks.

“Betsey. Oh god, Betsey, thank god…it’s okay. Everything’s okay, you’re here, you’re okay, the baby’s okay…” it sounded like he was convincing himself as much as her.

“But what happened?” Eliza asked, still fretful, still getting the unshakeable sense that something was very wrong, “I remember…I remember the blood…”

“Shh,” Alex shook his head, running his hands over her, chasing her fear away as he did, “Never mind that now, you did it. You got him here Eliza, you did so well…”

Eliza’s heart shaped face froze suddenly at his words, awe and wonder flooding her eyes, “Him?”

Of course. Of course, it had happened so fast she hadn’t even had a chance to hold her baby, let alone find out the gender. And to be honest, Alex had been shoving it to the back of his mind, it had been easier to distance himself. But now he was here. He was here and his beautiful Eliza was here and their baby was here and nothing was going to take them away ever again.

It was one of the best moments of Alex’s whole life as he got to smile at Eliza, stroke her hair and sigh, “We have a son, Eliza. We’ve got a little baby boy. Philip Hamilton.”

Those words had replaced every scrap of fear in Eliza’s heart, washing her anxiety away with floods of joyful tears. She cried even harder when their little baby was brought through and she got to hold him for the first time and the two parents could sit together and just marvel at the unbelievably beautiful little thing they’d made. For hours, they forgot their exhaustion and lost themselves in saying hello to the baby they’d both sacrificed so much to meet. But they couldn’t deny it forever and once Philip was fed and happy and suitably fussed over, both new parents could think about getting some sleep themselves.

“Doesn’t have my nose,” Alex chuckled eventually, as he bent over their sleeping son after setting him down reluctantly in the bassinet by Eliza’s bed, “Our prayers are answered.”

Eliza laughed too as she gingerly lay down, trying to avoid all her aches and hurts, “Look at his eyes, though. That’s all you. Oh, they’re beautiful…”

“He’s beautiful,” Alex sighed, finally managing to tear himself away from Philip to lay with Eliza on the bed, their desire to cling to each other meaning the single bed worked perfectly fine for the both of them.

There was a lot more kisses and cuddles and happy sighs before Eliza eventually drifted off in the arms of her husband, “I love you, Alex…”

Alex held her close, feeling the grim realisation of what he’d done settle in now his wife and baby were asleep. Now in the dark hospital room, he could hear the wind and see the shadows cast across the floor, like they were reaching for him.

Ten years. It was a lifetime. It was more than he deserved.

No. They weren’t going to reach him here, he wasn’t going to let these thoughts ruin this moment. Not here, not now. He closed his eyes tight…but of course the shadows would still be there when he opened them.

“I love you too, Eliza,” Alex mumbled into her hair, “I love you so much….and I’m so sorry.”

[dontbeallupinmyfriesdawg]

a/n: this is terrible I’m so sorry. I decided to do make this kennett because the whole feeling things through touches creamed Bonnie to me; plus if anyone's going to be murdered by their ex…

warning: themes of death, slightly dark toward the end.

no beta. for @gooddame  

“Get up asshole!” Bonnie demanded, shoving Kol abruptly off of the couch. He started from his sleep in shock and let his head loll backwards onto the floor, as he stared up at Bonnie disorientated.

“It happened again!” she growled. “What. Did. You. Do!?”

“What the bloody hell are you on about?” Kol bristled in response. “I was in the middle of nice dream before you-”

“I don’t care, I don’t care what you were dreaming about or if I interrupted your precious sleep Kol. Do you wanna know what I’ve been doing all night instead of sleeping?! Hanging out in some sleazy looking bar, with God awful music on full blast, watching a bunch of people doing lines a the table!”

Kol’s face formed into a look of understanding and he nodded, pulling himself up off the floor and back onto the couch.

“Did you touch me?” Bonnie demanded, glaring down at him.

He sighed.

“I came into your room because you left your phone on the sofa.”

Bonnie arched her eyebrows.

“And?”

“And, you looked cold so I threw a blanket over you. I didn’t realise we made contact; apologies love,”

Bonnie closed her eyes and huffed, lifting her hands to rub at her temples. When she reopened her eyes Kol was still staring up at her, his brown eyes soft and almost angelic. The revelation of his random act of kindness made it infuriatingly difficult of for her to remain angry with him. Gingerly, she plopped down on the couch, being careful not to brush shoulders with him as she did.

Bonnie’s living arrangement was unique to that of most people she knew. The primary reason being, that her roommate was technically undead. Kol Mikaelson, in a past life, had been a lead guitar player in a group called The Originals, a punk rock group comprising of him and his four siblings. (Bonnie had personally never heard of them but Kol insisted they were pretty big in London at time so she’d taken his word for it).

In the peak of the band’s success, they’d relocated to the state in order to gain more publicity. Six months into their stay, Kol had died suddenly and unexpectedly at the ripe old age of twenty-six while walking out of a nightclub. He had no recollection of how of why and now nearly 50 years later he was still haunting his old flat (which was supposed to be Bonnie’s perfect rent controlled dream apartment) presumably cursed to remain there for the rest of eternity until he found ‘peace’. Whatever that was.

Bonnie was the first tenant that he hadn’t actively driven out of the place before they’d gotten a chance to unpack their moving boxes. Something about her ‘alluring beauty and charm’ he’d said.

In hindsight, Bonnie shouldn’t really have been surprised that this sort of thing was happening to her. Growing up in Mystic Falls had prepared her for a lifetime of supernatural hijinks. Plus she was a witch and a disaster magnet extraordinaire. Coming home to find a strange, slightly translucent man sitting in her kitchenette, devouring a bowl of cinnamon toast crunch was far from the strangest thing that had ever happened to her. Which really said something about her.

The worst thing (besides having to contend with Kol’s generally irritating personality) was the visions. The faintest skin to skin contact could plunge Bonnie decades back in time, head first into one of Kol’s deranged memories; helpless to feel, smell and experiencing everything that happened around her. Neither of them could figure out whether it was a witch thing or a ghost thing that was causing them to happen, all Bonnie knew was that it was an inconvenience and a nuisance. It was only sheer stubbornness and the fact that she’d blown a good bit of her paycheck decorating the apartment, that had stopped her from moving out of there and finding somewhere else to live. That being said, the thought still crossed her mind. Frequently.

“If it helps, I think we're getting closer,” Kol murmured breaking the silence.

Bonnie turned and gave him an incredulous look.

“Seriously? Tell me that you're not still holding on to the idea, that your drug induced memories are all some kind of puzzle pieces that will eventually help to solve the mystery of your death?”

Kol got up and stretched.

“Think about it. You’re a witch, before you, this… the touching thing never happened before,”

“That’s because nobody’s ever hung around here long enough for you to test that theory,” Bonnie grumbled.

“The club that you went to this time around; was it Charlie’s by any chance?” Kol asked, ignoring her previous comment and looking down at her hopefully.

“Wh- I don’t know Kol!? I have no idea what the sleazy nightclub’s name was. I was too busy being in shock at the mountains of illegal cocaine in front of me!”

“Well, the club was called Charlie’s for a reason, love. Mmm, nineteen sixty-nine,” he sighed wistfully. “What a time to be alive,”

Bonnie scoffed and tucked her legs underneath her on the couch.

“Well, I’m glad you’re enjoying your little moment of nostalgia; meanwhile I’ll just lie here and recover after not getting a wink of sleep last night. You know the visions aren’t like dreams, right? It’s like I’m physically right there when it’s all happening, wide awake the whole time”

“As I said, we could be getting closer to putting you out of your misery darling,” Kol said, beaming at her in a way that was frankly only irritating in her sleep deprived state.

“That club was the last place I remember being in Bonnie, love. You know, before my very unfortunate, untimely death, of course,”

“So what’s your point?” Bonnie hummed, trying to keep her eyes from shutting as she reclined backwards onto the cushions.

“My point, darling, is that we could be mere seconds away from the exact moment itself!”

Bonnie cocked one eye open and frowned.

“Don’t sound so excited weirdo. I mean how many separate times have you been to this club anyway? It’s not as if you could tell one night from the other at the time back when you were out partying, let alone now,.” she pointed out.

Kol looked as if he was going to say something else but Bonnie could feel the waves of sleep lapping at her body and she was in need of a shower to wash the lingering, icky feeling, she had after spending an evening (however simulated) in Kol’s favourite drinking hole. So she got up before he could speak.

“I’m gonna use the bathroom,” Bonnie sighed, tugging at her hair with one hand and pulling up her sleep shorts with the other.

“Sorry again, love,” Kol called after her as she disappeared from the room.

Bonnie flashed him a half-hearted smile and shut the door of her bedroom. Kol might be a royal pain in the ass the majority of the time but she found his remorse was always genuine whenever he accidently induced the visions.

It wasn’t his fault, Bonnie knew that and being dead had to suck especially when you had no idea how it happened in the first place and if she thought she could help Kol, she would. However Bonnie stood by her previous statement, if these memories of Kol’s were some sort of breadcrumb trail, slowly leading them to the truth; God knows how long it would take before they got any sort of clarity on the situation. It was a wild goose chase. A coin toss. A guessing game.

And honestly Bonnie didn’t move over 400 miles away from home, just to be stuck in yet another paradigm of magical ex machina at her expense. Was it too much to ask to live a remotely normal existence for once in her life?

Bonnie slipped her clothes off and got in the shower. As she began lathering up the bar of soap in her hand she came to a decision. The spray of the shower hit her skin and she shut her eyes contemplating how she would go about breaking the news she had for Kol.

“Good shower love?” Kol smirked as Bonnie emerged in the kitchen. She rolled her eyes at the salacious look on Kol's face as he wiggled his eyebrows in her direction. Only he could take the most innocent thing and make it sound dirty and provocative.

Still, she knew his crude humour was purely for the purpose of gaining a reaction from her. Despite everything, Bonnie found she was going to miss the troublesome poltergeist. She felt her chest clench as she hovered by the table.

“Something wrong?” Kol garbled through a mouthful of cereal, watching Bonnie's carefully.

She shuffled uncomfortably and hesitated before she took a seat opposite him on of the kitchen chairs.

“We need to talk,” she said softly.

“If this is about your shampoo,” Kol began, putting down his spoon. “I know promised I stop using it, darling but it’s really not my fault. They shouldn't make those things smell so darn good. I'm afraid I've always been a bit of an addict-”

“Wh- no Kol this isn't about the shampoo- But wait, really? You're still using it?!”

Kol gave her a sheepish look before shovelling another spoonful of cereal into his mouth.

“I think maybe… I think it's time I moved out and found another place,”

There was a loud clattering noise as Kol's spoon fell from his hands into the bowl of what was now mostly milk and he gazed at Bonnie with a horror stricken expression.

“What's that now?”

“I can’t do this anymore,” she said bluntly. “I’ve just... spent my whole life being this performing magical genie for everyone I know. Now I’m living with a ghost from the 1960s and time travelling into drunk rocker's paradise every 3 seconds! What part of that is normal?!”

Kol blinked at her.

“Darling you're a witch. Did you ever imagine your life would have any semblance of normality?”

“I have to try, Kol” Bonnie sighed. “I have a job and school and plans for a future. And this-”

She gestured with her arms.

“-Can’t be happening if I’m ever going to where I want. Which is why I have to move on, so I can at least attempt at a life that doesn’t sound like the premise of a homeless man’s fever dream” she insisted.

Kol snorted loudly. Bonnie’s shoulders sagged in response.

“You understand right?”

Kol gave Bonnie a once over. A sad smile formed on his face as he got up and began to pace.

“Kol?”

“Ah, Bonnie Bennett...”

“Are you about to guilt trip me?” she asked wearily looking up at him through the gaps in her fingers.

He shook his head.

“I’m attempting to do something that’s a little foreign to me,”

“What do you mean?” Bonnie questioned.

Kol expelled another heavy breath.

“Dying really gives you perspective. I realised, twenty-six years isn’t a very long time to live. I spent everyday living life as if it were my last and then one day… it was. I’ve been walking around for nearly half a century alone, with only a few small pleasure to entertain me and not a single soul for company because nobody could see me. And then finally, a pretty little lass walks in here and instead of looking through me; she looks right at me and screams. Which was honestly the happiest moment I’ve had since I kicked the bucket all those years ago.”

“Only you would say something like that,” Bonnie huffed.

“What I’m trying to express, poorly I might add. Is that I’ll miss you. Sorely. This… existence if you can call it that was withering away my sanity bit by bit and then you came along and helped me to feel human again. I’m sorry, all I’ve given you in return were strange, unwanted visits into scenes from my wayward past, sweetheart. What else can I say.”

Bonnie sniffed slightly and dabbed gently at her eye with the back of her hand, having not expected such emotive, sentiments to come from him.

“I only wish I could have known you back then, I think we could have been quite the thing,” he flirted, his mouth forming a half-smile.

Ah yes, Kol just wouldn’t be Kol if he was actually capable of being serious for more than five seconds.

“I doubted there would have been much of a future for us.” Bonnie scoffed teasingly. “Sleazy rock stars aren’t exactly my type,”

“You talk a good game, love. But believe you me, there wasn’t a woman alive capable of resisting my charms back in the day,”

“I guess I’ll never know,” Bonnie chuckled rising from her seat.

There was a long silence as Bonnie walked away from Kol towards the kitchen entrance. Although as she did, something stopped her suddenly and she turned back around to face him.

“For what’s it’s worth it wasn’t completely awful living with you either,” she smiled, leaning against the doorway. “Even though you are a complete ass sometimes,”

Kol didn’t respond. He stared pensively into space behind her instead.

“Kol?” Bonnie called out. “Are you… okay? What’s-”

“-I’m going to ask you something and if you say no- well, I’ll understand but I need to ask,”

“Uhm, okay?”

“Will you go back? Just one last time, I know you don’t have any faith in the visions but I truly believe we’re close. If it’s possible, then I’d like to find peace and make my descent to the afterlife. Which I have no doubt will be some variation of Hell and I’ll be amongst the other great rock legends of all time,”

Bonnie scoffed and laughed despite herself.

“And if you don’t find ‘peace’. If there’s nothing? If this vision is just another blurred alcohol induced haze?”

“Then we would have tried,” Kol answered. “I’ll stay here and submit to my fate of haunting the unsuspecting idiots that attempt to move in after you and you’ll go and live the rest of your life, Bonnie Bennett. Your nice, perfect, supernatural drama-free life,”

“I’ll do it,” she immediately replied.

Kol frowned.

“You will?”

“Like you said, I’m moving out, it’s just one more time and I’ve got nothing else to loose, so I guess, yeah,”

Kol flashed her a brilliant smile and stepped toward her.

“Thank you,” he murmured. “You’ve made an old ghost very happy,”

Kol clasped both her hands in his and Bonnie felt a familiar shiver go through her body.

Bonnie was standing in an alleyway. Instinctively Bonnie wrapped her arms around herself as she felt the cold hit her. The visions had an inconvenient habit of transporting Bonnie in whatever clothes she happened to be wearing at the time to and she’d forgotten to grab a cardigan before she and Kol made contact. To say she felt extremely awkward the night before, sitting in a crowded bar in only her sleep shorts and a vest was an understatement. Even if no one could see her.

“Are you sure you want to do this, Mary”

Bonnie jumped, as tall, bearded man, with dark thick hair, drifted into the alley followed by a small redheaded woman in a black trench coat.

“Are you getting cold feet on me Sam?” the woman replied in a steely voice.

“Course’ not, you know I’d do anything for you. But-”

“But?”

“This seems a bit extreme don’t you think? I mean what if you’re caught? What if-”

“-Tell you what Sam, why don’t you leave all the heavy thinking to me, alright? Just make sure the car’s ready for when I get out of here,”

The man stared at her for a second, uncertainty still evident on his face.Eventually, he turned and walked away; leaving the small woman by herself in the dark.

Bonnie walked closer to where she stood until she was right next to her and studied her face. Her features were pinched into a look of determination but her eyes sparkled with something else, something that resembled sadness. Regret even.

Suddenly there was a noise and Mary ducked out of immediate vision and pressed her back against the wall of the building.

A door at the side of the building she was standing by swung open abruptly and a man swaggered out. The walkway was very dimly lit so Bonnie did have much to go by but as he turned ever so slightly to face her Bonnie was almost positive the man in question was Kol.

As he stumbled down the steps, clearly off his head drunk, Mary stepped out of the shadows with a gun clasped in her right hand. Bonnie opened her mouth to scream or speak. Anything. but whatever she wanted to say refused to come out. Kol took three steps down the path leading out of the alley and Mary lifted her arm and pointed the gun straight, in Kol’s direction.

She pulled the trigger and a single bullet shot out landed in the back of his head, smack in the centre. Kol stilled on the spot and swayed slightly before hitting the concrete, face first. By the looks of things, he died on impact. Bonnie pressed a hand to her mouth and another to her stomach as she felt her insides begin to churn.

Mary stood motionless for a moment, staring at Kol’s lifeless body. A look of conflict briefly crossing her face. For a second, Bonnie thought she was going to cry. Instead, Mary pushed the gun back instead of her coat and slowly backed away from the scene, breaking into a run after a couple of seconds. The last thing Bonnie heard before fading into the present was the screeching of tyres against the concrete.

“Bonnie?”

Bonnie blinked her eyes open adjusting to the light of her kitchen. As she registered Kol in front of her she realised there was a tear running down her cheek.

“What have you seen?” Kol asked, his voice low and grave. But by his tone, Bonnie could tell that he already had an idea.

“Who was Mary?” she asked, swiping at her cheek with the back of her hand.

“Mary?” Kol repeated. His brows knitted together in thought.

“Yay high, red hair, feisty attitude? That Mary?” he asked.

“That’s the one,” Bonnie nodded.

“She was my ex. A literally crazy and a bit of an Original groupie, I’m afraid. Mary was a close friend of my sister’s; then she began seeing Klaus but that ended as quick as it began. After that, there was an Elijah period and then she found a new obsession: little old me. I usually didn’t make a habit of taking up with my brother’s leftovers but Mary, she was a blast. We always had fun whenever we're together.”

“So what happened?”

“Well I wasn’t exactly the steady type of boyfriend, as you can imagine and that rather upset her. I always made it clear that I wasn’t in for anything serious but it went into one ear and straight out of the other. She saw us getting married in a church somewhere and having a bunch of kids. I saw myself passing out, after drinking my weight in larger, for the rest of the foreseeable future.”

“So you ended things.” Bonnie nodded, the pieces now forming together in her mind.

Kol squinted at her.

“Why are you asking me this? What exactly happened in that vision, love?”

Bonnie shut her eyes.

“She shot you,” she whispered.

“Who?”

She swallowed.

“Who shot me, Bonnie?”

“Mary,”

A silence stretched between them. Bonnie pressed her eyes shut tighter to stop the tear that threatened to escape.

“I guess-” she sniffled. “I guess your break up really hurt her... She just took out a gun and- and then it was over. She didn’t even say anything,”

When Kol still didn’t reply Bonnie stretched out an arm to comfort him.

“I’m sorry Kol I-”

She reached out her hand grasped at nothing.

And when she opened her eyes, he was gone.

[apexart-journal]

Tasha Dougé, Day 7

Good Morning.  I was legit trying to finish these posts since this the weekend.  However, technology made that quite difficult.  I clearly have been taking a bunch of pictures and completely filled my phone up.  If this has happened to you before, the “no space” window that comes up is more than a nuisance.  I was not able to create these images or anything else without freeing up space.  That is what I’ve been doing for the past couple of days.  But that is in the past and we are here now.  Here is what happened on day 7.

I was supposed to leave the apartment by 11am, but it was more like 11:30ish.  (The schedule did say a late morning.)  The directions said to take the R to City Hall and then catch the free Downtown Connection shuttle that stops at Murray and Broadway.  I searched and roamed the area looking for a bus stop and found nothing.  I walked up to the booth behind the gate at City Hall.  One of the cops approached me and asked if I needed help.  I asked if he knew where to catch the free Downtown Connection bus.  Surprised, but not really, he had no clue what I was talking about.  Then he proceeded to tell me that he had worked there for 10 years and that he never saw the bus or heard of it.  Did he just put me is the tourist box?!?  Oh heck NO!!  I had to let him know that I AM a native New Yorker.  I told him that I was given instructions and that the bus existed (even though, I was starting to feel like I was on a wild goose chase).  He was absolutely useless to me at this point.  I texted Abbie (the fellowship Program Director) saying that there was no Downtown Connection bus.  No response...and none needed.  The good Lord and Ancestors must have felt my rising frustration because it that moment of arrrrggggghhhh, the bus/van showed up in all of its Firetruck Red Realness with the words Downtown Connection written in white across the side.  Thank You and Thank Goodness!!  Unfortunately because I had to make a quick dash across the street to catch it and I didn’t have the opportunity to show the cop the bus really exists.  10 years at the same post and he missed this big red vehicle.  My thoughts on that would be a whole other post.  So I am going to leave that right there and move forward because the day got back on track.

During the ride to my next destination, I was asking myself why didn’t I know about this bus?  You can be a native and still not know a hell of a lot and that has been confirmed through this whole journey.  The stops are not clear or marked, so if you don’t know or have the map, you will miss it.  I got off my stop and walked to the Irish Hunger Memorial.  As I approached it, it just looks like an area of grasslands.  I felt like Stonehenge was nearby.  However, when you walk around, it reveals itself to be so much more.  Words, stories, and history line the walls and there was a voice sharing them overhead.  I had no idea about the Great Irish Hunger, in which about one million starved to death between 1845 - 1852 due to policies imposed by the British.  No words.  The memorial also speaks to hunger and famine on a global scale.  I wanted to learn more, but the app is unavailable for android users.  RUDE.  After a walk throughout the whole space, my Samsung and I grabbed something to eat and went to the park to reflect.  

I was given some prompts.  How has it been away from my apt/studio, have I thought about my art, what has my mindset been around the activities, what has surprised me and such?  Being away from home and the studio has been fine.  But baby, there have definitely been times where it was difficult to turn off the things that were inspiring me to make art.  I have quite a few things waiting for me in the parking lot.  Staten Island was a surprise for me and has piqued my curiosity for sure.  Thus far, this journey hasn’t taught me anything new about NYC.  Rather, it has affirmed that there is so much that NYC has to offer and that there is always something more to learn.  I love this place.  Now off to the Empire State Building.

I think the last time I was here, I was in elementary school.  Yall, do the math cuz I’m 40 now.  Lol.  This time was different.  Not only am I much older and can appreciate it more, I was gifted with an executive pass for the day.  That meant I got to skip lines and walk down red carpets.  To be clear, there weren’t that many people there.  There was one group that tried to follow me onto the red carpet and I had to let them know it was for executive pass holders only.  It felt like a VIP moment, but there wasn’t a lot of glitz and glam.  When I reached the exhibitions, I noticed that the express lane was a bit watered down.  Nothing but pictures on the wall.  However, the other side was rich and robust with sketches, history, 3D models and interactive components.  I asked the attendant to make sure my assessment was correct and they confirmed my suspicions.  So with that, I ditched the express lane and fully submerged myself in all of ESB’s glory.  There was so much to take in, but the piece on teamwork really stood out.  The placard read, “TEAMWORK: The high-altitude rivet teams performed dangerous work and fully relied upon one another to get the job done.  If a member were absent, the team would not work.”  Wow and more WOW!  Think about that for a sec.  Imagine what work culture would be like now if this was still held up to be true.  Indispensable where?  The level of value one would feel is beyond what our current society knows.  It makes sense as to why and how the Empire State Building was built in record time. Trust and value were core the vision.  And to know I would have missed this if I stayed on the express lane.  It makes me think about the quote, “If you want to go fast, go alone; but if you want to go far, go together.”  Together, lets continue with upward and forward.  That was floor 80.  Next stops are floors 86 & 102.   

The view is spectacular from the 86 floor.  Aside from the view outside, the view inside is just as spectacular.  That is thanks to the artistry of renowned artist Stephen Wiltshire.  In 2017, he took at 45 minute helicopter ride around the city and in five days drew the landscape, including the ESB, from memory.  And he did that in front of a live audience in the Observatory.  The walls are now lined with the replica of his work.  Come through with the Black Excellence!  The only thing that could top that is the top of the Empire State Building.  I have never been and this is where the Executive pass came through.  Others would have to upgrade their tickets.  So this was a perk.  In a flash, I went from 86 to 102 and it makes a world of difference.  Listen folks.  For my 30th birthday, I jumped out a plane.  15,000 feet above ground and I wasn’t nervous at all.  However, that wasn’t the case here.  There is something about heights and stillness that always reminds you that you are in a ménage-à-trois with gravity.  I eased my way to the edge and stared out in awe and wonder and gratitude.  In awe of what has been made and the people who made it, in wonder of the person(s) with the vision to dream of such a marvel, and gratitude to be in a position to take it all in and question. 

Shoutout to attendants Alfredo, Sophia and Jere.  It was a pleasure talking to them and sharing laughs.  They are there to guide us, but they have stories too.  And now they are a part of mine. I told Sophia if I decide to go bungee-jumping, that I would come back and tell her all about it.  Visiting the Empire State Building reminded me that as a native NYer, I should carve out time to relish in all the marvels she has to offer.  I got you NYC.  Note:  The opening of the ESB happened on May 30th and Patti LaBelle was born May 24.  That means I am in good Gemini company. 

Last but not least, Trivia and Karaoke!  If you know me, then you know.  I love trivia and I legit have my own Karaoke mic.  This was a fundraiser for CAAAV Organizing Asian Communities.  Teams had already been established, but I learned a lot from the trivia and the Karaoke contest was hilarious.  I appreciated the trivia that spoke the connection to other communities, including Black communities.  There was a wealth of resources shared in the chat and I was able to tie what I learned from the Museum of Chinese in America (MOCA) to the conversation.  It felt great to apply what I have learned in real time.  It only affirms for me how much of this process I have taken in.