#and the container store deal... like i truly hope she got to be part of the creative process and was consulted about it

[skruffie]

I'm rather deep in my head at the moment thinking about my dad and there's a small part of me that is thinking "truly he wasn't always like this" but then another part of me that's like

am I absolutely certain of that

Because the thing is even if there was a time period where he wasn't Like This, it was so long ago and he's been like this for the majority of my life that I don't think it matters who he used to be lmao

throwing the rest under a cut because it gets long

Like, I'm trying to do a deep dive back when things were good and we were a family of four but the ultimate thing that I keep coming back to is that my whole life I've always been closer to my mom. She was the activities mom before Nicole got sick and stuff that I did with my dad wasn't solely with my dad, it was us as a whole family unit. The things we did do together were things like going to the bookstore for a couple hours to just be out of the house and read, but we didn't actually spend that time together--we were in different parts of the store.

The most transparent one on one time that I can actually recall was when Nicole had been hospitalized for two months for her stem cell transplant. Mom stayed at the hospital for those two months (City of Hope is not like other hospitals; there's temporary housing for families either as small apartments or, how my mom did it, borrowing grandpa's RV and living in it) and dad was still working, but because I was 10 they needed to figure out where to put me so I still had like. adults. in my life. I lived with my grandparents for those two months and dad basically lived alone at our house, but every evening after work he'd come spend time with me and we'd talk and work on jigsaw puzzles. Like, actually talk. I don't remember much about what but I remember the feeling of looking forward to seeing him every night and he was consistent with it.

A few months ago when Alice and I were hanging out I made some kind of offhand remark about how my parents fight with each other, which is like screaming matches etc slamming doors that kind of thing and I said it like it was the normal way that people fight. VB was like "uh, what you said?? that's not normal"

and I was like "huh?"

Why I'm bringing all this up and bringing back Bek Blogging About Family Problems? Well, he was determined to try to ruin Thanksgiving this year by acting like somehow the chronic illnesses and food problems my mom has, that we have collectively been dealing with as a family for like 15 years and have easily adapted to doing, was suddenly a federal fucking issue to a point where mom was packing bags to stay at a hotel for a couple weeks. I kinda talked her down from that.

The days leading up to that, I had texted my dad a question about something in his field of expertise for a friend who runs a business, but in the short conversations I had with him about it he had this sort of clipped, impatient tone talking to me and for the first time I just had this lightbulb thought that hasn't left me: he resents me. It didn't hurt at all to realize that, which is probably telling. Thanksgiving rolls around, mom is making herself physically absent and keeps ducking upstairs to give herself space and this fucking guy looks at me and asks "Did we do something to upset her?"

I just went back into my main blog as well as my sideblog where I contain the uh more bleak aspects of my mental health blogging+venting to try to refresh my memory and see if he's always been like that, and he kinda has!

There's just these little moments that I remember that have always stuck with me that I've held onto for years, and it's this feeling that I firmly, 100% believe that my dad thinks I am a much worse person than I actually am. There's no basis in reality for this. I will never forget once when I was like 19 or 20 I made some kind of remark about how I don't have an addictive personality and he said with full confidence "Yes you do."

and I was like ????? and he continued with "Yes you do, it just hasn't come out yet"

Tick-tock dad I'm pushing 35 and I'm still waiting to see if this addictive personality is going to pop out? It's really rich hearing that from the man with 2 DUIs, a rehab stint, who brought meth into our house and smoked it, who woke me up to sign off on the AA meetings he wasn't going to, who got a breathalyzer installed in the car, who served house arrest, who pushed me to stop talking about his alcoholism on social media because he didn't want his dad to see, like it goes on.

We were just at my parent's house last night because papa was going back home today and my dad kept baiting Alice about like, George RR Martin and other dumb shit. Alice made the decision today to not be around my dad in the future because after six years of him she's fully done. After the Thanksgiving fiasco my mom was saying she's going to push for marriage counseling, to push him into actually getting like an established primary care physician because this man does not go to the doctor, and also push him into getting therapy, but I've heard this over and over again for most of my life. He doesn't drink anymore but the behavior is the same. I don't think mom is sticking to her ultimatums but after over 30 years of dealing with him I feel less afraid about doing that. Alice put up with 6 and said no more. I kind of feel like if my dad wants to maintain any kind of relationship with me he needs to go with mom's plan. He can point out I rarely call or visit all he wants, but he'll need to reflect on why that is.

[translationandbetrayals]

Yosuke Hanamura: we all want to be special

Shin megami tensei: Persona 4 or Persona 4 in the west is a Japanese turn based rpg released in the year 2008 for the PlayStation 2 by Atlus, and eventually it got an enhanced version in 2012 named “Persona 4: Golden”, WARNING: this is going to contain big spoilers of the game and Yosuke’s Social link (Pls im begging you PLAY THE GAME) 

The main theme of Persona 4 is to find the truth, with the main characters trying to solve the mysterious murders in a small town by stopping any more attempts of the killer and finding him, but also finding who they truly are

The character that we are going to talk about is Hanamura Yosuke one of the Controllable characters in Persona 4: Golden and a member of the Investigation Team, and he is the Autodenominated Partner of the Protagonist.

Yosuke's most defining design traits are his orange-brownish hair, his "pretty boy" looks, and his headphones. He is always trying to act rational and laidback, even cold at times, but he sometimes gets carried by his emotions and weird ideas (Yosuke's is represented by the Magician Arcana from the tarot, symbolizing that he tends to try to be the accessible knowledge and he is the first social Link that we obtain). The main force in Yosuke's character storyline is his wish to be special, he wants to be admired and be relied on, he initially believed that being special would gave meaning to his live. 

Lets take a deeper look at Yosuke's Arc, Hanamura was a city boy forced to move on to a small town (Inaba, the place of the game), one year before the events in the game, his family followed his dad because of his work, which is being the manager of a Department Store called "Junes", his dad constantly depends of him, whether is form general work to manage staff, so he ended up as, awkwardly, a link from the employers and the manager. Because of the presence of Junes the local business has started to dry out, so Yosuke gains infamy among the elderly and part of the young, which constantly badmouth him and his Family. At the start of game Yosuke is retrospectively more reserved to the rest of the cast trying to play cool as if the things won't bother him, the player gets to meet Yosuke's coworker, classmate and crush, Saki Konishi, which becomes the second victim of the serial assassin in the town. This would lead to Yosuke to awaken his persona, a power that comes from one's true self, but he had to confront his Shadow, and Saki's feelings, Saki not only did not like him back, but that she kind of... hated him.

After this, Yosuke through his Social Link (SL) learns to be more open with his feelings, with the advance of the story and his SL we learn that a part of him was happy to awaken his persona, and he appeared to be compromised with solving the case, he thinks in saving the town and becoming the heroes of it, if can do this he would be special, the hard times would have meaning, this was the truth he sought to reach, but this was a self-build lie, the cracks started to appear, specifically when he has to deal with some teenagers who worked in Junes, they previously Talked bad of Yosuke and Saki in, his the back, but this time they say it directly to him, confronting him, saying that Saki hated him, (with some help) Yosuke burst out and yells at them that Saki was a good and a hard-working person, recognizing that she may hated him, and that "She's not here anymore! I'm left behind!", (I am having a hard time writing, it's just too sad T.T) in his next SL Yosuke Finally breaks down to the player, not being able to hold his tears back, he remembers when Saki told him that "Parents are parents. You're you..." these words even if they were a lie told to gain his favor, reached to Yosuke's heart, in a town where all people seemed to decide already who he was, he started to see hope thanks to this words, he may even start to like the city. Yosuke cries from frustration, anger, and deep sorrow, He sees his own lie, He tried to forget, Saki, his boring gloomy life, the case was the perfect and exciting way out, but he couldn't keep ignoring it, just running away from all, he is too ashamed of it. he is finally ready to listen to his emotions. 

Yosuke at the end of his Arc, realizes what it means to him being special, he loves the town because his friends, family, and you (the player) are there with him, he always desperately searched for a place to fit in and be special for people, and when he stopped to look around, he already founded his place and who were special for him, He does not need too keep his always laidback complacent facade because he knows that, the investigation team, his new founded friends are going to be there for him. Yosuke finally found his truth.  

Yosuke was scared of the loneliness of not fitting in, he desired human connections, to be needed, wanted, he was deeply hurt by Saki's sudden death and he wasn't sure how to feel, or how to move on, his troubles are relatable for most people, the pain of losing someone, the fear of not fitting and been alone make Yosuke a very humane character, he is flawed, he is afraid, but trough it all his story is an a inspiring one, accord of the themes of the game, Yosuke learns to face the world, not to run from it.

(here ends the mostly serious stuff) Yusuke Hanamura grew on me throughout the game, and he ended up as my second favorite, (there is a thin gap between him and Kanji for me) probably I found very compelling flawed characters, and writing this essay has been a very emotionally draining task (I cry easily). To ending in a more happy note, originally Hanamura was planned as one of the romantic interests, but this got snapped out of the final game. I believe 100%, fundamented by the subtext, and the events in the game, that Yosuke still reads as a Bisexual character, fight me I am willing to die on this hill.

Thanks 4 reading, I tend to write some weird stuff.

-Jorge Baquedano.

[thesunicarusfellfor]

Small Actions (Create Big Ripples) CC!Plat!Ranboo x GN!Reader

I've been thinking lately about this little drabble and it makes me a bit upset? Like.. I'm in this position high key but theres nothing I can do about it...

(R/R/n) stands for Ranboo's real name. Also if you're really tall.... No you're not. Shhhh. For plot purposes

You stayed away from social media as much as possible. Now, don't get me wrong, you used to love watching Youtubers play their games and happily interact with their fans.. But growing up, you never seemed to have enough money to donate when they streamed, or go to events where they were.

You had always wanted to tell them how much they've helped you through life, or shaped your personality.. Or saved you. But... They get told that every day by over hundreds of people.. So there would be no real sentiment behind it..

You'd probably just get a simple, "Aw. Happy I could help." Before turning back to their game without blinking twice.

So, you just watched silently. It hurt, you know? Wanting to thank them, or send them something to show your appreciation.. But you never seemed to be able to send it, with the thought that 'it won't really matter to them after five minutes.. You'll just be brushed over. It's pointless.'

Eventually it hurt too much to keep watching the content creators that raised you, so you just stopped and went on with your life.

It was hard, but at least you didn't have to deal with the fact that you would never be able to thank the people you watched for making your life that much better.

As time went on, while you still heard about the creators, it was just... less. Now people were non stop blabbering about these people from something called the DreamSMP?

Your sister was obsessed with it to say the least, and you always heard her mumbling about strange people like Technoblade? Or Sapnap? And apparently some people had children with inanimate objects?! Like a Samsung Fridge and a salmon?! Yeah you didn't even bother trying to understand what she was rambling about most of the times. It just spun your head in circles.

"Okay, I gotta take my mutt to the vet," Your sister and closest friend, (S/n), tilted her head towards the backseat to her dog as you sat in the passenger seat. "You think you'll be good to do the shopping for two or so hours? I'll call when I'm finished, and plus I know how you can get distracted with looking at some things."

"Yeah, I think I'll be good." You nodded slightly, going over the list in your hand of things to get for your classes, food and just some clothing for the changing seasons.

(S/n) pulled into the parking lot and looked you over briefly, "You forgot your mask didn't you?" She watched as your hands flew up to your face to feel for the fabric, but you didn't find it so you fished through the pockets of your sweater before smiling nervously at the driver. "Uuugggggggghhhh. Of course. Okay, I got a new one from the merch store that you can use, but do not damage it! I spent a whole $30 on it!"

Scoffing as you rolled your eyes, you snagged the half white and half black mask away from her, "You and your merch. Honestly, (S/n), your obsession scares me. But anyway, thanks. I won't get it damaged, I swear." You pulled the mask onto your face after giving her a smile and walked into the store as she drove off.

Sighing slightly, you walked in, sanitized your hands, and set off on your journey to find the things you needed. Surprisingly, today seemed to be a good day as you miraculously pulled the card that didn't have the busted wheel!

Humming a soft tune to yourself, you paced up and down aisles in search of (S/n)'s favourite coffee. Pausing for a moment as you scanned the shelves, you finally spotted it and made a noise of anger as you realized it was on the very top shelf. "Oh, I hate it here..." You mumbled, a phrase you had picked up from your sister who was really big on trends like that.

Grumbling to yourself, you stood on the tips of your toes, jumped up and down, even climbed the shelves a small bit, but it just seemed to brush by your fingertips every time. Apparently it had been long enough to the point where someone had wandered into the aisle as well.

"Hey... Uh.. Nice mask? You need help?" A male voice asked very hesitantly making your head turn towards him. He was t a l l and literally could tower over you if you got close enough. He had fluffy dirty blonde hair possibly? It looked a little damp so you couldn't really tell. Rain had been in the weather report, but guess it couldn't hold off long enough. Oddly enough, he was wearing dark sunglasses and the exact same mask as you?

'Maybe he's a fan of one of (S/n)'s fandoms?' You stepped back with a sheepish smile and a blush. "Oh! Yes please! Uhm.. Also, could you tell me about what these masks represent? This is my sister's... And I kinda want to make sure I'm not looking like I'm part of some gang or something."

The tall boy reached up for the coffee before pausing midway through and looking at you in surprise. "You don't know who... Oh, it's just from a Twitch Streamer.." He murmured rather softly as he got the coffee down for you.

With a cheerful "Thank you!" You placed the container in the cart. "Oh? Yeah that makes sense. My sister loves that kind of stuff. Are they... A good person?"

"I-I'd like to think so." He nodded quickly. "Are you not.. Like, a fan of content creators? Like.. Uh.. Dream or (P/F/C)?" (Past favourite creator)

"Well... I mean I used to really like (p/f/c) when I was younger. But it kind of... Saddened me, you know?"

He looked at you again and tilted his head a bit, "Saddened you? Did they do something bad?"

"No no! It's just... I try to avoid joining fandoms, even if they make me really happy while in them despite the toxicity. I really enjoy the people who create content, and I like watching them have fun... It's just.." Were you really gonna spill some personal stuff to some stranger who showed you the slightest bit of kindness? Not originally. But he kept watching you, patiently waiting for you to continue the sentence. "They'll... Never know.. How much they saved me."

"Oh.. I see. Yeah.. I've had that happen a lot. When, I watch this guy's streams," He pulled at his mask for a moment, "People always donate money and tell him how much they appreciate him for getting them through rocky times.. It's heartwarming to say the least but he does sound genuinely thankful."

"Oh that's sweet.. What does he do? Or what's he like?" You asked with a smile, although he couldn't see it, as you crouched down to get something from the sheleves. "Unless you have places to be of course!"

He looked a little surprised at first, "Ah... I got time. It's just.. Kinda nice being able to talk to people again after quarantine..." He trailed off briefly before taking something off the shelf as well and putting it in his basket, "Uh.. The streamer is a popular minecraft player. He recently hit a record during a stream and everyone lost their minds. He's a little painfully awkward at some points but he enjoys playing the games and interacting with his chat."

"Oh he sounds nice! I would definitely want to friends with someone like him!" You chuckled softly before frowning and glancing away. "Oh.. Popular.. So I'd be another comment in the flood of a chat.. Damn. I got a little excited. Oh! My bad, I'm (Y/n). Nice to meet you!" You laughed softly in an attempt to brush off the sad atmosphere you made.

"(R/r/n). But everyone just calls me Ranboo. Nice to meet you too." He sounded as if he was smiling but there was a soft sadness in his tone. "Do you not like popular streamers then?"

"No, it's just... that I had always wanted to tell them how much they've helped me through life, or shaped my personality.. Or saved me.. But... They get told that every day by over hundreds of people.. So there would be no real sentiment behind it.. I suppose it just left me feeling a bit hopeless and like a broken record of every other fan of theirs. So, I just watched silently. It hurt, you know? Wanting to thank them, or send them something to show appreciation.. But I never seemed to be able to send it, with the thought that 'it won't really matter to them after five minutes.. You'll just be brushed over. It's pointless.'.."

Ranboo seemed slightly more upset and he shifted his basket into his other hand, "I don't think it's like that at all.. I believe that streamers and creators truly cherish anyone who even interacts with their videos, and even though they know there's some people in the world who can't say anything or buy their merchandise, the creators still know that they're there. They appreciate everyone who comes along their path, whether they support them by giving them money, criticism or their attention!"

You blinked at how... Passionate your new friend was about this topic before smiling softly. "I guess... It never passed my mind.. Thank you Ranboo.. Hey, you wanna be friends and get to know each other more?"

His expression was unreadable due to the fabric covering his mouth and nose, and the glasses covering his eyes. "Oh! Sure!" He sounded quite happy, so you were guessing that you weren't being too awkward. "Here's my number, as long as you promise to never give it to anyone. Even if someone wants to get to know me, okay?"

You took out your phone and looked at him with a strange expression, but quickly nodded. 'Maybe he is just really strict about his privacy.' Once he gave you the number, you sent a quick text to him to give him your contact in return. "Great! It was wonderful meeting you, I hope we can hang out more often! After.. covid of course."

Eagerly nodding, Ranboo finished writing your contact into his phone and slipped it back into his pocket. "Oh yeah definitely! I'll see you soon, (Y/n)!"

Parting your separate ways, you looked down at the newly added contact, 🤍Ranboo🖤 (Platonic hearts), with a smile.

Maybe small actions weren't as useless as you thought...

[buckyswintersoldiermask]

The Super Soldier and His Friend

Part 7

Bucky Barnes x friend!reader

(Bucky x Sam, Sam x reader, Sarah x reader)

⊙ Bucky Masterlist ⊙ Main Masterlist ⊙ TSSAHF Masterlist ⊙

Summary: Bucky tells Yori the truth, and tells you that you’re his family. Bucky invites you to go with him to Louisiana for a cookout with Sam.

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: spoilers for FATWS Episodes 5 and 6

A/N: this is the final part of the series, I hope it’s to y’all’s liking :)

I don’t want FATWS to end :((

“You weren’t amending, you were avenging.” Those words rang in Buckys mind. He truly wasn’t amending, so he knew what he had to do.

“So you’re going to tell Yori today, are you sure today is the day?”

“I’ve waited long enough, he needs the closure (y/n) and it’s one step closer to me making amends.”

You patted his shoulder and gave him a warm smile, “I’ll be at my place, come over if you want, when you’re done.” He nods before you both leave his apartment. You went into your apartment just hoping the best for Bucky.

He’s had so much growth since you’ve met him, he’s finally getting closer to peace. Something he’s wanted since you met him.

Bucky didn’t take long. Bucky knocked on his door, Yori surprised to see him, he let him in. They sat down and Bucky told him straight up,

I, uh, have something to tell you. About your son.

Yori was confused to say the least, what could Bucky know about his son? Bucky and Yori sat down as Bucky slipped off his glove.

He was murdered. Bucky said, making Yori even more confused.

By The Winter Soldier. And that was me. Bucky finally spits out, as his voice shakes. Taking everything in him not to fall apart.

“Why?” Yori asked, Bucky inhales, trying to compose himself, “I didn’t have a choice.”

Yori showed Bucky out after that. Bucky took a little walk afterwards, before showing up at your door.

Once he knocked on your door and you saw his face, you knew he had told him. He had tried to tell Yori multiple times, but this time he stuck with it. You let him in and he sat down on your couch.

You stood just a few feet away from him, wanting to know if he’s okay. “So how did it go?”

“I told him, he asked why, and I told him why.”

“I know that was hard and I’m proud of you.” Bucky nods, as you pat his shoulder.

“Do you want to stay for a bit?” He nods again and you grab a bunch of delivery menus from your kitchen. “You’re lucky I don’t have work tomorrow.”

“Your hours are never consistent. Why do you even work there?”

“Well some of us aren’t a World War II veteran and need to work to have a roof over our heads.” You retorted, passing him a menu. “Order us some food, and if I didn’t have a job I wouldn’t be able to pay for our food.”

He smirked before ordering the food as you brought 2 sodas to the table. Setting them down, before sitting down across from him. “Do you want to talk about it?” He shook his head, popping the lid on the soda off.

Trying to lighten the mood you say, “Well I know what we could talk about.”

“And what’s that?”

“Sam’s new suit.” You say, before opening your own soda.

“I’m not following.”

“That’s a nice suit. The Wakandans did good.”

“How did-“

“Just a hunch. Now let’s talk about your suit.”

“My suit is fine.”

“I mean it could use some tweaks.”

“We are not doing this.”

“Sam’s suit is better than yours.” You blurt out, teasing Bucky more. His mouth drops open in fake shock.

“Take it back.”

“He has wings and a shield. You just have a jacket and some pants and a gold and black metal arm.” You exclaim, making Bucky roll his eyes.

“And here I thought you were my friend.”

“I am, and as your friend I’m saying your suit needs an upgrade.”

“Alright, fashion expert.”

After some more light bantering between the two of you, your food arrived, you paid for it then brought it inside.

You noticed the bag being extra heavy than usual. “Geez, Bucky how much did you order?” You asked, taking containers out of the bag.

“Enough.”

“Yeah enough to feed 6 people.”

You and Bucky ate as he told you about him and Sam stopping the flagsmashers. It was nice to hear Bucky and Sam working together and not being a pain in each other’s sides. You saw Sam’s speech on TV the other day, it was beautiful and inspiring. Sam is Captain America.

It was way past 12am and Bucky decided he should go home. Even though you didn’t mind him staying, he insisted. “Will you be alright tonight?” You asked, making sure he’d be okay after that day's events.

He nods, “if not, I’ll come over.” You give him a tight hug before he leaves.

It was quiet and calm in your apartment as you were getting ready for bed. Bucky seemed fine after talking to Yori but he knew he’s always welcome at your place anytime. Which you always expressed. You were getting ready for bed and was interrupted as you heard a knock on your door. You groaned as you trudged to your front door.

You unlocked it to see it’s Bucky. You let him in and close the door behind him, “why didn’t you just use your key?”

“I didn’t want you to think someone was breaking in.”

“Good point,” you sat down on the couch and patted it, telling him to come sit down. “You okay, Buck?” You asked, remembering what he said earlier. He sat down beside you as you got ready to listen to what he had to say.

“Yeah, I just wanted to ask you something.”

“What’s up?”

“Sam invited me to a cookout in New Orleans and I wanted to know if you’d come with me.”

“I’d love to, only if Sam and his family are okay with it. I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“I asked him if it was okay. He said you’re welcome to come.” You smiled, “well if it’s okay with him.”

“I got us plane tickets.” He says, handing you a plane ticket he bought.

“You just knew I’d say yes, huh?”

“I just want all of my family to be there.” You stare at him for a moment, with a jaw dropping expression on your face.

“You’re family (y/n/n). I thought I had nothing when Sam gave up the shield, but I had you. Even though we are an usual pair of friends, you’re very important to me.”

“So that’s why you came here at almost 2am? To tell me I’m your family.”

“Yes?” Bucky answered, unsure of how you were taking this.

“I love you too, Buck.”

You glanced down at your plane ticket to see the date you’re supposed to be leaving.

“We’re leaving in 2 days?!”

“Yes..” you glared at him as he slouched in his seat avoiding eye contact with you.

After about a 3 hour flight, you and Bucky landed in New Orleans. You rented a car and you were on your way to the dock, where the cookout was.

“Wait.” You said, making Bucky stop the car abruptly.

“What happened?”

“We have to bring something. We can’t show up empty handed.”

“What should we bring?”

Bucky drove to the store and the both of you settled on a cake with buttercream icing and 2 liters of soda. You pull up to the dock and Bucky puts on some shades and his jacket. You shook your head as you grabbed the drinks and Bucky got the cake. Music was playing, food was being cooked and everybody was just having a good time when you walked up.

The first people who greeted Bucky were Sam’s nephews, Cass and AJ. Bucky pretended to fight with them for a little bit before walking over to the table and placing down the cake. You came behind and placed the drinks on the table as well. Bucky glanced around looking for the man of the hour. He was getting hugs and pictures from people in the community.

Bucky brought you over to Sam, giving him a hug. Buckys come a long way from ignoring his messages to hugging him, you thought. Bucky glanced over to you, introducing you to Sam.

“(y/n), this is Sam. Sam, (y/n).”

“Nice to meet you in person, Sam. Thank you for inviting me.”

“Anyone who’s friends with Bucky is a friend of mine.”

You met a lot of really nice people that day. You talked to Sarah and offered to help her cook. And man did she put you to work. After you were done, you sat at a picnic table, enjoying the atmosphere.

You watched as children played on Bucky's metal arm as he talked to Sarah, which warmed your heart. Bucky’s arm being a bar to play on for kids. It was nice to see him happy and peaceful there in Louisiana.

Bucky excused himself before coming over to you, “you okay, doll?”

“Yeah, I’m just taking it all in. You fit right in down here.” Bucky nods, agreeing with you, he does fit right in. “Why don’t you come over here with me, Sarah and the kids?” Bucky questioned as he grabbed your hand, leading you over to them.

“I know you two have met.” Bucky smiled, as you sat down at the table.

“Yeah, (y/n), helped me with the food earlier, she’s the one that deals with you in New York.” You laugh, before nodding at Sarah’s comment, “that’s me, though, I feel it's a mutual thing, we deal with each other.”

“Thank you for being so welcoming.” You said as a big smile appeared on your face.

“Of course.”

The music continued to play as everyone danced around, chatted, and ate. The sun began to set. Bucky went to talk to Sam for a moment and Sarah went to go talk to some more people. You stayed there watching the kids play, such innocence and beauty. You glanced over at Sam and Bucky as Bucky nudged his shoulder, a huge grin on his face. You had never seen him smile as much as he smiled that day.

Sam and Buckys moment was short but sweet. Bucky came back and sat next to you, still smiling.

“You’re really enjoying yourself.” You said, turning to him, making eye contact.

“I am, I’m really glad you came (y/n/n).”

“I’m glad I came too.”

That day Bucky realized something. He had a family and he was finally happy.

A/N: tell me what you thought about this part! Might make an alternative ending or something idk.

Bucky Tags: @ragnaroqk @mollysolo @mogaruke @whothehellisbuckybarnes @amelia-song-pond @fredweazleyswh0re @tinylumpiaa @i-reblog-fics-i-like @weenersoldierr @stephthepeach @sammypotato67 @ttalisa @mxltifaves @supremethunda @hanniebee33 @gamerartisy @afraid-to-be-me @qhbr2013 @kidswhofightmonsters @bahama-mama-llama @teti-menchon0604 @jbreenr

TSSAHF Tags: @nialeesato @marvel-ousnesss

Taglist

[theres-no-protocol-for-this]

Cemetery

Part... You know what, I’ve stopped counting. So, the next chapter of the Guardian fic is below. If you prefer to read the story in order and don’t want to hunt through my tags, it’s now on AO3.

The bus came to a halt outside a cemetery, and I got off.

Across a two-lane road, I could see hundreds of tombstones sticking up out of the leaf-covered ground in haphazardly arranged rows. A cold, bitter wind rustled the trees and dragged more leaves off their branches.

I stuck my hands in my pockets and crossed the street.

It should be just north of this place, the entity told me. Just past the mausoleums.  

If your humans did a ritual in a cemetery, they were playing with fire, I told the spirit.

Disturbing the dead, even with the best possible intentions, is asking for trouble. The souls of the deceased are often more concerned with their personal affairs than anything more noble, and rotting bodies make great homes for things best left unspoken.

They didn't have a choice, the house defended its humans. I could understand the sentiment; I knew what that felt like.

An old and stooped woman with a tall walking stick crossed my path. Bloodshot eyes regarded me for a moment, as if gauging my intentions, and then the caretaker moved on. Wisps of light magic curled on the ground in her wake like the feathers of some ancient bird.

At the end of the dirt road, I turned toward the distant trees and picked my way through the tombstones. Most looked worn and long-forgotten, the letters too worn down to make out the names of those resting underneath. I doubted the families visited anymore.

Humans are sentimental about death, the house said.

I didn't understand the point. Animals died all the time. I'd been born in a litter of six, and of my siblings, only three had made it to their first hunt. I didn't say anything, though, because I didn't want to remind the house that its humans might not be alive.

When I approached some strange, little buildings, the house explained that some humans didn't want to be buried beneath the earth and were stored in these dwellings instead. Wards surrounded them, though most no longer functioned. Like any other magic, someone had to renew them regularly, a process that used time and energy.

If you're going to find anything, it will be somewhere out here. In a sudden change of pace, the house sounded almost uncertain. Almost.

What am I looking for, exactly?

Signs of a ritual. They wanted to consult with a long-dead mage. The house sent me a brief but disorienting image of a large circle on the ground, surrounded by candles and ash. The spell they meant to cast was old. Older than the Archives. Very few people would remember all the steps. They had high hopes that the grandmaster might have some clues.

Would the spell have really called a spirit back from the dead?

The house paused, and I could feel it frowning. I'm not exactly sure. My humans thought conversing with the mage might give them the wisdom to change the future, but I'm not sure how. And they left without telling me all of the details.

That sounded like something humans would say, so I didn’t keep questioning. Self-sacrifice was definitely a human thing.

Still, I was already out here, and heading back would take another hour, so I might as well look around. I turned into a wolf and let my nose do the work. The cemetery smelled mostly of moss and grass, and the occasional rodent. I could hear mice scurrying in the bushes and birds cawing overhead.

As I meandered through the grass, something rustled to my left. I followed it through some thick bushes and into the middle of a tiny, zombie warzone. Except the zombies weren't human, they were rats. And they were being handily corralled by some waist-high, metal fencing. I could see bowls of fresh beef inside the pen, probably food for the tiny horde.

The caretaker cackled at me from the other side of this pet project. "Don't think you're here for the theater," she said lightly.

I became human, and she chuckled again. "I thought you might be the same person. Looking for something, I assume." She poked at one of the undead creatures with her staff, prodding it toward some meat. "Hungry little buggers, but not too bright."

My brain briefly blanked out. I had no idea what the caretaker was talking about. What person? How would she know me?

"Do you know where the grandmaster's buried?" I asked. It took me something like a minute to spit the words out.

She pointed with her stick. "Down this little path, all the way in the back. But if you're thinking of raising him, it's a bit late. He's been dead and gone too long to trifle in the affairs of mortals."

"Some... friends of mine may have tried."

"All the more pity to them. The older ones are savage. Waking them from their slumber is a quick way to land on the other side of the grave yourself." She used her walking stick to shuffle in my direction. "But tell you something, lad. When I come across people like that, dumb enough—or brave enough—to dance with the master, I invite them for a cup of tea."

She gestured toward a hut. "So how about it?"

I shook my head. "I'm trying to find my friends."

"The last ones came perhaps a year ago. So determined, so sure of themselves."

Ask her what happened to them, the house demanded.

She answered it directly. "They were seekers, this lot. I can't deny their enthusiasm. My memory isn't what it used to be, but these lads and lasses left a mighty impression. I told them that they wouldn't find what they sought here, not among the dead. But, the living... that's another story."

I didn't understand what the old woman was talking about, but before I could ask, she sighed. "Not all of the old masters are gone. Some hide in plain sight. Why rot in the ground when you can soar?"

"Do you know where they went?"

"To the halls of our great city, of course. Armed with their wands and their books."

I decided the caretaker was insane and started walking away when she called out, "Wait, guardian. You were there, weren't you? On the night of the riots."

I spun around and out of the corner of my eye, I saw the caretaker in a different form. She’d stood at the front of a crowd of humans, sheltering them with her magic. She’d been a bright light in the midst of a very dark day.

Exactly a year before, a group of mages had been tried and judged guilty for the crime of wanting to be free. Their friends and fellow practitioners had protested in the streets. The department sent me and several other guardians to deal with them using any means necessary.

The day had ended in tragedy.

The woman's expression was truly sad when she spoke again. "For a very long time now, there have been two disciplines of magic: the light and the darkness. Two seemingly separate stories. The light relies on control and careful preparation, and the darkness runs wild through the veins of men and beasts." She paused. "You know these stories."

She stopped, and I nodded.

"But the ones who came here were seeking another story. One that contains both white and black, light and darkness."

“Thank you,” I told the caretaker.

I didn’t think her words meant much and headed back to the city empty-handed.

[sparrowwritings]

Final Fantasy Writing Challenge Day Fifteen: “That lucky charm you gave me hasn’t  been so lucky.”

Day Fourteen -- Masterpost -- Day Sixteen

“Ah! One of my <adorable twin saplings!>” Feo Ul cried as Lara froze in the doorway. She’d been expecting Roger in the apartment. Maybe a brooding Ardbert. That she was seeing the pixie that she had bonded with at the start of her journey wasn’t unpleasant just...awkward. 

Luckily she could recover easily enough. With a bright smile, she called out, “Hey, Feo Ul!” Lara looked around. “Is there, uh, anything bad about to happen? King related business that you need help with? I can go get Roger if that’s the case…”

With a boisterous laugh that sent them into a flying loop-de-loop in the air, the red pixie hovered close enough to squish Lara’s cheeks. “Nay, my precious gold-and-fire hair sapling. I’ve already seen my other <adorable twin sapling> and given my latest charm to him. Now I bestow upon you this token of luck!” Feo Ul let go of her long enough to tangle up something in Lara’s hair. Setting themself back far enough to admire their work, the King of Pixies (in their more diminutive piece that mostly interacted with their saplings) declared, “There! A proper charm now for my dearest sapling!”

Lara really hoped that she was allowed to take it out of her hair. “You’re most kind, Feo Ul,” And, since she was seriously trying to get a grasp of the language that the pixies used, she added, “<Adore beauty my branch>.” She winced at the “translation” that her Echo so helpfully provided. It was the most ironic gift ever. She could understand any language and be understood if she needed to be, but actually attempting to learn a language when someone says a word and her head says another…

No wonder Roger declined language learning with Urianger. 

Feo Ul laughed even harder than before. “‘Tis nearly right! A bit more practice and you will be calling for me every moment that you have the need. Be seeing you!” And with that, they turned into a ball of light and flitted out the window. She waited until all of the sparkles in the air had well and truly faded before dislodging whatever it was that the pixie had tied into her hair. 

What she found was a silver bell. There was nothing tying it anywhere, save for the gold strands that were left over from Feo Ul’s work. There also wasn’t anything inside the bell to make it ring. It was odd...but in a cute way. 

“A charm from the pixie, eh?” Ardbert leaned into view, startling Lara. He ignored her reaction to examine the bell closer. “Back in my day it was said that gifts from the Fae could lead to great fortune…” His brown eyes flicked up to meet hers. “Or great despair. All things considered, I say you leave the bell here before you go out again. And whatever it is that they gave to Roger.”

Lara snorted. “Feo Ul wouldn’t give me something that would harm me.” She headed to the platform that contained both hers and Roger’s beds and made a beeline for where her less important things were being stored. “I’m one of her precious twin saplings, like you heard.” With a bit of searching, she turned up a white ribbon that she quickly used to tie the soundless bell to her wrist. “Plus isn’t it also bad luck to refuse a gift of the Fae?” It was a half remembered lesson from when Urianger had spent a couple of days trying to describe all of the intricate rules that the various races of Il Mheg lived by. When it was clear that the two of them couldn’t memorize everything immediately, he’d sighed and gave a few more concise rules of thumb for dealing with the Fae. Concise for his standards, at least.

“Aye, but that don’t mean their gift’s gonna be any good to you either.”

“It’s a luck charm! What’s the worst that could happen?”

-------

Urianger started when he beheld the severely disheveled sight of the Warriors of Darkness. “Oh my. It seemeth thou both hath run into troubles aplenty.”

“You have no idea.” Roger didn’t even bother to clear a spot of books. He marched to a spot on the wall that was the least occupied and slid down it with a prolonged groan.

Lara moved to join him, but hissed in pain. Without another word, Urianger cast a couple of healing spells on the both of them. In moments, the Warriors of Darkness both breathed a sigh of relief. 

“Didst thou fight a horde of monsters?” 

“I wish it had just been monsters.” Lara rolled her shoulders as the soreness faded. “We’ve just had trouble after trouble since yesterday.”

Roger counted the ways on his fingers. “Everything keeps breaking, I’ve been tripping over myself way more than I used to, we pissed off this amaro that used to be real friendly and it dropped us in a lake.”

Urianger froze. “Thou canst mean--”

“Yeah, we almost got dragged back to Dohn Mheg. Thank every single god that we have that water breathing blessing…” She once again moved to sit next to her best friend when her foot collided against a footstool. A crack resounded around the library and Lara’s face contorted with pain again. “Oww…” Her voice came out as a whimper. 

He moved to tend to what sounded like a broken toe (though gods knew how Lara was able to do so when she was still wearing boots). As he used his own aether to heal her again, a card he drew from his star globe brought his attention to the ribbon on her wrist. On it was a silver bell with no clapper. Urianger’s eyes narrowed at it. “When did thou receiveth this bell, young Lara?”

She blinked a couple of times as the magic quickly got to work. “Uh...yesterday, actually. Feo Ul called it a luck charm.”

That was explanation enough. “Didst thou both not listen to mine lecture when I mentioned gifts of the Fae?”

“Er…” Roger scratched at his face and looked away. 

“Uh…” Lara looked upwards before snapping her fingers. “They can cause great fortune!”

“Or quite the opposite.” He indicated the bell. “What were the exact words of thine pixie?”

“Feo Ul...said it was a luck charm,” Lara repeated. 

“Didst they mention good or ill luck whatsoever?”

She stared at him, then her eyes widened with realization as she looked down at the bell. “They didn’t.”

Roger groaned even louder than before. “Why do the Fae do this stuff…”

“‘Tis merely their nature as mischievous creatures, young Roger. Feo Ul, while they hast many duties as King of the Pixies, will still desireth to delight in seeing even their sune yaks contend with the gifts they hast given unto them.” He nodded as the magic faded and Lara was once again healed. “Nevertheless, ‘tis most unfortunate that their gifts hath caused thee such ill luck. ‘Twoud be best to leave thine gifts in thine quarters until such time that Feo Ul forgets they hath given their saplings such charms.”

“And we can’t just...say no to future gifts?” Roger pondered even as he took out the pendant that the pixie had given to him. 

“I’m afraid the consequences of refusing would be far worse than those of accepting their gifts.”

“Well crud.” Lara muttered.

While the two were quietly contemplating their fate, Urianger offered, “Perhaps ‘twould be wise for me to accompany you both back to the Crystarium. Thine healing abilities are quite remarkable, young Lara, however having a second in reserve may be what your ill luck needs to turn back to the good.”

With the voice of someone who hadn’t really heard what was spoken to them, she responded with, “Sounds good.” Then her focus landed on him with startling strength. “Hey can I ask you a question?”

“Whatever it is you wish to know, I will endeavor to answer.” 

“Do you know what cúpla sune yaks means?” Lara’s mouth didn’t move in the correct way to pronounce the words, but Urianger heard the phrase pronounced the way it should be said. He forced the scholar part of his mind to back down from the opportunity to marvel at yet another side effect of one possessing the Echo to go over the phrase she said. 

It couldn’t be...could it?

“Aye,” He answered neutrally. Roger sat up from his spot against the wall, watching the both of them. It didn’t take long for her to start rambling about what she was really asking.

“Okay so…” She tugged at a strand of her hair and twined it around a finger. “Feo Ul always calls us that. And the Echo makes it sound like she’s calling us ‘adorable twin saplings.’ I just want to know if there’s anything significant about it.”

“We’ve been over this, Lara, they just mean that we’re their two saplings!” Roger called out. “The Echo made it sound like that so that we’d understand what they meant better!”

“But we don’t know if that’s true!” She turned her deep blue eyes up to meet his own. “Well?”

Urianger granted her a moment’s pause while he thought of what to say. “...If it beith thine conclusion that the words of Feo Ul meaneth what you say, then that is so. As I do not possesseth the Echo, I can only interpret language by having been taught it. Twin can be used to mean two in many languages.”

“See! I told you!”

Lara continued to stare at him for a moment before looking away again when she failed to find what it was she was looking for. “Okay. Guess I was just thinking too hard.” She sighed and rubbed at a temple. “Let’s get back to the Crystarium and soon.” Roger made another groan as he helped himself stand. 

“We’ll meet you outside when you’re ready.” He said to Urianger as the two left the library.

“I shall be but a moment.”

As soon as the Warriors of Darkness had well and truly exited, he gave a deep frown. 

If Feo Ul had meant to call Roger and Lara their two adorable saplings, they would have called them “a dó sune yaks” in the language of the Pixies. They specifically used the phrase “cúpla sune yaks.” Twin adorable saplings. 

There was only one possible conclusion to be drawn from that. Pixies were the most well known among the Fae folk to use their exact words in order to not lie.

Among other sudden realizations and connections, Urianger couldn’t help but marvel at how this also explained why the pixies in particular all adored the Warriors of Darkness so. The ancient texts described the race as being quite drawn towards twins.

[storiesforallfandoms]

exploring eroda ~ harry styles au

part one

word count: 1738

request?: no

description: harry’s new mermaid friend decides to explore the island of eroda, with harry’s help of course

pairing: harry styles x female!mermaid!reader

warnings: none really

masterlist

Harry woke up the next morning to find his bed was empty. He was sure he had dreamt the whole night before. A near death hallucination that stopped him from his suicide attempt. But there was still a faint whiff of salt water in his tiny house, and he knew it wasn’t coming in from the window this time.

He felt someone poke his cheek. He opened his eyes to see (Y/N) leaning over him, watching him. She was still wearing his clothes from the night before, although they didn’t look as if they had been slept in.

“Good morning, Harry!” she exclaimed when she saw his eyes opened. “Come on, get up! I want to go exploring the island!”

Harry couldn’t help but chuckle. “Calm down there, early riser. Give me some time to wake up.”

“Well, how much time will that take?”

She was like a child, nearly jumping in excitement. Harry couldn’t contain his amusement. “It may be a while. I have to get up and eat and get dressed and clean myself - ”

(Y/N) threw her head back and let out a dramatic groan. “That’s gonna take forever! Can’t we go somewhere on the island for breakfast?”

Harry’s smile faltered slightly. He knew how much (Y/N) wanted to explore Eroda, but he was hoping to stall her just enough that the town would be mostly clear by the time they went out. Early in the mornings was when everyone went outside to see what the day would bring. With any luck, they’d see a priest walking the streets and they’d all go home immediately so that Harry wouldn’t have to face any of them with (Y/N).

It wasn’t that he didn’t want anyone in town to meet (Y/N), it was the fact that he knew what reactions he’d garner from them; the disgust, the fear, the overall standoffish reactions he got when he went out in public. Sure, she wasn’t afraid of his cursed smile, but what if the way the people of Eroda treated Harry influenced how she felt?

But there she was, the beautiful mermaid, now sat on his bed and looking at him with such excitement in her face that he was sure she was going to explode if he didn’t agree to going out right that second.

So, he sighed and got up out of bed. “There’s a diner we can go to that’s right in the middle of the market. Give me time to change.”

(Y/N) exclaimed and clapped in excitement, which brought the smile back to Harry’s face.

~~~~~~

They were sat at a table far away from anyone else as possible. As he expected, everyone was staring at the two of them. Many of the looks were curious as the locals tried to figure out who this new girl with the town’s freak was. No boats had come into the docks lately, if they had the whole town would’ve know. News travels fast on a small island.

If (Y/N) noticed the looks, she didn’t say anything. She was happily reading the diner’s menu as they waited for someone to come over and take their order. Harry was starting to lose hope that that would ever happen, though. When a begrudging waitress finally approached the table, he was shocked.

“What do you want?” she asked, her voice less than friendly.

“I’ll just have a traditional breakfast, with coffee,” Harry decided. Without another word to him, the waitress snatched his menu and turned to (Y/N). She was still considering the items on the menu.

“What would you recommend?” she asked the waitress. “It all sounds so good.”

The waitress shrugged. “It’s all edible.”

After another few seconds, (Y/N) decided, “Surprise me. Oh! And a coffee for me too, please.”

The waitress raised an eyebrow at her as she took her menu as well. (Y/N) smiled at the woman, causing the confused look to turn into a glare before she hurried off to place their orders.

“I didn’t think you’d know what coffee was,” Harry commented.

“You truly underestimate me then,” (Y/N) responded. “I’ve been to so many countries and islands, I’ve tried the food and drinks on all of them. Coffee is a heaven sent, I’m usually tired from swimming around or need energy to go to the next place. A cup of coffee will have me energized for like a whole day.”

“How does drinking work? Coffee is essentially hot water with caffeinated beans in it. Will it turn you?”

(Y/N) giggled at the question. “I can drink any form of water. I can even have water dumped on me. I actually have to be in water for a long period of time to change, like in the ocean or even a shower.”

Harry looked around to see if anyone was listening to their conversation, although for anyone to be listening there’d have to be people in the diner. He lowered his voice to ask, “Are people allowed to know about you?”

(Y/N) giggled again. “If they weren’t I wouldn’t be telling you all of this. It’s just whether or not they’ll believe me without hard evidence, which most don’t at first.”

The waitress returned then with their food. She tossed the plates onto the table haphazardly and muttered “Enjoy” before walking away.

Harry was used to the food looking less than appetizing, but he wasn’t sure what (Y/N)’s reaction would be to hers: slop looking eggs, overcooked bacon, and soggy toast. (Y/N), however, looked ecstatic for her meal.

“My stomach is rumbling just looking at this,” she said. “I’m gonna wash my hands first. I may swim around in the ocean, but I maintain good hygiene.”

(Y/N) was drying her hands when the bathroom door swung open and the waitress stood in the doorway, blocking (Y/N)’s only way of exiting the bathroom.

“Who are you?” she demanded.

“I’m sorry?” (Y/N) asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Eroda is a small island, everyone knows everyone. I’ve never once seen you around here before.”

(Y/N) shrugged in response. “I’m a friend of Harry’s visiting Eroda.”

The waitress scoffed. “That boy doesn’t have friends, and no boats have come or gone in months. How much is he paying you to be seen out with him with that happy look on your face.”

(Y/N) rolled her eyes. “He’s paying me with kindness and hospitality, something the rest of you on this island should try and maybe people would actually come visit.”

She stepped past the waitress and made her way back to hers and Harry’s table.

“What took so long?” Harry asked her around the food in his mouth. His breakfast was half gone.

(Y/N) smiled brightly at him. “Thorough cleaning. Thanks for waiting for me, hungry.”

~~~~~~

About an hour later, (Y/N) was marveling at the clothes from one of the stores in the market. Harry was watching her with a small smile. She was like a child discovering the world for the first time.

“Harry!” she exclaimed, holding up a jumper. “Look how cute this is!” She turned to the owner of the store, who was watching the two with confusion. “You make all this stuff?”

“Uh...just the jumpers,” the owner responded.

“They’re amazing! You’re so talented!”

Harry had to double take when he saw the store owner smile just a little before going back to reading her book and ignoring the two.

After another few minutes, (Y/N) had an armful of clothes that she brought to try on in the only dressing room in the store. “What’s your limit to spend? I don’t want you to spend too much on clothes that’ll be left untouched when I leave.”

“It won’t be a waste. I’ll keep them for when you come back for visits.”

(Y/N) closed the change room curtain to hide her face from Harry. She didn’t have the heart to tell him that the likeliness of her ever returning when she left Eroda was very slim. At least, not in Harry’s lifetime. Mermaids were essentially immortal beings. A single year was like a second to them. When she left the island, she wasn’t likely to return as soon as Harry expected. But she didn’t want to crush that hope Harry had. Not yet.

If he noticed her lack of a response, Harry didn’t let on as he continued talking. “Money isn’t a problem. My parents send me money twice a month. It’s sort of like an apology for leaving me to defend for myself with my...defect.”

(Y/N) stopped, a jumper half pulled on. “Where did they go?”

Harry sighed. It was a touchy subject, but he rarely ever talked about it since everyone in Eroda already knew the story, and he knew talking about it was a good thing. “They left when I was old enough to live by myself. They wanted to leave Eroda, go somewhere...better.”

“Without you?” (Y/N) asked.

“They didn’t want to bring my defect to other islands. They said no one else would ever understand my defect.” Harry ran his fingers through his hair. “I just think they were disappointed at having a kid with such an unusual...problem. They didn’t want to deal with it anymore, so they left me here. At least they help me with my financial needs since I can’t get a job.”

(Y/N) threw back the curtain of the change room and threw her arms around Harry. He was shocked by the sudden action and it took him a moment to understand what was happening and to hug her back.

“I’m so sorry Harry,” she told him.

Harry pulled away from the embrace and shrugged. “It happened years ago. I’m over it now.”

That was a lie, but he wasn’t about to tell (Y/N) the truth and have her pity him.

After picking out which clothes she wanted, (Y/N) took it to the cash. Harry was taking out his wallet when the owner told him, “It’s fine, I’ll add it to your tab.”

“Oh,” Harry said, slightly confused. He didn’t have a “tab” anywhere. Not many places gave the option for a tab, they just wanted their money. “Okay. Thanks.”

A ghost of a smile came to her face as she told them, “Have a good day you two.”

Tags: @twosaylorghosts​ @hufflepuff-always-and-forever​ @arypesanchez​

Let me know if you want to be tagged in future parts!

[demivampirew]

Don’t judge a book by its cover chapter 1.

A Cap. Syverson story.

Triggers: Violence; talking about xenophobia, white privilege, homophobia, misogyny; crying; cursing; slang words.

Synopsis: Rebeca is an Argentinian girl who a few months ago moved to the USA (Washington D.C) to study in university thanks to a scholarship that she was granted. She’s lonely. People don’t treat her well. Some could be understood but most of them just hate her for being a foreigner. She meets Syverson because he’s a man from the South and she has not had a good experience with people from there, but she may find out at the end that she shouldn’t judge a book by its cover.

She was walking towards the book store. She needed yet another ton of books for English class, even though she bought several of them two weeks ago. She got a scholarship a few months ago, that as long as she maintains high grades, it will allow her to finish her studies on the University of Washington, with the full coverage of the tuition money and a plus for materials. But still, with all those privileges, being in college was expensive. The extra money that the programme gave her scarcely was enough to buy three-quarters of the materials she needed and let's not forget food and other necessary stuff. She got a job at a grocery store, that didn't pay much, but enough to keep her going and the owners were one of the few people that were nice to her and even allowed her to study if there were no clients in the store. On the weekends, she would help primary and high school kids with their Spanish homework. Incredibly, those few hours gave her more money than working all week at the grocery store, but those people weren't so nice to her and it wasn't a steady job as her week job was. She could always find a job as a Spanish tutor, though. Most of her clients were high middle-class families and most of them were Republicans and hated Latinos, but she was a "white Latina, so you were ok." That's something that one of her classmates told her, a Mexican girl - she wasn't at the same University because she also was granted a scholarship, but because her parents saved money since she was little for her to go to a good college-; It hurt, but she knew that it was right. It isn't like her life was a field of roses. Not at all. College was full of rich kids that hated her guts and made her life a living hell. They'd laugh at her if she made the slightest mistake when speaking English and insulted her if she pointed out that they also made mistakes and that it's their native language. They would scream "In this country, we speak English, bitch" and other things if they heard her speak in Spanish with somebody over the phone. Three times she had to change the window glasses from her small apartment because they'll keep throwing rocks at them. But still, she had to admit that she understood why the Latinos at college didn't like her much. If there was some trouble, no one would even look at her. And the only time they let her go out with them, they got stop by police to ask for their identifications but told her that wasn't necessary. Not only she was white, but also she came from Buenos Aires, Argentina and she particularly didn't have a thick accent so immediately catch on the standard American one. After buying the necessary books, she hurried to go to work. Her boss told her she could go buy the books she needed and she could stay late to cover the time that she used to do that. She truly needed a car. At first, she thought that'd be a waste of money because in her city you could use the bus to go anywhere you needed to go. There was always a way to go by public transport, but here it was more difficult and besides, she needed to save time. She rushed to cross the street before the lights turn red, but didn't make it on time and as soon as she took the steps into the street, the light changed and cars began to pass. A car stopped abruptly just as it was about to hit her. - Ma'am, are you insane? - screamed the driver of the car, as he descended to make sure she was fine. She took a few steps back to avoid being in the middle of the street and also because she was afraid of that man. He was tall, with a big back and big muscles. He had a beard and his head was shaved. He was wearing cargo pants and a Lynyrd Skynyrd t-shirt. But his looks were not the thing that scared her, it was the strong southern accent and the authority in his voice. Every time she ran into someone that sounded like him, it turned out to be a misogynistic, homophobic, racist and xenophobic asshole. Some times it would be some of those qualities, but most of the time, they were all together. But in the last second, she had a sudden change of attitude. She decided that would be the day that she won't let an idiot treat her like shit. She stood up like she wasn't afraid of him and looked at him fiercely. - No, I'm not insane. I'm just running late and when I checked the light was still on the green, I didn't see it change, that's all. - she replied - It's very rude for you to scream at me that way after you almost run over me with your car. You must haven't been paying attention to the road ahead or otherwise, you would have seen that I started to cross when it was still green. - Are you blaming me for your stupidity? Do you understand that I could have killed you? - He asked her irritated. She slapped him on the face. He closed his eyes and pressed his lips together trying to contain his growing anger. - I'm sorry.- she apologized, but after a second she changed her mind- No, you know what? I'm not. You deserved it. You called me stupid. You don't know me and you called me stupid?! How dare you? I'm fucking tire of people like you! Every single day of my life I have to deal with people insulting me and treating me like shit like I wasn't a human being like I didn't deserve anything that I worked hard for just because I wasn't born in this freaking country. Or maybe you think I'm stupid just because I'm a woman, I had heard that too. Every single fucking insult that your brain can come out with, I'm pretty sure I heart it daily. So, if you excuse me, I would like to continue my way before I lose my job that I really need. - she said and run away, wiping the tears that started to come from her face. She ran for a while, crying desperately. People on the streets stared at her, probably thinking that she was mugged or something like that. Two blocks away from her job, she stopped to give herself time to breathe and clean all the tears left on her face. It was hard to cover that she had been crying but decided to share with the store owner just the part that she got scared because she was almost hit by a car on her way there and that she cries due to the scary episode. Thankfully, that explanation was good enough for her and did not ask more questions. As soon as she ended her shift, she went straight to her apartment. She was about to open the door when a man outside called her name and she turned around scared. It was the man from earlier that day, the man than almost hit her with his car. - What are you doing here? How do you know where I live? How do you know my name?- She questioned, confused and terrified as the man was getting closer to her. - Stop there! I'm going to call the police! This is harassment! - she screamed scared. The man raised both hands to leave them to her sight and stopped walking towards her. - I'm Captain Syverson. I'm a military man, ma'am. I'm not here to hurt you or do anything to you other than to apologize for the way I treated you today. I would like to return this to you as well, you lost it when you left the place.- he said, reaching his pocket and getting your credit card. -That's how I knew where you live. As I said, I work in the military, so I asked a friend of mine to get me your address, I hope that's ok with you. But I truly wanted to reach you and let you know that was not my intention to mistreat you today. You'll see, I'd been in the war zone for way too long so I lost my touch on how to react delicately to certain situations. You're not one of the soldiers on my command, you're just a lady crossing the street that got yelled by a southern asshole, as I believed you called me.-he said smirking. -I won't steal any more of your time. It's late and I'm pretty sure you want to rest, so have yourself a good night. - he said and turned around. She thanked him for returning the card and he replied "no problem". The next morning she got up early to make it on time to get to the class. She had an important exam to took that day, so she did not want to be late. As soon as she crossed the door and closed it, a young man scream "good morning" into her ear, scaring her. It was Trevor. One of her classmates. One of the leaders of those popular fraternities that's always making parties and playing sports and fucking instead of studying. - What do you want? - she asked annoyed. - Becky, Becky, Becky...-he said playing with her hair and she grabbed it so he would stop.- Is it weird that a Latina has a name like Rebeca? - Isn't weird that you have a brain a never use it? - she replied, annoyed. He grabbed her by the throat and pushed her against the wall. - Careful, bitch. I could fuck you up if I want to.- he threatened her - Yes, I know. I then you'll call your daddy to clean the mess that you left behind, like you do every time, right?- she defied him and he got angrier and closed his hand into a fist and was about to punch her. She wanted to be brave but could help herself and closed her eyes, afraid waiting for the punch. It never came. Instead, she heard screams. Some came from Trevor, others came from another man with a deeper voice. Trevor's were from pain, the man's were insults and threats. Rebeca finally opened her eyes and saw Syverson beating the shit out of Trevor. She ran to stop him. He was a military man. Trevor was just a stupid frat boy; he could cause some serious injuries and might cost him his military range or something. It took some time, but she finally conquered her goal of making him stop beating Trevor. You had to call the police and an ambulance, the was no other choice. Great. If your neighbours did not like you much before, now probably hated you. Not only you were the cause of a major fight at 7 am but you also got the street with police cars and ambulance, blocking the cars from getting out so they could get to their jobs. - You shouldn't have done that - Rebeca told Syverson as they waited on the police station to give their testaments - Should I have let him hit you instead? - he asked her surprised and annoyed. Like there was no other thing to do but what he did. - Why were you there anyway? - she questioned confused - I wanted to talk to you. - You've already apologized - she reminded him - It's not about that. I wanted to know what did you meant when you said: "I'm fucking tire of people like you"? Who are the "people like me"? - Southern people - she replied - Do you hate southerners? - he questioned, surprised and amused. - I don't know. I mean, I'm yet to find a good one. Maybe you could be that one, although you have to admit that you are not giving the best impression - she answered, raising an eyebrow and he laughed. - Yes, I guess you're right. My bad. - Every time I run into someone from the South, they treat me like I was below them just because I'm not from this country. When I moved here, there was this old southern man in the same street where I live. He used to look at my ass and use degrading slangs. He was disgusting. His wife hated me. They were extremely religious and when they found out that I was bisexual and atheist, they actually had a church meeting outside my house, praying for "the devil" to leave the place. A few weeks later, the man died of cancer and the woman was put onto a care home by his son. I think no one bothered me anymore after that because they still believe that I'm actually the devil - she said rolling her eyes and Syverson laughed out loud. - Hush. You're here to be questioned about giving a guy the beating of his life, you should be laughing. - You're right. Well. I understand your point, but I should tell you, just because you were given a few bad apples by the store, doesn't mean that said store doesn't have some good in them. - What? - What I'm trying to say is that because you met a few of my people that were pretty shitty, doesn't mean that we are all that way.- he explained to her - Look, I did not only joined the military to serve my country, but I also did it to help people. When I was out there, in the war zone, I protected as many innocent people as I could, mine or not. I made a few friends work with locals there. People are people. Period. I don't care if you were born here or not, as long as you are a good citizen and behave good, that's fine by me, stay all you want. Also, I couldn't care less what people do with their lives. If a man wants to be with a man, it's his fucking business. And about religion, I'm believer, but I won't judge you if you don't, I'm sure you must have your reasons. - he said and smiled at her. She was so focused on her judgment that she didn't allow herself to really see how attractive he was, especially now that he was close and she could see his deep blue eyes.

They both went separately to give their statements about the incident. Some neighbours were also brought by the police to testify as witnesses. Luckily, the woman who lived across the street saw the whole thing and her testimony matched Rebeca's and the police marked it as an act of self- defence and she and Syverson were free to go. They took a taxi to the house so he could pick up his car. She called her workplace and told the whole story from the police station because she wasn't sure how much time she would be stuck there for questioning and her boss gave her the day. As soon as they made it to her place, with neighbours spying on them, she invited him for coffee and he accepted.

[buffyversefanfiction]

Buffy versus The Originals

Warnings: I do not own nor claim to own the copyrights to the following tv shows; “Buffy the vampire slayer”, “Angel”, “The Originals”, “The Vampire Diaries”. Nor do I claim to own any canonical continuation via comics, spin-off televisions and such. I do not claim to own any of the characters within either the Buffyverse or the TVDverse, I am purely doing this for non-profit as a fan of both worlds and fanfiction itself.

15 Plus: May contain medium to graphic displays of violence and torture, displays of witchcraft practice, horror elements, supernatural elements, sexual innuendos, and scenes of a sexual nature.

F/F, F/M, M/M, GEN + OTHER

Preliminary Round: Part One

Buffy Summers managed to stop yet another apocalypse not that there was ever any doubt that she would win, she always wins. Although, to be fair this time around her hometown of Sunnydale was destroyed during the big battle and what once was a beautiful Californian town looked like nothing more than a tribute to the Grand Canyon leaving Buffy and her friends homeless.

Luckily, the blonde-haired vampire slayer knew of a certain vampire with a soul called Angel who happened to live in a semi-decaying hotel located in Los Angeles, and after a quick and awkward phone call with the vampire she once loved Buffy, her friends, her loved ones, and her fellow slayers made their way to L.A. to seek refuge with Angel and his team at the Hyperion Hotel.

Angel well and truly had his hands full at the Hyperion Hotel after rejecting Wolfram and Hart’s offer, his city always kept him busy with its many supernatural creatures, but he also had the complicated mission of trying to wake the woman he loved from her supernaturally influenced coma.

So, when Buffy, his former love, called him up looking for a place to stay briefly he was more than willing to oblige, hoping Buffy and her team could help in waking Cordy up.

Cordelia Chase had gone from being a spoiled rich girl at Sunnydale High School, to the vision’s girl at Angel Investigations to a half human, half demon, hybrid that found herself getting possessed by a rogue member of the powers that be called Jasmine, the latter using a magical pregnancy to give birth to herself, sending Cordy into a coma shortly after giving birth. 

Cordelia was the heart of Angel Investigations and it was struggling to operate without her, her friends and loved ones, were struggling to cope without her and so, Angel, Wesley, Fred, and Gunn were more than thrilled to have guests at the hotel who could lend a helping hand.

Faith Lehane had also gone through many changes herself, going from being a rogue slayer pitting herself up against Buffy, to finding redemption with the help and patience of Angel. So, after becoming Buffy’s ally once again, and helping her defeat the first in Sunnydale, the brunette Boston born slayer was more than happy to check into the Hyperion Hotel and catch up with her old friend Angel, especially after hearing the tall, dark, and handsome, vampire with a soul, needed help in waking Cordelia from a coma.

Buffy, Angel, and both their teams, sure proved to be the big help that Angel Investigations needed with the night-to-night hunting, and patrolling, however, the mission to awake Cordelia Chase struggled to pick up momentum which Cordelia herself began to grow impatient about as her fragmented spirit began appearing to them all frequently, complaining, and eager to get back into her comatose body.

Willow Rosenberg searched every grimoire, book, and magic shop to find a magical solution to Cordelia’s coma until eventually she came up with the idea to cast a spell which would not only summon Cordelia’s spirit but would force said spirit to return to her body. The spell in question required a non-beating heart, horns from a near extinct demonic species, and the translation of a long-forgotten language.

Willow waited for a reasonably quiet night to perform the spells she believed would bring Cordelia back to her body, waiting until it was just her, Buffy, Angel, and Faith in the hotel and gathered them all within the grand foyer of the hotel, as they each sat down on the floor in a circle, while Willow held a book in her hands, ready to cast her magic, ready to bring Cordelia Chase back.

The first spell to summon Cordelia’s spirit was performed, cast, and executed to perfection by the brilliant red headed wonder witch, however, the second spell to return Cordelia to her comatose body went a little awry as Willow accidentally opened a portal to a whole other dimension, a portal which wound up pulling Cordelia’s spirit into, as well as Buffy, Angel, and Faith before closing itself and leaving Willow completely alone, and without any idea of where they went, or how to get her friends back.

“Way to go Wills, now where the hell did, she send us this time?” Faith wondered as she, Buffy, Angel, and Cordelia found themselves, picking themselves up off the ground within the bayou in New Orleans late at night, each of them completely confused as to where Willow’s spell had sent them to. “I think it is safe to say we’re definitely not at the Hyperion Hotel, and knowing our luck we’re probably not even in Los Angeles.” Buffy replied to her, as she looked around the bayou, attempting to piece together where they were. “Hey! I’m back to being solid again!” Cordelia screeched with excitement as she threw her arms around Angel and pulled him in for a hug, the two of them equally as excited to see and feel each other once again. “Enough of the sickeningly sweet reunion time, we all know what happens when you get happy Angel.” Faith warned Angel, as she pulled him out of Cordelia’s arms, eagerly breaking off their hug. “You’ll lose your soul, then Cordy becomes food to soulless you, and me and B wind up tossing a coin to see which slayer takes you down this time around. “Well at least Willow’s spell to put you back in your body clearly worked.” Buffy stated to Cordelia, before the questioning slayer turned her attention to Angel. “You did not store her body in the woods, did you?” “No, I never!” Angel denied nervously, as he noticed a disapproving glare from Cordelia. “Not like you can blame him if he did, I mean maybe the big man’s still a little pissed about you bumping uglies with his son, I mean did you not used to change his diapers?” Faith teased Cordelia, more than happy to stir the pot between Cordelia and Angel. “Firstly, that was some wacky super powered bitch called Jasmine who not only hijacked my body but got me pregnant just to give birth to herself. Secondly, I would never sleep with his son when not possessed…stupid rogue powers that be hussy!” Cordelia snapped back at Faith, clearly disgusted. “I swear those powers that be can go straight to hell!” “As fun as this is, how about we change the topic and find a way back to the hotel?” Angel suggested to the women, more than eager to change the conversation about his son Connor’s past with the woman he loved. “Yeah, I don’t really want to hear about my ex’s love triangle with my high school classmate and his adult son.” Buffy agreed with the brooding vampire. “Straight to hell, you hear me?” Cordelia screamed upwards towards the clouds, hoping the powers that be were listening and heard her fury. As the foursome decided to explore their whereabouts it did not take them very long to find their way out of the bayou and learn that they were in the city of New Orleans, the only thing they did not know was the fact that they were no longer in their world, they were now in the Mikaelsons’ world…

Preliminary Round: Part Two

Josh Rosza had been through a lot since turning into a vampire, going from being a club kid turned vampire to best friend to the young harvest witch Davina Claire to the boyfriend of werewolf Aiden, but the hardest change in his life that he had to adjust to was losing his first love at the hands of a wicked witch called Dahlia, a loss that at first he blamed Klaus Mikaelson for.

Josh was never particularly popular with any of the original family of vampires and neither did he want to be, knowing all too well that friends of the Mikaelson siblings tended to quickly turn into foes before winding up permanently dead at their hands but all that had changed over the last few months following the notorious family defeating Dahlia.

Following Camille O Connell’s unexpected departure from New Orleans, Josh had managed to take over her job bartending at Rousseau’s which meant dealing with all kinds of clientele including none other than the hybrid Klaus Mikaelson himself, who had become a regular while drowning his sorrows every night since Cami had left.

Fear was quickly taken over by fascination as Josh’s reluctance to grow close to any original began to dwindle as friendship quickly grew between Josh and Klaus, a friendship which had started out with two lonely hearts before developing into something much deeper, a bond truly cherished by them both.

Klaus Mikaelson tended not to make friends easily mostly due to the fact he did not want to and even when the original hybrid did make the occasional friend it was never too long before he either watched them be murdered or they displeased him in some kind of way leading to him killing them.

However, following Cami’s decision to leave New Orleans behind for good, the fact Hayley Marshall had moved away with his daughter Hope and his brother Elijah was not currently talking to him, Klaus was in need of some kind of company and he found that and more with newbie vamp turned bartender Joshua Rosza.

Klaus found himself spending more and more time with Josh as a regular at Rosseau’s until the two unlikely companions quickly found themselves developing a friendship made from two lonely hearts graduating into something deeper and before long the original hybrid would come to think of the vampire bartender as his best friend, a friendship which Klaus valued greatly and would protect at any cost.

Rebekah Mikaelson had been granted her freedom from always having to be by her brother’s side, forced to endure heartbreak after heartbreak as Klaus put his needs and wants before her own time and time again, but now she was free and yet it did not feel like it to the original female vampire.

Rebekah had been travelling the world in search of a way to bring her brother Kol back, chasing leads from her older sister Freya, hoping to find some magical remedy to restore her family, but as the months went by and the leads grew thinner the original was starting to run out of steam and her warring brothers Klaus and Elijah was doing anything but making her feel free from her family entanglements.

So, Rebekah decided it was time to pay her family a little visit to reconcile Elijah and Klaus’ brotherhood having had to step in many times before, like when they thought over Tatia then squabbled over Katherine Pierce, as the blonde haired immortal beauty just found herself being thankful that this time her brothers weren’t fighting over another bloody doppelgänger.

Elijah Mikaelson had spent a thousand years sticking by his brother Klaus’ side, cleaning up his messes, and attempting to keep the rest of his family in line but after Klaus used their aunt Dahlia to cast a werewolf curse on Hayley, the woman he loved, he was done fighting by his brother’s side and although Hayley forgave Klaus after New Orleans’ regent witch Davina Claire broke the curse, Hayley decided to move away with Hope.

Hayley Marshall still popped into New Orleans as her and Klaus shared custody over their daughter Hope but she lived there no longer and although she did not live far from the city she lived far enough away to start a new life, a life that Elijah Mikaelson was no longer a part of much to his own heartbreak.

Elijah knew he could not blame Klaus entirely for Hayley’s decision to move but he also knew the curse sure did not help things, in fact if anything he believed it determined her decision and with her now gone and Rebekah too, Elijah was running out of reasons to remain forever by Klaus’ side.

Freya Mikaelson had taken to the oldest sibling role a little far too well and she had started to feel the weight that came keeping a family like hers from killing each other. Not only did the Mikaelson witch have to play mediator between a warring Elijah and Klaus but she was also using her expertise to try and help her youngest sibling Rebekah to find a way to resurrect Kol.

Family was not Freya’s only struggle however as she tried to stop Davina Claire and her vampire father figure Marcel Gerard from declaring war on her siblings every other day, while finding unlikely common ground with Vincent Griffiths in restoring their city for the better as well as keeping her promise to her brother Finn, one that meant finding him a suitable body that would require minimal violence if possible.

Freya literally had everything on her shoulders and was trying her hardest to wear it well, so the last thing that she wanted, needed, or even expected, was the arrival of two so-called vampire slayers, a demon, and a vampire with a so-called soul.

[mor-beck-more-problems]

Witch Way to Revenge || Morgan & Miriam

TIMING: Current

PARTIES: @meflemming & @mor-beck-more-problems

SUMMARY: Morgan and Miriam have a girl’s night. At least no one was physically injured? 

CONTAINS: emo times

Girl’s night in with Miriam looked a lot like Morgan expected: animal hides dangling from their racks, wine-blood cocktails and brain smoothies in rose gold tinted glassware, and moody music from Miriam’s Spotify playlist underscored by the percussion of leatherworking and bone carving as fresh white shavings spread over the work table like confetti. The antler Morgan was working was just for practice, but maybe if the piece didn’t come out too wonky she would stash it for herself, a hope towards another etsy store, or at least a contribution to the universe that wasn’t so frustratingly fraught. Everywhere Morgan looked was a mess waiting to happen or already in progress, even within. She mistrusted her quiet, fearing another breakdown, she mistrusted her fire, hating the thought of adding to the list of sacrifices and blood Constance had already accumulated. And the people she trusted, who she wanted to cling to—

Morgan’s burr scraped too roughly into the bone, digging an impossibly crooked hole into its side. She set down her burr before she made another mess and chugged her smoothie. “Is it breaking the vibe too much if I ask a serious question?” The look of apology on her face said that she was going to do it whether Miriam thought so or not. “I was wondering if...you ever feel kind of sick about your uh...side hustle. And then do it anyway?  I feel like if nothing else, being able to see Constance come apart with my own two zombie eyes is going to be satisfying in ways I don’t have words for, but right now I’m...not there. I’m just curious, I guess.”

Humming along to the music Elle had put on her phone, Miriam was busy removing hair from a skin, not truly thinking, just enjoying the process. She’d found the deer the other evening after she’d gone to the cemeteries. Miriam hadn’t truly been hunting for witches. Not hard, at least. But the frustration of the itch not being scratched caused her to lash out. She’d dropped it off on the way back to Evelyn’s, and she’d been staying the night there ever since, though frustration kept building and building. This was nice, though. No murder, no ghostly research, no threatening or dead witch bodies (except for Morgan’s, but she didn’t count).The flavor of bloodied wine eased some of her darker thoughts. Morgan seemed a bit stressed, of course, but Miriam didn’t pry. They both had their secrets.

Miriam’s sensitive ears picked up the sound of scraping bone, and she glanced up at Morgan. Raising an eyebrow, she took a sip from her glass. “I don’t mind, Morgan.” She paused, thinking it over. The look on Morgan’s face was enough for her to know that the question wasn’t meant cruelly, though. “Side hustle makes it sound like I’m a gangster of some sort. It’s simply my nature.” She wrinkled up her nose a bit before she sighed and put down the fleshing knife she’d been using. Miriam faced Morgan fully, leaning back against the counter. “The very first time was hard, but I couldn’t stop.” She would not tell Morgan how she cried for Theo. She would not. “And then it was all too easy. It was retribution, for all the lies and the hurt that magic causes. Eventually, I thought I was done, for the most part, and I went to ground. When I woke up, it was the same, that righteous anger that I had to do what needed to be done.” Murder, Mim. Just say murder. “I’m certainly glad I didn’t kill you, though. And now… Now it’s just a necessity, not a desire. I have other things to do with my time, but…” She let the sentence trail off into nothing and cleared her throat. “What brings up the curiosity, darling?”

“On the one hand, gangster, on the other: intrepid and self-motivated,” Morgan explained, sniggering. “It doesn’t pay as well as your day job, it’s more of a passion project. Which, you know, you could probably benefit from having a real one of those.” She was trying to keep her tone light, gentle in her teasing to show how desperate she was to get Miriam to do something, anything else with her existence besides her indiscriminate murder vendetta against witches. But Miriam’s response to her question was...surprisingly earnest. Even as Morgan sensed that she was keeping something back, she knew she was telling as much of the truth as she could manage.

“Couldn’t stop?” She asked in a whisper. For the first time she considered if Miriam’s claims about not being in control of herself were true. She could think of nothing more terrifying than losing her will, her self to something that lacked even a face or a name. It seemed a worse fate than what Constance had given her. It couldn’t be true. “You know it wasn’t...he wasn’t his magic, Miriam,” she said softly. “He deserved everything he got from you. But he’s not actually everywhere, even if it feels that way. He wasn’t hiding in me somewhere.” She looked back to her bone carving before setting everything down. “Why does it feel necessary? Sorry, that sounds-- I’m curious about you, because of course I am, but I’m asking for...me. I struggle so hard to explain to people why I need this, and I don’t know if the words exist. I was set up to suffer before I was even born, punished for something I didn’t do as early as three, broken, slowly in cycles, over some girl’s hissy fit of bad turns. And at the bottom of it all, I know that I need to do something different, to be different than the person she ground up to death. And I need to call the shots. I need to know down in my soul I’m free of her, forever. And, yeah, sometimes I get a kick out of imagining what it will be like to give her back as much pain as I can. I had to kill a fucking hunter to get the carding comb to hurt her with, I’m going to make sure it’s worth it. But does any of this make sense to you at all? You’re not even going after the person who hurt you anymore and is it...just this ache? Or this pull that you can’t have peace or quiet or anything fully until this is done?

The sound Miriam made wasn’t particularly ladylike; nor was the eyeroll she gave Morgan. Honestly, she wouldn’t be surprised if her mother walked out of the family mausoleum just to scold her for her lack of manners. “Aren’t we all self-motivated, sweetness?” she asked, reaching to take a sip of her wine only to find that the glass was empty. She frowned before going to the small fridge she kept in her work area to make another glass. “I mean, that’s quintessential human nature, though human is a bit narrowly focused. We both know that. Anything with conscious thought is self-motivated, I think one could argue.” One part blood bag, two parts cabernet sauvignon. She took a sip, satisfied with the flavor, and looked back at Morgan.

“Despite, well, everything that you know about me, murder wasn’t always my go to method of dealing with marital issues, Morgan. Then again, we weren’t prone to marital problems before my passing,” Miriam said with a wry smile. She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back. “I know that. I know what he was. Being a spellcaster wasn’t the worst part of him.” Admitting it felt like sin, like a betrayal of the woman who had died wrapped around a tree with the knowledge that the only reason her husband had married her was because he needed to fund his coven. “I know that. But the mere thought of people practicing magic, the fact that they could still do it after everything that he did to me,” she felt fangs lengthen in her mouth, “it is impossible to stop myself.” She looked at Morgan, who she considered a friend, who she would have killed in their first meeting had she not enjoyed the game of cat and mouse, who she would probably kill know if her heart decided to reawaken in her chest and magic once more flow through her veins. “I came back improperly, a vampire who needs more suffering than she needs blood. I live with it, have lived with it for some time. It’s necessary because I could be starved for blood for decades, and I have been!” She did not remember her time in the mausoleum fondly, though she’d put herself there quite willingly. “The thirst for blood would be nothing compared to my need to cause suffering and pain to those that-- those that wronged me.” Magic wasn’t met for humans. It simply wasn’t. There had to be an understanding there, that they were only hurting themselves and others. She couldn’t be the only person scorned out there, desperately hunting for an atonement that didn’t seem to come. “I keep thinking that one day I’ll reach the peak, right? That I will have killed one, and it’ll be over. I thought I’d find that when I kill the last of Theo’s family.” She still sees Gilly’s aged but familiar face when she closes her eyes. Miriam downed the wine. “Didn’t fucking happen. Obviously.”

Morgan replied with an eye roll and a grimace. “Not all of us. Some of us have ‘sacred duties’ and shiny new enlightened principles that mean moving out and running away to live in an abandoned mansion where nothing bad can get us.” She recounted the thought with a mocking baby voice, bristling with bitter hurt. Maybe if more people were allowed to worry just about their local friends and communities, there would be a lot less strife. No duties, no higher bullshit. “But, you know, at least you are. I appreciate that about you, Mim.”

She watched Miriam’s posture, the shifts and guilt in her face as she admitted what Theo’s crimes weren’t. “You aren’t made wrong, Miriam. You deserve to be here as much as anyone else just the way you are. You’re just...a little stuck, I think. I mean, witches everywhere don’t know what he did to you. And I bet no small amount of them would support your leather jacket poetic justice. You know, if you left out the part where you think they shouldn’t exist because of him. We’re big on balance and using the will and agency the universe gave you. Making your way happen when circumstances say no.” She looked at Miriam sympathetically, hoping she registered how much her drive fell into that very witchy category. “Some people need to be dealt their suffering, for things they’ve actually done, Mim. And you haven’t been dead so long that there can’t be someone who did actually do something to you or someone you care about to take a hit or two.” She inched closer to the vampire, reaching out for her hand. “Hey--” her fingers brushed over Miriam’s. “It doesn’t have to be like this. You deserve more and better than tasting something hollow. Did you ever think that maybe it doesn’t feel good like the first one for a reason. And not because you’re cursed or anything awful like that. Because you’re not. Maybe you just need something different. Because it can’t stay like that, right? We can’t just be stuck starving for something that never comes. There’s gotta be something better.”

Blinking, Miriam said, “I won’t lie, you had me in the first half, but I don’t think that’s directed at me, is it?” Clearly, whatever was weighing on Morgan was truly getting to her, turning a woman that Miriam had only seen angry at Miriam or a ghost into someone that was actually quite bitter about things, life, unlife. It rubbed Miriam the wrong way, to see someone so blatantly optimistic using that tone, that nastiness. “Yes, well, that’s me, darling. Self-serving and comfortable enough with myself to admit it. It feels lovely to be appreciated for that.”

Ah, but there was the Morgan that Miriam knew, the optimistic one. And Miriam handled it the only way she knew how. Poorly. “Yes, yes, all things, creatures, and people are made with goodness and kindness, even if it is deep, deep down I’m not a broken monster, just a sad one that needs to get her head out of her ass and stop feeling sorry for herself.” She sighed. “If I’m stuck, then there’s really no way to not be, at this point. It’s what’s natural, now, being like this, doing these things. I don’t care that they aren’t him or that they might understand. They’ll all hurt someone, in the end, if they haven’t already. Can you, in complete and total honestly, tell me that your magic never harmed someone? Your family’s magic? The magic of any little spellcaster that you know?” She just wanted Morgan to see what she was saying, if only for a moment. “Can you? I don’t think you can.” She was careful not to pull away, though she went impossibly still at Morgan’s touch. “Maybe if I pretend that everyone I’m slaughtering is a spellcaster, then it’ll get better, right? Play pretend with my own head. Just drinking blood doesn’t help. That’s where the hollow feeling comes from, darling. It’s the other makes me feel sated, at least for a time.” Didn’t last, though, but surely that was to be expected. Hunger always came back. She just hated that this was the hunger she felt. Miriam pulled away, smiling tightly. “I need another drink. I don’t suppose you want another brain smoothie?”

Morgan’s face wrinkled with embarrassment. “Sorry. I’ve been...having a time with a friend. A no-longer-friend. I don’t know. But I didn’t mean to drag that in here like it was…” She sighed. “I don’t want to be a person who puts her shit on other people and hurts them for it. I’m sorry. I...still don’t know how to process everything. I don’t know how two people can be so similar and yet so painfully different.” Hearing herself, she smirked. “Well, maybe I do but at least you and I don’t actually think we’re on the same page when we’re not. But you’re welcome, for appreciating you for who you are.”

She should have expected Miriam to go stiff at her touch. Morgan didn’t know if it was because she was afraid of being treated tenderly by someone who actually believed in her, of the softness it might bring out in her, or if in the middle of dying and coming back, touch had become something to fear, but whatever the cause, of course Miriam would run from Morgan trying to reach her long enough to try and stop her. She let go of Miriam’s hand, but came around to her side of the table, sitting close. “I never said everyone was inherently anything. I don’t believe everyone is inherently anything. I think we all have potential for a lot of things. Even you. And given how much has happened to me in the last—almost a year, now? Even just the last six months since I died—I don’t recognize myself sometimes. Of course we can change.”

Morgan deflated at the insistence that she consider Miriam’s point. And went silent, trying to figure out if there was a way not to screw this up. “I have hurt people before. Me, Morgan. Because I’m almost forty and a person, Miriam. But it wasn’t my alchemy or any other magic. I said and did normal, awful things because I was angry or scared or stupid or all of the above. Sometimes, I gave someone what I thought they deserved, as payback. I melted the tires off the SUV of this rude, cruel customer at the store I worked at. I gaslit a mail thief in my apartment building. But magic is just energy, Mim. It just is. And I also saved my own life and made something to help protect my girlfriend and spare cash so I didn’t fall behind in my bills. I made jewelry and charms for my friends so they would know I cared. Magic is everything and nothing. It’s too complicated to be bad. People just...do bad things with it. Sometimes. Because they’re people.”  She reached for Miriam’s hand as she seemed ready to flee, take a breather. “Mim! We might not be on the same page, but you can’t honestly say that you’re so different than anyone else held together by magic. We never were that different, even when I was alive, even if we weren’t on the same page.” She let go, slowly, already wondering if she’d overstepped. “I’m sorry, if I’m— I just feel like you don’t want to be this way as much as you say you do. If there’s something someone can do to help you try something else, maybe I’d like to.”

“I really don’t mind, if you want to talk about it.” Truthfully, if it would get Morgan off her ass, Miriam would talk about trivial friendship dramas. “People are kind of the worst, Morgan. They really are. But I can imagine how disheartening that could be. I think that you and I can see each other’s differences and similarities, now. And, hey,” she smirked, “I haven’t outright lied to you about anything since that night in the bar.” She should return the sentiment. That’s what people did. They appreciated each other, were sincere with each other. Miriam was not taught sincerity. Charms and good looks rarely needed that. “I appreciate you as well, I hope you know. I wasn’t expecting a friend in you. I wasn’t expecting friends, in general.”

Miriam sighed as Morgan got closer, but it wasn’t awful. She wouldn’t push away, wouldn’t tense up again. She waved Morgan off, though. “I know. I know. But that always seems to be implied. To be good. To be kind. I’m more than aware of the belief in balance. I married into a prominent coven that believed in potential and the ever changing path of time. Nothing is wholly good. Nothing is wholly evil. Until, of course, one starts murdering said prominent coven.” Theo’s mother had threatened her with fire before Miriam had finally killed her. “Then they are wholly evil.” She shook the images away, the thoughts, the rush of the kill. A part of her had enjoyed it. Miriam was by far the bitch’s least favorite in-law. She adopted a lighter tone. “Dead things don’t change. Not truly, not where it counts. I really don’t know how many times I have to tell you, darling.”

Clearly, Morgan wasn’t understanding what Miriam had to say. “Yes, you, Morgan, have hurt people. Did you just use your words, your fist, or can you say, without a shadow of doubt, that you’ve never used magic to harm another person?”  Miriam raised an eyebrow. “I agree, wholeheartedly. Magic is just energy. It has no morality. It’s the people that are the problem. Humans. We, they, weren’t meant to have that sort of power because it ends up hurting someone eventually. It ends up being used poorly, as you’ve just pointed out. It can certainly be used for good things. I can’t tell you how many of Theo’s family gifts were helpful and beautiful. In the end, though, they still harmed people. They misused what they were given. Magic’s a weapon. One would never give a knife to a toddler, would they? It’s irresponsible. People are what makes magic bad, not magic itself.” The muscles in her wrists twitched under Morgan’s hand, but she didn’t move it. “I cannot control the magic within me, and neither can you, Morgan. It’s not the same. We cannot harness that power for good or bad things.” Miriam stretched out her fingers. “Don’t apologize. It’s useless. I understand what you’re saying, and I wish you could do the same.” She looked away. “I’ve tried other options, you know. I’ve tried to be a regular vampire. It simply doesn’t seem possible.”

“I’m not asking you to be a regular vampire,” Morgan replied. “I would never do that, it’s not like that, Mim. But I don’t believe that you were made, down to your core, to torment witches just for being here. I think that’s your hurt and your fear talking. And I’m not even fully convinced that you’ve tried feeding on kinds of pain and suffering besides the physical, or suffering that you didn’t cause. I mean, unless there’s something you’re not telling me. I don’t know what you mean by options. And even so, I think you don’t really want to be this way. I think you’ve just told yourself it’s hopeless so many times, you don’t know how to believe anything else. I think you wouldn’t sound so sad if this was what you really wanted.”

Morgan moved closer to Miriam, straining upwards to stare her in the eyes, searching for a sign of hesitation, of longing, of something that made her more than what she pretended to be. “Tell me the truth,” she said quietly. “Do you want there to be something more to living like this? Do you want things to be different? Because it doesn’t have to be hopeless, and you don’t have to resign yourself to being owned by the way you’ve lived your life for so long.” She reached up and grazed Miriam’s cheek with her fingertips, cupping her face gently enough that she barely felt it on her own skin at all. “We can change, Mim,” Morgan said softly. Sometimes it’s just a little harder for us, but we can make our lives different. And I could help you try, if you ever asked me to.”

“Well, I can’t seem to find sustenance out of torturing those that aren’t witches, so, really, Morgan, I don’t know what else to do.” Granted, Miriam rarely tried to torture others, was sickened at the mere thought of it, and other people didn’t feel her with the same sense of injustice and rage that spellcasters did. She gritted her teeth against Morgan’s monologuing, refusing to even admit that some of what the zombie was saying was true. But she had caused people emotional pain and suffering, and it had sustained her. Just tormenting with Morgan that first time had been a meal in and of itself, even without breaking the woman’s wrist. But it just wasn’t the same if it wasn’t spellcasters. It couldn’t be. A part of her didn’t want it to be. “I’ve tried not hurting people,” she said. “It didn’t work. And I tried to stop myself, the first time, and the second, and many times after that. It’s not possible. It’s just not possible.” It wasn’t. Miriam had a lot of willpower, but not when it came to that.

“What I want is to drop this line of conversation,” Miriam said, attempting to school her features into a smirk. She needed to distance herself from this, from these feelings. It was becoming blatantly obvious that arguing with Morgan was about the same with arguing with a wall, or a child. Neither of them would get anything out of it, in the end. Of course she wanted more than this, more than neverending hatred and anger. She was even finding ways around it, ways to enjoy herself with other people. But she did not have to worry about wanting to kill Evelyn or even Morgan anymore. She did not have to worry when she was working or when the sun was in the sky and she could not afford to worry. “I am not hopeless, and I cannot change, and I am in no mood to try, after all this time.” It would not do, to change now when there were still people alive that blamed her for all the death and destruction she caused. Miriam would do well to make sure she earned every ounce of blame thrown her way. She brushed Morgan’s fingers away, undesiring and more than a little afraid of the comfort, though she made sure to at least appear unaffected. “And I would not ask for your help, Morgan. If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not see anymore of the judgement in your eyes than I already have to.”

“Miriam, please--” Morgan didn’t have it in her to cling to Miriam, but she rose up all the same. “It’s not like that. I’m trying to tell you I believe in you. I see you, the version of you that’s lost and doesn’t know what else there is besides what you’ve always done. And I’m trying to tell you that you don’t have to be. You can try again, with help and resources, and it’ll be better than it was before. Maybe I just think you deserve a better existence than reliving their pain over and over! I mean someone does, right? And after all these years--why the hell not!” Morgan panted for breath out of words. She didn’t understand what it would take to get Miriam out of her defeatist pit, and there must be something, but she didn’t know what the magic words were. Slowly, she gathered her things from the table. “I care about you, Miriam. You just have to let me. Let someone.”

It was all Miriam could do to not narrow her eyes. She got it. She did. It did not need to be drilled any further into her skull. “And I do thank you for believing in me. I do. However, I am not quite sure you’re truly seeing me. You’re seeing what you want, or something ‘that’s lost,’ and not what’s actually in front of you.” She smiled, but it wasn’t nearly as sharp as she intended it. She had no real drive to lose her temper in front of the zombie, as much as Morgan was testing it. “Your desire to help me is noble and good, but I’m not particularly interested in going any further in this conversation, so either we drop it and attempt to enjoy the evening, maybe shift subjects to something besides my dietary needs, or we call it a night, hm?” She was closed off, now, done with this line of topic. She wouldn’t be bringing it up to Morgan any longer, either. Not the topic of food, or her past, or that nagging little ache in the back of her head that always seemed to come up when they talked about this. She softened. “I care about you, too, Morgan. That’s why I think we should drop this.” Please.

“Don’t worry,” Morgan mumbled, shouldering her bag. “I’m already leaving.” She hurried toward the nearest door but stopped short of stepping outside. “And it’s not your needs, Mim. You don’t need-- It’s what you’re willing to try. You’re worth more than this and--” And if Miriam hadn’t understood her five minutes ago, she wasn’t going to now. And maybe Morgan could explain how it burned to hear reduce witches, herself, down to the word diet like they were just brands of protein powder. How much harder that was to stomach after seeing Chloe in Lydia’s basement. “Dropping. Because you’re too afraid to handle this.” She grimaced, hating the sharpness coming into her own voice. She and Miriam were barely friends, how could they be when she couldn’t breathe a word about the Vurals to her? But she lingered in the doorway, aching at what felt like another loss, all the same. “I’ll let you know when my witch bitch is dead for real, I guess.”

“Really?” Miriam didn’t quite understand why Morgan leaving so abruptly was such a shock, but it was. She didn’t know what she’d expected. Of course they couldn’t have a relatively normal evening. Of course that was too much for a zombie and a vampire to contribute to the world. “You’re just going to-- Fine.” She knew she sounded petulant, childlike. Miriam had never been taught to handle not getting her way, and it showed every time something went poorly for her. This was no different. She bit the inside of her cheek, not even aware of how sharp her teeth were until she tasted her own bitter blood in her mouth. Her eyes were stinging a bit. She didn’t know why. “I am not afraid. This has nothing to do with fear. This is about-- about-- This isn’t about fear, goddammit.” Perhaps it was good Morgan was leaving, if she was going to cause Miriam to lose control of her words in such a way. “No matter,” she said sharply. She counted to ten, took a breath. Human things. Grounding things. She let the air in her lungs out as a low sigh. “I’ll still help you with your ghost problem, Morgan, and not simply because she was a witch. You just-- You know you only have to ask.” Then, she looked away. “I’ll talk to you soon.”

Morgan’s eyes spilled over as Miriam spoke. “Well, I don’t know what else to do. You are being very clear and after--” Morgan’s voice broke. After Jasmine, after Nell, after Lydia, after Remmy (and stars above she had never counted on losing Remmy), Morgan’s world felt like it was shrinking back down to its lonely, cursed sphere. “I’m so tired of losing people I care about. Of course I want to help you, make something different for you. And it is fear. I’ve been in self denial before and I know that sometimes the only thing worse than being right about how miserable you are is the possibility that you didn’t have to be this whole time.” She scrubbed her eyes with the back of her hand and straightened up. “If you ever decide taking on that fear is worth it, will you tell me? Ask me?”

“There is no fear,” Miriam said again, but she was far less certain this time around. Because she was afraid. Not of change. Change, probably, would be the easy part, if she really put effort into it, if she became hellbent on starving that darker part of herself. It would be the consequences that came with that change, the fact that she would have to apologize for everything she’d done, and that was…. Apologies for murder were not so readily accepted, and there were some consequences Miriam was not taught to deal with. That is to say that Miriam was not taught to deal with consequences of any sort. “I will reach out to you should I ever decide I want to change, but don’t waste your breath,” she muttered. “I’m comfortable not changing.” She turned away from the door and set about cleaning up her workspace instead. The prickling sensation behind her eyes wouldn’t go away. She didn’t know what to make of it because Miriam Flemming did not cry. Maybe she should just head back to Evelyn’s early; she obviously wasn’t going to get any work done.

“There’s always fear. And you can get comfortable with anything if it’s what you think you deserve, or all you think you’re allowed,” Morgan sniffled. “But it’s just not true. Whatever happens, you can have something more.” She lingered a moment longer, hoping that at any second Miriam might whirl around and say yes, I’ve changed my mind, help me stop, I don’t know how but I’ll try anything and stop. But for all her hope, that wasn’t something she’d be seeing tonight. She stepped outside and shut the door silently behind her.

[possiblyimbiassed]

The Lost Special?

Musings over possible implications of BBC Dracula

After obsessively watching all three episodes of BBC Dracula, I can’t help feeling I’ve got one of my suspicions, if not exactly confirmed, at least enhanced: that this Victorian old story, finally adapted into present time, might in fact be relevant to Mofftiss’ version of ACD’s short story The Lost Special. Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t, but since I can’t deny I do like ‘tin-hatting’, for now I choose to believe it is. ;)

(Continued under the cut)

As some of you guys already have expressed, I think BBC Dracula has BBC Sherlock written all over it. I believe this was obvious already from the setup; same authors, same producers, same broadcasters, same set designer, same format, three of the same actors including one of the writers, and even the same airing slot as BBC Sherlock. The Sherlock hints are sprinkled all over the two first episodes, which occur in the same Victorian time frame as ACD’s original Sherlock Holmes stories. This for example:

But the bringing of Bram Stoker’s old narrative into present time in the third episode (The Dark Compass) kind of sealed the deal for me. 

Suddenly we have Count Dracula sending text messages by smart phone to his victims:

 We have Dracula vomiting on the rug of a crime scene:

We have him storing body parts in the fridge! (X)

And this fridge scene is taking place while Dracula is watching a TV program with elephants on the Savannah, exclaiming “Look at her - so beautiful!”: 

Who is beautiful - the ‘Elephant in the Room’? It certainly feels like Mofftiss are stringing us along here, doesn’t it? ;)) But no; it’s the sun that Dracula admires as beautiful, we learn that in the show. The shining from the sun is a thing he thought he could never endure, but ultimately he learns that he actually can.

Same thing as Sherlock says about John Watson the distant suns in the sky in TGG:

Or about Sister Sentiment’s music in TFP:

Taking Dracula to modern time is something that the authors had expressly denied they would do. But they were lying of course, as is their usual MO. Exactly the same deception as they did with TAB, isn’t it? And as if this wouldn’t be enough, there’s a whole list of other modern Sherlock references, summarized by @gosherlocked​ (X). I’m sure there’s more, we just need some more time to find them. 

As I mentioned in this comment recently (X): The Lost Special (X) is a short story about a derailed, disappeared train that ACD wrote during the Great Hiatus (1898). It bears some typical Holmes-case mystery characteristics. And the anonymous person who in this story sends a letter to the train company, suggesting a way of solving the case, seems very much to be Holmes himself:

“It is one of the elementary principles of practical reasoning, that when the impossible has been eliminated the residuum, HOWEVER IMPROBABLE, must contain the truth. It is certain that the train left Kenyon Junction. It is certain that it did not reach Barton Moss. It is in the highest degree unlikely, but still possible, that it may have taken one of the seven available side lines. It is obviously impossible for a train to run where there are no rails, and, therefore, we may reduce our improbables to the three open lines, namely the Carnstock Iron Works, the Big Ben, and the Perseverance.”

(X). So this short story indeed looks like a Holmes story in disguise. But Sherlock Holmes’ name is never mentioned in The Lost Special and the storyteller is not John Watson. In this story the police did not act on this anonymous person’s advice. The truth wasn’t revealed until one of the perpetrators - a hired murderer who was threatened with execution years later - admitted that he had participated in derailing the train in question (X): “A conspiracy of men had temporarily re-attached the side track leading to the abandoned mine Heartsease just long enough for the train to go down to the mine, then pulled the tracks back up before they could be discovered.” To the broader audience, however - the Holmes readers - the character of Sherlock Holmes remained ‘dead’.

The wrapping up

One could say that The Lost Special both had and had not a satisfactory ending. Satisfactory because the truth was finally told and the mystery thus solved, but unsatisfactory because in spite of all the hints, the readers didn’t get to know anything more from Holmes. Not until years later (1903) when ACD actually did ‘resurrect’ him and continued the narrative of Sherlock Holmes with 33 more short stories. 

When Dracula finally ‘dies’ at the end of the BBC Dracula series, it’s not by being ‘staked’ or burnt to ashes with the sunlight as one would expect for a ‘monster’ like him. It’s by embracing the criticism of his most resilient but dying opponent: Zoe/Agatha Van Helsing (Mofftiss call her ‘Zagatha’ in an interview). She is dying from cancer, not from vampire bites. Dracula drinks her (to him) mortal blood and then ‘dies’ in her arms, basking in the sunlight (without burning) in a tender lovers’ embrace. 

Zagatha in BBC Dracula is criticizing the vampire for skulking in the shadows, being afraid of facing death. She says it will be his punishment to live on for eternity, while she is mortal and dying:

Seriously, this is so much ‘Buffy the Vampire Slayer that I can’t just... But Count Dracula re-writes Bram Stoker’s original story and opts for another solution: to ‘die’ willingly in the sunlight, together with Zagatha. And if dying is a metaphor for falling in love - as I believe it is in BBC Sherlock - this might have some important implications. I think Dracula and Zagatha here represent two sides of Sherlock that are finally allowed to merge; his Sentiment and his (Homo)sexuality.

Like The Lost Special, BBC Dracula is nicely wrapped up and ‘solved’. But we still don’t really know what happened with Count Dracula, because we don’t actually see him crumble into ashes like he did in Stoker’s canon, and like the other vampire who was ‘staked’ in the show - Lucy Westenra. But the episode is packed with Sherlock references, so...

But I can’t say for the life of me that S4 of BBC Sherlock brought a satisfactory ending for the Holmes narrative either; it’s not ‘wrapped up’ at all! John and Sherlock seem to live on for eternity as ‘best friends’, solving crimes in the heteronormative ‘legends’ preferred by Ghost!Mary’s voiceover. They are simply immortal, Un-Dead for ever - like a punishment? Wouldn’t it be far more satisfying if Sherlock Holmes and John Watson’s characters would come out and appear ‘human’ and ‘mortal’ and not have to remain just ‘best friends’ forever?

The (lack of) train references

One might argue, of course, that there are no specific train references in BBC Dracula, so how could we think it has anything to do with The Lost Special? Because, like The Lost Special, BBC Dracula is a Sherlock story in disguise! And because in the BBC Sherlock narrative itself there are already several episodes with train references; the most prominent of them is TEH and the last one - TFP. So there’s really no need for more references. But the train theme isn’t explained; it’s not ‘wrapped up’ at all, and neither is Sherlock’s story. I’ve tried to argue before that the detective is actually dying in S4, and so have others (X). And making him immortal will not save his credibility as a human.

I do hope he’ll wake up again, though - preferably with help of modern medicine rather than superstition - to a more credible and realistic story than both TFP and Dracula. ;) 

In TEH, apart from scenes with John Watson traveling alone through the Underground network of London, we have a derailed Underground train carriage near Sumatra road, where no-one would care to look. Like a Lost Special. It’s not carrying a bomb; the whole carriage is the bomb, which is threatening to overthrow the Parliament. Which very much makes me think that Mofftiss still have a metaphoric ‘bomb’ stored for us, a ‘rug-pull’ of sorts. But John and Sherlock (and the world) were not ready in TEH, so they switched it off. The ‘bomb’ never went off in S3 (2014). In TEH John was urging Sherlock to ”use your Mind Palace” to defuse the bomb, and I think he did - for the rest of the show up until TFP. Because in TEH, Instead of the big explosion, we got a truly weird, staged scene with Anderson (who didn’t quite believe Sherlock’s explanation anyway). 

And then the plot carried on in its heteronormative tracks with John’s wedding and Mary taking over the narrative. But in TST we learned that Sherlock, as a child, had re-written an old tale about someone encountering Death in ‘Samarra’ into a story where the hero ends up in Sumatra instead, and lives. In TFP the plot derailed completely into an absurd horror story, and we got Moriarty as train driver, going “Choo-choo!” like a train whistle: 

But the only 'explanation’ related to trains that we learn about Moriarty in TFP is rather lame: that Jim’s brother supposedly was a station master (not from canon, though). And then he goes “tick-tock, tick-tock” like a ticking bomb:

(Also similar to Mycroft’s ‘tick-tock’ countdown until he’ll die from obesity in TAB). But no bomb went off at that point in TFP either (I’m not counting the Patience Grenade here, because that happened before the ‘tick-tock’). So what was all that tick-tocking about? And how long will it keep ticking asdf?

The Sussex Vampire etc.

After reading some interesting metas from @yeah-oh-shit​ (X, X) and @ebaeschnbliah​ (X) I feel more and more convinced that legal issues with the ACD Estate might be very relevant for what Mofftiss are doing with BBC Sherlock and BBC Dracula. Three important ACD stories have now entered the public domain on January 1st this year: The Sussex Vampire (SUSS), The Illustrious Client (ILLU, where Holmes and Watson visit a turkish bath ;) ) and The Three Garridebs (3GAR; known for a scene where Holmes shows a glimpse of his true feelings for Watson). in SUSS there’s a quote about Sumatra which I find really interesting in the context described above:

“Matilda Briggs was not the name of a young woman, Watson,” said Holmes in a reminiscent voice. “It was a ship which is associated with the giant rat of Sumatra, a story for which the world is not yet prepared. 

As I said in this comment (X), there’s a lot of subtext to draw from this. And I do hope the world is prepared now. ;)

@raggedyblue​ @ebaeschnbliah​ @gosherlocked​

[andersunmenschlich]

Episode 14: Piecemeal

Not fully settled in yet, but I do have intermittent access to an internet-connected computer, so....

In this week’s episode I get the statement of one Lee Rentoul, who (in stark contrast to Trevor Herbert) apparently very much minds whether his crimes are reported to the police. Thanks to the experience of a pal of his named Hester, he’s hoping the fine folks down at the Magnus Institute will tell him there’s a perfectly normal explanation for whatever’s going on with him. Given that this statement’s one of the ones being recorded on cassette, I’m guessing they won’t be able to tell him what he wants to hear.

...Well, not honestly, anyway.

According to Lee Rentoul, he killed a coworker in crime by the name of Paul Noriega. “Stabbed him in the throat and left him to bleed out on the dockside,” he says, which does sound fun, though not being able to stay and observe seems a bit of a shame.

Apparently Lee Rentoul and Paul Noriega were picked up by the police after kicking in the head of someone called McMullen. Lee blames Paul for the escalation from assault to grievous bodily harm—whatever the case, Paul walked free while Lee got five years in prison, which led to a certain amount of resentment on the part of our statement-giver.

Stabbing Paul Noriega in the throat was, it seems, not Plan A.

Lee Rentoul got out of prison in June 2010. Being on parole meant if he wanted Paul hurt it’d be easiest to have someone else do it. He did try to get a face-to-face with his ex-partner, but ended up confronting Paul Noriega’s hired security instead.

So Lee Rentoul goes to visit his victim, Toby McMullen... who’s been having trouble turning his head since the GBH five years ago.

Unexpectedly, Toby also has it in for Paul.

It seems Paul, previous to his arrest, visited Toby in the hospital and promised him all the narcotics in the world if he’d only tell the police Lee kicked his head in, not Paul. Ah, so it was premeditated betrayal! How lovely.

Paul Noriega, however, did not deliver on his promise. Toby McMullen, therefore, has been plotting revenge.

...His planned revenge is magical in nature.

Lee, understandably dismissing this as useless druggie nonsense, punches Toby in the stomach and turns to leave. But Toby is persistent. Following Lee, “doubled over and struggling for breath,” he insists that this is for real, that he knows someone with real power, that all he needs is the money.

Lee Rentoul (for reasons unknown to himself, it seems), listens.

There is, Toby claims, a powerful person named Angela. He was told about her by an acquaintance who used this Angela’s services on a “particularly unpleasant ex-boyfriend”—who was never seen again.

Lee figures this Angela is a killer for hire who likes to pose as a magic user, which is fine by him. So he lets Toby take him to Angela’s place.

Angela’s house is in the suburbs. It has faded floral print wallpaper, dark oak furniture, and threadbare carpets. The walls are decorated with framed jigsaw puzzles (which is a thing I’ve seen often in retirement homes; I’ve even contributed to a few; jigsaws are fun). The living room features a worn cloth sofa, and a coffee table with another puzzle in the works.

The fabled Angela is an apparently sweet old lady in a lilac dressing gown.

Lee Rentoul is furious.

“I was so angry at this massive waste of my time that, when she offered us a cup of coffee, I almost put McMullen face-first through the glass table in front of us,” our statement-giver says—but personally I find this all very convincing. A truly dangerous person may put off an aura of danger, yes... but many won’t. Be wary of the pleasant, soft-spoken and polite people you meet; you don’t know what they’re smiling at.

“When she asked if I wanted Paul Noriega dead, I nearly choked.

“She asked it very matter-of-factly, like it was a question on some form she knew the answer to but had to fill in anyway. I glanced at Toby, who nodded at me, and I thought what the hell, I might as well play along. So I said yes. Yes, I did want him dead. And more than that, I wanted him to suffer. Angela smiled when I said that, a warm smile that suited her round face, and said that that wouldn’t be a problem.”

This is precisely what I expected from a powerful person who wears a great many years and a lilac dressing gown, lives in a nice house in the suburbs, and does jigsaw puzzles. Pleasant, polite, straightforward competence.

She doesn’t want money.

Angela says she’s well-compensated for the work she does (which sounds nice). No, what she needs is an item taken from Paul Noriega—not a gift, something taken.

She looks Lee Rentoul in the eyes as she says this, and despite his statement to the contrary (”not scared, okay, I wasn’t scared of this old woman, but being around her was... bad”) I suspect that he’s deeply afraid of her. “Bad,” he says, making a point of distinguishing this from “dangerous.” He is dangerous, he thinks. She is something else.

Lee Rentoul gives this powerful person a worn lighter he took from Paul Noriega before they were arrested, and she says it’ll work just fine.

Angela tells the vengeful pair that Paul Noriega won’t be bothering them much longer—they just have to wait until she’s finished. With what, exactly, she doesn’t say. Lee and Toby, it seems, are fine with not knowing.

Personally, I’d very much like to know.

Three weeks go by, and Paul Noriega’s still walking about apparently as healthy as ever.

Impatient, Lee Rentoul decides Angela’s a waste of time, and upon hearing that Paul’s going to be meeting a fence named Saleesa down by the docks—a fence he knows is paranoid enough Paul will have to meet him alone—he decides to go down and take care of his vengeance himself.

Saleesa, the fence (who mainly deals in stolen art and curios) arrives first. He’s “a big Samoan guy with close-cropped hair, flanked by four men in dark suits, who carried a square wooden crate between them.” Paul Noriega arrives five minutes later, and Lee Rentoul watches as he limps inside the dockside warehouse. Lee has picked up a combat knife at an unnamed army surplus store which apparently makes a habit of selling dangerous people dangerous things under the counter. That seems like a useful store to be familiar with.

About an hour later, Saleesa and his men leave. They still have the box with them, and don’t seem happy, so I suppose the deal didn’t go as hoped.

Lee Rentoul takes himself and his knife inside.

Paul Noriega, leaning against a pile of bricks, is smoking. He turns when he hears Lee enter, saying something about reconsidering and lowering the price (which I suppose means he couldn’t afford what Saleesa was selling), then sees that the person he’s facing is Lee Rentoul.

“A look passed over the face of Paul Noriega that I will treasure forever. No matter what happens to me, the memory of that look of panicked terror will stay with me.”

Ha. I know precisely what he means.

Paul tries to run away, but his leg betrays him and he trips over the bricks instead. Lee grabs him by the collar, knife already out, and drags him up while he pleads with his old coworker to wait, to listen, not to stab him. He has his hand up, and Lee notices that he’s missing two fingers (and has, apparently, been missing them for some time... though Lee doesn’t remember him being down any fingers when they worked together).

Lee Rentoul does not, however, pay much attention to this at the moment (which is understandable, I think). He says he stabbed Paul multiple times—so I suppose he was understating when he said he cut Paul’s throat.

Once he’s calmed down a bit, Lee notices that his unfriend is missing more than a few fingers.

Paul Noriega’s left eye is glass, he doesn’t have all of his teeth, and though Lee doesn’t mention it I wonder what caused that limp. Strangely, the corpse seems to be smiling.

Lee Rentoul, I gather, did not leave Paul Noriega to bleed out. After stabbing him repeatedly and breaking his head by dropping him onto a pile of bricks, it looks as though Lee chopped Paul’s body up and scattered the pieces. “...even if the cops did find any piece of Noriega’s corpse, they wouldn’t be able to pin it on me,” he says. Paul’s hired security looks for Lee for a while, but Lee lies low and eventually they leave it and look for someone else to pay them.

But five days after the murder, Lee gets a package.

He’s out and about, in a place he doesn’t usually go (Tottenham Marshes near the reservoir, wherever that is), and finds a small box wrapped in brown paper and tied up with string sitting in the middle of a metal bridge. It’s addressed to him.

“Lee Rentoul, for immediate consideration.”

He opens it to find a black cardboard box containing cotton wool... and a single severed finger.

Now, that’s interesting! Lee assumes it’s a threat from someone or other—but who would know to put it right there, right then? Too early and someone else might take it; too late and Lee would never see it. Too on the dot, and the delivery might be seen. No, this doesn’t seem like average human work to me. And I do appreciate how tidy it is! Such neat packaging. It deserved better, I think, than to have the finger thrown into a canal and the box set on fire and discarded.

Heading home, Lee keeps his eyes open and his hand on his knife. He’s so busy looking around him, in fact, that he fails to see the hole in front of him until he’s tripped and fallen; and he must have been gripping his knife rather incautiously, because he manages to cut his pinky finger clean off.

Lee Rentoul screams, and immediately begins tearing up his shirt to improvise a makeshift bandage that’ll stop the bleeding.

I admire his presence of mind. I like people who see a situation for what it is, accept it, and immediately take steps appropriate to their new circumstances. This is a thing I find eminently admirable.

In this case, however, it’s bafflingly unneeded.

The bleeding has already stopped. In fact the wound is closed: healed as though the injury took place years ago.

Oho! Now, isn’t that fascinating? I believe we may have stumbled upon the explanation for Paul Noriega’s missing bits. And how wonderful that the finger, for at least a little while, existed in two places at once: on Lee’s hand and in the little black box. He doesn’t mention what happened to the lost finger. Did he not look for it? Did it simply vanish? Did he leave it on the ground? I’m inclined to think it vanished, but it would be nice to know for sure.

Not knowing what to make of this, Lee Rentoul decides to go home and deal with things after he’s had some sleep. Upon arriving at his apartment, however, he finds another brown paper package tied up with string.

This one contains two toes.

Lee Rentoul tries very hard. He is very careful. But his flatscreen falls off the wall while he’s adjusting settings, lands on his foot, and....

In two weeks, it seems, he’s lost four more fingers, most of his toes, an eye, a whole lot of teeth, and—wait, a hand? Then he’s lost nine more fingers, hasn’t he? Unless the hand he lost was the one already missing a finger. All five fingers, then the hand... yes, that would make sense.

Each time the loss is preceded by the arrival of one of Maria von Trapp’s favourite things.

“Lee Rentoul: for immediate consideration.”

Oh, and one day he actually forces the curse (or whatever it is) to operate outside the realm of apparent coincidence! Now, that’s fascinating. “Spent the day in my bedroom—nothing sharp, no edges, I’d taken out everything except the mattress. It didn’t matter: I woke the next morning with an agony in my foot far sharper than any knife could cut, and the big toe missing; just like the one I’d received the morning before.”

He goes to see Angela. I can guess what she’s going to tell him. “You didn’t wait.” Really, he should have waited. Didn’t she say to wait until she’d finished? Perhaps he ought to have asked “with what” after all.

She lets him in when he arrives, of course. Is polite and sweet. Offers him coffee.

Lee Rentoul is not polite.

Lee Rentoul swears at Angela, which doesn’t seem like a reasonable precursor to begging, despite the pronunciation of the word “precursor.”

And she shrugs. Well, what else can one do?

“Some hungers,” she says, “are too strong to be denied.”

Oh, that... I like that. I like that very much. To whose hunger, I wonder, is she referring? She’s well-compensated for the service she provides, she says.... And she likes jigsaw puzzles. Does killing people this way feed her, I wonder? Oh, I like this Angela—I like her extremely. I hope to see her again, and often. She is a wonderful character.

Lee Rentoul is less taken. (Or, perhaps, more....)

He reaches for her, intent on murder. And then something happens. What, Lee Rentoul is not particularly clear on.

“I went for her. I was going to strangle the life out of that curse-flinging bag of bones. But as I reached for her, I… I don’t know. I don’t know what happened. I know that that’s how I lost the hand. I know I chewed it off.”

Now, isn’t that interesting?

So many of these injuries appear to be self-inflicted. That’s quite a power. I’m not sure how Lee Rentoul thinks the Magnus Institute can help.

Ha—and apparently they didn’t. The box Lee got just before coming to the Institute had a tongue in it. He lost it at the Institute. No details given! How frustrating. I’m not at all surprised to hear that he “became violent towards Institute staff,” though. That sounds like Lee Retoul’s style. But how this could lead to losing a tongue—!

Whatever the case, he had to go to the hospital... and did not return to the Institute afterwards.

Mr. Sims’s unbelievably competent research assistants confirmed that Lee Rentoul and Paul Noriega were indeed criminals, that Paul vanished from any and all official records about two months before Lee’s statement, while Lee abandoned his apartment about one month previous to his statement.

Lee Rentoul’s landlord said that when he went to clear out the abandoned apartment, all he found were “hundreds and hundreds of small cardboard boxes.”

No word on the contents.

Angela, meanwhile, was apparently unfindable. The supposedly incompetent Martin was assigned to find her, and “spent three days looking into every woman named Angela in Bexley over the age of 50. He could not find anyone that matches the admittedly vague description given here, though he informs me that he had some very pleasant chats about jigsaws.”

Jonathan Sims calls Martin a useless ass here, which seems rather unnecessary to me, especially as Lee Rentoul can’t be found either.

The timing of the Magnus Institute’s processes confuses me slightly. Does Mr. Sims read the statements to himself before recording them? I’d been assuming his research assistants did the reading and followup before giving the statements to him, but he keeps saying he sends different assistants to research different things....

I suppose it would make sense for the head archivist to read the statements and assign research before doing the official recordings.

And that’s that for this episode!

With decent luck, I’ll be able to listen to another before the month’s out, at least.

[turtlepated]

Beetlejuice x Reader - Lonely Like Me

Part 4 - Final

[Something weird happened when I reblogged the original and I think I accidentally deleted it. So I’m reposting. It’s not in order anymore but... feh]

-------

You drop your phone on your bed with a startled gasp when the strange man (or wait, didn’t he say demon?)  from the supermarket suddenly appears in your bedroom, striped suit, green hair and all. He looks every bit as garish and shocking as he did that day at the store, but now that you’re paying attention and have him up close you notice details that you missed in passing. Like how his hair is dark at the roots, that there appears to be moss or algae growing on the lapels of his jacket, and that his smile is just slightly too wide and too pointy to be completely human. How could you have possibly mistaken him for just some random, if outrageously dressed but otherwise normal guy? 

  As you behold the full effect of his appearance; the shabby, dilapidated state of his too-large suit, the chipped black paint on his fingernails, the pale skin splotched here and there with splashes of green and purple, you realize that you’ve been staring at him in open mouthed silence for enough time that it’s awkward. For his part, the man/demon/ghost (Betelgeuse?) is staring just as avidly at you, still grinning his enormous Cheshire cat grin. “See something you like? You should know, babes, the first five minutes are free, but after that I start charging,” he says in that raspy, gravelly voice. There is a lurid, salacious tone to his words and he meaningfully waggles his dark eyebrows. 

 You feel warmth rush to your cheeks and avert your eyes, pretending to be very invested in rearranging the bedclothes in the hopes that he won’t catch you blushing. After taking a moment to compose yourself you turn back to him, clearing your throat to speak but finding your mind completely devoid of anything to say. There’s a grinning dead guy in your bedroom, you’re not really sure where to go from here. Betelgeuse appears utterly incapable of being still, he’s bouncing on the balls of his feet and still positively beaming at you when not peering curiously around your room. You flash an awkward smile in return, your hands fidgeting with your sheets and the hem of your nightshirt and one another.

 “So,” you begin, seizing desperately on the first thread of conversation your brain offers. “You’re… you’re really dead?” Betelgeuse snaps his heels together and bends at the waist into a dramatic bow, tilting his head up to shoot you another rakish grin. “Sure am, babes. The Underworld’s leading bio-exorcist, at your service.” He rights himself and, with a flourish, presents you with a battered and yellowed business card. You take it and read, your eyes skimming the slightly faded black lettering. “Betelgeuse,” you murmur to yourself, finding that you rather like the way the syllables roll off your tongue. “Careful with that, sweets,” says the specter. “I just got here, after all.” You frown, not quite understanding what he means, but he did say there were rules about his name. If just saying it out loud three times summoned him, or whatever, then saying it more times might do something else. And, strangely, you dislike the idea of losing this unusual connection so soon. 

 “What should I call you, then?” you ask. “Just to be safe.” He lights up at your question, almost literally. You could swear that the tint of his vibrant green hair has intensified before your eyes, practically glowing like a neon sign. “My first name’s Lawrence!” he replies cheerfully. “But I’ll answer to almost anything; B-man, Bug Beverage, Mr. Juice, I went by Your Eminence for awhile. My BFFFF forever usually just calls me Beej or BJ. But whatever you’re cool with, babes!” His exuberance is equal parts overwhelming and catching and you find yourself smiling as he rattles off other monikers to apply to him. It takes you a few moments to realize that as he’s been talking, he’s risen impossibly into the air and is now floating with his boots several inches off the floor. You raise your palm in a “whoa there” gesture, still smiling so he won’t think he’s annoying you. “I think I’ll go with Beej, if that’s ok with you. Though I do like the sound of Lawrence.”  

  You blink in surprise when strands of his gravity-defying hair abruptly shift to a brilliant bubblegum pink that quickly fades back to green. Well that’s unusual, you think, but it’s oddly charming. At least it’s no stranger than the ghost/demon thing or the levitating. And speaking of the ghost/demon thing, you have questions, several of them, and when you voice your interest to Betelgeuse he is practically bursting at the seams to answer. 

 It is truly amazing how many words are coming out of his mouth and how quickly (apparently he doesn’t need to breathe), and you rather feel like you are clinging to the wing of a cruising plane. But he does his best to explain what he calls “the whole, y’know, being dead thing!” and what his job as a bio-exorcist entails. Some of your questions are answered, but they are quickly replaced by new ones. You get the gist, though, and by the time he’s finished his lengthy dissertation Betelgeuse is sitting cross-legged in mid air and your brain is approaching critical mass. You exhale slowly through pursed lips, unfolding your legs and letting them dangle over the edge of the mattress. “That’s…. a lot to take in,” you admit. Betelgeuse’s eyes widen and a devilish grin splits his face as he exclaims, “That’s what she said!” You groan in exasperation as your head lolls limp to one side, amused by the juvenile joke but not willing to give him the satisfaction of knowing that. “Oh, God, Beej, that was terrible!” You hear him snort once before he replies, “That’s what she said!! You can’t just keep settin’ em up for me so perfectly and not expect me to take the shot!” 

 He winds up staying with you the whole weekend. Mostly the two of you spend the time just talking, making junk food runs to the nearby convenience store and hanging out together on the couch watching TV. Despite the highly irregular circumstances that brought him into your life, you really appreciate having Betelgeuse around. He tells you about the Netherworld and his living family and he promises to introduce you properly sometime soon. When Monday inevitably rolls around again, you’re surprised to find that the usual bone-deep dread does not reappear. Betelgeuse practically begs to come to work with you, assures you he can make himself totally invisible to everyone but you. You convince him to stick it out at your place until the end of the day. You do still have to get your work done, which will be difficult if you’re trying to keep an eye on him and make sure he doesn’t feed any of your coworkers into the shredder. 

 The day passes quickly and uneventfully and as you commute home you find yourself smiling. Not just smiling, but hardly able to contain your excitement. Someone is waiting for you at home, and he will be just as excited to see you as you are to see him. This isn’t something you’ve ever really experienced before, but it feels nice. It’s warm and comforting and exactly what you wished for. 

As soon as you walk through the door Betelgeuse is there, wrapping you in an almost-too-tight hug and lifting you off the ground. “Babes!” You laugh and slip your arms under his to hug him back as he floats you both into the air. As far as you’re concerned, you could stay like that with him all night. But then you have to go to the bathroom...

The following weekend he directs you to a house on the other side of town, far removed from the Winter River city limits. It’s unassuming from the road, a classic Victorian. Betelgeuse doesn’t hesitate at the door, barging right in over your startled protests. “Attention, jerkwads: new breather coming through!” You almost physically shrink before the eyes of the strangers who appear from different parts of the house at Betelgeuse’s shout. “She followed me home and I’m keeping her,” he announces, throwing an arm around your shoulders and squeezing you against his body. And it is with that illustrious preamble that you meet the Deetzes and the Maitlands. Adam, Barbara and Delia are all consummate hosts and hostesses, welcoming you warmly. Charles is gentlemanly and polite, in a long-suffering but resigned sort of way. Lydia, whom you’ve heard a great deal about, it more reserved but appears curious at the very least when you finally introduce yourself. “Bout time,” she states with a smirk, gesturing at Betelgeuse with a jerk of her chin. “He hasn’t shut up about you in a month.” At her remark you turn to the ghost with the most with a coy smile that he doesn’t see because he’s fiddling with his tie while tell-tale pink bleeds into his hair. 

In practically no time at all you are absorbed into the unconventional Deetz-Maitland-Shoggoth family, as though you always have been and when you’re around them you feel like you are home. 

[antiquecompass]

If you’re new here (or been here for a bit longer) you’ll have seen me talk about Journeys ‘Verse. If you’re reading @pawsnread‘s new SongXiao fic set in that world, you may, possibly, wonder what Journeys ‘verse is.

I’ve never really sat down and properly written about how and why it came to be, but since it’s growing again, I thought it was time. Below contains both why I started writing the initial story: CW for discussing death of a close relative and how the ‘verse evolved from there:

Back in 2011 my year started off with a tragedy. At the end of January my beloved grandmother died on my birthday. It was a shock. She’d just had surgery the day before and came out of it fine and well. But a blood clot formed and while I was downstairs with Carrie, my twin sister, I heard my mother upstairs answer the call with an ‘oh no.’ I’ve heard that ‘oh no’ before, when I was six and my father died. When I was nine and my other grandma passed away. I knew those words and that tone and I knew what had happened before my mother had even come downstairs. That started a hell of a year that nearly saw Carrie also die (seriously my life went like this that year: birthday/death Jan 30th--funeral that weekend--home for a few days--Feb 12th/13th started Carrie’s months long battle and hospital stay that didn’t end until April) and just, the entire first half of the year was the worst sort of hell I’d been through in a very long time. 

The back-half of the year saw me start to deal with the fall out of all that stress. 

And like someone who has been in fandoms for years uncounted, I started writing a fic. 

My favorite genre of stories to read outside of fanfic is Fantasy. High Fantasy, Urban Fantasy, Southern Gothic Fantasy, Young Adult Fantasy, Historical Fantasy, you name it. I love it. I love it when magic is just an accepted part of life, or when it’s a hidden part of life. When magic exists in the mundane only for people to stumble across it and into something fantastical. Magic in the everyday is a theme that runs through a good portion of my fics (not so much in MDZS/The Untamed, but I’m still new here). It’s a genre I’ve loved since I was a child and the one I will forever be the most drawn to when it comes to the need for escapist pursuits. 

So, taking my love for that, and me trying to work through shit, and being a fanfic writer, I started writing a fic where someone from our everyday world dropped through a magical portal and ended up in Faery. It combined an original story idea I’d had bouncing around my head for years with a fandom that I was in the thick of and let me work through some things.

I was active in the HBO War Fandom at the time and through James Badge Dale’s portrayal of Bob Leckie I found a character just enough of a bitter asshole to work with and to deal with grief, of a life lost--not actual death, but the potential of what could have been, or what was. The burden of trying to be who you think you SHOULD be and what you SHOULD want versus who you actually are and what you actually need. The year was hell so the fic stalled out, but that’s when one of my dearest friends, Nat, decided we’d basically do our own Fic Finishing Fest. If it wasn’t for her support, and the support of so many fandom friends I’m still so close to (hello my darling Kailey and the ever-amazing Ray), the fic and the ‘verse would have never seen the light of day. 

So the first story of Journeys ‘verse, So Spoke the Wanderer, went up in February of 2012. And as I went into other fandoms, other stories followed. As it stands now stories in Journeys ‘verse go from HBO War to Spartacus to MCU to In the Flesh to the Umbrella Academy and now to The Untamed/CQL/MDZS. On Ao3 you’ll only find the HBO War and Spartacus ones, but if you do a little digging on my tumblr, you’ll find the others. 

As for what it’s about?

If you can dream it, be it. Essentially.

Our world, the mortal world, exists as is, but because of the Veils dropping between the worlds four times a year (on each solstice and equinox) there is a long cross-veil travel and trade. People from our world who end up on the Other Side/Faery are called Wanderers. People from that side who end up on ours are called Wayfarers. In each world both of these groups have their own little establishments and communities. Since magic is still ‘hidden’ in our world the Wayfarer establishments serve as sanctuaries, homes, and schools for the Wayfarers who decide to settle down in our world, or have to for political/safety reasons.

Both sides had long-influenced each other: the magical side has a meeting of magic and technology, our side has a few magical things it shouldn’t, and yet does.

There are special people, called Realm Jumpers, who can basically punch a hole through space and time at will, crossing the Veils as needed. They’re rare and it takes a lot of training, but for the right price (or the right friendship), they’ll do it for you. 

As for the type of magical creatures?

Sidhe, Dragons (often in human form, but watch out, they’ll still singe you), and Sirens hold the most power. Wizards and Weres are in the second tier. 

Oracles are of their own class, largely unconcerned with the politics of either world. They’ve got more important, immaterial things to handle.

Ghosts are real and their own form of Undead. They can either stay resting and wait for a rebirth, or they can linger on as ghosts, becoming corporeal during those Veil Drop days. Ghosts can be made alive again, but there is always a price to pay, and that price varies in each case.

Healers and Reapers and Necromancers. Readers of the Last Thoughts, Sprites, and Goodfellows. Pucks (an entire other class of Goodfellow), Bards, and Minotaurs and so much more. They’re all here and they all mostly co-exist. 

And so many Changelings. Children born of human and magical parents or with some seriously magical recessive traits. Changelings are all over both sides of the Divide and a reason why some of those Wayfarer and Wanderer establishments exist. 

Most of the Other World we see is concerned with Ville, a major city where the Sidhe Queen lives, or with Merrymec, a village where a Sidhe Prince and his Siren husband live and where a university and library that are a very safe and welcoming place for Wanderers is connected to their manor. 

For the MDZS/Untamed fics coming, an entire new aspect of the verse is introduced. The Winter Court is the home of the Winter Sidhe. They exist outside of the political realm and intrigue of the Sidhe Queen, long-ago deciding they’d rather stick to their mountains and focus on their magic and their part of the world than get into all the pointless b.s. of  Ville. Our favorite Lans and a few other familiar faces are members of the Winter Court.

In Lotus Pier are the Jiang Wizards, though their family line is a bit more interesting.

The Jins and the Nies are wolves, shapeshifters, and well, their story is for another time.

And the Wens? Either Fire Demons or Healers depending on the branch. So either the problem makers or the ones who have to fix it.

This verse is truly a labor of love and everything I’ve written, probably contains some of the most personal writing I’ve done. I was adrift in 2011, I was 2 years out of grad school with an MA in history and working in a grocery store (where I still am, because, holy shit does life throw some curveballs). I had to move back home, leaving my beloved Boston behind, because I couldn’t afford rent and student loan payments. I felt both stuck and lost at the same time, and a lot of that went into So Spoke the Wanderer, because at the end of the day, some things are about choices, but some things do happen for a reason.

If I hadn’t left Boston and returned home, my sister would’ve died in September of 2010. I was the one who found her after she had a seizure, barely breathing in her bed. If I hadn’t been home, if I hadn’t woken up and gone downstairs---well, choices. And intuition. Sometimes you can’t dwell on the What-Ifs because it’ll drive you mad.

The verse is named Journeys for a reason, from a Frank Turner lyric:

But in the end the journey's brought joys that outweigh the pain.

And as I learned to accept a new lot in life, the stories themselves changed. Not that any of them are dark or tragic, but the subsequent stories are far more light-hearted, and more about hope than the first one.

But the one universal thing in every last one of them: found families.

So, if you’re just coming into Journeys or if you’ve been here for a long time, I hope you enjoy what’s to come. You don’t need to read the previous stories/fandoms to understand the ones that will be posted this year, just treat the unfamiliar names as original characters and you should be fine. (For people who HAVE read the other stories, know that Reaper Roe is going to be showing up, as he always does, in everything.)

Any questions? My askbox is always open.

[badcowboy69]

High Kaydia Heartthrob

Here’s a small bit of an AU of sorts having Travis and his husband Riley featured in the universe I created years ago.  It’s a planet that’s all “old west” but with some modern luxuries to it.  It’s all part of my almost 500 page novel I wrote about me and my bad cowboy.  And before anyone asks, NO you cannot read it nor will it ever be posted anywhere.  It’s a guarded treat I only let those near and dear to my heart read.  Anyhoo...this is a small spin off of sorts from the saga @fuzzyelves and I created recently.  I hope anyone that reads this enjoys it and I’m more than willing to answer any questions about it. Placed under the cut for length.  Enjoy!

My ride home from High Kaydia was finally over and I wearily guided my horse, Chance, up the dirt path of my parents’ ranch to the shaded comfort of the barn.  The ranch was quiet, which was unusual, but for that I was thankful.  I wasn’t wanting to deal with my parents and their curious questions right now.  My mind was already a flurry of activity and I didn’t want it clouded with anything else.  

Dismounting, I began to remove Chance’s tack and put it to the side so I could tend to his needs first.  I wiped the sweat and froth from his body then checked and cleaned his hooves.  Satisfied with his well being, I led him to the gate leading to the pasture and let him loose.  He gave a shrill whinney seeing his friends and galloped off.  I sighed as I watched him run with Ghost, Domino, Sundance, and all the other horses of my mom’s small herd.  My thoughts went to Riley’s horse, Indigo, and I imagined her running alongside them.

“Shit!”  My daydream shattered as I remembered I promised to call Riley to let him know I arrived home safely.  Jogging back to the barn, I gathered up my pack and quickly made my way to the house.  Stepping inside I noticed how empty and quiet it was and I wondered where my folks were.  Then again, maybe it was better I didn’t know!  Blushing at the thought, I went to the phone and fished Riley’s number out of my wallet.  After requesting to be connected, I stood nervously while twisting the phone cord around my fingers in anticipation.

“White’s General and Supply.  Riley speaking.”

My heart about soared hearing the smooth tones of Riley’s voice and a pleasant wash of warmth surged through me.  “Hey there, mister.  Wondering if y’all got any sickle blades in stock?”

Following a small bit of silence, I heard a soft gasp on the other end followed by, “Oh, Travis it’s you!  I take it you’re home now?”

“Yeah, not happily, though.  I really wish I coulda stayed on another night,” I frowned, finding an unfamiliar yearning in my entire being to be in Riley’s company once again.  

“Likewise.” was the short answer followed by an uncomfortable pause.  I knew he had to be missing me like I was him.  At least I hoped.  After a few moments, he continued.  “I...I really had a great time with you last night, Travis. I hope that we can hang out and do it again very soon.”

I nodded to myself then directed my eyes towards the window hearing my mom’s joyful laughter from somewhere outside.  I had to make this quick.  “M-me too.  Um...listen, my folks are gonna be here any minute now and I’m sure they’re gonna harass me about stuff so I better scoot.  I’ll try and give you a call tonight if you want.”

“That sounds good.  Actually, I can call you if you’d like?  After dinner maybe?  We could probably discuss plans about my coming to visit you.  Maybe later this week?  How does that sound?”

I couldn’t contain the huge grin that spread across my face hearing that.  He truly did want to continue seeing me!  I cleared my throat and pushed my hat off my brow.  “S-sounds perfect!  I’ll...I’ll be looking forward to hearing from you then.  Thanks again for everything.  Talk to you soon!”  After I heard him bid me goodbye for now, I hung up the phone and sighed.  I didn’t want to miss him, but I did.  I only hoped it wouldn’t be too long until we saw one another again.

The screen door squeaked loudly indicating that someone entered the house and I turned to see my mom carrying a basket of eggs.  “Well, there’s my adventurous son home at last!” she exclaimed while putting the basket on the counter.  “How was your trip?  Did you manage to get the saw blades?”

“Y-yeah, I did.  Got ‘em in my saddlebags back in the barn.  I have to get ‘em and put my gear away soon.  Thought I’d come in and get a cold drink, first.”  Giving one last glance at the phone, I went to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of beer.  As I twisted off the cap, I noticed my mom was leaning against the counter with her arms crossed in front of her chest and a knowing smile on her lips.  I felt my cheeks warm with a blush and I quickly turned away.  “I...uhh...I better go and get those blades and tack put away afore pa gets sore at me leaving things lying around.”

“Sounds like a good idea,” she replied.  

I felt her eyes still on me as I guzzled down the beer.  I was about to put the empty bottle on the counter when she stepped in front of me and placed her hand on my arm.  I looked sheepishly at her and bit my lower lip.  “Anything wrong?”

“What’s he like?”

I paled.  “Wh-who?”

“The man in High Kaydia who caught your fancy.  Travis, you can deny it all you want, but a mother knows these things.” 

I rubbed the back of my neck and looked away, but felt her hand on my cheek turning me face her again.  “It’s nothing to be upset about.  I’m glad you found someone who’s special enough for you to keep busting up blades over and making a two hour ride to go and get.  I take it he’s a store keep?”

I nodded shortly making her smile gently.  She patted my cheek and nodded in approval.  “Well, whenever you’re ready to share details about him, I’d love to hear them.”  She pulled me into a tight hug and sighed.  “And don’t worry about your father.  As much as he squawks about that town, he’ll trust your judgement.  Now, go get your stuff put away before he does find something to squawk about.”

Nodding, I pulled from her embrace and hurriedly slipped out the backdoor and headed to the barn.  As I hung up the new sickle blades in the workshop, I heard my pa’s fox cries of “Yip, yip, yip!” out in the distance indicating that he was herding up our few cows for their routine inspection.  I was glad as it also meant he wouldn’t be crossing my path anytime soon.  Even though ma said he wouldn’t have issues with my having a possible love interest in High Kaydia, I still didn’t want to deal with any probing questions or comments.

Love interest?  

I snorted at that thought and began to give my tack the once over before putting it all away in their appropriate spots.  Heading back to the house, my mind drifted to Riley again.  Could he truly become a love interest?  I sure would like to hope so.  Although romancing and stuff really isn’t something I’m all too familiar with, I ain’t exactly too green with it either.  Mostly it was the random cowboy that moseyed onto our ranch looking for temporary help before he continued on his way.  Handsome face, kind heart, sweet talker.  Never amounted to anything, really.  Maybe a few casual outings...usually a smooch or two, maybe a handjob, but I never let it go beyond that.  Why bother?  Why get emotionally and physically involved with someone I probably would never see again?  Or even want to.  Shit like that always left me feeling unsatisfied and dirty anyways.  I also never pictured myself to be the relationship kind of guy none either.

So, why Riley?  What makes my feelings for him different?  

I grabbed another beer from the fridge before continuing to my room, scooping up my discarded pack along the way.  I slung it on the bed and closed the door with a sigh as I twisted the cap off my bottle and took a deep drink almost emptying it.  “Dammit.”  I sat heavily on the bed and pulled off my boots, wiggling my toes to get the circulation back in them from being cramped up from the long ride home.  Flopping backwards, I closed my eyes and draped my arm over my brow.  I wanted to nap, but now that I was alone and relaxing, my mind had other ideas.

Riley.

Again with Riley.  

I groaned and rubbed my face with my hands then stared up at the ceiling.  There was no denying I had it bad for him and I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.  It couldn’t be bad, though, could it?  I mean, he made me feel great!  I love listening to him talk and I love simply being in his company.  I love hearing him laugh at my dumb jokes or antics.  I love the surge of warmth or tingles that went through me from any thought, any touch...any time those gorgeous blue eyes of his gazed at me.  And don’t even get me started about that red hair!

Lordy!  When he permitted me to touch it last night I could have died right there on the spot!  

I rolled over on my side, grabbed my pillow, and clutched it tightly to my chest.  My arms ached to hold him again.  My lips ached to kiss him again.  I started yearning to have his body pressed against mine like it was last night when we kissed goodnight in the shadows along the side of the bed and bath.  The first kiss we shared by the campfire was plenty amazing as it was, but the goodnight kiss?  Woo boy!  I never wanted it to end!  

Riley had me backed against the side of the house with his hands clutching my hips keeping me close against him.  My hands were busy fussing with his amazing red hair, of course.  Riley was murmuring a few gentle compliments, but I hardly heard them 'cause my concentration was somewhere else...mostly on how close we were.  I held him tight, my fingers pressed against his back while I secretly wished for our shirts to be off.  I wanted so badly to feel the heat of his freckled skin against mine in the cool evening air.     

I now began wondering just how much hair covered his chest and I not only imagined myself gliding my hands over it, but also found myself shifting my thoughts to his freckles.  I also began to wonder to what extent those freckles went on him and if I’d be lucky enough to touch every one someday.  Did they cover his back?  Did they dot his legs?  Hell, did they go throughout his inner thighs?  The hell with touching them, I think I’d much rather glide my tongue over them!  A groan escaped my throat with that fantasy and once again I imagined us up in a hay loft.  To explore him in those small, but intimate ways would surely be a dream come true!

I sighed and turned over onto my back, still clutching my pillow against me.  I also discovered my left hand had a will of its own and it managed to slip down the front of my britches without my even realizing.  I blushed and immediately yanked my hand from there.  What the hell is wrong with me?  I ain’t never felt like this way about nobody before.  As badly as I wouldn’t mind getting closer to him than our light smooches and touches, I really wanted to learn a bit more about him along the way.  I mean, you could find someone that could be the best lay in the world, but if they were a horrible or boring person then no amount of fucking would be worth it.

Thankfully, I already knew from the small bit of time spent with Riley there was no way in hell he was boring.  So far every moment we were together was fun and amazing.  Hell, every time I was around him I felt my heart soar!  And with his gentle personality I seriously doubted he was a horrible person none either.  Still, there was so much more to learn about him and I truly hoped he’ll teach me for a long, long time to come.  

  Fin~  for now....

[theoddores-archive]

ALEX FITZALAN? No, that’s actually THEODORE BURKE  from universe 6. You know, the child of MERRICK BURKE and ESME BURKE (NÉE FLINT)? Only 18 years old, this RAVENCLAW alumni works as a CLERK/MANAGEMENT TRAINEE AT BORGIN AND BURKES. HE identifies as CIS-MAN and is a PUREBLOOD who is known to be FLIPPANT, BOISTEROUS, and EGOTISTICAL but also STAUNCH, VIBRANT, and ARTISTIC. — &&. ( CAMI, GMT+1, SHE/HER, 20. )

“ i hope you’re proud of me. i took all the awful things they did and turned them into empathy. i hope you’re proud of me. i may have let their poison under my skin, but i let it drip out of my fingers as poetry. “

depression tw, drugs tw, suicide tw

THE BURKES

old money, old names, old houses - although their name was proudly featured in the list of sacred pureblood families, kept pure throughout the ages, the burkes were never truly a part of that group. their ancestry was foggy, with no dusty records of alliances and ministry positions. their wealth was sufficient, yes, but never in the expected way. the oldest record of a burke they could relate to the present family was a healer of little consequence, and the rest mostly worked for others, especially under the great names they supposedly considered their equal. to marry a burke wasn’t treason, but it was a step down, the acceptance of an insignificant and middle-class life.

the family wealth grew when, in 1863, they partnered with the borgins to establish a shop in knockturn alley. their business? buying and reselling wizarding artifacts, mostly belonging to other more reputable families. the burke’s most potent claim to fame and respect was to be the money-hungry keeper of the deeds and inventories of their superiors. that stigma still accompanies the family to this day, anchoring them in a position of clerkship to the other great families - the burkes are not able to make their own history, so they buy and sell others’ for what they’d consider small change.

nevertheless, it has put them in the public conscience, even if negatively. the shop has grown over the last nearly two centuries, but has remained strongly in the families’ hands, leaving at least two people per generation stuck with the store. borgin and burkes is where people from all walks of life can attempt to sell their latest steal or inheritance, and where one may find the cursed objects capable to cause all sorts of pain, death, misery. the burkes may be inferior, but they are resourceful and plenty useful. their contacts with the criminal underground of the wizarding world and their possession of dark magic objects turned them into a desirable addition to extremist movements, even if never in positions of high power. grindelwald’s army did lead to half the family being imprisoned, some dying while evading capture. and some years later, the remaining burke’s gave a chance to a young man who would not forget the name he had worked under for nearly a decade. the job gave tom riddle a public justification for his search of knowledge in areas of magic so nefarious that no other place would allow for them to be explored but borgin and burkes. when he finished his ascent from man to power, he kept in mind those names. the recently graduated children of his employer, who he’d watched grow up, got the promotion of their lives, with a mark on their arm and a mask over their faces. and later, when their dark lord returned, it was their children’s turn.

merrick burke didn’t share the devotion of his elders, but certainly felt the same gratitude. to be picked, from all possible choices, to join the forces of the new era was, once again, the promotion he would have never dreamt of. in a perfect world, he’d have remained in the store, mostly dealing with finances as he’d always preferred, a quiet life that would leave barely more than a footnote in the writings of history. but how could he refuse such an offer? the man took the mark immediately, ready to pledge his all to the cause. but when their second attempt failed and died at hogwarts, merrick retreated to the store, forever hiding the lines on his skin. his girlfriend, esme flint, did the same, and their short-lived part in the second rise of the dark lord faded from memory. between then and the reformation of the death eaters, the couple married, devoted themselves to the shop and to evading association with their previous criminal activities, vowed to never speak of the darkest things they’ve done, and had two children.

BEFORE

born on august 13th, 2008, theodore talbot burke was brought into a peaceful world. the small cottage in upper flagley made up most of his existence for a few years. the world of impressive estates and ancient manors was the stuff of books and the occasional wedding or birthday celebration of some family friend, or acquaintance from his parents “old job”. the young boy’s loud personality made it possible, however, for even those encounters to grant him friendships he held dear, even when he was stuck in his small village. 

while upper flagley was mostly wizard populated, a handful of muggle families had settled there as well, and sometimes lines would be crossed. he’d climb a tree with a child that needed plasters and doctors should they fall. some kid from down the street would ask him to come play video games. while theodore didn’t mind them much, it was a chore to keep up with the other kids’ references and be mindful to not mention his parents’ store or words such as ‘wand’ and ‘spell’. his parents seem to share the same feeling, often mentioning during dinner that their realities were simply too different for such close-quarters coexistence. as such, theodore preferred the wizards in his village and in the big houses far away from upper flagley, with whom talking and relating to was simply EASIER. 

hogwarts was the adventure theodore had been craving for ever since he could remember. it was bigger and much more interesting than the broken clock that was upper flagley. it was a place where he could spend all of his time with the types of people he actually liked, those whose experiences were the same as him, with no fears of saying something he should not say. in many aspects, it was a reinvention. at last, he could attempt to become the person he’d rather be, full-time. one single train ride was enough for him to make sure most people his year at least knew his face, as he popped in to chat for a while. the sight of the castle came with a clear indication: he was finally somewhere big enough to contain all of him. 

his energy quickly had him dubbed as the wannabe class clown, evidenced in the story of how the burke boy, while playing around in the small boat that’d led them across the lake and pretending to be their legendary sea captain, tripped and fell into the water.

theodore was sorted rather into the ravenclaw house without much pondering by the hat, and that made sense to him. his mother was the smartest person he knew, and she owned more books than he could recall. his father was a genius with numbers. he’d certainly get his chance to prove his intelligence at hogwarts. the first year was a rude awakening.

try as he might, the boy seemed to lack behind in most things. in a highly individualistic group such as the ravenclaws, he found himself more and more alone in times of need. sure, theo was funny, he’d make the entire classroom giggle; he’d entertain the dorm room until near dawn; yet his connections felt hollow. he wasn’t very book smart. his house felt less and less like home - perhaps the hat had made a mistake. maybe he was a gryffindor like his mother, or a slytherin like his father. 

during his second year, theo was louder, more boisterous, a bit too much for some people’s tastes. what he lacked in grades and proper friendships, he made up in STAGE presence. it was near impossible to not notice when theo was sitting right next to you, or even in the same room. he tried out for the quidditch team (and failed), and ended up joining a few extracurriculars to fill his time with things he could actually be good at, since education was certainly not it. years of learning the violin with his neighbor, an elderly witch who’d done some tours with some forgotten orchestras, came in handy when he joined the hogwarts orchestra (although he only ever got truly good at it during his third year, with intensive practice - something he learned rather late was needed if he was to succeed, and yet he rarely applies to anything else). the debate club became one of his favourite activities, it being an outlet for the endless bite in him, to the constant need in theo to say something back until only he could have the final word. without realising it, he expanded his skills into things he could actually do. creativity. music. spontaneity. an ability to think on his feet at all times. a pompous nearly-suave way of being.

theodore’s path in life seemed to finally be taking shape. to add to the joy, after over a decade of struggling, the burkes at last brought to the world another child and, for the rest of the school year, that was all theo could talk about. philippa, philippa, philippa. to this day she’s his favourite being in the whole world and he cares about her so much!!

understanding that there’s more to him than just academic failure was truly the beginning of a constant discovery process of who theodore burke really was. the only class he usually got better than passing (or even failing) grades was DADA, which most attributed to all the knowledge he’d gain by working summers at his family’s store, or simply by living in a house decorated with priceless dark arts artifacts. he’d always showed a lot of curiosity in his family’s line of work, never as an ambition but as a hobby - magic, in all its glory and power, regardless of the confines of the law, always seemed to put a smile on his lips. being in possession of such items was a slippery slope of power and a rush he never really understood.

a big part of that self-discovery was a conversation his parents had with him during one summer, when he asked them in the middle of the store why they hid their dark marks. while not the most astute of people, a fourteen year old theo knew enough about the dark lord who’d terrified the world, and his many followers. he’d seen enough pictures from trials and attacks in some books, even heard incredible and terrible stories of their deeds. knew and cared about people whose families had been tremendously impacted by the dark lord. the kernels of ideology he’d been catching all his life came together at the kitchen table later that day, when he was told of the generous and righteous man who’d attempted to make a new world time and time again, for which the rest were simply not prepared. it wasn’t exactly an hostile story, but rather one of a rebel that kept being taken down by the establishment. the darker deeds the burkes themselves had been involved in? necessary evils. an escalation of events easily preventable had the ministry done something more. there were certain ideas and needs for separation that some refused to accept and, tragically, they’d forced their hands. esme and merrick were not proud, but what soldier doesn’t carry guilt? that does not deem their cause unworthy. 

it was a stark contrast. the loud boy that played the violin and made paper planes with his unfinished exam sheets. the legacy of a revolutionary line that was waiting for its new leader.

he digested it the only way he knew how - by sharing his experience to those who understood him. that group kept getting smaller, and by the middle of his seventh year, it was mostly those who carried the same expectation to join the ranks as soon as their leader returned to continue the war. some bits of it all made sense, but the main attraction for theo was the sense of belonging. he wasn’t really absorbing the ideology or the notion that voldemort had been the good guy. instead, he was understanding the feeling of comraderie his family had felt and he longed for it more than ever. he believed they were all misguided, on both sides, and generally put little thought into it. war, violence, hatred, anti-muggleborn laws? all terrible concepts to him, but that didn’t stop him from being drawn to the people within it all - always for their human side.  and he was also fulfilling a role that had started many years before, making his family proud. for once, he didn’t need to be louder than life to be heard, even if there was a clear hierarchy he refused to see - breaking an illusion was indeed a hard task.

the dissonance caused him great confusion. still struggling to understand his very own moral compass, theo finished his final year at hogwarts with tragedy. suddenly the big question was no longer what the orchestra should play for the christmas concert or what he’d do after hogwarts before he resigned to his faith of working at knockturn alley. no. it was who to turn to as his world shifted more than it ever had. there was little room for choice. the ones he’d gotten the closest to in the previous few years, those who understood the weight of his burden. the stakes were so damn high.

by trying so hard to fit into the pureblooded elite group, he’d pushed away most other people. some had also simply turned around when it was clear he was too far gone. in many aspects, theodore felt as if the world around him had become rather narrow, pushing him towards a single path with no way back ( despite the fact that a lot of that had been his own doing during his downwards spiral). he tried to quickly adapt to his role as support: theo wasn’t the brightest, the strongest, the fastest, but he trained like his life depended on it, as it probably it. above all, he provided the connections long desired in a burke, and the knowledge of dark arts no seventeen year old should possess. 

how could he justify murder? outside of a battle, where it was every man for himself? he’d met some of them. he knew their children. theo struggled with the true implications of the heroic stories of rebellion that his peers and family lived off of, and that uncertainty was visible. given how he wasn’t seen as a death eater powerhouse, theo had some manoeuvre room and wasn’t held accountable quite as much as the big guns, but enough was enough. his fraternizing with whatever enemies still remembered him as a kinder boy, his shaky hand during attacks, how he always held back, even faintly protested? something didn’t seem right.

weeks before graduation, he attempted to change it all. theodore tried to subtly feel for support within his peers, with very little success, which was disheartening. his old friends weren’t much of a solution either, as he could barely look them in the eye, let alone ask for a hand getting out of the grave he’d dug. theo even tried to get some guidance from professors, but fear held him back from proper help. in his last resort, he turned to lily potter, but his attempted betrayal was discovered before he could get any sort of protection from the other side. theodore was quickly taught that treason was frowned upon, and a simple thought ingrained in his mind: if he left, there was nowhere to run to, no one to go to. was he willing to let them all go? what did he even have but them? the prospects that came with the movement? the connections, the friendships? the lesson came with a few bruises and cuts, and a lot of broken trust he has not been able to fix. the cuts healed slowly, as he was told to not use magic on them - a mark of shame for a traitor, let the world see what happens to those. feel their stares. the trust even slower. the following day they walked with him to class, a reminder of WHO was there to help him on his feet the previous night, clean the blood off his face, bring him for class even though he’d spent all night imagining what it would be like to never leave that bed alive again. who gave him class notes as they saw he’d done nothing but stare at his own hands, head far too low to even see the blackboard? who gave a shit about his sorry little treacherous self? they did. they always would. 

NOW

his total loss of direction at the very end of the year (typical) came coupled with the personal downward spiral, and theodore left hogwarts with very few friends, many enemies, and a measly Acceptable NEWT in divination. he wasn’t aiming for much anyway, but it was still quite the slap in the face. although he could understand why he’d gotten zeroes in the other two: scribbling down his name and then staring at the parchment for hours, nothing in it, his head preoccupied with anything but question number six. not showing up to the DADA oral examination. staring at his hands rather than professor lupin during the charms oral exam, as he mumbled under his breath how he didn’t know how to do what was being asked of him (somewhere forgotten inside him he swore he did, but that would have required too much of him), storming out after 15 minutes. he got lucky with divination, mostly because his oral examination led him to predict a life of empty sorrow and loneliness, collapsing into a horrible death and an unmarked grave. for a few minutes he thought he was projecting until the professor assured him that he was somewhere in the vicinity of right. while he’d talked the big talk before about all he’d do with his life after hogwarts, he ended up behind the counter at borgin and burkes a few weeks after graduation, once his dad finally managed to get him out of his room. 

in all accounts, theodore gave up. he gave up on trying to better himself, to fulfill little dreams, to get out of a group he could no longer justify. it was a brutal reality check, and one he’s not quite recovered from yet. 

due to his mishap in the recent past, theodore’s role within the now formal death eater movement is a lowly one, mostly as an errands boy who needs constant surveillance; or disposable. some of his friendships fell apart after the fact, but the few that remain still have enough pull to keep him in. in fact, up until the collision of realities, he’d been on a quick crescendo, attempting to prove himself worthy of their companionship, their trust and their acceptance. theo devoted himself to the tasks given to him, even dared to show hints of a ruthlessness that does not belong in him - but there are many lines left to cross and many people he still cannot bear face, let alone fight. 

now he’s surrounded by all the ideas of what could have been. the most jarring group of people around is the real death eaters, with their original ideology and an unbroken line to the dark lord. in many ways, they feel much more nefarious and there is nothing shrouding their agenda: no more blood impurity, even if by means of murder. he acknowledges now that the movement he’s in is flawed, wrong even (depending on the day you ask him), but at least they are nothing like them!! slowly, it is sinking in that they are all born out of the same goal and their means are quite similar. their existence is breaking the spell, as is the knowledge that other versions of him exist and might not all be hopeless. theodore is slowly realizing just how sinful his actions have been, yet he doesn’t believe he has any sort of bravery or will left in him to risk it all once more.

MORE

he found himself in verse 8 with no money but the few galleons in his pocket and no access to his vault. he panicked BIG and i’m unsure what he can do afterwards so some DE hit me up from tbh any verse that can give him a hand while he tries to convince v8 burkes to give him any job at the shop because ‘that’s all i know how to do, that’s all i’m good for’

during 6th and some of 7th year, theo dated lily potter. they’d been friends for quite some time, explosive little things that needed to have the last word and a mess from the start - but full of heart and genuine love and friendship. however, she could feel him slipping away to a group of people so morally wrong, especially in 7th year. he knew she was distancing as well, like two high speed cars doing their very best not to collide, even if their fights were incendiary. eventually, it was clear that their paths could not merge, and they broke up. in all senses, they were never made to last, but the personal changes they suffered during their time together truly made them into all different people now. he reached out for her help once, but ended up regressing into his old ways. sometimes he considers asking for it again, but how often can that hand be there? 

lily was the biggest threat to his credibility in his group before they broke up, as she came with a whole lot of friends and relatives he’d decided to care about, even if many saw his attempted true colours. she was also certainly used as proof by his betrayed peers of how the other side would always leave him. very fresh wound, very messy, he hates how much he still cares about her and her family and friends

big classical music nerd!! ever since third year he’s realised how much he loves music and his violin is truly something that brings him immense joy. he’s dabbled into other things, mostly piano, but he always comes back to his preferred instrument. there’s also a musicality to him? he enjoys adding little rhymes to sentences, or good rhythms to casual enunciation. tapping his fingers to a song in his head. that was truly the most ravenclaw thing in him, a very deep creative passion that was so often unexplored~

also musicals. he’s even gotten into some muggle ones but that’s top secret now.

there’s something quite sophisticated about him that makes his background in a vaguely established pureblood family hard to forget. big words make up his vocabulary even though he’s seen as not that bright, his posture is fixed every time he snaps out of his own mind and his collection of robes is to be admired. the biggest tell is just how disconnected he his to muggle culture, no matter how mingled both realities are by now. 

he’s quite angry? theo is not very good at dealing with his own emotions, but he’s learned with some. if he’s too happy, he doesn’t hold back, despite knowing he’ll likely crash or become too full of himself. if he’s too sad, he’ll turn off, retreat into the covers of his bed for a few days, probably cry a lot (theo is very much not afraid to cry). but if he’s furious, he simply storms, which often gets him in trouble. he’s full of fire and bad coping mechanisms. in most circumstances, theodore picks the fight, the rush of anger, the ringing of loud voices and high stakes, the attack. one word could easily make him leap into an argument, and with those he despises? wands will come out.

the MOST dramatic. has read lots of theater plays (the only thing he’ll read) and he’s that bitch. probably tried to put on some plays at hogwarts with the help of the orchestra, which he’s tried to take control over many times with little success (theo, walking into the choir room: hi this is a coup). 

he has been introduced to glee, the iconic class old tv-show and in a better verse, he’s actually watched all of it and reenacts scenes with only a little bit of sarcasm. but yall should know he’s a bit of a rachel mix with brittany and i hate him for it

argue with him. he LIVES for the chaos of an argument! but also for long soft discussions - theo could sit on the floor and talk for hours, exploring different sides and opinions. despite being dumb as rock when it comes to academic things, he functions only with curiosities and if he finds interest in something, he can become incredibly well versed in it! 

big slut nowadays and i love him for it. hello hi he needs to feel the thrill of being alive through any means possible. 

loves soft aesthetics? flowers in his messy hair, picnics in the sun, glitter on his face as a party look

has a couple piercings in his ears and likes to put dangly dainty earings on. very rare to see him without painted but incredibly chipped nails. an aesthetic

clumsy as hell. tries to be suave, and sometimes does manage it with his words, but his body language ruins it all. although in general he’s more of a funny clowny sort of guy and just very lame

theo is 120% impulse and he truly doesn’t put that much thinking into his decisions, which often leads to mess

"theo was born w no thoughts, head empty, it's his life goal to keep the streak going for as long as possible" - chewie

no reflexes

listen the burkes had money, alright. they had no fortune but they did have money. except they didn’t spend it on a bigger house or any of that, but rather in savings for later in life and for philippa and theo, stuff like wedding savings and first house help. they went on nice vacations every summer for like 1 week. they invested back into the store. but they didn’t have full to the brim vaults of gold or a manor ya know

he cared about quidditch once in his life, for approximately 10 minutes during his incredibly failed tryout for the team at hogwarts, and then it was no longer a valid topic. he’s not once watched a professional game, and was mostly secretly drinking during matches in the stands at hogwarts once he finally started going to them. he also tried to become the commentator for matches at school and was denied based on the fact that he knew the name of no pass and wasn’t sure about who even was in the ravenclaw team

has an owl since hogwarts named amata and she’s the most ill tempered animal ever. he treats her like royalty and yet she attacks him at the slightest chance she gets, and hurts others as well. he adores the little thing regardless. 

little. treasons. theo was always made up of those, unaware or not of the lines he was crossing. even now, after learning his lesson from proper betrayal, he still dabbles into little treasons, and they’re ways to make him feel a bit more in control even though he has lost most of it by now. 

he has very addictive tendencies and bad coping mechanisms. ever since he was quite young at hogwarts, he realised things like alcohol or drugs could break him out of funks, even if just temporarily. he’s yet to give that proper attention

BEAUTIFUL handwriting, has no business being that nice

(SUICIDE TW) very shaky mental health. definitely non diagnosed depression and has had it for quite a while, before the war was really an issue over his head, although it has worsened it all so damn much. he’d often miss class, have to be dragged to it by friends, just struggle man. oh well. but also has this sort of nonchalant approach to dying? just a very vague suicidal ideation at times that he throws in as a joke oops. or as very serious but ‘eh it is what it is’.

i have described his character development/regression as those wavy crafts scissors

this fear of being all alone and irrelevant is a great button to push. as well as his own lack of self worth - theo has a very strong mindset of ‘you break things, you fuck up every good thing that comes your way’. 

VERY needy. very touchy as well. and above all, a big romantic? his heart yearns for love so so so much all the time and has a hard time moving on always and forever. he really clings onto memories of feelings and a need for love uh

northerner boy but god does he HATE upper flagley and yorkshire with all his heart?? it feels stifling and he always compared himself to friends living in much more interesting places, and felt like maybe only a big city like london could fit him

 loves complaining

sees big acts of bravery as usually stupid, or reckless, or a martyr complex oops

probably went to the library 4 or 5 times during all his years at hogwarts, truly doesn’t understand how it works

“i’m not a traitor, i’m just dumb”; “i’m not a liar, i’m just a coward”

highkey seems himself as a very pathetic figure oops

he LOVES the fact that voldemort once worked at borgin and burkes. “me and the dark lord are more alike than you think”, which isn’t as funny of a joke anymore

some stats, which you can find HERE.

click HERE for a bad pinterest board.

some character parallels: jake peralta (b99), eliot waugh (the magicians), quentin coldwater (the magicians), albus potter (cursed child, i know), josh chan (cegf), richie tozier (it), oberyn martell (asoiaf), nick miller (new girl), diana barry (anne with an e), vanya hargreeves (umbrella academy), percy jackson (pjo), felix dawkins (orphan black), jaime lannister (got), haley dunphy (modern family), jason mendoza (the good place), klaus hargreeves (umbrella academy), eleanor shellstrop (the good place), harry bingham (the society), brittany pierce (glee), rachel berry (glee), tom haverford (parks n recs), rebecca bunch (cegf), plumbella (the simmer, yes, i have discovered they share an accent and i love this)

WANTED CONNECTIONS

childhood friends: so we’ve got two options here. someone who was also raised, at least partially, in upper flagley. OR one of the pureblood kids around his age that he’d visit with his family. either way, people who knew him before hogwarts and had seen his changes over the years.

friends in low places: of those childhood friends, he’s grow closer and closer to those more affiliated with the pureblood ideology. it started in 4th year when he finally got out of the dark about his parents’ death eater past (maybe even pushed by some of these friends first?) and he sort of just narrowed his world to people who understood that experience more and more. it got extra intense in his last year and due to his attempt at betrayal, some dislike him and probably scare him (sign up to be the one beating up theo lets go) while others are truly close friends. his attachment is more to the expectation and to the PEOPLE, not to the ideology. real friends, betrayed friends. 

ex friends: joining the DE kids led to two main scenarios, as theo had always befriended people regardless of affiliation, family or blood. he started pushing them away for their and his safety but shit! does he still care! OR they walked away when they saw who he was becoming and his selfish ass likely resents that. 

bonus ex friends: people he’s secretly kept close or they’ve decided to stay, but they no longer acknowledge each other’s existences in public, or go full ‘i hate them’ sort of narrative. 

bunch of haters: people who have never liked him. that’s about it. could be from school or not, but theo is certainly not the most easily likeable person. extra points if its someone from hogwarts that always got in shit with him, ended up in detention, wands were drawn, stupid shit. 

old tutor: at various points during his time at hogwarts, theo needed a little help. but since OWLs preparation he started paying a sum of his allowance to another student to help him understand stuff better. he’s a slow learner, a distracted one at that, but he pours all of his loyalty and care into those who help him out along the way. but also makes them want to bang their heads against the wall. by late seventh year, however, he stopped asking for help. 

artsy people: music was one of the few things he discovered pretty soon he’s great at, so he can often be seen practising, listening with heart eyes to others’ music, or testing out instruments he does NOT know how to play and thus sounds horrible. music pals !! could be connections starting in hogwarts or not but that’s always his happy place. could also be other arts, painters and writers, poets at heart, theater nerds. people who fit into all these types of intelligence that isn’t exactly academic

fam: i’m open for relatives!! his mother is a flint so that’s wide open, bring all the flints!! as for burkes, i like to hc that the family is very small, which in a way helps keep the shop ownership more contained. so i’m open for burke relatives but would def appreciate talking about it first! theo puts family first always in anything so :eyes:

a borgin: anyone, just someone who works at the shop or has ownership over it, or a kid of those people. make borgin & burkes complete. 

borgin & burkes clients and traders: the biggest claim the burke family could make within the DE was always that they have the connections to be good supplies, and so they did. the same applies to theo until now, who used the knowledge of cursed and dark artifacts he learned at his family’s shop, and the connections they’ve gained throughout the ages, to be of use. his face is was a staple there during the summers and until the realities collided he worked there full time, so many characters would have dealt with him in v6.

helping hand: being thrown into v8 with no money on him, he’s in a tight spot and unsure of how to proceed. some pureblood, especially DE, from any verse who give him a hand while he tries to work something out, further making it clear in his head that he owes so much to ‘his people’.

other me’s: i don’t have super set plans on what’s up with theo from all verses but i know that they aren’t around osidfhbdsnkj i’m saying most of them just were not in london when it all happened. i do know that v5 theo made good decisions and got the hell away from bad people and is out there, living okay, being good but a shithead. v3 theo is BAD at being a DE and it’s the worst version of him out there, his heart?? don’t know it, exists somewhere way too burried. v8 theo doesn’t exist because his parents went to azkaban after the second war oops. SUICIDE TW (v1 and v2 theodore are dead. verse 1 due to suicide. verse 2 was a DE and suffered an overdose that was likely not accidental. v6 theodore was not surprised to hear any of this and he hates that oops). so people from other verses!! who have interacted or known these other characters i’m not writing and now have this poor excuse for a theodore oof

one nights: he’s A Slut and sad and lonely. another eh coping mechanism but oh well, at least he’s pretty

friends n lies: someone from another verse who has no clue about who he his and his life, never saw each other before. and they befriend each other, while theo exercises his improv skills and makes up lies to cover the ugliest parts of him. he knows it’s a ticking time bomb but he does love reinvention. perhaps they are lying too? :eyes: