#faust will tell you facts to get your mind off of events

[binah-beloved]

despairful day. remember to take comfort in anything that brings you joy. for me, that is Binah. for you, it might also be Binah. that is alright. she has hugs enough for all.

[internalsealpanic]

I Will be Your Tim Drake for Tonight (3) (Jason Todd/ Reader)

Summary:  Preferring to do anything but your physics project, you decide to accepts Tim’s proposal. It’s simple. He does your project, you try to figure out whether Jason Sionis is criminal. Easy, right?

masterlist

A/n: This takes place in a world where Jason is adopted by Black Mask. Inspired by Building Interest by Zoeleo.The events and characterization in this story are very heavily based on Zoeleo's Long Term Investment series. It is fantastic and I really highly recommend all of her fics.

a/n: For clarification, Reader does have psychic powers but it only lets her sense people's emotions physically. No mind-reading. Her power is more like an overactive sense of empathy which may force her to dissociate into someone else.

There will be violence and mentions of alcoholism (used as coping mechanism for physical pain) and chronic pain.  

As for the additional warning, an animal is harmed but it is barely described. I could not bring myself to actual describe it but the aftermath is described.

I also just converted this from an OC so I apologize for any grammatical mistakes.

Without further a do:

Your stomach drops.

Fuck.

Of course, Damian just had to be the one to pick up.

"Hey baby bro, could you pass the phone to dad?"

"I'm sorry who is this?"

This little shit.

"You're such a kidder! Dami, it's me, Tim. "

“Ah yes, Drake-” You can hear Tim choke in the background. “What do you want?”

“Please Dami just pass the phone to dad, I- I really need to talk to him”

“Very well,”

“Tim?” The voice sounded like Bruce’s but the intonation was all wrong. The voice changer Tim and Babs were working on seems to have made progress.

“Hey dad, I- uh. I might have gotten kidnapped.”

Tim makes another choking noise. “Might have?”

“I was at the party. I think I had around 13 drinks. 13 ! Can you believe it? I felt like a right sailor after that, like the harbor workers, y’know? Anyway, I was taking a smoke-”

“Enough!” The large man roared, snatching the phone from you. “Send us $100 million by tomorrow or your kid’ll be shark bait!” Who says that anymore?

“Of course! Of course! I’ll have the money sometime this evening. Please don’t hurt him.”

Tim, God bless him, does not laugh. Tim’s acting needs some work but he sure does know how to act worried.

The line dies and they tie you back up to the post.

“What the hell?!”

“We have to make sure you don’t just runoff.” The large man says tightening your bonds. Truthfully, you’ve felt far worse. After all, corsets exist. However, this was still a close second.  

“Do I look like I could outrun a snail?”

“He’s got a point boss. He looks like he hasn’t even seen the sun in ages.”

This, you decide, is true for Tim. When was the last time he went out before dark? Maybe he got sunlight when he stayed over at Eddie’s place.

The large man grabs Jason by the collar and throws him to his men.

The 3 men kick and curse at him. They mock him and beat him down. They wail on him with their fists, their steel-toed shoes, and sometimes brick. Jason takes it all with a crooked grin and a sharp tongue. You watched in awe. Even on the floor, Jason looked sturdy, ferocious, and indomitable.

"They all break, sweet girl."

Jason is on a tiled floor. No, he should be on concrete. His blood is on the tile. They’re hitting him. They’re hitting him with a bat. No. They aren’t supposed to be holding a bat. They were kicking him but now they’re holding a bat. No, She’s holding a bat. There's supposed to be three of them, three men,  but their forms coalesce into her .  You can hear his ribs cracking. Next are his legs. His legs are always next. Then his arm. She'll break each bone in his arms and his hands.  He’s wheezing. His voice sounds hoarse. His voice is too hoarse. He sounds like he’s been starved and dehydrated for at least a day. They’ve only been here for an hour. That isn’t right. Oh God! Now she had a cleaver in her hands.

No!

No!

He doesn’t need to die. She can’t.

no.

No.

No!  

 The scene crescendos as the tall, dark, sinewy silhouette towering over Jason raises the butcher's knife above her head.

“Harder, daddy!”

“Son?”

The scene of the kitchen fades and the shit-eating grin on Jason melts into view which shifts from amusement to confusion then back to amusement.

You blink seeing his stupid grin far too clearly.

You let a bark of gut-busting laughter out as you strain against the rope. Your brow pinches with concern but based on the scowls you’re receiving they're more focused on the fact that you were laughing like a mad man.  

Jason looks like he’s about to laugh from the absurdity as well when the man in charge picks him up again tossing him into a chair. The other men tie him down binding his wrists and ankles.

"I've had worse." He spits out.

The phone rings again, the dial tone echoing. Jason looks like hell with his face swollen and bruises beginning to bloom on every surface but he still looked like he was 5 seconds from starting a fight.

The large man punches Jason hard in the gut knocking the air out of his lungs as the dial tone cuts off.  “Hear that, Sionis? Your little bitch is pretty soft.”

Oh God, are they serious?

“Who is this? Nevermind. You ok there, sweetheart?” Roman Sionis’ ‘concerned’ voice carries over the line.

They are.

“Nothing I can't handle, daddy.” Jason chuckles with the utmost casualness. You, on the other hand,  instantly want to disinfect your brain. Thankfully, before your mind could wander somewhere it can't return from,  the big man growls into the phone.

“Don't you recognize the voice of the man whose life you've ruined?!”

“You've gotta be more specific than that. I've ruined quite a few lives but I would like to know whose brain I need to put a bullet in.”

“IT'S ME  BRUNO HARDIN!”

“Doesn't ring any bells.” Roman deadpans almost sounding completely disinterested. “Sweetheart, you remember anyone like that?”

“Nope,” Jason replies letting the p pop. It seemed like a strange sort of triumph before it all crashes down with another swift punch to the ribs.

You stare at the strange scene torn between amusement and horror.

“Take this seriously!” Bruno roars.

"I'm taking this about as seriously as it deserves."

A part of you thought 'yeah this is ridiculous enough to warrant nonchalance' while the other part wanted to scream.  On one hand, even you found his identity anticlimactic. Doesn’t he know just how many small-time businesses Roman has ruined? He’d be lucky to get into the top 50. It’s not like he was running a pretty ethical establishment either.  On the other hand, your freaking kid is getting the shit kicked out of him. Emote damn it.

“Jason. Don’t you worry. Daddy’s going to take care of this. Your Uncle D happens to be in town. He’s on his way to pick you up. Love you, baby. See you soon.”

The line dies. Your stomach sinks further somehow. You don’t know if the nausea is due to the fact that the line died, the threat, or the number of times the word ‘daddy’ came up. Who the hell is Uncle D? How is he supposed to help? Your gaze trails to Jason who is now lowering his head to the floor seemingly tired. Maybe that last punch finally drained the fight from him.

“You're all so fucked.” Jason barks out in a fit of laughter. The men around him, jumping from the volume of his voice.  

Bruno grabs Jason by the collar and begins to shake him as if the  “Shut the fuck up you little bitch! Whoever your Uncle D is he's-”

“Deathstroke”

You feel like someone kicked you in the chest. First of all, Uncle D? Really? You guess that there are worse hills to die on. This was somehow weirder than hearing Faust and her siblings call him pops. Second of all, Fuck. You'd never gotten your asshanded to you by Deathstroke but based on how banged up the Titans looked after fighting him this wasn't gonna be pretty.  All you could hope for was that you wouldn't get caught in the crossfire. Although, the image of Deathstroke grudgingly letting a kid call him Uncle D lightens your mood a bit.  

Bruno throws Jason on the floor hard enough for his body to bounce. Like Jason earlier, Bruno is radiating murder.

Just run, you thick motherfucker.

You, being the ‘nice’ Wayne kid that you are,  try to tell him as much but sadly that was halted by shattering glass. A flurry of black, orange, and metal crash through the glass and cut through the crowd of men.  

They fire at him, panic making their faces even paler. They hit him, bullets sinking into his flesh, blood splatters but none of it fazes him. He skewers and cuts them down with ease. His swords and suit are liberally decorated with their blood when it’s all done.

He steps over Bruno’s body. From the grunt that comes out, Bruno is still alive. Dumb bastard doesn’t know how to play dead. He’ll die from blood loss anyway.

“Hey, kid-” Deathstroke greets tersely,  picking up Jason’s nearly limp body.  “We’re gonna get you home.” He slings Jason’s arm over his shoulder.

“Wait!”  

Deathstroke stops sounding slightly annoyed.

Jason turns to you, who’s still unhappily tied to a post.  “We gotta get him out.” He rasps.  

“Kid, you’re the only one I’m getting paid to rescue.”  Deathstroke helpfully informs as he carefully adjusts his hold on the struggling young man. You blow out a breath somehow more irritable than scared.  “Just cut me out. I can make my way back just fine.”

“Walk in Gotham, are you stupid?” Jason hisses. The concern bleeding through.

“Which one of us charged at their captors while they were armed?”

Jason scowls at you with a petulant twist in his lips. “Yanno what,  Leave ‘im.”

“Ok, ok, I’m sorry and yeah I’ll be fine. I know where to avoid. Just please don’t leave me with them” you plead, throwing away any pride you held as you glance at the most likely dead bodies. Deathstroke cuts you out. Your skin feels raw but you’re otherwise unharmed.

You walk out of the warehouse and Dick practically throws himself at you. “Oh thank god, they didn’t shoot you in the head.” He mumbles into your wig.  

"Why would you think they would shoot me in the head?"

Dick pulls back and frowns at you through the domino mask.  “You aren’t exactly the most pleasant-”

“ We were model hostages.” you squawk.

Jason snorts far too loudly to be helpful.

You glare at him but you weren’t about to say fuck off to him while he has one of the world’s deadliest assassins right next to him.

Deathstroke coughs.  “Well if you don’t mind we’ll be taking our leave.”

Dick holding you protectively, glares but says nothing. Maybe he does but you faint before you can hear it.

A/n: Thanks for reading!

[leviathan-dee]

DMC Week 2020: Day 6: You Belong Here

(Here’s another small wholesome piece. I really wish we had more interactions with the entire crew in DMC, but the community provides enough to sate that need for wholesomeness). (All prompts were used for day 6). (Alcohol mention, and one use of a curse word lmao).

Family was never a word that Dante had to use too often in his vocabulary. Decades of separation and neglect seemed to stretch, until he finally found where he belonged; in this drunken celebration with his slightly dysfunctional family.

Word Count: 1,755

Characters: Dante, Vergil, Nero, Kyrie, Trish, Lady, Nico

Read On AO3

The scorching July sun seemed to boil every living being which dared step foot outside, merciless rays beating down upon the Earth. Whoever escaped the confines of their four walls were bound to become crispy at the sheer thought of the sun. There were, however, some fools who tempted fate, and proceeded to have an entire barbeque outside.

The Spardas, alongside the Devil May Cry crew, were said fools.

Of course, no one could deny Kyrie, the kindest, most gentle creature to ever grace the planet, a day outside. Especially during a celebration. Especially on a pregnant Kyrie’s birthday.

It was July tenth, the weather being arid and overly vacant of any breezes. This only made the heat far more excruciating. Kyrie didn’t seem to feel the blazes, her skin absorbing the rays to form a honeyed tan which complimented the amber glimmer in her eyes. Whereas Nero, unfortunately, panted like a rabid dog. His skin seemed to turn scarlet at the mere thought of summer. Evidently, the situation turned even worse for the boy since he had to man the barbeque, grilling burgers, as well as sausages, meanwhile being inevitably covered in helix coils of smoke. His beloved watched him apologetically, whilst he continued to sweat up a storm, beckoning the children to pick up their mouthwatering meals.

Dante sat beside an orchard, the apple trees being a godsend for shade in his time of need. Although the Sparda twin could withstand blazing temperatures, it was only for a short period of time; Not an entire day. Brushing his white, sweat-soaked locks away from his brow, Dante grabbed the neck of the beer bottle, letting the bubbles gently glide down his throat. He basked in the sensation for what seemed a whole eternity, whilst the sound of bickering and giggling children filled his ears. It was blissful, to say the least. To feel like he belonged. To have family.

He had hoped Verge felt the same about this reunion.

Thinking about his twin brother, Dante turned to the blue devil, noting that Vergil’s usual scowl was wiped clean off of his visage. Instead, his face was soft, bereft of any tension. He seemed… happy. Relaxed. It was refreshing to see. Albeit his quiet nature, the elder twin continued to lift the corners of his lips, reacting to the children, as well as Nico’s vulgar comments and Kyrie’s deathly glares at the gunsmith. Trish and Lady were the other pair to cause a ruckus, making Vergil smirk anytime they were told off by Nero for using non-family friendly language at the dinner table.

“Aww shit, we’re out of ketchup.” As a slightly intoxicated Lady let the curse word slip, she squeezed the condiment bottle harder, making it spurt out a less-than elegant bowel movement noise, and a pathetic dollop of tomato sauce. The children fell into hysterics, Nero and Kyrie unsure of whether to reprimand the woman, or giggle alongside the kids.

Dante continued to watch the spectacle, a warmth blooming in his chest.

Vergil was happy. In turn, so was his younger brother.

“So, Verge, enjoying yourself?” Sipping on liquid courage, Dante turned his head to his twin.

“Hmm. It appears as though I am.” The blue devil assumed a somewhat distant stare, turning his gaze towards his busy son at the grill. His eyes softened at the sight of Nero. If there was a trace of bittersweetness in Vergil’s expression, it came and went almost instantly. However, Dante knew him better than anyone, and could recognise his elder brother’s ghosts of guilt and regret quickly.

As a sudden breeze eased the tension of blanketing heat, Dante sighed, and recalled a nostalgia fueled memory.

“Remember when mum and dad brought all of their friends to the manor for a barbeque? We ended up playing with the other kids, whilst the grown-ups got drunk?” The scarlet devil sucked air in through his teeth, the memory almost too painful to relive. Vergil recoiled at the sudden recollection.

“I reminisce about those days often.”

“You were a damn sprightly kid, Verge. Always running off and hiding to read. Me and the others had to search for you, only to find you up on that gnarly tree, chomping on some apple.”

Dante continued with the mental memoir, his lips curling upwards. He could almost hear the voices of the children and Vergil’s adamant refusal to climb down. He could smell the delectable cuisine of his father's famous burnt burgers and his mother’s soft laughter. Even the gentle grass lapping at his ankles was as vivid of a memory as the display of giggling children before him.

“And now…” Dante inhaled deeply, a ghost of a bittersweet smile gracing his lips, “now we’re the ones sitting, getting wasted, whilst the kiddos play.”

“What are you getting at, Dante?” Vergil uncrossed his arms, running his fingers through his hair, a tell-tale sign of either annoyance or discomfort. Dante simply waited to collect his thoughts, the image of past times being too much. In retaliation to the thoughts, he inhaled the scent of sweetened smoke, inching himself to the empty seat beside Vergil. He let out an almost elderly sigh as he landed in the chair before continuing earnestly.

“We made it, Verge. We've come full circle.”

Vergil's reforming thoughtful brow wrinkle made its famous comeback, his mind processing Dante's statement.

So they did come full circle.

Dante was so adamant on having something dear to hold onto, he was finally rewarded with a family. Finally rewarded with what he longed for since he was eight years old. Though it was a screwed up little group with issues that would take a few more decades to sort out, it was his family. Vergil was very much a part of that family. It warmed every cold crevice of the blue devil’s beating heart, the melodic rhythm becoming even prouder.

"Christ, Vergil. You have a son, can you believe it? In fact, you're going to have a grandkid. You're going to be the youngest looking gramps to have ever lived." Dante attempted to pinch his brother’s cheek, earning him an irked scoff, alongside a hearty slap to the back of the head. It seemed as though they returned to their youthful selves, ignoring the wrinkle lines that arose with age, and the exhaustion inflicted violet splodges beneath their eyes.

They were kids again, trying their best to catch up on the lost years of brotherly bickering.

...

The air began to cool off as the evening drifted. Nero was unchained from his duties, sipping a chilled beer, pleased hums and sighs resounding from his chest. Kyrie cuddled into Nero’s side, the both of them entangled behind the table. Viewing the spectacle, Dante turned to Vergil once more.

"I think mum and pops would be proud." The statement came out of the blue, yet did not startle the blue devil. Instead, his visage was graced with a saccharine smile, the type that Dante had rarely seen in the man. In fact, it was only witnessed during their eventful, albeit brief, childhood.

"Hmm… I hope so." Sighing, contentment written all over Vergil’s features, he craned his neck up to the trees, breathing in the tender breeze of the summer evening.

Dante continued to reminisce about his nephew, and the love of Nero’s life. Seeing the shy ‘couple’ back in Fortuna, he never anticipated to witness this decade-long result; A great-nephew. Kyrie seemed to glow as she nuzzled into her beloved’s side, with a five month bump becoming a prominent addition to her frame. It was a wondrous thing to Dante, knowing that their little dysfunctional family was ever-expanding. The fuzzy feelings appeared to bloom at an exponential rate, which the scarlet devil attempted to gulp down with bubbling alcohol.

He was proud of them. Proud of the tiny group. His family.

A boisterous Nico interrupted any thoughts, eclipsing the view of the couple with her presence.

"So, 'nother beer for ya, gents?" She offered to provide more drinks, with Dante gladly accepting and Vergil politely declining. Whilst the Spardas’ intoxication was low, Lady and Trish were completely sloshed. Their joyous dancing was evidence of the fact.

Nico turned to the middle of the garden where the pair were swaying their arms about as if they were attempting to fend off mosquitos.

“Lady is gonna regret all that booze in the morning. Not sure ‘bout Trish though.” As the young gunsmith twirled on her heels to approach Nero and Kyrie, the dancing pair of intoxicated women began to beckon Dante.

“Hey! Give us your iconic MJ dance!” Trish slurred not a single word, Dante noting that she was playing the drunk to accompany Lady.

“C’moooon Mr. Sparda. Please?” Lady, however, slurred every word. It wasn’t often she had the time or the energy to let loose, so the evening was some well deserved alleviation of pent up stress and frustration. In the distance, Kyrie giggled at Lady’s tipsiness, earning the birthday girl an amorous peck on her button nose from Nero.

The scarlet devil stood from his seat whilst giving Nico an impish smirk, before summoning Dr. Faust into his palm. It appeared as though the cowboy hat materialised from countless twinkling coils of demonic energy. Nico returned his mischievous smile with her own, silently fist bumping the air. Nero simply sighed and clicked his tongue, mirroring his father’s own mannerisms of annoyance and exasperation.

“Not again…”

“YES AGAIN! HIT IT, DANTE!” Nico joined in on the two buzzed women on the garden dancefloor. As a natural performer, Dante swished the headpiece upon his crown, assuming a pose that could wow the crowd.

For hours, the party continued, each member of the crew joining in on the song and dance. Even Vergil pranced into the centre, grabbing a wasted Lady to waltz with him. Toasts were made, followed by treasured tears trailing alongside the speeches, each word weighing the world. Their love for each other, and this little makeshift family, could not be altered or demolished in any way possible. For each of these members lost someone close to them. Whether it was a father, a mother, a brother, or their entire livelihood. They ultimately found a group of like-minded individuals to fill the void. Nothing could separate them.

‘You belong here’ a tiny cherished voice uttered in the back of Dante’s mind. For the first time in decades, he was happy. He felt like he belonged.

Hell, he did belong. 

And nothing could change the fact.

[asrasotherbottom]

Nightmare Realm

the wonderful,lovely,talented @joshuaorrizonte and I collaborated on a fic! (Its also on AO3 but i’ll link to that in a reblog so this actually shows up in the tags)

Summary:  The Apprentice has a very important question for Asra, but they're afraid of Asra's reaction. Their solution? To ask the Magician how to pop the question. But the apprentice isn't quite sure what they're doing when they move to traverse the magical realms alone, and end up somewhere they absolutely do not want to be... 

Word Count: 3959

Warnings: LOTS of Asra angst, death, blood description (but he gets a happy ending)

----------------------------------------------------------------------

They took a deep, steadying breath. They’d never done this alone before; Asra had always been there with them when they traversed the magical realms, been there to guide them to and from. It made them nervous. 

But the fact of the matter was that they needed advice, and needed it badly. They felt the ring in their pocket, and pulled their hand away. They planned to give that ring to Asra, but- what if he rejected it? What if he rejected them? They needed to know how to do this, if it was even a smart idea. The one being who knew Asra best was the Magician.

The Magician would likely not give them a straight answer, they knew. In all the times they’d conversed with the being, they’d not once been truly forthright with them. But, they thought wryly, the Magician would easily keep this a secret. Their other choice for this advice, Julian… He was liable to gossip to everyone who would listen, and it would get back to Asra. 

If the Magician was as useless about this as they suspected they would be, they could always resort to Julian anyway. But if not… they could imagine that the being would have pretty good advice for them, if they could stop talking in riddles for once. 

Even though he was their second choice of confidant, Julian seemed to be the best option to watch their body while they traveled to the magical realms. He never was keen on asking too many questions about their magical affairs. After all, the trip should wouldn’t last more than an hour at the maximum, and they had been to the Magician’s realm before. 

They picked a night that Asra would be out late visiting the palace to enact their plans. Nervously, they approached Julian’s clinic after dark, questions for the Magician swirling around in their head. Just as they were about to knock, Julian opened the door, startling them both. 

“Oh, erm, fancy seeing you here. Do you need help?” 

“A-actually yes, I was wondering if you could help me with something, a magic thing.” 

“A, m-magic thing?” Julian squinted down at them slightly. “You don’t need me to, er, do magic, right?” 

“No, just to watch over my body for an hour or so, you see I-” Julian cut them off with a wave of his hand. 

“I don’t want to know.”

They smiled at that. Some things remained constant in this world, and Julian’s reticence about magic was one of them. “So then you’ll do it?”

“As long as, erm, as long as watching you is all you need-” He cut himself off. “You’re not, uh, not doing anything dangerous, are you?”

“No, not at all. Still, it’s not a good idea to do this without someone watching over you.”

“Alright, I can watch you. For about an hour, you said?” At their nod, Julian moved aside to let them into the clinic. “Just, ah, just curious, but why can’t Asra do this?”

They sighed. “I’d rather not go into it if I don’t have to. Suffice it to say that Asra would ask too many questions and you won’t.”

For a moment, Julian looked almost like he was going to refuse. But instead, he brought them to his office. “Here. You’ll have privacy to do what you have to here. I’ll be right here.”

They thanked him as he ducked back out of the office to wait just outside. Laying down, they took a few deep breaths. They closed their eyes, focusing on nothing but the darkness and their own rhythmic breathing. Realizing a moment too late that it was a bad idea to have done this without setting up their personal gate, they started to fall. A vast expanse of infinite starry sky was all around them, bright flashes of light appeared and disappeared just as quickly. 

As they fell through the infinite, beautiful, darkness, they reached out their magic for the familiar feeling of the Magician’s realm. Finally they latched on to it, trying desperately to bring themselves closer to their intended realm. Without warning a sudden wind knocked them back, engulfing them in oppressive darkness. 

There were no stars and when they reached out with their magic, they felt nothing. The air around them felt heavy and warm with a metallic smell. The dark realization dawned on them that they have felt this before, it was too familiar. They landed unceremoniously with a loud, painful thud and opened their eyes. It was the Devil’s realm. 

They scrambled hastily to their feet, looking around wildly, heart thudding in their chest as they looked up into the Devil’s cold, stone visage. Fighting down panic, they envisioned Asra’s voice in their mind, calming, soothing, walking them through a breathing exercise to calm down. As the panic settled, their mind went over the situation they were in. They weren’t in any danger here, but- but how were they to get out?

Focusing their magic, they closed their eyes and stretched their magic out, searching for the way out. Getting here had been easy; getting out should be just as easy. As they relaxed, their confidence grew, until they began to feel their surroundings fall away again-

-and they fell to their knees as their magic lashed back at them, snapping them back into focus with a sharp yell. They opened their eyes and stared around, fear beginning to take root in their chest again. They couldn’t get out.

Fighting back terror, feeling incredibly small and powerless, they sank back to the floor and pulled their knees up to their chest. What were they supposed to do now?

Julian watched them with mounting concern. They had said it would take about an hour. It had been nearly two, and they showed no signs of waking up. He reached for their throat, then stopped short. He meant only to check their pulse, but they were doing something magical now. Would he hurt them if he touched them now? Would he end up drawing himself into whatever was going on?

He didn’t know what he was supposed to do, but he knew one thing: they were in trouble. He was absolutely sure of it. And Julian would be able to do nothing for them. 

But Asra would.

Julian rose and left them, moving quickly. He didn’t want to leave them there, but he also didn’t know if Asra would think to stop by his clinic if their presence was missed by then. Whispering a prayer that Asra was back from his excursion to the palace, Julian jogged through the streets of Vesuvia towards the shop, urgency in his step.

Arriving, he furiously banged on the door until it opened. 

“Ilya, what are you doing here?” 

“Asra! I, um, it’s a long story. I need you to come with me to my clinic right now. I-I can explain on the way.” Asra looked at Julian in confusion, but gathered up Faust and followed Julian out of the shop. While they walked, Julian explained that they had come to him and asked him to watch their body for an hour, and that it had been much longer than that. 

“And you just left them there?!” A flash of concern passed across Asra’s face, quickly turning to a sheepish look. “Right...you had to come get me.” When they got to the clinic, Asra rushed in to the office where they were laying. 

“How long did they say they were going to be gone?” 

“An hour. It’s been over two...nearly three by now.” Neither Julian nor Asra were able to mask the mounting fear in their voices. 

“Did they say where they were going?” Julian thought back with embarrassment about how he cut them off. 

“No, they didn’t.” Asra furrowed his brow, sighing heavily. 

“I know its asking a lot of you, but could you stay and watch both of our bodies while I go look for them?” 

“Of course, whatever you need from me.” Asra cringed slightly at a distant bad memory, quickly letting the moment pass. 

He laid down on the floor and took several long deep breaths. When he opened his eyes, he was standing in his oasis, surrounded by the swirling colors and sounds that he was so accustomed to. They had both gone to the magician’s realm together; to Asra, that seemed like the best place to start. 

Asra stepped into the pool that would take him to the Magician’s realm, trying to calm his racing heart. He forced himself not to think about what could be wrong- the magical realms were dangerous, even moreso when one wasn’t sure of what they were doing. He didn’t know what possessed them to try to do this alone, but that could be dealt with once he found them and got them to safety. 

He stepped out of the surf of the Magician’s realm and walked up the beach to the ripple in the air. He stepped through, calling out softly, “Magician? Are you here?”

The Magician shimmered into being in front of him. They were standing in what looked like Julian’s clinic office; Asra half-expected to see them with the Magician, but they were not. “Asra. This is unexpected. You seem distressed. What’s going on?”

Quickly, Asra told the Magician everything he knew- which wasn’t much. The Magician’s expression darkened as he spoke. “That is a problem. I can tell you that they aren’t here.”

“Can you help me find them?”

They shook their head. “You’re more than capable of finding them, Asra.” Asra frowned; this wasn’t the time to talk in riddles! The Magician noticed his increasing agitation and said, “Think of where in the realms they have some kind of attachment to. If they aren’t in your oasis, and they aren’t here, where else have they gone in the realms in the past?”

Asra raked his mind over the question. “They’ve been to my parents’ gate, and- and the Devil’s realm.”

“That’s a starting point. That’s more than I know, in any event. Good luck, Asra. I hope you find them.” With that, their surroundings melted away, and the Magician shimmered out of existence.

Asra collapsed on the beach, trying to convince himself that they couldn’t be back in the Devil’s realm. Why would they go there, of all places, alone, without telling anyone why? The thoughts swirled in his head and in a deep pit in his stomach. He was scared. 

Asra reached out with his magic, searching for a way to the Devil’s realm. He felt nothing, no pull to their magic and no direction to the realm. Suddenly, he heard a familiar barking sound from behind him. 

“Scout!” Asra was happy to see them after all this time. 

“Arf!” They wagged their tail happily for a moment, before a solemn look passed over their face. 

“You know they’re lost, huh?” 

“Arruff!” They shook their head, catching Asra by surprise. 

“They’re not lost? But that means they might be….” Asra’s voice trailed off as he cast his gaze to the ground. “Are they in the Devil’s realm?” Scout’s eyes perked up.

“Arowr.” They nodded their head solemnly, and tugged on Asra’s sleeve, pointing off into the distance. 

“Can you take me to them?” Scout nodded and wagged their tail. “Thank you, Scout, I knew I could count on you.” Asra smiled despite himself, and followed Scout’s lead away from the shore. 

Asra followed Scout up the beach and into the woods beyond. At first, he was relaxed- as relaxed as he could be, knowing his lover was alone somewhere in the Devil’s realm for an unknown reason. But as the woods began to fall away to scorched earth, the fear he had suffered the first time he’d come to the Devil’s realm took root in his chest, threatening to strangle him. He’d beaten back that fear back then, and it was easier to beat it back now, knowing that the Devil was powerless to hurt him now, but it was still there.

Asra put his head down and kept walking, following Scout until they finally led him to a set of tall, forbidding iron gates. Heat rolled out from behind the gates as Scout came to a stop before them and turned back to face Asra. “They’re in here?” Asra asked quietly. 

“Aruff!”

“I’m taking that as a yes,” he muttered, looking up at the gates and fighting back dread. “Are you coming with, or do I- do I need to go in there alone?”

Asra heard a faint whimper, but when he turned around, Scout was nowhere to be seen. 

“I guess alone it is, then.” Asra faced the gate, steeling himself for what was ahead. The metal was searing hot against his flesh as he pushed the doors open. 

He walked out onto the beach of the Lazaret. Why was he at the Lazaret? Where was his apprentice? He called out their name but it echoed back to him in vain. He called out their name again and again until he was hoarse but the wind whipped ash and sand into his face until it bled in cruel response. How did he get here? Asra dropped down to his knees and screamed and dug his hands into the sand. Who’s skull is this?  He knew who’s skull it was. The wind was louder and louder in his ears until it was a deafening roar that sounded like their voice screaming out in agony. He left them alone, they died alone, they burned alone. He remembers now. They died alone and it was his fault that he left, he gave up half his heart to the Devil -- The Devil. 

Asra remembered where he was, he was looking for them, they were trapped here, in the Devil’s realm. He had to find them, he had to save them; he couldn’t lose them again.  He stood up and closed his eyes, trying to ignore the screaming wind or the way the course sand stung his skin. Taking a few deep breaths, he opened his eyes again and the Lazaret was gone. 

He took another deep, shuddering breath. The Devil was bound but the realm was still treacherous. He had to be careful; he had nearly lost himself. His heart constricted painfully as he thought about the terror his apprentice was feeling right now, and started walking, stretching his magic out through the place. He could sense them now, and tried to reach out to them, telling them he was coming, to just hang on. 

The response he got was garbled and frantic, and Asra had to shut them out to stay focused. He came to the elevators, all hot iron and eerie red light, and swallowed hard, trying to remember which one had been the correct one. It seemed so long ago; and those memories were hazy, suppressed to stop the nightmares that followed their battle. Taking a deep breath, Asra entered one of the elevators.

He stepped out into the living space above the shop. He looked around, stunned. Everything looked to be as it should’ve been. Had- had he dreamed this whole thing? His apprentice slept peacefully on the bed, and Asra approached quietly, sitting on the edge of it carefully, hoping to avoid disturbing them. He reached out and smoothed a hand over their hair, memory of the horrible nightmare fading from his mind. It was just an anxiety dream. That was all it was.

Much to Asra’s surprise, they stirred from their sleep. That was strange; they were usually a deep sleeper. It usually took much more than that to rouse them. His stomach twisted in horror as their raised their head and opened their eyes, the whites of their eyes completely red. 

Asra whimpered and backed himself up against the wall. No, no they couldn’t be dying, they couldn’t be. They sat up with a start and pointed a finger directly at him. 

“You did this.” Their voice was distorted and strained. “You could have stopped this but you didn’t. This is your fault. I’m dead and there is nothing you can do now. This blood is on your hands, Asra. How much more blood before you drown?” 

Asra screamed and fell to his knees but it echoed back to him as a bone chilling laugh. He desperately tried to run out the door, only to end up back in the shop. Their eyes were bleeding as they screamed in agony. How much blood was on his hands? He didn’t want to know, but deep down he knew. He pressed himself up against a different wall and felt a searing pain on his back. 

He was in the Devil’s realm, he remembered now. He turned around and shoved hard on the hot metal, stumbling back into the hallway full of elevators. Asra cried. His tears were hot and stung more than the metal of the doors. He was so lost and alone, wondering if he would ever be able to find them in this realm of nightmares. He cried out their name at the top of his lungs in agony.

Asra…

Abruptly, Asra’s tears shocked to silence and he stood absolutely still, listening. That was their apprentice’s voice. It was a mere whisper, distant and hollow, but- but it was them. He wasn’t sure how he knew, but he was absolutely sure of it. He raised his voice, calling them again.

This time, the answering call was stronger, with frantic notes in it. “Keep yelling!” Asra shouted into the darkness, closing his eyes, trying to tell where the voice was coming from. It seemed to come from all around him. Breathing deeply, his hands fluttered to the mark over his heart, pouring his magic out into his surroundings, searching-

-there.

Asra’s eyes flew open, and he ran down the hallway to one of the elevators, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste. The metal was hot, nearly scorching as he yanked the door open and squeezed into it, heart racing as the elevator descended. 

The doors clanged open and he stepped out into the Devil’s throne room, eyes frantically scanning the room. There, standing before the statue of the Devil, was his apprentice. Their name fell from his lips as he ran to them, sweeping them up in his arms. “You came for me,” they said in a broken whisper, burying their face in his shoulder.

“I would never leave you. Never.” Asra’s voice broke and tears freely flowed down his cheek as he held them. “I will always find you,” he said, hovering one hand over their heart. They held onto him tightly as they turned to face the looming marble presence before them. 

His eyes warily appraised the statue. The Devil was still made of stone and still no longer a threat to them. That didn’t stop Asra from feeling the same bone chilling feeling that the apprentice had felt when he looked into it’s cold, stone eyes. There was a distinct flicker of malice eternally etched on its face.  Physically trying to shake off the feeling, Asra tried his best to muster up a comforting smile. 

“Are you ready to get out of here?” They nodded vigorously, still clinging to Asra as if their life depended on it. Asra put his arm around their shoulder and led them back to the elevator, leading them out of the throne room. 

“Do you know what happened? Why...you couldn’t leave?” Asra had a much more serious and worried look on his face as he turned to face them. 

“I- I don’t know. I just panicked and my magic kept lashing back at me. The more scared I got the harder it bounced back… I’m so sorry Asra. I shouldn’t...I shouldn’t have gone to the realms alone.” 

“That leads nicely into my second question- why? Why would you come here?”

“I was trying to get to the Magician’s realm,” they muttered. “I… I wanted to ask their advice on something.”

“Oh?” Now Asra was curious. “What was that?”

Their face colored and they looked away. “It was- it was about you. I- Asra, you- we-“ Asra waited patiently for them to find their words, and managed to suppress his nervousness when they said, “I can just show you when we get out of here.”

“Don’t need to ask the Magician advice anymore?”

They shook their head. “No. No, if you’d follow me here, then I know- I know what I need to know.”

Asra kept his eyes on their profile, unable to hide his worry any longer. “What is this about? Did I do something to upset you?”

They laughed. “No. I- ah- it’s really best if I just show you when we get back.”

“Well, now I’m curious.” But the tension melted from his voice at that reassurance, and he focused on guiding them out of the realm.

The desolate land around them shifted seamlessly to the vibrant colors of Asra’s gate, and they walked hand-in-hand to one of the pools of water. “Ready to go home?” Asra asked, and at their answering nod, the two stepped into the pool together. 

When Asra opened his eyes again, it was to Julian’s worried face, hovering above him. “Oh thank goodness,” Julian breathed. “I was starting to get worried. I didn’t know what I’d do with two unconscious magicians in my clinic.”

“It took me a while to find them,” Asra replied, sitting up and looking over at his apprentice, worrying his lip. But they began to stir, and they opened their eyes in the next second. Asra helped them sit up, and then said, “Alright, what did you want to show me?”

They pinched the bridge of their nose, slowly getting their bearings. Looking around, they realized they were back in the clinic, Asra’s face inches from theirs, alight with curiosity. 

“You’re relentless, you know.” They mustered a smile while subtly feeling around in their pocket. Asra closed his eyes and  threw back his head in laughter. 

“Is that any way to--” He abruptly cut himself off when he opened his eyes. They had produced a small golden ring, engraved with their names, from their pocket and was holding it out to him. Asra was speechless and his eyes were wide in surprise. 

“I wanted to know how I should ask you to marry me. But...I think this is fitting in its own way.” They got up, making a big show of bending down on one knee so they were eye level with still-stunned-and-sitting Asra. 

“Asra, Will--” He jumped up and spun them around before they could even finish their sentence. 

“Yes! Yes, yes...I will.” He peppered their face with small kisses. By the time he set them down he was smiling so brightly it could light up even the dim clinic office. He still had them wrapped up in their arms when they gently cleared their throat and tried to hold up the ring. He sheepishly grinned and relaxed his arms. 

They beamed at him and slipped the ring onto his finger. Julian’s voice interrupted from the back of the shop. 

“Ohoho, look at that! Congratulations you two.” He was smiling and walked over to bring them both into a hug. His nose crinkled slightly. “Why didn’t you think you could tell me what you were up to?” 

“No offense, Julian “I’m going to confess to a murder I didn’t commit to the Countess of Vesuvia” Devorak, but I wanted it kept a secret.” Julian turned bright red at their words. 

“Not going to let me live that down, hm?” 

“Never.” They both answered in unison. 

[harusha]

I just saw your post about PJ and I'm wondering, do you have any book recs?

On mythology specifically or overall? I’m gonna do both since I’m not sure. Also sorry for the relatively late reply, I had to think about this, and I just got back from dinner.

The Count of Monte Cristo- Fantastic page turner, and a genuinely good “revenge” tale. It’s actually one of the first of that kind (or at the very least, one of the most popular ones). It’s also a book that a lot of people cite as the one that changes their mind on classics as “boring.”

The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn- Somewhat of a controversial pick (both because of its subject matter and because it’s often “required high school reading,” ie “boring” to a lot of people.)

Huck Finn is an exceedingly complex character, and his friendship with Jim is really good. Pay attention to what Huck Finn does and says; he’s an unreliable narrator due to how he was brought up, his age, and his illiteracy. There’s also a lot of symbolism and other literary devices at play in his character (ex. notice his fixation with death and how it colors how Twain writes him). It’s very much a book I recommend if you want to study the unreliable narrator as a trope, the  Naïf version of it.

As a side note, it’s very poignant because of how Huck learns to condemn his racism. One of the messages you can get from this book is “If this uneducated poor white boy can learn to overcome his prejudices, so too can someone who has been educated, has money, etc.” It is a brutal condemnation of racism (though you do have to consider the time period, the “lens” of which you have to view through.)

Lolita- Another controversial pick, and one I’ll upright say as a lot of trigger warnings attached (google the summary, and you’ll see what I mean).

Beautiful prose (some of my favorite in literature actually) and a monster of a protagonist. When you read this, remember how Humbert Humbert is framing it. He is telling his tale to a court; he is unreliable and will frame events to make himself appear sympathetic. One notable factor of the author’s skill is how often Humbert gains the readers’ sympathy despite the atrocious subject matter. I personally felt viscerally uncomfortable reading his thoughts, and this is one of the few books that has ever made me feel that way. I didn’t fall into the sympathy trap, but look at any discussion of the book, and you’ll see what I mean.

I also recommend this author’s (Vladimir Nabokov) other works.

Franz Kafka’s literary works- Kafka is one of my favorite authors because he really showcases the isolation (both due to WWI, technological advancement, and the “beginnings” of modern capitalism) of the beginning of the 1900s, and he’s one of modernism’s premier authors. His works often deal with the themes of isolation, judgement, and outcasts. 

In particular, I’m fond of “The Metamorphosis” (cliche pick I know) and “In the Penal Colony.” The former is a short story so quick read if you just wanna try his writing style + it’s very influential (See Part 1 of Tokyo Ghoul for one example).

Also know that Kafka had a very strained relationship with his father and a conflicted relationship with his religion. I recommend reading “Letter to his Father” first to get an understanding of Kafka’s psyche to truly get pass the “nonsensical” nature of his works. It, like the title says, is a letter he wrote to his father, but his mother never delivered it.

If you want even more info on Kafka to understand his works, I recommend Kafka: Judaism, Politics, and Literature which covers a lot more (and in more succinct words) than I can on his works and life. As a fun fact, Vladimir Nabokov also placed him as one of the greatest writers of the 20th century. On Kafka himself, he thought he was a failure of a human being and writer, and now look at him. He’s up there in the Western Canon with Shakespeare.

Paradise Lost + Paradise Regained- If you’re interested in Lucifer (or Samael if you subscribe to that theory), this is a must-read. Beautiful, haunting, and with a very charismatic figure in Lucifer. Alongside the obvious Divine Comedy, this work has influenced the portrayal of Lucifer and Hell quite a bit imo. Namely, the “sympathetic” portrayal you find in works such as Supernatural. It’s also an epic poem so it’s best listened to imo rather than read.

No Longer Human- Osamu Dazai’s work if you’re into that one show. An incredibly depressing book that’s often thought to be semi-autobiographical. It’s a haunting book that I don’t recommend for prose, but for the mood it evokes. I don’t recommend this unless you’re in a decent state of mind.

The Catcher in the Rye- Mildly controversial pick in that you either hate Holden or love him. It’s a book where you have to be in the “right” state of mind to appreciate Holden. For example, the period of moving away from home for college  This work deals with societal isolation and human loneliness and features an unreliable narrator.

It’s just a very particular feeling you have to be experiencing to appreciate Holden. I think anyway.

The Epic of Gilgamesh- Not super fancy or a reinterpretation of whatever. Just the oldest known written work of mankind. I like it a lot, but I like Sumerian myth so YMMV. It’s still missing a few tablets last I checked, but still a good read.

Also the related Enuma Elish, you get the creation myth.

Vampire Chronicles- I recommend the first three or four so books honestly. Afterwards, Anne Rice just goes off the rails. Prose is pretty, and Lestat is a terrible person but fascinating to read about. I am partial to Armand though tbh.

Dracula- I think this is another page-turner. I certainly enjoyed it. I don’t think it’s as scary as it would be in its’ published time period, but it is a classic Gothic horror. The unabridged version may look intimidating, but like Monte Cristo, you’ll sweep through it rather quickly.

“A Rose for Emily”- One of William Faulkner’s short stories. I think it’s a lovely piece and showcases the Southern Gothic (crumbling house, decaying and failing tradition and the southern nobility, etc.) There’s a theme of decay and time passing throughout this work.

As a side note, I actually enjoy Faulkner a lot, but he’s a difficult author imo. It’s not as apparent in this work, but more so in Intruder in the Dust (the first racial thriller) and especially The Sound and The Fury.

Cat on a Hot Tin Roof- A play that deals with repressed homosexuality (maybe, it depends on how you interpret Brick’s dialogue and actions), loss, and denial. I quite like it a lot, and Tennessee Williams actually was gay (was because he’s dead and all). I read it, but tbh I feel like it would be better watched if you can find a performance on Youtube.

The Picture of Dorian Gray- Oscar Wilde’s most well known work imo. I enjoy the prose and the themes of corruption and indulgence present throughout the novel. There’s also a lot of allusions to Faust in it if you’re interested in that.

Peter Darling-a more modern choice but it features a trans and gay protagonist. Part of what I enjoy is how it’s not browbeaten into you that the protagonist is trans. It’s interwoven into the character where it’s an important part of him, but to where it doesn’t overwhelm his entire character. However, this is a novel where I feel the beginning and ending are great, but the middle is so-so. It’s a retelling of Peter Pan.

The Tain- Focuses on Cu Cuchulain and his cycle.

Poetic Edda- A must read if you’re interested in exploring Norse myths outside of Marvel. It’s basically a collection of tales.

Arabian Nights- Scheherazade is one of my favorite female figures from literature. She’s daring, clever, and particularly resourceful. It’s a frame narrative sort of tale so you technically won’t be seeing her as much since she’s telling each story, but it’s a lovely piece and perfect for a bedtime read because of its collection of tales. A lot of them have been referenced in media and related as well.

The Book Thief- Classic YA novel rec. It’s set in WWII and one of the novels that really showcases what YA could be. Basically a classic gem in the rough pile.

John Keats- He’s a poet, but I love his poetry because of how haunting and dark it can get; he often deals with themes of mortality.. Ode to Nightingale is particularly good.

China’s Four Great Classical Novels (Journey to the West, Dreams of the Red Chamber, Water Margin, Romance of the Three Kingdoms)- I decided to clump them here since this is already super long. Each one is incredibly well-known in Asia (and obviously China), and you can find allusions everywhere to these four novels. Each novel is rather long and expensive though (I paid like 40 USD for each set). Journey to the West follows Sun Wukong, unarguably one of the most well-known figures in literature (at least in the East; he’s super influential, but somewhat less so in the West; keyword somewhat). Dreams of the Red Chamber has some very pretty poems, but it’s often thought to be the semi autobiographical work of the author (it deals with the rise and fall of his family and the dynasty).

Daiyu’s flower poem is one of the most memorable for example.

The blossoms fade, the blossoms fly,  the blossoms fill the sky. Their crimson fades, their scent dies out,  and who is there to pity?  Drifting threads gently twist together  and float past the springtime lodge;  Falling willow floss lightly sticks  and strikes the lady’s window drapes.

Water Margin is a bit “bawdier” than the other ones imo, but it’s a good tale and has many notable figures and scenes. On Three Kingdoms, it’s the one I’d recommend to start with if you’re interested in military intrigue and battles.

I also have a Goodreads where I organize everything by shelf if you prefer to look at that. I do need to update it though tbh.

https://www.goodreads.com/Mahariel

[convenientalias]

A prompt for POTO: something about Christine learning to love music again after the main events (let's assume it's hard for her to love it now because she basically associates it and her own musical talent with Erik). Can be gen, R/C or C/C.

It is 2 AM where I am but yes that is definitely a good idea. Thanks for the prompt!

Here, I cross-posted to AO3.

Raoul was never a good singer. Not that he was badeither; he simply lacked the training. He liked singing, though, would oftensing without really thinking about it, one reason he and Christine had gottenalong as children.

It broke Christine’s heart to tell him to be quiet.

The first couple times she simply asked him, and heobeyed with an embarrassed if slightly confused smile. The cabin they weresharing on the ship was small. He must have thought it was just her nervesacting up. Well it was, just not the way he probably assumed. She didn’t hatethe sound of his voice, but he’d picked up scattered tunes from the opera houseafter hanging around there with her too often. And she’d just run away from theOpera Populaire; why would she want to think of it?

When she finally snapped at him, it was because theexercise he was absently humming wasn’t just one that all the singers used butone that Erik had taught her personally. “Will you be quiet for once, Raoul?Dear God!”

Raoul was taken aback. And as was typical of him,rather than submitting to the appearance of anger, he instantly becamedefensive. “I don’t see that there’s any harm in my humming once in a while,Christine. I’m not that loud.”

“You’re not that melodious either,” Christine said. “You’renot a trained singer, so why play with scales? Don’t put on airs like you’reUbaldo Piangi.”

“There’s no harm in it,” Raoul repeated, crossing hisarms. “For that matter, why haven’t you been singing scales?Shouldn’t you keep up with your practice?”

“I’m not going to be an opera singer anymore,”Christine said, “I’m going to live in Sweden and be your wife, so what does anyof that matter?” When she saw he was taken aback, she said, “Fine! Keep onsinging. I’m going to get some air.” And she went out onto the deck.

They’d talked many times before about how she wasleaving Paris and her life as an opera singer behind. She’d always focused onthe life she would live instead: A peaceful life, in the land of her birth—certainlya more respectable one, having a husband instead of singing on stage for herbread, and the fact that the husband would be Raoul was something straight outof a fairy tale. And even more than that, she’d thought about the fact that shewouldn’t be afraid anymore.

But even out at sea, having left Erik far behind(even had he wanted to, he couldn’t swim the ocean and climb onto the boat,could he?), the fear had not left her. She found herself watching dark cornerscarefully, and starting at sudden noises. Other times in broad daylight herheart would race endlessly for no reason at all.

She didn’t mind talking about Erik, or the events ofthe past few months, with Raoul. They had talked about it often. It felt safe,somehow, to talk about Paris and Erik as if they were far past, now onlydistant memories to pick apart into little innocuous bits. But then he’d dosomething like a hum a line from one of the operas and she’d feel as if shewere still in her room at Mamma Valerius’s house, and Erik was somewhere justout of sight, listening to her recite and watching, always watching…

She shuddered.

Later she’d apologize to Raoul. And she’d explain,maybe. If she could. He always tried to adjust for her needs, so he’d adjustfor this odd one too. If only it didn’t make her seem so weak! That was theworst of it. Raoul could sing as cheerfully as he wished—she’d seen him singingalong with the sailors’ chanties, some of which he already knew—and yet she, aprima donna of the best opera house in France, could barely stand to sing anote without cringeing.

In Sweden, Erik should have seemed distant. Instead,he seemed closer than before. In Paris, she had known when to expect him—at homeand at the opera house mostly—and had had some sort of idea how to avoid hissight as well, even though it hadn’t always worked. On the ship, with landnowhere in sight, she’d felt somewhat separate from any mortal world. But onland and in a strange place, everything seemed dangerous. Erik might well beanywhere. Of course she knew he wasn’t. He’d said he was letting her go, andshe believed him. Her dear teacher.

Only, she could know he was nowhere near and stillbelieve he might appear at any moment at the same time.

Raoul had stopped singing when she was around to hear,which was most of the time. They currently were living in a house of the Daaes,small but decent, in separate rooms since they still weren’t married. Causing abit of gossip in town, but gossip hardly bothered Christine. She liked to thinkpeople might talk about her being involved in a scandal that had nothing to dowith murder or ghosts.

At home there was no music. When she went out,though, there was no way to always avoid it. Beggars singing in themarketplace, or sounds emanating out of bars and public houses. And then in herhead, she’d hear Erik’s critique.

“That man! Frogs sing better—no, that is almost acompliment—howling cats sing better. Can you believe he has the audacity to askfor money for that? He’d do better to stand with his hat in his hand and hismouth firmly shut. Now, dear, this is why I always tell you not to mistakevolume for quality��aren’t you glad for the tip? You’ll never sound like thatrogue, but only ever have a voice of the sweetest honey, singing the loveliestnotes. My voice from your lips.”

That’s why I don’t sing anymore, she thought to herselfonce, because he’s not here and he’s taken his voice back with him…

This frightened her in a whole new way. She went homeand tried singing scales, testing if her voice still worked. She found that ittrembled, but it grew stronger little by little. No, she still had her voice.But she could feel him, Erik, standing behind her, listening carefully.

Clapping broke out behind her when she finished herscales and she jumped, turning around quickly. It was Raoul, standing in thedoorway of her room with a smile on his face.

“I haven’t heard you sing in a long time,” he said.

She smiled nervously. “Well… I just thought I’d seeif I still had the knack.”

“Still have the knack! Darling, as if you could everlose it. You’re the best singer in the world. I love hearing you sing.”

Impulsively he hugged her. She hugged him back. Raoul…He’d been out in the garden, and smelled of dirt and labor, which was a littlefunny for a vicomte. His enthusiasm for her voice was reassuring in a way, oldand familiar. He’d always liked her music, after all, even before Erik.

Then he said, “You can’t imagine how happy I was whenI saw you singing at the Opera Populaire. I recognized you immediately with theballerinas, but when you sang I knew I had to get up the courage to go see you—youhad the voice of an angel.”

She stiffened.

He realized his mistake immediately. “Christine, I’msorry, I know—I didn’t mean it like that, Christine, I’m sorry…”

She pushed him away and smiled off his apologies. “Don’t.It’s me, I’m being ridiculous.”

The voice of an angel. Raoul had always loved hersinging, but now, she thought, it was ruined. Refined, of course, as Erik sawit, and as she couldn’t help but see it too. Everyone in Paris wanted to knowwho her tutor was. Everyone in Paris thought she was brilliant. But it was avoice somehow dirtied, too, perverted, no longer the voice Raoul loved, nolonger her voice at all, even if she could still sing with it. It was not hers.

She didn’t sing again for days. Yet, having sungonce, she couldn’t quite stop herself again as thoroughly as she had on fleeingParis. She sang quietly when no one was around, scales and opera pieces sotto voce. Dirty music withwhich she perverted her home, yet she loved it. She loved singing.

She’d loved Erik, for a while. But loving him hadhurt. She liked to think she didn’t love him anymore, and he had no hold onher. Yet there he was, in her beautiful, ugly voice. There he would be untilthe day that she died.

The one thing Christine regretted about leavingFrance was that she had left behind her father’s burial ground.

(There might have been other things she regrettedabout leaving France, but this was the only one she would admit to herself.)

She couldn’t head down to Perros-Guirec to visit hisgrave, so when the mood took her to pay her respects, she instead went down tothe seashore and sat on one of the rocks. Perros-Guirec, with its cold watersand pink granite, was not so different from here. It was a good place to mournand pray and feel her father’s presence.

“I will sing to you,” she said, when she had run outof prayers. She took a deep breath. “Gentle flowersin the dew, be a message from me, and to flow’r that is rarer, and moreprecious than you… though fair you be.”

Lines from Gounod’s Faust, from Siebel’s song. Howoften had she practiced this song, guided by one she thought was the angel ofmusic. And she had kept faithfully to her practice out of filial piety; herfather had sent him. Or so she had thought.

“How my life I surrender, with your beauty sotender…” She paused for breath. How out of practice she was, to need breath!And her voice was hitching. “How my life I sur…”

How she had surrendered her own life! And not to herfather’s wishes, nor how her father would have chosen.

She curled into a ball on top of the rock, knees pressedagainst her chest, and broke into sobs. Even here, trying to speak to herfather, she was faced with her own foolishness, with the tarnishing of herlife. Yet she would have liked to sing to him. He had taught her music first,had been her first teacher.

“I will do it!” she said suddenly. She got to herfeet. “He cannot stop me. I will sing for you, papa, like you taught me to do.”

The song that she sang then was nothing so refined asGounod. It was a folk song she had learned long ago, a song of a sailor lost tothe sea and his mourning wife who would miss him forever. She hadn’t learned itfrom her father, but somewhere else—in town maybe—but they had sung it togetherbefore. She sang it as well as she could, though the waves drowned out hervoice to some extent.

When she was done she stared out over the waters. Achill took her. It was bad luck to sing about drowned sailors when her ownRaoul was a sailor of sorts. Not that he was off at sea. He was safe at home.Suddenly she had the urge to go make sure, to be with him…

She blew a hurried kiss to the ocean and raced offdown the road back to her cottage.

Sometimes when Raoul started humming, she would stopand listen. He was not always humming songs from Paris. Some of the songs hehummed she didn’t even know, and she would ask him about them. He wouldapologize, and she would tell him not to.

Sometimes she practiced her scales and sometimes shedidn’t. Erik never showed up to scold her or praise her either way.

Sometimes she sang.

And one day in town she saw a violin in a store,selling for less than she would have expected. Though she and Raoul did nothave all that much money saved up, she asked if the store owner would take hermoney and give her a little credit. The Daae name was good in town.

She brought it home and presented it to Raoul withmuch ceremony.

“But Christine, I’m not in practice. I’m not really aviolinist anymore.”

“There are plenty of fiddlers around. I expect we canget someone to help you. Besides, you’re probably not as bad as you think.”

He placed the violin in the crook of his neck andraised the bow. Carefully he scraped it against the strings. She winced at thesound. “…I think it needs rosin.”

“I think I need rosin.”

“No, you need practice. But soon you’ll be playing aswell as ever. It will be nice to have music in the house again.”

He smiled a little sheepishly. “Well, maybe. We’llsee.”

Someday she would be ready to sing around him, too,maybe even around other people. It would come in time.

[bruhchantite]

Apprentice questions

I stole this from @pumpkunbread !!

Maybe some basic information first?

1. Where is their favorite place to hang out in Vesuvia? Why?

The shop, because they love to see the different kind of people to come through and look at their things or have a chat. Also the marketplace, mostly because of the Baker but also some other people with their shops and stands who treat them nicely.

2. How does your apprentice feel when they are called a witch?

They don’t specifically like it, mostly looking a little annoyed by it, but it really depends on the way the word itself is said.

3. Do they have a familiar? Why did you choose that animal? How did they meet?

Yes, they have a Crocodile Skink named Kankangre, Kan for short.  They got her on a walk through a far off city’s market place, passing through a stand that sold all kinds of animals for pet keeping or eating. They caught her just as she escaped a customers hands, hiding her out of instinct before anyone saw. Nien felt a connection the moment they touched.

4. Are there any of Nadia’s sisters your apprentice would like to hang out with?

Most likely Nazali and/or Natiqa.

5. What is their opinion of each of the courtiers?

Very wary of all of them, but they trust Vulgora the most, funnily enough. (”At least they’re honest about loving violence”)

6. What did they do while at the clinic?

Nien helped where they could, specializing in numbing pain and helping to a calm undisturbed sleep, which they have gotten quite good at.  They are not specifically open with emotional support but if someone wanted to know the truth, they would tell them. Some appreciated it, some didn’t, so Nien learned to differentiate between the people who actually wanted to hear it and those who just thought they did.

7. What are their tasks around the shop? What can they make?

They are very good with different tinctures, pain killers, sleep medication but also calming and soothing food. The mostly medical things come, in fact, from their time at the clinic. Even after being revived they seem to have the muscle memory to make these potions and herb packs.

8. Describe their daily routine.

They wake up early in the morning, mostly well rested since they go to bed early, too. They get ready for the day with some washing up, getting dressed and then heading out to the market, often when it’s still dawning. They get bread from the baker, take it back to the shop and have breakfast with Asra if he’s around. After, they open up shop until taking a break mid day, to get some food and rest while the day is the hottest, before returning to the shop.

In the evening they often wash up any dirty utensils and dishes, before heading out to go for a few drinks or just to spend time with their friends (with Fae, @wir-sind-jaeger ‘s Apprentice, for example). Occasionally they stay in and chat with Asra, play games and just enjoy each others company.

9. What Major Arcana would they be closest to? Is their a Minor Arcana card that suits them more?

Likely The Hermit

10. Describe their magical abilities. What are they best at? Worst?

Easing pain and, (very special Snowflake here, I know but let me have fun) every now and then they have visions in the form of feelings and presentiment of events to happen. They haven’t completely figured out what triggers it or how they can best pin point what exactly will happen, but they have been right not too rarely, earning them the title “The Oracle” in some parts.

They’re not very good at tracking spells and, sadly, protection spells above the easier levels of magic. Some simple disguises work, but anyone with a little knowledge of magic could easily look through those if they wanted to.

11. How do they get along with all the animals in the game? (Faust, Malak, Chandra, Pepi, Inanna, Camio, Melchior and Mercedes)

Mostly fine.  Animals are a lot easier to handle than humans, since they don’t concern themselves with lies or half truths. Not that Nien is bad with people. Animals are just easier to get along with when you know what they want or how their minds work.

12. Did they have a certain opinion about the palace and court before the events of the game? Did it change?

They did not like the way the count handled the city or the people in it.  Generally, Nien tends to be distrustful and suspicious of any wealthy and royal folk. They find that they often can’t and do not want to understand the struggles and problems of the common people.

13. How do they feel about traveling in the realms?

They are very excited and honestly, they will explore anything they can find out about it as soon as they have a little breathing time.

14. Where is their least favorite place in Vesuvia? Why?

The Castle always gave them a constant feeling of dread and uneasiness. In Lucio’s times as well as after.

15. How did your apprentice feel about Asra leaving all the time? Taking care of them?

They certainly get annoyed, especially with all his secrecy. They don’t like spending weeks alone in the shop. A day or two are fine, but after being used to constant contact it feels weird for longer.

Asra never really took care of them after they recovered from… uh... death and relearned to speak and do things on their own. Sure, he taught Nien the magical basics again, helped them discover lost things about themselves, but they generally are a really independent character. A lot of the times it ended up being the other way around, when they noticed Asra was having trouble with memories (we all know which) keeping him from sleep or upsetting him.

They appreciate everything he has done for them greatly.

16. Name one thing your apprentice wants to see happen, or say to someone.

Before their death they wished Asra and them could have spoken one more time, but generally they didn’t regret a lot about their life.

Now they just really want to tell half the royal court that they can’t stand their faces.

17. What is the outcome you see happening for your apprentice and their significant other?

I haven’t thought about this enough, yet but I am a big fan of the Asrian/Apprentice OT3. Hah.

18. What would drive your apprentice so far as to strike a bargain?

They are very cautious with dabbling in that kind of magic, but probably what most others would: Bringing back loved ones, fixing major mistakes with horrible consequences, etc.

19. At this point in the game, do they care more about recovering the rest of their memories or living as they are now?

They want both. Nien can’t stand to not know something this vital, they are very curious and hungry for knowledge.

20. Would they be up for another Masquerade despite all that has happened? New outfit theme?

No. No way. They prefer drinking in pubs and making fun of people there.

21. What is their first reaction seeing their LI cry?

Irritation and confusion. They don’t always know what to say in situations like this but they will comfort them, after some initial shock.

22. Are they scared of what they have learned? Of the powers they have developed?

No, they are rather happy about how much they figured out, even if not all of it is positive.

23. Do they like snow? Have they seen it before?

They have. Before their death, before they got the shop, they lived in a colder part of the world. Snow reminds them of home and they feel it brings some well liked nostalgia with it.

24. A magic lamp is found in the shop, and a genie inside gives them three wishes. What are they?

They will think very, very long and thoroughly about their wishes and will formulate them over and over before actually wishing for things, if at all. Genies are dangerous and the consequences of your wishes can be awful. 

They wouldn’t wish for things immediately, more when there are no other ways out of a situation without its help or something they vitally need.

On top of this they would expect that, whoever left the lamp in the shop wanted to harm either them or Asra more than do them any favors.

25. Are they still scared of the Lazeret?

No, they never were. When they entered the Lazaret they had already accepted that they were going to die. It was more of a comfort to know their suffering was finally coming to an end.

26. Do they have nightmares? Will it continue/develop after recent events?

They get nightmares when they start remembering. Dying takes its toll on everyone and they are secretly horrified over the fact of it even being possible to bring people back from it.

27. What is the best thing their significant other could do to cheer them up?

Physical affection, lots of attention and good food are all Nien actually lives for.  Also a good wine or other alcoholic beverages.

28. Describe what their magical realm gateway would be like?

A great valley surrounded by enormous mountains.  On one side is a big, clear lake you can see the bottom of if you step close. It seems to have big colorful fish, scales reflecting the sun and colors of the valley and the water plants are a dark, rich blue-green dancing softly to the waves. Around the lake are full, thick meadows full of exotic plants and grass. The air is clear, fresh and cold and it seems to always be dawn.  A forest is on the other side, almost only pine trees with only few softer trees. But don’t step to close to those, they can be dangerous and never lead anywhere good.

On the tips of the mountains there is snow. You might reach it if you take one of the many rocky paths.

[fallling-skys-blog]

Noodle

The one constant in Noodle’s life was fear. The emotion she was most familiar with and knew better than any other. Her first memories were purely of fear and when she thought back she was flooded with the feeling.

So she’d gone out of her way to make sure that she wouldn’t feel that emotion ever again. She rejoined her very public band so that killing her would cause chaos, despite her newfound hatred for the bassist, making it much harder to attack or kill her without outrage. She was the loveable, happy go lucky celebrity everyone could find in their heart to love. She made sure that she kept her skills sharp so that if anyone tried to attack her she could kill them in seconds if the situation called for it.

She hadn’t always been this way, she was naturally happy and excited about everything. The band members all recalling her as a cheerful and upbeat child with a mischievous streak. She had times where she’d get out of control angry for seemingly no reason but only Russel would tell her this and Murdoc only would dare talk about her sweetly now.

She couldn’t remember too much from when she was a child at Kong. Russel had pictures and some videos of her that he’d kept and there were the Gorillaz Bitez that they had filmed but those had been scripted and acted out. She knew she had been extremely close to 2D, hanging out with him whenever she got the chance. He’d been her best friend and older brother. Russel was like her Uncle who she loved and Murdoc had been like her substitute father although if she ever called him that he yelled at her or his face would get strained and she quickly learned to never say that word and that it was forbidden.

Her last memory from her youth being ridden with fear as well. The worst fear, one for someone else. She had no doubt in her mind when Murdoc had his hands wrapped around 2D’s neck that he was going to kill him. She knew the look in a person’s eyes when they had decided without a doubt that they were going to bring about another living human being’s death, it was just back then that she hadn’t realized how.

She’d launched herself at Murdoc, the father figure she had loved and cared for so much, biting down as hard as she possibly could. She could still taste the blood in her mouth from the memory and knew that if it had been anyone other than Murdoc they would have stopped doing their activity immediately from the level of pain she had caused, with her full weight hanging off him.

Finally, Russel had hit Murdoc on the head as hard as possible with a closed fist, knocking him to the ground. Fear still surging through her as she was shaking herself, now knowing what it was that he was capable of. She’d watched as he had gotten up and screamed at 2D, blood oozing from his arm while he pointed and then turned to yell at all of them. Somehow, despite knowing it was wrong, she’d felt guilt over choosing 2D over Murdoc like he’d said back then. Knowing enough English and reading his expression telling her about everything that was happening.

After 2D had come back around and was breathing, she had kissed 2D on the cheek, telling him something in Japanese and hugging him. Turning to Russel to hug his leg quickly, patting his hand affectionately before rushing out the door to her future. She couldn’t stay here anymore and she had to find out who she was. Murdoc wouldn’t come back to the room so 2D would be safe and Russel was always able to take care of himself.

Even when she had been ten on the brink of eleven, she knew that she had to make her own path. So, she’d set out on her journey in Japan to find out her past that she had nightmares about to frequently.

She’d managed to track down an old man in a shop who was supposed to know about the secret government experiments, having been in charge of her own. She’d made her way into the restaurant, reading off the signs to herself in broken English. She figured that he had made them in English for the tourists and paid it no mind while she looked around.

“Ocean bacon?” Noodle had questioned to herself, trying to figure out what that had meant.

She’d felt all the memories flood back at her. When they say ignorance is bliss, they’re correct. That was something she discovered after that, meeting Mr. Kyuzo and clarifying any short questions she had about her past. She’d taken a picture with him when he had asked smiling happily that she knew what was going on now before leaving promptly and thanking him for saving her life all those years ago.

The memories that came back to her when she got back to where she’d been staying were the worst possible images imaginable. She’d taken people’s lives, people who were innocent and didn’t deserve it because of her orders. She would have been killed if she hadn’t when she was a child but it still didn’t serve to comfort her any. The fear and horror amplified only in her dreams, making the experiences more realistic as if she were there again murdering and torturing others for people who she didn’t even know.

When she came back panic attacks, depression, and anxiety spawned from the knowledge of her past and she was no longer the spunky upbeat Noodle of the past. She’d always been wise for her age, an old soul as Russel had called it, but this was different. Those experiences had made her into an adult and everyone in the band seemed to know that, treating her appropriately and discussing things with her like she was.

It was how she wanted it and she wouldn’t let them show affection towards her anymore, she didn’t deserve it and if she had that then Noodle knew without a doubt it would cause her to break down. She didn’t want to talk about it.

Ironically, this brought her even closer to Murdoc. He was an encyclopedia on scarring past experiences and they had bonded over their pain. Growing so close to someone after so long felt nice and despite not wanting to, she got used to having someone to trust and confide in.

He was the only person who understood her. She was pleasant to 2D and Russel but was distant, it was liking living in a house with two close acquaintances or friends who you had faded from but still had lovely memories and a special bond with.

That’s how she lived during that time in her life only extremely close to her father figure Murdoc and no one else, taking on a few of his quirks that were almost unnoticeable.

So he’d been the only one who’d noticed when she was acting squirmish and started to become even more distant. He’d come into her room and asked her when she planned on leaving and she’d looked up at him more curious than angry that he somehow knew about her plans to dissapear mysteriously.

“How did you know?” She had asked and he’d chuckled.

“Bit obvious, isn’t it love? You don’t exactly have your belongings disappear into the damned void for no reason at all. It’s not like that sock in the dryer missing situation, is it? Pretty sure that imbecile 2D’s behind it but I wouldn’t put it past Russel to go an’ pull that trick out of his hat as some sort of backwards revenge. You know they still think it’s my fault that you left before? Bloody unbelievable! You left cause you wanted to, always been like me that way, got to pave your own way and all that sappy shit they say in healing circles or whatever they’re called,” Murdoc said.

“You’re right, I might have left a little later if that hadn’t happened but I needed to find out my past. I’m...still not sure if that was the right decision for me or not,” Noodle said.

“Can’t change the past, don’t let it get to you or you’ll end up like me. Not that I’m not someone you want to be like, superstar, mansion, and to top it off leader of a hit band! You don’t want the nasty habits I’ve picked up, is all” He said and she nodded.

“What’s bothering you, monkey?” He asked, plopping himself down on her bed and leaning back making himself comfortable.

“That nickname is embarrassing, I’m not eight anymore Murdoc,” She’d said, although she hadn’t minded it back then.

“And the fact that my middle name’s Faust is too but I’m stuck with it which means you have to deal with that as well. Now are you going to tell me why you’re leaving or am I going to have to shock it out of you because I left my device at home and I’m not in the mood for torture,” He’d said and when he saw her sour expression he’d stopped himself from going on.

“Didn’t mean it, know that’s a sore subject for you, sometimes I can be a real knob. Go ahead, tell me what’s going on and I promise I won’t go off and say something brilliant that’s actually terrible, yeah?” He said, sitting up.

“I feel like I’m losing my barrier with the band. I’m starting to get close and let my guard down and I don’t think I’m ready for that kind of relationship yet,” She said.

“What, the healthy kind? Hate to break the news but running away won’t solve whatever mess is cooking in that smart head of yours,” He’d replied.

“You’re always so understanding Murdoc. Glad I confide in you when it comes to important things,” Noodle had said.

“Look, I’m not going to stop you, just giving a bit of famous Niccals’ advice while I’m here with you,” He’d said and she’d rolled her eyes.

Then he’d told her about his plan that he’d thought of to get rid of Jimmy Manson and she had completely believed him. It was perfect, they’d get rid of an enemy and she wouldn’t have to explain herself to 2D or Russel. She’d get to go away for however long she wanted and be able to return later for another album if she felt like it. There’d be absolutely no pressure and she would time to find herself and figure everything out alone.

The fear, hurt, and betrayal that she’d felt on that tiny island was etched forever in her mind. She was lucky that her parachute had worked. At the very last second she had just barely managed to get away alive before the bombs went off. She still had a permanent scar around her eye to remind her of that event for the rest of her life, she couldn’t forget if she wanted.

It was easy enough to cover up with makeup luckily and while she explored and found solutions to the problems caused by her past, she had kept tabs on the band. Once, calling out for Murdoc’s help, Gorillaz in general, when she’d come out mostly unscathed and scared but that’d been a mistake. She knew that as soon as she saw the replica of herself that he had made, that all the trust she’d placed in him had been a mistake.

Still being hunted by the Black Cloud and other enemies she had made in her time alone, she had gotten in a boat to the coordinates that she had learned Murdoc was at, not sure if what she would do when she arrived there but knowing that something was compelling her to do so and listening to her instincts served her well most of the time.

She’d ended up assisted by Russel but by the time they got to the island chaos ensued and when she woke up, she found herself in a village located in Japan. When she’d been begged by Murdoc through a pathetic snapchat to join back in the band, she had as a last result needing a quick escape from bodyguard’s of a shapeshifter she had angered by assassinating their boss. Of course, they hadn’t known their boss wasn’t unhuman so it was a fairly appropriate response to try to catch and kill her after the act.

She let herself get close to Russel and 2D but only allowed herself sarcastic remarks in Murdoc’s direction when she felt kind. The cyborg’s head next to her desk with flowers in it to make sure that she remembered the horrible things that he’d done and the lies that he had told and would continue to tell.

When the police came for Murdoc, she’d opened the door while he begged for her help since she was the only one there, she’d shrugged and grinned at him, pointing to her eye with her scar.

“An eye for an eye old man, have fun in jail,” She’d told him, while stepping out of the way of the policemen.

She felt nothing when she’d said it and didn’t feel bad for him while he was begging her to bail him out and how he was sorry. Sorry, that was all she ever heard. Empty sorry’s echoing in her head ever single day of her life.

I’m sorry I ate your pancakes. I’m sorry I hit 2D. I’m sorry I wore your skirt. I’m sorry I tried to have you killed. Sorry, sorry, sorry.

His sorry’s meant nothing and would never mean anything unless he changed and he was a creature of habit so he never would.

When Ace came into the band it was finally full of people she trusted, although she didn’t trust Ace all the way she believed him to be better than Murdoc and that was enough. She made friends with him and he was a bit clingy but it was a nice change of pace and she figured that they could both use the affection that he was more than willing to give.

Everything was perfect until someone had messaged her at random and she decided to give them a chance despite the fact that they were obviously only talking to her to try and free Murdoc from prison. They either had no idea what he did or didn’t care but she couldn’t blame them, blind adoration was a nice thing to have and it wasn’t her place to ruin someone’s love for a person even if it was Murdoc.

It didn’t take her too long to realize the secret message that Murdoc had written and with the coordinates that they’d helped her with, it’d been easy to track down where El Mierda was hiding.

She’d told them that she was going to head out and said goodbye. Noodle decided not to leave at first debating everything but then leaving for the sake of 2D, someone who had always been kind to her no matter what. Even when she’d joined in being rude to him with Murdoc and snickered at some of the stuff that he did to the singer when she was extremely close to Murdoc, 2D had been nothing but pleasant to her.

She was sure that if she’d stabbed 2D that he would have apologized for being rude to her before dying from blood loss. The turmoil that Murdoc had caused him and the abuse that he’d done to 2D was suddenly apparent when she’d stopped looking up to Murdoc. Being hurt physically and mentally while still trying his best to be nice to someone so horrendous was something that was more than impressive to her, most people would have left or done anything else but 2D had stayed and never changed his attitude.

She climbed the mountains grinning when she came across a gang of andean cats on her journey. They were beautiful and she followed them part of her way on her journey, making sure to send the person she’d been texting earlier a photo of herself to show that she was more than okay.

When she got there, she didn’t see anyone at the hideout and sighed. Of course Murdoc would send her on a mission with no actual end. He probably hadn’t even known the proper coordinates in the first place, how would he have? He was in jail.

She unblocked his number momentarily to send him a text telling him not to try and get in contact with her again, gritting her teeth when he sent something back about her abandoning him and trying to guilt trip her about leaving him alone because of El Manana.

She blocked his number thinking about how he was better off in jail, going to sleep once she reached a vaguely safe point to set up camp. She’d head back down the mountain the next day.

She made herself food in front of the fire that emanated warmth in the otherwise freezing cold environment, reflecting on the nightmare that she’d had. It was always either El Manana, her time as a soldier, 2D nearly dying, Murdoc, or the time after the events of El Manana and before Plastic Beach.

She wondered if it was bad that she categorized the stages of her life by the albums Gorillaz had made and the time she’d been in the government facility. She didn’t think so, everyone had their own way of telling time and this was her’s. Someone might say during highschool while she would say the time before and a little after Demon Days.

She thought about the nightmare that she’d had and her past while she sat cross legged, eating her food, and staring into the fire.

The time after El Manana was a difficult time in her life when she was forced to deal with all the emotions that she’d been ignoring or pushing away while performing and recording for Demon Days. Her only way of expression playing guitar, dancing, and locking herself away in her room where no one else in the band could see.

The fear and regret were definitely the more intense and horrifying of the emotions she felt when it came to her days when she’d been a government experiment and from the El Manana incident. Those were the worst but the one emotion she was most afraid of from the government experiment stage of her life was the blood lust that she occasionally felt.

It was something that had been ingrained in her, she’d never asked for the terrible feeling and would get rid of in a heartbeat if she could. She dealt with it after Plastic Beach in a more healthy way by tracking and killing off a certain demon who she had released on accident, since he’d been evil and wasn’t supposed to live on Earth in the first place no one could argue that it was the wrong road to take.

The part that she didn’t like to talk about was when she decided to take out the blood lust in an unhealthy way. In her mind, it was fair and she would still argue that she hadn’t done anything too improper generally. The people she had killed were scum of the Earth and though she’d been an assassin for hire, the people she agreed to kill had to be morally terrible people who most of the population would secretly believe they finally got what they deserved.

She was playing God though and it eventually got to her head. In a good way, considering she’d realized that what she was doing wasn’t her place despite fair justification.  The combination of the fact that even monsters have family and have those who care about them, accompanied by her starting falling in love with a girl she met had made her turn over a new leaft since she didn’t want to get her potential love killed by having that as a job. After killing off one last person who was the most vile being that she’d ever been forced to research, she had stopped killing.

It made her think about if she would have killed Murdoc if he’d been suggested for her to assassinate, it would have been an interesting request certainly. He had mentally and physically tormented someone for years and tried to get her killed but that didn’t justify killing him. No, she would have kept tabs on him though to make sure he didn’t hurt any others. You could usually threaten these types of people and they’d manage to get their behaviour in check, nobody wanted to die and they were no exception.

She thought more about it as she climbed down the mountain, if the world would have benefitted from not having Murdoc in it. 2D would be better off, there was no doubt there. Russel could hold his own, Murdoc was cruel and teased him but not past the point of a school bully. He didn’t really affect Ace other than his job position but she knew he’d survive if Murdoc came back, she’d miss Ace’s company though.

What about herself? She was generally selfless except when she had to be selfish for her own wellbeing but then again, was taking care of yourself really seen as being selfish? If it was, she wasn’t sure that being selfish was too bad of a thing, depending on the situation, of course.

Would she be better off without Murdoc? Certainly she’d be less stressed, having someone full of lies who tried to kill her gone from her life would be a much healthier option. It was known by everyone who befriended or met Murdoc that he was toxic. She tried to think of a list of all the bad things that he had done.

He’d started to bully others when he’d realized that was a way to get ahead in life. He’d legally blinded 2D, who could see but terribly as Noodle had once found him talking to a tiny decorative palm tree in the lobby of the dentist. He’d put a teenager into a coma and while he was in that state, Murdoc had bullied him within an inch of his life. He’d given 2D permanent brain damage. Bullied Russel up to the point where he was about to snap. He’d nearly killed 2D when he’d choked him and if Russel hadn’t interfered, 2D would be dead right now.

He’d tried to kill her, leaving a permanent scar and a haunting memory she couldn’t seem to ever forget. He’d replaced her with a cyborg of herself as a teenager. He’d tortured 2D with something he had a serious phobia of while trapping him in a small room with little entertainment, only letting him out when he needed 2D to sing on the album. He’d also fed 2D only scraps of whatever food Murdoc ate himself and only occasionally remembered to give him water, refusing to take 2D to a doctor whenever he got sick.

It was a pretty impressive list of incriminating things that Murdoc had done over the years. If anyone else had done these things they would have paid for it dearly yet Murdoc had gotten off without punishment until now where he was in jail.

If he came back, when he came back, there was no telling what he would do. Sure he hadn’t done anything too disastrous yet except for send her on this wild goose chase with no worries about her own safety but he would never change, he’d had 52 years to try and improve on who he was and hadn’t so much as tried to be a better person than who he was.

She’d stayed in a hotel when she came back home, not sure she wanted to return home yet. She was on a dangerous path of thinking but it was also a logical and justified idea. There was no way of guaranteeing that Murdoc would stay in jail and where he was stuck at, he was only suffering. She supposed that was karma but she didn’t like seeing anyone, even Murdoc, having to deal with ill treatment of that proportion.

She’d been leaning against the backboard of the bed, strumming notes on the guitar that she’d brought with her when she received another text. She’d sighed, not really feeling up to talking to anyone even if the fan of the band was generally kind. She was a little thrown off when she saw the text was from an unknown number and hoped that whoever it was that had been talking to Murdoc hadn’t give her number away to the public or any of their friends.

She read over the text that was simply, “He’s trying to escape.” She decided to text back, taking another risk. 2D and the others would understand if she had to disappear from the world again, after all she was a free spirit and had a few people who would gladly kill her without a second thought.

“Who is this?” She replied, not adding an emoji since the message she had received was quite cryptic and probably not from anyone she should be friendly with.

They replied back with simply, “Like I said, a friend. Thought you’d be interested in Murdoc’s actions.”

“What’s his escape plan?” She sent, even if the information they texted her in response was false, she could always do her own research and find that out.

“Sewer system. I can give him a fake map so he can’t escape if you want.” They texted.

“Ok.” She responded.

“He’ll die.” The next text answered.

She thought about it. This was probably a bluff, a good one but a bluff nonetheless but if it was real. She wasn’t sure she wanted Murdoc out of jail and if he had to die to protect her real family, who had never betrayed her and didn’t deserve to be tortured by Murdoc any longer, then maybe that was for the best. She could deal with the guilt of his death on her hands for them to be happy and safe, she decided.

“Make sure no one is hurt, ok? Only Murdoc.”

She sent back and didn’t get a response which made her nervous but it was too late now. Either Murdoc would be dead or he would live out the rest of his life in jail, soon she would find out which one. For now, she would stay at the hotel here for a little bit longer and explore her surroundings. She didn’t feel like visiting home until she knew for sure what was going to happen. She needed an alibi if something bad did occur and she’d gotten good at disguising her looks so that she couldn’t be recognized by anyone.

She missed the buzz of the house and the band though. Ace obnoxiously changing the channel without even seeing what was playing, driving Russel nuts while 2D scribbled away in his journal with his tongue poked out of his mouth. She brang the phone with her, thinking up how to destroy it best. Whether or not Murdoc would be dead in future, she still didn’t want random strangers to have access to her number and wasn’t fond of the habit of carrying around useless hardware around with her.

[love-max1982-us]

However with an increasingly diversified global Rogue portfolio

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[convenientalias]

For crack fic prompts: Daroga/Raoul. Raoul gets turned into a golden retriever.

I don’t mean to be rude but the pun is too good so

YES BITCH

(…I am sorry…)

anyways yeah I sure wrote this thing. IT’S ON AO3 HERE.

One evening, the night of a rivetingperformance of Faust, Raoul wassitting in his typical opera box, waiting for the Daroga to show up, when acourier showed up with a bottle of wine. The note on the wine said that it wasfrom Christine.

Raoul was a bit confused. Christine didn’t usuallysend him things like this, besides which, she knew he wasn’t a big drinker.However, it was a gift, and he couldn’t refuse a gift. So he began to drink it.And, since it was actually very sweet and the music was distracting, he chuggedthe whole thing.

He then felt a sensation as if the world hadbegun to twist and spin and change in size. Wow, he thought. That was somestrong stuff.

In fact, it was so strong that he apparentlywas hallucinating now, because when he looked down at his arms, they seemed tobe covered with yellow fur. Also, his clothes had disappeared, and the rest ofhis body was covered in yellow fur too. He let out a cry of surprise.

“Arooo!”

It was at this point that he realized he hadbeen turned into a dog. That or he was hallucinating having been turned into adog. He wasn’t sure which. Damn it. Christine should have known better than tosend him wine.

Behind him, he heard a vague, echoing chuckle.And then, the voice of the phantom. “So, monsieur, we see what kind of beastyou turn out to be. Well, it is not as…”

But whatever the phantom had to say about thisturn of events was interrupted by the box door opening, and the arrival, thelate arrival, of Raoul’s lover, the one and only Daroga of Paris, otherwiseknown as Nadir Khan.

Nadir was not usually late for things likethis.

In fact, he had a bad habit of showing up atthe de Chagny box before Raoul did, which had caused an awkward scene once whenPhilippe showed up instead of Raoul and calmly demanded an explanation of whyNadir had a key to the box in the first place. Since then he’d been morecareful, but at least when he and Raoul set an hour for a rendezvous he wasusually precisely on time. However, today he had been held up by one thing andanother. Darius had caught a cold. None of the coaches for hire had beeninclined to stop for him. He’d met an acquaintance in the street and beencaught up in conversation. As a result he was more than half an hour late forhis evening with Raoul and fully prepared to apologize, until he entered the deChagny box and realized Raoul was not even there.

A series of thoughts ran through his head:

1. Raoul was late again! And very late indeedthis time. What could be the matter?

2. It was rude of him, but then, this meant hewould never have to know that Nadir had also been late. Nadir would be graciouswhen he showed up and the secret could stay a secret.

3. On the other hand, what if Raoul had showedup, despaired of Nadir ever showing, and left already? It didn’t seem like him,but… he did have his moods…

4. Wait, was that a dog?

It was indeed a dog.

Nadir took a closer look. The dog was curled upon one of the seats in an awkward manner, sitting on its hind legs. It lookedat Nadir woozily, then let out a harsh bark—cutting through the opera music—andlunged forward to lick him messily on the face. Nadir laughingly forced it downto the floor, and it settled with a whine.

“Good boy, good boy… Is that alcohol?” Nadirwrinkled his nose. Yes, the dog’s breath smelled like alcohol. How terrible!“Here boy… who’s been giving a good dog like you booze?”

He rubbed the dog’s head apologetically.Unfortunately, in a place like this, it could be anyone. The Opera Populairegot all kinds. It could even have been one of the actors.

There was a sudden hand on Nadir’s shoulder,and he looked up to see Erik. He frowned. “What are you doing in the Vicomte’sbox?” He knew the two had never been friendly.

“That is my dog,” Erik said. “The Vicomte stoleit and has gotten it drunk. Rude boy, I don’t know what you see in him.” Hesnapped his fingers. “May I have my dog back, or will you insist on fondlinghim?”

It didn’t sound like a likely story. Erik was adefinite cat person. Besides, the dog was growling at Erik—didn’t seem like thetwo were all that close. Nadir pulled the front half of the dog up onto his lapand put his arms around its head protectively. “Erik, you should know I won’tfall for your lies.”

“Are you calling me a liar, monsieur?”

“I’ve called you worse.”

“Give me the dog.”

“I do not think it is your dog. And if you letpeople go around giving it wine, you clearly don’t know how to keep it. Now, beon your way.” Nadir raised his eyebrows.

Erik crossed his arms. “Daroga…”

“Erik.”

“Fine,” Erik huffed. “For now. But I’ll beseeing you later, and I’ll want my dog back then.”

He walked off still grumbling.

“I don’t think Raoul would get you drunk,”Nadir said to the dog. “He’s a good boy. Just like you.” He scratched the dog’sears, and the dog’s tail thumped against the floor. “He probably saw youwandering the halls and brought you in here… now why would Erik want to stealyou? Well, we’ll wait for Raoul and see what he has to say.”

So they waited. But Raoul never showed up.

When the show was over and the audience largelygone, Nadir sighed. “Seems I’ve been stood up again. Well, no use waiting.” Hewould send Raoul a note tomorrow demanding an explanation. A very stronglyworded note.

He took the dog back to his flat with him. Nouse leaving a good dog wandering an opera house. It could easily fall prey to adog catcher, and that would be a pity. Or more ruffians like whoever had givenit wine… at any rate, it was far better off with him than here. And it seemedcontent to follow him, though it did bark a lot.

But it had been polite and not barked muchduring the show, so it was clearly a well mannered dog.

Raoul had rather supposed his turning into adog to be a dream. However, when he woke up the next morning, still a dogexcept now a dog with a migraine, he realized this was not so.

He tried to explain things to Nadir, as indeedhe had tried last night. But, just as last night, all that resulted was a lotof meaningless barking. Dog mouths and human mouths did not work the same way.The barking also made his migraine worse.

Nadir eventually told him to shut up and be agood dog, which made Raoul growl. Usually when Nadir scolded him there was goodreason, but in this case Raoul was in the right! He had to tell Nadir that itwas him, and he just couldn’t get through.

At least Nadir gave him some food. It wasn’tdog food, either—Nadir didn’t keep a dog, so he fed him some scraps ofbreakfast. He was the cook this morning for Raoul, himself and Darius, whoapparently had a cold.

Raoul, who knew Darius mildly well, whined athim apologetically. It was too bad he had to intrude on their home and causetrouble while someone was sick. Darius smiled and patted him on the head.

“Darius,” Nadir said sharply, “you’ll give thepoor thing a cold. Isn’t it bad enough someone has given it alcohol and it hasa hangover? Leave it alone.”

Darius apologized in Persian, and Nadir toldhim that the dog only seemed to understand French, and he apologized again inFrench. Raoul nudged his hand forgivingly. Then he went back to pesteringNadir. There had to be some way to break through…. Ah! He had it!

He ran off to Nadir’s bedroom. Luckily the doorhad been left open—as a dog he was not great at knobs and latches, never mindlocks. He found there a bottle of cologne he had given Nadir only a month agofor his birthday, which he grabbed in his mouth and brought back to the parlor,where he showed it to Nadir triumphantly.

Nadir grabbed it from him. “Bad dog. This isexpensive.”

What? Raoul barked and tried to grab at thecologne again, but Nadir just said, “Sit.”

Unfortunately he was too much in the habit oflistening to Nadir when he used that tone of voice not to obey.

“Listen up. If you’re going to be staying herefor now, we need to establish some ground rules. Don’t touch things on tablesor bureaus. Don’t sit on the upholstery without permission. Don’t get up on thetable. Don’t chew on shoes or… other things…” Nadir scratched his head. “Well,I think that does it.”

Darius laughed hoarsely. “Sir, the dog can’tunderstand you.”

“He’ll understand,” Nadir said menacingly, andhe gave Raoul a Look.

Raoul whimpered. He rather liked sitting onNadir’s couch, it was so soft… well, for now he would have to put up with it.Sadly, he curled up on a corner of the floor. Nadir petted him on the back andtold him not to be too sulky, and went back to conversing with Darius inPersian.

The day was mostly uneventful, apart fromRaoul’s being a dog, until halfway through the afternoon, there was a visitor.It was Philippe.

“My brother mentioned he might see you lastnight.”

“We sometimes meet,” Nadir said guardedly. “AndI had thought to see him at the opera last night, yes, but plans do fallthrough…” He leaned against the doorframe. Looked tense—poor man, he was alwaysnervous around Raoul’s family. “Is there something I can do for you, monsieur?”

“Raoul never came home last night,” Philippesaid. “I merely wondered… Well, I wondered if he might have been with you.”Having made this suggestion, he folded his hands. He, also, was nervous aroundNadir—probably because while the affair was an open matter in Raoul’s family,it was not so open anywhere else, and in fact Philippe and Nadir had neverpoint-blank discussed it at all.

“No. No, I did not see him.”

“Oh. Well, if you see him…”

He looked very worried. Raoul pushed past Nadirand lunged at him, climbing up him to nudge his face reassuringly.

Nadir cleared his throat. “Monsieur, is thisdog yours?”

“…no.” Philippe frowned. “Why, is it notyours?”

“I found it in monsieur le Vicomte’s box lastnight, where monsieur le Vicomte himself was not. It is a strange matter.Worse, he was dead drunk—the dog I mean—and had a hangover half this morning.You’re sure you’ve never seen him?”

“No. Though dogs look much alike; I cannot sayfor sure…”

“Well, this is certainly a puzzle. It should beinvestigated further.” Nadir frowned. “This evening I will go to the operahouse and see what I can find out. If your brother was there, someone will knowit. And if he was not, someone will have noticed that as well. If no one else,Miss Daae… I will let you know the fruits of my investigation when it is done.”

Philippe seized and shook his hand. “Thank you.Thank you, my good man. All day I have been haunted by dread… he is fragile,you know, and I do worry. But I am sure it is all nothing.” His expressionbelied the words. “Please do let me know what you find out. Au revoir.”

So Nadir went out that night. Raoul wanted togo with him, and see if he could at least get through to Christine—of allpeople, she always understood him—but Nadir locked him up in his bedroom, witha firm reminder not to go on the bed but to stay on the floor. So he curled up,bored, and fell asleep.

He woke at the sound of the window creakingopen. A dark shadow filtered into the room—well, a man, really, for though helooked like a shadow in his dark clothing and black barbe mask, but to a dog’snose he smelled like sweat and dirt and the lingering perfumes of the OperaPopulaire, which identified him rather clearly.

“At last, monsieur, I have you to myself,” thephantom murmured. “I would have earlier, if not for that nosy daroga… He willsomeday learn not to meddle in my affairs. An annoying man, isn’t he?”

Raoul growled.

The phantom snorted. “Of course, I forgot youtwo are much too fond of each other. He even likes you in your true form—that’swhat this is, by the way. I thought it might profit him and Christine to seeyou as you truly are, rather than as the perfect, gentlemanly lover you pretendto be. So—the potion to reveal one’s true self, a delicate brew. I had hoped tofind a rat or a toad, but you are rather boring. At least I don’t thinkChristine likes dogs, even if the daroga does.”

Raoul barked.

“Shh—you’ll bother the servant. You wouldn’twant to see me and him in a fight, would you? Tch…”

Hm. True. Raoul would have to take care of thisfor himself. He didn’t know why the phantom had come here or what he planned todo, but it couldn’t be good. Better to get rid of him.

He was not very coordinated in his dog body,honestly, and was hardly an attack dog, by practice or by breed. But withenough energy, it didn’t matter. He jumped on the phantom and bit at him,ripping the fabric of the barbe mask. The phantom dodged backwards, clutchingat the mask, holding it onto his face. “Damn you!”

Raoul bit him on the leg. Hard.

It was too bad he knew for a fact he didn’thave rabies. He would have liked to give the phantom an infection.

The phantom hobbled back to the window. “Verywell, monsieur—you win another round! But sooner or later they will see you forwhat you are, and know that a slavering dog is not so great a thing! And wewill meet again!”

He actually tipped his hat before scaling downthe wall. Raoul barked into the street until he could see the shadow no more.

His barks never did summon Darius, though, sothe phantom had been wrong about that much.

Nadir came home late, but whatever he foundout, he shared it with Darius in Russian and with Raoul not at all. It had himconcerned, by the wrinkle of his brow, though not panicked. He absently strokedRaoul for a few minutes before climbing into bed. And then all the house slept.

Nadir was starting to get worried.

Another day passed with no sign of Raoul. Thenanother. Usually Philippe’s worries were fabricated—Raoul had told him storiesof his overprotectiveness time and time again—but in this case, things werelooking dire. Raoul was a homebody, a mama’s boy and an endearingly clingylover. There was no way he would vanish like this without telling anyone,unless it was foul play.

Nadir, of course, had a suspect in mind. Asalways.

Erik had not seemed to be engaged in anythingtoo… atrocious… the night Raoul had disappeared. He had seemed honestlynonchalant, hardly in one of his darker moods. But Erik was also a great liar,and he had clearly been lying at least a little that night—on the subject ofthe dog, which he had never showed up to claim, and which had not seemed tolike him that much anyway. Smoke followed fire—what else had Erik been lyingabout that night?

Clearly Nadir should have pressed him harder.

Well, he would press him now. He headed downinto the tunnels of the opera house with a torch in his hand and a gun in hispocket. Erik had mentioned the idea of kidnapping Raoul before. He’d neverfollowed through on it, but if this time he had, Nadir would make him regretit. And he would bring Raoul safely home.

The tunnels were as twisty as ever. It seemedto Nadir that between visits their paths changed; he knew this couldn’t betrue, but every time he came down, he found new ways to get lost. Today was nodifferent. Still, at last he found himself on the shore of Erik’s lake. He didnot much like the prospect of swimming across, but if he had to…

“Daroga. What are you doing here?”

Ah. Erik was here already.

He was standing in the shadows. When he steppedout, Nadir spotted something odd—a white bandage wrapped around one of hispalms. An injury? Nadir swung between concern and suspicion—he did not likeErik getting hurt, but if he had been in a fight…

Erik laughed when he saw what Nadir was lookingat. “Ah. I have been having conversations with your dog.”

“My dog now, is it? And when have you… have youbeen breaking into my flat again?”

Erik crossed his arms. “Well, if you didn’tknow about that, what are you down here for? You never come just to visit.”

“I want to know what you’ve done with theVicomte de Chagny. I know it was you.”

“Indeed? What evidence has brought you to thatconclusion?”

No evidence whatsoever, but a healthy amount ofparanoia. “Erik.”

Erik sighed. “Well, I’ll admit it was me. But it’sall been very fruitless. Here.” He took a small bottle out of his pocket andtossed it to Nadir, who barely caught it. “Give this to your dog.”

Nadir examined the bottle, which had no label.When he looked up, Erik was gone.

“Erik!”

No reply.

“Bastard,” Nadir muttered. “If you…”

But it was all he was likely to get out of Eriktoday. Useless to push. And Erik had been very frank, and not at all dire, so…maybe things were not so bad as Nadir had been imagining? Whatever was goingon.

Or Raoul’s disappearance had nothing to do withErik whatsoever, and he was only playing with Nadir for his own amusement. WithErik, one could never tell.

He headed home.

He smelled the contents of the bottlecarefully, while the dog whined at his feet, disturbed by Erik’s smell perhaps.It would be beneath Erik to poison a dog, right? But what on Earth could be inthe bottle? Was the dog sick, did it need medication? If it wasn’t Erik’s dog,why would he have anything for it?

The dog rubbed against Nadir’s legs.

Nadir sighed. He did not like trusting Erik,but. On occasion a leap of faith was necessary.

He mixed the bottle’s contents with water andgave it to the dog with the stern command to drink. The dog was not terriblyeager, but it obeyed.

When he had drunk the last drop of the mixture,he let out a belch that smelled of chemicals. Then he lurched back, and up onhis hind legs, and quite suddenly he was Raoul de Chagny.

Darius, who had been watching all this with greatinterest, let out a shriek.

Raoul was naked.

Nadir stumbled backwards.

Raoul rubbed his face. “Well… that’s better.Hm? Have I gotten stubble?” He frowned.

“Raoul,” Nadir said faintly.

He almost collapsed, but Raoul rushed tosupport him. “Oh, sorry! I know I must have startled you, and I’ve beenworrying you a lot. I did try to explain. It was something in the wine, turnedme into a dog. But you see I’m perfectly fine.”

“…Raoul…”

“Only,” Raoul said, “I really could use someclothing. Do you suppose I could borrow some of yours?”

In the future, Raoul did not accept any morebottles of wine as presents, even if he knew the senders, even if he waspresented with them face-to-face. In fact, he did not even accept food, exceptfrom Nadir, who he said was very trustworthy and an excellent cook. And on thatsubject, it was arranged that Nadir come over for dinner at the de Chagnymanor, a gesture of Philippe’s gratitude—besides, the de Chagnys all said, itwas about time they got to meet Raoul’s special friend.

Philippe was very grateful to Nadir for finding Raoul,though he was a bit cool when he heard their explanation for his disappearance—hedid not outright call them liars, but he did favor them with a very skepticalexpression. To be fair, Raoul did smell of dog… but this was Paris, and it wasthe modern day, and these things did not happen, any more than phantoms walked the streets.