#if he responds it will be measured and tempered and appropriate

[eirenical]

#mysterious lotus casebook#li lianhua#di feisheng#yessssss agreed#and I think it’s one of the reasons LLH refused to believe DFS in the snake cave once DFS first tried to tell him the truth#because he needed DFS to have been to blame and was just not going to listen to reason#(although honestly being tossed into the snake cave didn’t help)#and DFS realized that which was why he went to his next plan; AKA FDB#because he realized he wasn’t going to be able to convince LLH to stop blaming either of them and live#so he opted for forcing LLH to live first and convincing him about the blame once LLH was willing to live longer#I cry about this daily#😭😭 (via @bbcphile)

Sometimes I think about how Di Feisheng was the only one besides Li Xiangyi that Li Lianhua was comfortable holding a grudge against about what happened ten years ago.

Yun Biqiu is forgiven, Qiao Wanmian is absolved, Jiao Liqiao isn't even in the picture. But with Di Feisheng, you know Li Lianhua is still holding on to that perceived betrayal from a decade ago, rubbing salt in his wounds so very often about it. I will lie myself down in front of you and die an excruciating death before giving you your match. In this punishment for the past too, Di Feisheng is the only one allowed to join Li Xiangyi even after a decade. His punishment is exactly to watch the Li Xiangyi he wants die. Do you think, in a twisted way, Li Xiangyi felt even more alone once Di Feisheng's innocence in the matter came out? Once he lost this messed up yet constant company of a decade and had only himself to blame?

[sasster]

Damage Control

Uhm, lol. [doc]

-

Without Marrie’s arm there is no way he can just pop into Nymira’s dreams and make this all go away, a tactic he’d employed in the past as, what he could call, a last ditch effort to keep his sister from fretting the little things. Were his father a less stubborn man, this would have all already become a figment of the godlings imagination. 

Cylion tries the door again, hopeful that her inherited stubbornness is through running its course.

Still locked.

He lets out a long suffering sigh. For a moment, he can feel the anger start to bubble up along his finger tips. A deep breath quells those nerves just as quickly.

“Nymira,” his voice is remarkably steady for someone staving off a healthy dose of frustration. “He didn’t mean to. You know father’s mind is not always with him.”

There is a movement on the other side of the door, then a small, pained noise that accompanies a muffled cry. A part of Cylion aches, the realization that he will not be her comfort piece this time washing over him. “He cannot always control his impulses the way we can.”

“He hurt someone! He hurt my friend.”

Alright, well, there’s no contesting that it was a friend, but the prophet finds it hard to wrap his head around the autonomy of that friend. Favion ripped the arm off of a doll. Isn’t that something that could be repaired with some hot glue and a little bit of elbow grease?

He grits his teeth.

“Well, why was she in his room?” Because he dragged her in there.

“I don’t know!”

“Could it be that he was defending himself?” Who would attack him?

“Marrie wouldn’t do that!”

Nymira chokes back a sob that tells him that she will not be responding to anymore prodding. It’s not like he had any ground to stand on, either. The Roatus girl is as kind and delicate as they come, a real product of the Restorer’s hands. She wouldn’t hurt a fly, let alone a hulk she found in the basement.

Why didn’t she just leave the way she came?

He sighs again.

”Nymira, please talk to me.”

She does not respond.

He lingers by her room for a bit, in the event that she was only chewing whatever response she’d been forming, but she says nothing. Maybe, and he only thinks this might be the case for a second, this is all just an elaborate nightmare crafted specifically for him to convince him once and for all that he is not fully prepared for the responsibility of running a church.

Best not to dwell, Cylion decides.

Chewing on his lip, he fights the urge to pound on her door and raise his voice.

That would only scare her.

He instead makes the decision to carry on back to his bedroom, a more appropriate setting for any untoward temper tantrums. Of course, he could never let that temper boil over in front of his following like that. He never did in the past, at least. His strides to his room quicken as though driven by the fear of that potentiality. He can’t stand the idea of prying eyes likening him to his father.

It could never happen. 

As soon as he makes it into the kitchen that he shares with Somnia, he is met with a smug grin plastered on his younger brother's face.

“So?”

”So?” He shoots back, and it is sharp, all of the irritation of the last handful of days rolling off of him the moment the door shuts behind him. “What do you mean ‘so’? She’s being unreasonable. There is no ‘so’.”

Somnia pushes himself away from the island and raises both hands, but it is clear that he is at least partially amused by the little control the prophet has over the situation. “So,” he repeats, slowly. “What are you going to do?”

Cylion pulls up a seat and sucks at his teeth, the options he’d been left with running through his mind.

“Desperate times, I guess.”

—

They call for desperate measures. Later that day, with the sun in the middle of its crawl along the sky, the oneirocritic finds himself still seated at the island, the tapping of his nails across its surface the only sound filling the space. 

It is a shame that she would force his hand like this, really.

He thinks she must have been asleep for hours at this point, a fitful rest that on a normal day would have ended with her climbing into his bed for comfort, but he spent those hours grasping at other ways to help her to see reason.

At a certain point he'd felt so desperate, he even entertained the thought of having the Roatus girl come back and coax her out, but after reconsidering Archie's recent solo visit, it seemed like a horrendous idea. 

And having their father come upstairs? He is not particularly tactful, no matter how much Nymira loves him.

There really is no other way to get through to her. A little scare should set her straight.

Cylion closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Nothing too crazy, just a nudge out of the room.

When he reopens his eyes he is no longer in the kitchen, instead a perfect recreation of his sister's bedroom unfolds before him. Having been in her dreams and recreating this room so many times, it comes second nature to him. There is not a single missing detail.

Well, there are two.

The arm, of course, and Little Friend. Just some incentive to have her explore the rest of the setting he crafted.

Although he is usually thrilled to admire his own craftsmanship, he elects not to appear in the dream and view it as an unseen observer. He is much more eager to see this frustrating chapter of his life come to an end.

Nymira “wakes” with a start, throwing her blankets off and onto the floor before she even has her eyes fully open. Frantic hands search for the arm she must have fallen asleep cuddling. When she doesn't find it in her bed, she drops to her hands and knees onto the floor with her cheek pressed into it so she can check underneath it.

Nothing again, obviously.

The girl moves quickly, drifting to her desk space to make a mess of the area looking either for it or Little Friend.

“It happened, it happened,” she mumbles at the end of her futile attempt like it's a mantra. Tears are already stinging her eyes. “Did he take them?”

Of course the key he was given to her bedroom has gone unused the entire time that he's been in charge. There are more efficient ways to get her out of the room, ones that don't threaten the trust she has placed in her older brother.

Her face twists and, instead of fear or confusion, something close to anger alters her features. She raises a hand to chew her anxious thoughts into a knuckle.

Anger is unexpected, but easy enough to navigate around.

When she throws open the door to an empty hallway, no Cylion, no Somnia, no followers, her expression drops. At the same time, Cylion realizes that his sister has never had any real experiences being alone.

Perhaps the daymare could have revolved around that, but ah, he already put so much work into what comes next. He is unpracticed in the art of killing your darlings.

Fear, now rolling off of her and minutely shifting the landscape of her dream, and Cylion's own drifting thoughts put Nymira into sort of autopilot, and before he knows it she is standing at the recreation of the island in his and Somnia's shared kitchen. Completely abandoned, and if squinted not fully rendered, save for the lone wooden figure that sits on it.

As soon as she spots Little Friend she urgently scoops it up.

“Are you okay?” She asks it and Cylion has it nod it’s head vigorously and hug her face.

He suppresses the urge to roll his eyes in the world, an action that he knows would no doubt evict him from his work much too soon.

She really would be lost without that thing. What will she do wen she realizes that their friendship with the Roatus line might take it permanently, he wonders and then tucks it away should she need another helpful nudge.

“What are you doing all the way out here?” She asks as if it could answer. “Where is everyone? Did you see Marrie's arm?”

It doesn't respond, of course it doesn't, but instead cups her face between it's hands and adopts a look of determination, then it points one of those stupid useless hands in the direction Cylion needs her to go.

In an unexpected moment of clarity, the gears in her head get to work instantly. She makes quick work of the game of charades.

“Father?”

The doll nods, and she wastes no time continuing on her hunt for Marrie's arm, Cylion shortens the trip to the basement for her. She is there in seconds, she thinks nothing of it.

When she arrives at the marred door to her fathers room, she opens it delicately and does her very best to put on a brave face.

It's admirable.

“Father, I would like Marrie's arm back. But, I am still not speaking to you.”

What she finds upon entering is anything but what she expects, and honestly Cylion can admit that it might be a little much. But when are daymares ever rational?

She sees Archie standing over her father, facing her, buggy eyes all but popping out of his eyes as the use of his powers pulses through them.

A more detailed observer would be keen to note that Arkiro Roatus has never looked as serious as he does right now, glaring down at the felled hulk, clothes and face covered in yellow blood. 

Nymira covers her mouth as the scene slots itself in her mind and begins to unravel.

Then he looks up at her and grins before bringing the bat he held, does he even use a bat, down hard on Favions's face with a sickening crunch.

Nymira yells, of course she does, the dream very quickly becoming too much for her to cope with.

She screams herself awake and leaves Cylion stunned, sitting alone at the island in his kitchen.

[navree]

“...but there are moments when, if anyone performs an act of kindness towards him or does the most triffing service, his countenance is lighted up, as it were, with a beam of benevolence and sweetness that i never saw equalled. but he is generally melancholy and despairing...” 

need more people to actually read this book so i can see the end of “frankenstein WAS the monster” takes about someone who is so miserable and traumatized and grieving that he ends his life acting thrilled that people would show him basic human kindness while he was half dead, all because he handled One situation not perfectly at the age of seventeen and the creature decided to be a GIANT ASSHOLE about it forever

[angrybell]

So…

I’m finally calm enough.

I’ve drive across parts of three states so that my kids can see their good for nothing, selfish grandparents. My younger daughter has wanted nothing else than to see these worthless fucks since they moved to Utah.

What’s the first thing my asshole father in law says to my daughter when she walked in carrying her backpack? Is it “Hi [younger daughter] I’m so happy to see you?”

No.

Is it “Hey, I’ve missed you, thanks for coming”?

No.

The fucking asswipe’s first words to her are “You have a lot of junk with you.” Mind you, some of it is stuff she has made and wants to show them.

The look on her face when she said yo my wife, “Mom, my stuff isn’t junk, is it?”…

But I can’t respond.

I’m not allowed to respond in a measure, appropriate fashion to these losers.

But one day, that sack of shit will lose his temper again. He is weak. He has no self control because he is a piece of shit addict. He will take a swing at me, as he’s threatened to in the past. And I will take the first one and then I will repay him for two decades of insults.

I have my defense attorney picked out.

If I have my say, they are banned from the Bat Mitzvah later this year. They will never get an invite.

And when these fucks die, I will stand up at the funeral and piss in their urns.

[radioactivepeasant]

Fic Prompts: Star Wars Wednesday

(Part 1: In which, instead of dueling Luke at Cloud City, Vader actually uses his head for two seconds and decides to talk instead.)

Padme, something wonderful has happened.

Darth Vader stood frozen at the top of the stairs, transfixed by the sight of the small figure making his way into the carbon freeze chamber. Against all his doubts, all his fears, the boy had found him. His son. Their son. 

The orange glow of the chamber’s inner workings blended annoyingly with the lenses of his mask, obscuring much of the boy’s expression. But oh, he could feel it, even from his place on the high ground. The boy -- Luke, his Luke! -- was afraid. But more than he was afraid, he was angry. His aggressive intentions hovered above him, hissing into the air with sharp notes. And the Force responded eagerly to the measure, ready to move in harmony as soon as Luke gave the word.

“The Force is with you, young Skywalker,” Vader said by way of greeting. Look how you’ve grown was not appropriate for the moment, nor was At last, I have found you. But how he had grown! This was a far cry from the desperate teenager who had attacked him on Cymoon-1. Someone -- someone -- had taught him new skills. But even with this new training- 

“But you are not a Jedi yet.”

Do not begin a fight you cannot hope to win, my son.

Do not risk yourself needlessly.

[[MORE]]

Luke hid his fear admirably. He stifled it. Shunted it away to his survival instincts and continued his approach. The closer he got to the stairs, the more clearly Vader could see him. Surely it was not his imagination? No, Luke had grown since the last time they had been face to face. He had lost some of the softness in his face, and his shoulders were certainly broader than they had been on Cymoon. And now here he stood, caught between boyhood and manhood -- and caught between two Orders that had been fighting for his family’s loyalty for longer than he’d been alive.

When the boy ignited his lightsaber -- My old lightsaber -- and raised it into a basic stance, Vader was sorely tempted to respond in kind. It was so different from their first encounter! Luke knew more of the blade now. He could see it in his eyes. How he longed to test his son’s skill! No matter of life and death, no stakes, merely a spar for the simple pleasure of sparring with his son.

But he had no time. 

“Put it away, son.” Darth Vader folded his hands behind his back and took one step to the side. “It is not worth the possibility of injuring you.”

Anger flared, jagged and staccato from the boy. “Don’t,” he hissed between his teeth, “Call me son.”

Ah, my son, my betrayed, innocent son. You have been far too trusting. 

“Very well. Luke, then.” Vader shifted to stand one step below, putting him closer to Luke’s level. “Put away your weapon. I mean you no harm.”

A harsh sound escaped Luke. Scoff and snarl and nearly a sob all at once. “No harm?” he repeated incredulously, “Do you really think I’m going to fall for that? After what you did to my friends?”

Ah, so very like his father. And his mother. His loyalty to those who had earned his trust eclipsed even common sense at times. But then, he had counted on that. Vader had the presence of mind to be grateful that he had not allowed the Princess to be harmed. That might have threatened his chances. If the girl was truly as protective of Luke as she seemed, then having her aboard the Executor alongside Luke would ensure their cooperation.

“The methods I resorted to were...unpleasant,” he said with a conciliatory tilt of his head. “But I could find no other way to draw you to me.”

Unintended, a note of humor colored his words. “You have become quite the accomplished escape artist, young one!”

Luke’s hands shook, almost unnoticeable. He was unsettled by this strangely peaceful Lord of the Sith. There was a soft haze of confusion just beginning to overshadow his conviction, and the anger was dulling to wariness. Perfect.

“You...you hurt them!” Luke spat. His eyes widened a moment later. Horror swirled in them, chased by disgust. “You hurt them because of me?!” 

Vader took another step down. “I have no specific grievance against those you keep company with.”

“But you do with me,” the boy finished for him. He gritted his teeth. “So they were what, collateral damage?” He raised his blade again. “Someday, you’re not going to be able to treat people like things anymore, Vader. Someday, somebody’s going to put an end to you.”

Ah, look at him. Look at him, Padme. He sounds just like you. 

“Hm. And I assume that you mean today to be that day?” Vader turned. “If that is so, then why have you not attacked me yet?”

Luke swiveled quickly to keep up, and nearly lost his footing. “I’m not stupid. You’re trying to distract me.”

“The jakreb learns to listen before it runs,” Vader quoted, amused.

Startled to hear Huttese coming from someone like Darth Vader, Luke jolted noticeably. “The dragon who moves too soon is a dragon who starves,” he countered. “I know what you’re doing.”

“I highly doubt that you do.”

Rat-a-tat-tat Luke’s rising temper shook the cables and rattled against the ceiling like a drumbeat.

“You want me to drop my guard, so you can kill me. Just like you did to Ben!” he accused.

He turned his blade to a more horizontal guard and stepped up to the high ground. 

A wise move, if an unnecessary one.

“Luke.” Vader shook his head and continued to descend the staircase. “Obi-wan allowed himself to be killed. What his motives could have been, I do not know. He told himself and everyone around him such pretty lies that I am no longer certain that even he knew what his motivations were. But I assure you that whatever he did, he did so deliberately.”

It only took a few seconds for Luke to follow him. “To give us time to escape. So we could destroy your Death Star! Worked out pretty well, Vader.”

Keep following, little one. Don’t stop. 

“Indeed?” Vader turned his helmet as if glancing over his shoulder at Luke, and stepped off the edge of the platform. He landed with a heavy thud, and waited until Luke had scrambled to the edge to look for him before stepping into one of the maintenance tunnels.

“That is a topic for speculation, I believe. But for all the times your “Ben” betrayed me, it is fitting that in his final moments he unwittingly revealed you to me. Returning what he stole all those years ago.”

Confusion. Rage. Fear.

Vader smiled beneath his mask and continued down the maintenance tunnel. He did not wait for Luke. The boy would come of his own accord, or not at all. This was too important for him to ignore. 

He reached out, taking greater care than he ever had before, and brushed against his son’s mind. Can you hear me, little one? I am calling you, as I have been calling for you for so long…

He stopped, frozen mid-step. A tiny light, soft as birdsong, had touched his thoughts for just an instant. Instinctive. Unconscious. The reflexive curl of an infant’s fingers around an adult’s.

Luke knew.

Perhaps he didn’t know that he knew yet, but the truth was there, buried in his heart.

It was the same clumsy touch, feather-light and unrestrained, that he used to sense as he lay beside Padme each night, projecting love and peace and calm to their unborn baby. 

Padme, something wonderful has happened.

He remembers. 

[kylermalloy]

I need you to talk to me about The Originals 1x04 (Don't hold back. Please and thank you😉)

Hmm. Hmm. Okay. Good episode. So far we’ve had Klaus and Hayley both decide that they want the baby. Rebekah has arrived and agreed to help find Elijah—as well as protect Hayley and the baby. Marcel, while having fallen prey to Klaus’s manipulations, has asked his willing witch prisoner Davina to find a way to kill the Originals, since she has one daggered in her attic.

The board is set. The pieces strategically aligned.

And Klaus decides to bring in a new player. Not truly new—Cami has already gotten involved with Marcel, and she’s even been compelled by Klaus. (such an honor!) She has some idea of how dangerous these people are—probably aware that they’re the mob. But now Klaus is ready to not only show her the board, but label all the pieces: vampire, witch, werewolf, hybrid.

Cami: okay, so he’s crazy.

(Nah, that would be my reaction.) Her immediate go-to upon being compelled is to ask about the science behind it. Meanwhile Klaus is like, idk! I’ve been doing this for a thousand years it just works, okay.

I also love how he stares dramatically at the painting they met over while he monologues—he literally went out and bought that from the artist after Cami randomly read him for filth in the square. The conversation affected him that deeply that he needed that painting, just so he could look at it from time to time in melancholy reflection.

She also reads him for filth in this first scene, giving him a basic diagnosis and recommendation for more therapy—while he is speaking melodramatically about plots against him, women trapped in situations, in need of saving, and how he’s really not evil, he’s just taking appropriate measures against tyranny!

I adore how Cami keeps her composure all the way through this megalomaniacal speech—only protesting when he brings up her boyfriend Marcel. Personal/professional boundaries, Klaus!

All in all, this opening scene gives us a great insight into how the klamille relationship plays out: Klaus makes some grand, sweeping statement or gesture about the state of things, Cami remarks on his…uh…less than stellar mental state, Klaus responds by doing something to *impress* or intimidate her, but she simply questions the mechanisms of it. Mind control is not a scientific term!

Meanwhile, back at the church attic: I put way too much time and effort into this please clap

Nah, Davina wants to keep Elijah, even though Marcel promised to return him to Klaus. (What? He’s handsome, I get it)

But then she immediately changes the subject and asks Marcel to go to a concert. She gets a little petty, throwing a witchy temper tantrum in the form of boiling Marcel’s blood to get him to agree (or she could be convincing him that she can defend herself if necessary, but I really get the vibe she’s just being a teenager. “It’s not a phase, Dad!” “Sometimes I think you forget what I’m capable of.”)

Davina’s dresses are…adorable in early season 1. They really wanted this innocent, virgin-Mary-esque image for her, and they got it. She truly does seem like a child, even though she’s meant to be 16—the same age as Elena and her friends when tvd started (although the actress was much closer to 16 than the tvd actresses, so it makes sense).

Marcel’s reaction is very interesting. He looks nervous and uncomfortable for a moment before grinning and giving in. (he says it’s a compromise, but he really does just give in. She’s such a daddy’s girl. 😁) Sometimes I miss the odd little moments of distrust and posturing between them. Yes, they care for each other, but they’re still sizing each other up. Looking for weaknesses. Assessing the worth of their alliance. This comes in handy later in the episode!

…and seeing how long this post is getting from just two scenes, I’m putting the rest under a cut. Spoilers!

When Klaus approaches Cami at Rousseau’s, she spouts off some exposition about compulsion—for the uninitiated, those who haven’t seen tvd and still need some reminders on how the world works. But we get this little gem about what Cami thinks of Klaus (paraphrased): “you leave, and I go back to thinking you’re just a hot guy with a cute accent and money to burn on his sprawling memoirs.” Okay Cami, I see you girl 😉 don’t worry, we’ve all been there.

This line also sticks out, when he is preparing to compel her to meet Marcel and Davina. “You’re going to force me to do this, aren’t you? Why even bother with politeness?”

Yeah yeah, his answer is some trite “I like you” but that’s him, isn’t it? He comes in with his smug smile and demure posture and the accent he thinks is suave and smooth and persuasive, thinking he can verbally strong-arm everyone into doing what he wants. But when that fails, he just falls back on mind control. Still a strong-arm, less pleasant. Sorry, Klaus, you can’t win on charisma alone!

Oh, Hayley’s subplot! I forget how there was always a witch just…hanging around the plantation house in the early episodes. She’s also reading What to Expect When You’re Expecting, a nice touch. She’s probably not paying much attention.

And Rebekah is looking on Google Maps for a church attic! Our little Nancy Drew Mikaelson. Klaus is skeptical of it, but she actually does find the church this way. The internet isn’t all bad!

She makes a side trip to the vampire’s nest, where we see her slightly hate-flirting with Diego—one of my favorite minor characters from season 1. O fun background characters, where have thou gone? Also, Claire is gorgeous 🥰

Aww, and we get a glimpse into who Davina used to be, before all this harvest nonsense happened to her! She was apparently a normal girl who went to school, had crushes. Practiced magic on the side. But her only true friends seem to be other witches—Monique and Cassie and…that’s it, I guess? Yeah, they don’t go too much into Davina’s inner life.

But I get the sense that the French Quarter coven is a little like religious fundamentalists here in the US. Strict upbringing, rules on who the kids can talk to/be influenced by. Sophie references this too later, that her traveling and becoming a chef at a bar was a big *rebellion* by their standards. They don’t go too much into it, but it just seems a little cult-y to me. Not to mention the whole…child sacrifice…thing we learn about later. (Hey I never said this show was perfect—it says a lot of things, but it doesn’t always know what it’s saying!)

Anyway, back to the little fiddler Tim. He’s adorable, and I really wish we’d gotten to know him even a little better. True, he was just a plot device—but he was a glimpse into Davina’s world, and we don’t get too much of that.

Marcel is oblivious to how weirdly accepting Cami is of all these red flags he’s leaving scattered about. “We all have our hot-headed moments,” she says, smiling sycophantically and shrugging nonchalantly. If I didn’t know the truth, I’d be yelling girl run.

But if Cami is oblivious to Marcel, she sees what Marcel misses—Davina’s crush on the cute curly-haired fiddler. (He looks like a Timothee Chalamet prototype, now that I think about it.)

Ooh, and this episode is where we meet the wonderful, enigmatic Father Kieran! I first saw Todd Stashwick in a fantastic, one-off episode of Supernatural where he plays, I kid you not, Dracula—who is obsessed with old monster movies. It’s campy and hilarious and I highly recommend it, even to non-spn fans! Anyway, the hey-it’s-that-guy actor gives a great performance here in this other campy, supernatural drama.

His quick thinking when Rebekah tries to compel him? Brilliant. How else would he have avoided attention? He’s a smart dude.

And we get his backstory—which is also tangentially Cami’s backstory—of the St. Anne’s massacre. Sean murdering people, and then himself, with a sickle.

“You’re standing on blood.”

“I’m not squeamish.”

A+ line for Rebekah, honestly. Written, delivery, just. *chef’s kiss* that’s her.

Elijah’s vision gives us what is technically our first present-day Relijah interaction in this show. Long overdue, imo.

I’ve already spoken about how TO simplifies the Rebekah/Elijah relationship to “siblings who care a lot about each other and don’t necessarily want to fight on any given day.” Which, honestly, I prefer to the sneering and posturing they did to each other on tvd.

They hug, because they’re happy to see each other! They’re happy the other is okay!

This plot point does bring up an interesting bit of lore that TO kind of neglects: in order to neutralize the Originals, the dagger must first be dipped in white oak ash. This is why Elijah can wake up after Davina pulls the dagger out—she didn’t re-dip it in white oak ash before re-stabbing him. But TO glosses over the why, and as far as I remember, never explicitly states the lore about ash again, even though we see originals get daggered many times over the course of the series.

But enough silly plot logic. This show is about family! And I’m okay with at least one sibling relationship being just…uncomplicated affection. One could even make a case that they’re the most themselves around each other. This is how they were as humans—kind, loving, lots of care for each other and those around them.

Hayley gets into some trouble in the bayou—our first real glimpse of her as a Tough Grrl who Fights For Herself. She is also rescued by Rebekah and a Mysterious Wolf. (instead of a Horse Girl, Hayley’s a Wolf Girl) but other than that, this mainly acts to set up the plot for the next few episodes (which I enjoy immensely!)

Back to Davina and her Cute Fiddler—their reunion serves as background noise to the real star of the episode, Cami’s trauma and her musings on the nature of evil and humanity.

“The world is an awful place. Best to meet it on its own terms.”

“No. The world isn’t awful. People aren’t awful. They want to be good. Something makes them bad.”

(In Klaus’s case it was rejection, daddy issues, and time. Stir and simmer for a millennium.)

But Cami’s desperation to understand her brother’s senseless killings, his suicide, is the first glimpse we get into her psyche. Her world. So far she’s just been a tool in the narrative. She could’ve been anyone. But now she’s someone. Someone who not only listens and responds to Klaus, but who has her own problems and her own worries. Her brother—her twin brother—killed people with no warning. And if she, who knew him like no one else did, couldn’t see it coming, how can she protect herself from the same?

Klaus: I don’t know anything about this and all I can say is “stand alone against your demons” because that’s all I’ve done and clearly it’s working great for me. Okbyetimeforyoutogo

(He’s not great at therapy. Or encouragement in general.)

He then struts down to the altar where he plants himself in front of Jesus and mother Mary and postures to Davina. What an incredible show. The audacity. I love it.

Same as before, Klaus tries to win her over by being suave and smooth and genteel. But that doesn’t work—so he pouts and uses brute force. Since he can’t compel Davina, he goes for her cute fiddler. Oh no!

Davina shatters the windows and then runs outside (?) in search of Tim. Meanwhile Klaus has him up top, where he unceremoniously tosses him over the railing. And then his fiddle. (Oh my gosh I hate him so much.)

I think this is meant to imply Davina thinks she hurt Tim with her magic, and Klaus can heal him to make her owe him something. Unfortunately, this is something I don’t think they ever circle back to—except that it cements Davina’s eternal and undying hatred for Klaus, something that never leaves, not even after the Few Seasons Fatigue sets in. She will always hate him. I respect her for that, but it does get boring. Girl, this is literally the Klaus Mikaelson Show. Accept it.

“If he remembers meeting you and comes knocking, poor Timothy might end up caught in an awful scheme to control you…again.”

Oh my GOSH he’s awful. The devil emoji was made for him.

And there’s another small hint of conflict between Marcel and Davina! When he asks her what happened at the church, why she’s there, she retorts rather resentfully, “I live here, remember?” Another fascinating thing that never quite comes full circle.

Klaus’s little snarl when he finds out Hayley has disappeared. His little smirk when he learns the baby has healed Hayley.

And we end on the star of the episode again—Cami’s sad, sad story. She invites Klaus in rather blithely—“this is super weird. Come in.” Girl, even uncompelled you have awful boundaries. Don’t let your employer in your house at night! Even if he asks politely! Even if you think his accent is cute!

Once again, Klaus reduces her agency. He takes away her part of the story—her brother’s suicide, her investigation, her worries. She is nothing more than a tool in his story, the story of how he wrested the city back from Marcel and became king of New Orleans. She can’t afford to have her own life, it’ll get in the way of his! Not to mention Sean’s breakdown is a dead end—he’s dead and he’s not coming back. So he must compel this interesting story out of her. But he’ll feel a little bit bad about it.

I love this line, where he appeals to family, to him trying to honor his brother (lol. You were the one who put him in a coffin, Klaus! You caused at least half these problems!) And Cami shoots back: “what about my brother?” because family in the abstract isn’t important to Klaus. Klaus’s family is important to Klaus, and only in that he can use them to help him retake the city.

It really makes me sad we never get to see Cami before Sean died. She goes through this show missing half of herself, and it’s implied she changed a lot after hearing the news. Yet we don’t hear much about it even past this season.

I’ve always thought the season doesn’t really get started until Elijah’s back with us. So, I guess the end of this episode is where the show really starts! Everyone welcome back the creepy guy in a suit who likes hanging out with little girls in attics—Elijah Mikaelson, guys!

We’ll be back this time next week to see who eats who: Elijah…or Davina.

[local-ground-apple]

hmm could i please request the twins and adeuce (If you dont do them, then you can do Azul and riddle instead) With a gender neutral s/o who refuses to speak, because they are scared to say something personal or mess up during a conversation with them. The s/o also saying 'sorry' a lot as well, maybe?? Anyways have a nice day 🤗💕💕💕

So, I did practically everyone.

To one anon who requested angsty one-shots, they are gonna be soon. 

Thank you, I hope you will enjoy it and have a nice day too~~~💜💜

🐚 at first Floyd absolutely doesn’t mind your tiny, squeamish self. You’re so adorable and miserable that he just can’t help but want to squeeze you~~

,,Ne, ne, shrimpy, aren’t you so so adorable~~ But you should speak up more~”

🐚  he initiates a lot of conversations with you throughout the day. Even if you don’t respond at first, don’t worry, Floyd will make you respond. May it be delicate pinch to your cheek, subtle prod, barely audible threat or a brief sight of his sharp teeth, he will find a way,

🐚  however, Floyd is not exactly a patient man (or eel),

🐚 sooner or later (rather sooner) he gets tired of your constant apologies and that’s when the fun or torment truly begins,

🐚  Floyd is nowhere near being gentle and he is determined to break your shell, literally, break it, 

🐚 he is gonna be invasive, crossing every single boundary you had set up. Floyd can and will make you say something personal and get rid of that nasty habit of yours with apologies, don’t worry, 

🐚 if he can’t succeed, then certainly Azul and his golden contracts will,

🌊 way gentle than Floyd, that’s for sure,

🌊 Jade understands that you’re only trying to be nice with your constant apologies. He knows that you’re insecure and cautious and he is aware that you simply don’t want to mess up a conversation with him. However, it often feels exhausting and irritating at the same time,

🌊 yet Jade is a patient man and he decided to help you out (without Azul’s interference),

🌊 unlike his twin brother, Jade doesn’t force you or push your boundaries. Instead he tries to understand you better,

🌊 he searches for the main cause of your problem and decides to take care of it and take appropriate measures. Jade suspects that being hesitant in conversations may stem from your low self-esteem. However, to ensure that suspicion, he may eventually ask you about it,

🌊 Jade always reminds you that you cannot possibly mess up a conversation with him and he assures you that you don’t have to be cautious around him,

🥀 oh boy, your poor, unfrotunate soul,

🥀 Riddle aboslutely detests when you apologise multiple times in one conversation literally just for breathing

🥀 at some point he even forbade you to do and promised to punish you if you break that rule (obviously you broke it),

🥀 needless to say, Riddle doesn’t understand your behavior or what could possible cause it. It was Trey who suggested taht he should perhaps take a gentler approach,

🥀 so Riddle took back his order and poured himself a cup of calming tea,

🥀 it took him a day to impose that rule again,

🥀 honestly, he has now clue how to make you feel less insecure while talking with him,

🥀 Trey (again) suggested that perhaps you’re simply intimidated or scared of Riddle and his punishments and strict rules. So you often prefer to apologise beforehand or don’t talk much in order not to mess up a conversation with him. (also you don’t want to write long essays about your behavior as a punishment),

🥀 Riddle tries to control his temper around you and takes extra time to try to understand you. He really doesn’t want you to be scared of him,

🥀 will probably invite you to a tea party and have an honest and open conversation regarding your, as he calls it, “tiny problem”

🃏 Ace is a walking, constant reminder for you that you can converse with him freely and comfortably, he doesn’t bite after all,

🃏 his open and rather blunt attitude scared you a bit at first, but after a while you became accustomed to it,

🃏 he is definitely the first one out of boys to get you to warm up to him and open up, 

🃏 even though he finds your constant apologies tad irritating, Ace usually jokes about them. He reminds you that absolutely shouldn’t apologise for every tiny mistake or just for breathing.

🃏 and he will be reminding you about that every, single time he sees you

“How long are you gonna say it, Ace?” “Well, till you believe in it, duh”

🃏 conversations with Ace always feel natural and they aren’t forced. He makes sure you’re comfortable in his company. His cheerful and honest spirit soon convinces you to trust him and you began to converse with him freely, 

♠️ Deuce is very gentle and understanding,

♠️ he won’t force you to talk to him, if you’re not in the mood or simply don’t want to. But remember he is there for you, if you ever need someone to listen to you - he makes sure you know this,

♠️ since you often don’t want to talk about your personal matters, he will open up to you first. Deuce wants to show you that you can trust him, so he is honest and very direct with you,

♠️ his method works. After a while you begin to feel comfortable around him and you slowly start to warm up to and talk about yourself more and more, 

♠️ Deuce often asks about your day or your interests once he sees that you trust him,

♠️ however, you still apologise for practically everything, probably out of habit at this point,

♠️ Deuce is the only one who doesn’t find it annoying or irksome. No, he simply got used to it and after a while he doesn’t care whether he hears your apologies throughout the whole day multiple times, 

♠️  he won’t admit, but he finds it a bit cute,

[teiasviago]

une nouvelle vie, chapter 2

AO3 | @frogsmulder

Heedless of the rumors, the pair have Lily’s belongings transferred to Selden’s flat within the week; they reminisce over the dress she wore during the Brys’ tableaux and meld what little she owns with his. When all is said and done, he disappears for a day on “urgent business” with a chaste kiss accompanying his farewell. He returns at the end of the day with a small jeweler’s box in tow and presents its contents with an uncontainable grin. Selden slides the ring onto the appropriate finger, explaining how he has spent the last week searching for the perfect one and finally chose this particular engagement ring because the gem set within it is the same color as her eyes—a soft blue.

“We’ll invite Gerty and Carry Fisher, of course,” Lily says, her beauty incomparable due to her happiness as she gazes down at the ring. “We shall need their help to plan it.”

Selden laughs softly. “And here I was prepared to take you to the courthouse tomorrow,” he divulges. “We have more than enough for a dress, if you care to go looking with Mrs. Fisher.”

She presses a kiss to his lips and squeezes his hand. “I’ll write Carry now to see when she is available, but I believe Gerty should be the first to know. We should do her the honor of visiting her flat tomorrow to give her the news.”

He nods and lets her hand go, but seems to recall something and begins to dig inside his pockets, eventually procuring a key. “Here. This is your copy.” Selden takes one of her hands and sets the key on her palm, folding her fingers over it. “This is your home as much as mine, now.”

Lily softens her smile and nods before looping their arms together. “Have you eaten supper today in your rush to procure an engagement ring?”

Selden purses his lips in slight embarrassment. “I must confess, the thought slipped my mind.”

She shakes her head with a wry smile and leads him to the kitchen. “You’re in luck: your neighbor across the hall was kind enough to welcome me with a gift of food not three hours ago. I’ll warm it up for you.”

He smiles as he sheds his overclothes, leaving an acceptable layer on should anyone come by, despite the chances being slim. “You’re too perfect, my dearest.”

“I could say the same of you.”

—

Lily’s letter to Carry is vague enough so that her friend has no idea what the occasion for their meet-up is, but is sprinkled with clues and tidbits to whet Mrs. Fisher’s appetite. You must come to my townhouse at once! she writes back. I will arrive there within the week and there you shall spill all of your secrets to me. You do know how I love knowledge of people’s life developments.

Thus, a week later finds Lily at her friend’s sprawling house on the outskirts of the city. “Miss Bart!” Carry Fisher exclaims, looking as radiant as ever. She embraces Lily before leading her into her sitting room. “You simply must give me the news! I heard that you are no longer at the boarding house and that you were seen last with Mr. Selden!”

Lily cannot keep the grin from her face as she responds: “It is news of the greatest import and joy, my friend: I’m to be married!”

“Oh, Lily, that is wonderful! To whom? Mr. Rosedale? I would not have thought it in his repertoire of actions considering that h—”

Lily cuts her friend off by placing her own hands over Carry’s. “Not Rosedale, Carry. Selden.” And after a brief pause: “For love.”

Mrs. Fisher’s eyes grow wide preceding her leaning towards Miss Bart conspiratorially. “Lawrence Selden? For love? Goodness! Lily, if I had known of your reciprocated affections between you and Mr. Selden I would have proposed a match between the two of you as one to pick up on when all others soured. And from where I now sit, I see that had that occurred, much of your suffering could have been prevented. Do tell me how it could have taken you so long to act on your emotions! You have been close with Mr. Selden for so long now!”

Lily shakes her head, a small and demure smile playing across her lips. “My dearest Lawrence has helped me to see the life before me for what it is, and I have realized that I never would have been satisfied with a marriage without love. It would have been dismal, Carry! I may have had in my possession the finest of silks and the most ostentatious of jewelries but I would never have known what it is like to return home to the arms of the man one loves. There is nothing like it. I hope that you may find a happiness such as this one day, my friend.”

Carry smiles softly. “Today is centered around you! You very well could have written to me of the news; there must be something more you have to say to me.”

“There is: I cannot very well plan a wedding all on my own. I should like to enlist your help. I have already brought my dearest friend from my childhood, Gerty Farish, into this knowledge for the purpose of planning the event.”

As she had proposed to her fiancé, Lily visited her friend the next day and supplied her with the excellent news, at once bombarding Gerty with questions as to whether the women of her club might be interested in attending and if she would be so kind as to take care of the guest list, seeing as she has hardly anyone left who can be safely referred to as a friend. And Gerty had agreed, offering congratulations.

“I am happy that you have found peace, Lily,” she had said.

“And I am happy to be sharing it with you,” Lily had said back.

“Oh, Lily!” Carry exclaims at present, eyes alight with excitement at the prospect of planning her friend’s wedding. “Your marriage to Selden will be the most wondrous affair, and it will be the talk of the city! I will make sure of it so that the likes of the Trenors and the Gryces and the Van Osburghs shall all be jealous of yours and Selden’s happiness.”

“I do not want you to think that the affair need be ostentatious—we are inviting only a select few, after all.”

Mrs. Fisher tempers herself with concerted effort. “Of course, Lily! Ostentatious is nothing you need worry yourself with. I shall plan the perfect wedding. May I assume that you had guests in mind before you arrived?”

“You may.”

“Then I know what my role is to be!”

“Our first order of business is my dress, I should think,” Miss Bart suggests. “Lawrence conveyed that our finances can be dipped into for one.” Lily blushes and continues: “I should like to think that his jaw will drop when he sees me, Carry. I should like to feel beautiful for another day.”

“You have been beautiful every day of your existence, Lily, and continue that pattern. Do not be silly.”

The two women then plunge into their calendars and decide upon a date on which they will travel to Carry’s modiste to have Lily measured and discern which—if any—dresses are to her liking. Mrs. Fisher assures her friend that financing the wedding in part is the least she can do upon Lily worrying over the possible prices.

“I cannot thank you enough, Carry,” she says when the planning is done.

“Seeing you happy is thanks enough.”

—

In the whirlwind of the next two months, Lily and Selden’s wedding is planned. The venue is chosen, the dress is tailored, and the wedding party is formed; when the June date makes itself apparent on the week’s calendar, the bride and groom separate.

“I’ll miss you every moment you are gone,” Selden swears, holding Lily’s hand in his own.

“‘Tis only for a night, Lawrence,” she tells him, yet her lips are quirked in an affectionate smile.

“The invariable facts of time seem not to apply when faced against the incomparable magnitude of my love for you.” He brings her hand to his lips and lets her leave for Gerty’s flat.

Tomorrow will solidify Lily’s decision from several months ago to finally give in and marry Selden. And, not to her surprise, she feels no trepidation towards the act of becoming legally tied to Lawrence Selden. In fact, she looks forward to the prospect of being his wife and he her husband—quite possibly elated, even.

[carewyncromwell]

To Carewyn and Jacob, how was your first experience with reading The Monster Book of Monsters?

[Jacob smirks.]

Jacob: "Well, one thing to keep in mind is that when Pip and I were in school, that book was not required reading for Care of Magical Creatures. That was an addition that I gather Hagrid added to the curriculum, when he took over for Kettleburn."

Carewyn: "(nods) Hagrid sent me a letter in the middle of term that year, asking me if he'd done something wrong when he'd made hippogriffs his first class, when it was one of the very first creatures discussed in the textbook he'd chosen. I politely advised him that no, there wasn't necessarily anything wrong with it, so long as the lesson was age-appropriate and started out very instructive and structured before becoming more practical."

Jacob: "(dryly) You do realize we're talking about Hagrid here, Pip?"

Carewyn: "(sardonically) Of course I am. I love Hagrid as much as you do, Jacob, but it was completely irresponsible for Dumbledore to just foist him into the Care of Magical Creatures position without even letting him serve as a TA for Kettleburn for a few terms first, at least. Being a teacher is very different than being a gamekeeper -- it requires more than just knowledge of one's subject, it requires an understanding of one's students, a calm and measured disposition, a lot of organization...all things that would take some practice for anyone to master, Hagrid included."

Jacob: "Hagrid especially. But I know what you mean, Pip... I love hippogriffs, you know I do. Frankly, I gotta give it to Hagrid for not being afraid of showing his third years something that cool, in their very first lesson! But I reckon he still probably could've used a little bit of help with outlining a whole curriculum beforehand, rather than just jumping from creature to creature on a whim. Sure, I'd be able to keep up with it, no sweat -- but going from hippogriffs to flobberworms? Hagrid, mate, I love you and all, but you gotta admit, that's kind of bogue."

Carewyn: "To the matter of the Monster Book of Monsters, though...as I said, it wasn't part of our curriculum, but I do remember what Jacob brought one home over summer break..."

Jacob: "(laughs) All I'd wanted to do was to read more on its examination of Acromantulas -- dealing with the Vaults, you know -- but I couldn't even open the bloody thing since it kept snapping at me! It ended up ripping holes in three of my T-shirts! I wasn't so happy about it at the time, but looking back at it, it was pretty funny. (snickers) I kept trying to lightly smack it around, to try to scold it, but it didn't respond well to that. It wasn't until sweet little Pip whined at me to stop hitting it that I tried being a bit gentler with it, and hey, whaddya know, Pip had the right idea! Pet the spine like it's some bad-tempered cat. Go figure."

Character Ask!

[polpoka]

Birthdays

Shippings-Bapen/Pensen

Rating- K+

(Fluff)

Part 1

Basen wasn’t the type to celebrate his birthdays. It wasn’t that he regretted being born or anything, he just didn’t think it was any different from any day. 

‘It wasn’t that special,’ he personally thought.

However, his lover didn’t think so. 

“What! You- you don’t celebrate your birthdays!?” 

Basen looked at him, confused. 

“Yes? What about it?”

Pen looked shocked and got up from his partner’s lap.

“So many things!? What do you mean, ‘what about it’. A birthday is meant to be celebrated. How are you alright with just not doing anything special? What about gifts?”

“Gifts? I don’t need gifts. My family already does a lot for me.”

“Eh? B-but it’s your birthday!”

“So?”

“When is your birthday, anyway?”

“In a week. Why?”

Pen’s jaw dropped.

“ A week. And you tell me now.”

Basen just stared at him.

“You never asked.”

Basen was getting under Pen’s skin.

“...But you know mine.”

Basen however, had no clue as to what was happening.

“You told me yours.”

Pen huffed.

“You were supposed to tell me too, you know?”

“Was I?”

“You really-”

Pen sighed, sometimes Basen really got on his nerves, even though that was what Pen loved about him.

“I’ll be getting you a gift for your birthday. So, do you have anything you want currently?”

“Nothing in particular.”

Pen frowned at the lukewarm response.

“Fine. I’ll get you something I can guarantee you’ll like.”

“ Don’t get me a pen. Hyung already bought me one from Capital when he was visiting.”

“Tch.”

Pen grumbled.

That was the one thing Pen had guaranteed that Basen would love. He got up from the couch and looked the other man in the eye.

“I’ll see you in a week then.”

Basen looked a little confused.

“Why? You could still visit me. I rarely get to see you anyway.”

“I’ll be busy selecting a good gift and planning a party in a week.”

“A party is unnecessary.”

Pen ignored the last statement and walked out of the room, grabbing his coat in the process.

“That idiot,” he grumbled, before remembering his first meeting with his brother.

“Just like his brother.”

***

He walked through to the roads to take a closer look at the shops. Thankfully, he had the liberty to do so, since his secret bodyguards would be insuring his protection.

‘Being under disguise isn’t that bad.’

He then spotted something that caught his eye. A monocle.

 He could imagine the younger man wearing the monocle and having a permanent scowl on his face.

Pen chuckled. ‘He would look hilarious in that, but it suits him. Weird.’

He hummed as he walked down the street, eying various titbits, varying from magical equipment to clothes to flowers.

Nothing seemed to suit Basen, and though there were numerous times he was tempted to buy something and get it over with, he remembered his words and sighed, bringing him back to his goal.

“What would he like?” Pen mumbled.

“Excuse me, sir, would you like some help?”

He turned to see a very professional-looking attendant.

“Yes, I would like to see something for a seventeen-year old boy. His measurements are xxx.”

“Is it for the young lord?”

‘This woman really does have a keen eye.’

“Yes.”

The woman however, despite her stoic face, was trying not to show how nervous she was.

‘This man...He’s the prince of the Breck Kingdom, isn’t he? That face is something I’d recognize  anywhere, especially since we specialize in nobility. What is he doing here?’

“Please sit here and look at these.” She led him to a room which had the prototypes of the outfits, for the demographic, and handed him a list of the outfits.

Pen looked through the list of outfits and finally, after half a day, found something that would suit Basen.

It was a gorgeous coat which he was sure would look good on Basen. The shade of brown used, had a richer color,and a lovely germanium was used as the fabric underneath, the exact color as Pen’s hair. It had no embroidery and would definitely appeal to the younger man.

He smiled at the wonderful choice.

He walked out of the store, happy at the fact he had managed to finish one of the many tedious jobs to come.

***

He headed back to the residence that the Henituse estate had prepared for him to proceed with the plan, but Pen was a little too tired and, honestly just wanted to rest. He collapsed on his bed after his arrival at the designated room, and just as his eyes were about to close, he heard a knock.

He grumbled, and reluctantly parted from his comfortable bed to open the door and see who it was.

Pen frowned.

"Well, well, well, look who it is."

Basen looked down at his lover's feet, a little flustered and still confused at the response he got.

Pen noticed this. He really wanted to smirk at his victory at proving his point, but still kept a stoic face.

"Didn't I ask you to not visit me for the time I'm here?"

"B-but I didn't know that you'd be so stubborn on that point! It's just a birthday,"

Basen protested.

"Just a birthday? It was the day you were born. It should be celebrated."

Pen sighed. His rational side tried to reason with his emotional side. He knew that Basen was a different person, but he couldn't just let it go.

'Why does he not celebrate? It's his birthday. It's a day to be celebrated. Why doesn't he get it!?'

Basen was getting frustrated. He didn't understand what the problem was, yet he was being bombarded with these comments on his life, which he believed to be completely fine. Basen knew he wasn't an emotional person. He knew that he wasn't able to understand what his partner was feeling, and so did his partner know that he couldn’t.

 He just couldn't help raising his voice;

"Just tell me what's wrong already! I don't get it! I don't get these things if you don't tell me, you know that!"

Pen's eyebrows loosened and he became stiff. Though, it wasn't often Basen raised his voice, Pen never liked it when he did. He paused for a minute, took a deep breath and got his thoughts on order.

"Come in."

Basen frowned, but went through with it, taking a seat where he thought it would be appropriate to sit as a guest.

Pen walked to the tea brewer in the room,

"I'll get the tea."

"No need. I won’t be staying here for long anyway."

Pen halted and went over to take a seat right in front of Basen. They both let their eyes search the other  for a while to study what they were feeling, Pen felt sorry for driving his other half, as he called him so lovingly, to such a limit. His guilt started to overtake his anger.

"I'm sorry. It was my fault."

Unfortunately, Basen was irritated, which made his vision clouded. This wasn't something that he felt that often, but the situation was just so irksome.

He looked at him in disbelief and disgust.

Pen flinched at the gaze.

"It IS your fault. Prince, we established that. Moving on," he sighed,"I think I needed some time to myself, since you're going to act like that." He snapped, as he gestured towards the door.

Pen knew instinctively that Basen was losing his temper. The feeling was icky and seeped through his organs and through his bones, slowly creeping into his heart.

'No.' He started to wave his hands in panic and also partly because of the fear of the other man's rejection.

"Please-"

"See you later, Pen. Do not follow me.Well, you won’t. Since, you don’t want to meet me anyway."

He was cut off with those icy words, his name said with such disdain, he felt as if Basen was using his name as an insult in itself.

***

Basen got up from the couch and walked out of the room. He was hurt. Even though this was such a small thing, his mind couldn't register the way Pen had treated him. He had completely trampled over his emotions and way of doing things. He needed to be away from his lover for some time, to at least cool off.

It wasn't that these kinds of arguments weren't normal and a daily occurrence, they did bicker occasionally, but this time it had gone too far. Never had he expected Pen to follow his way of life, nor did he think Pen would want him to do so. Pen was a person who was not that accepting, Basen knew that, but still he believed that some things were different about them and those had to be accepted.

 He walked down the staircase to find a maid or a butler.Instead, he saw a familiar face, yet found it unusual to see at home.

"Hyung!"

He walked quickly to close in on the distance between them.

The older man looked down at him with a cold expression. 

"Basen," his cool voice responded.

"Will you be staying for long?" 

"No. I'll be leaving after dinner.”

“Alright. I'll just let you know that Mother would like to see you.” Basen wasn’t surprised, since he was used to this.

He walked past Cale, who noticed that his younger brother who he wasn’t that close with, was odd. since he did promise Og! Cale to take care of his younger brother, he asked him about what happened, but not that much not to encroach on his privacy.

“You look depressed. Did something happen?”

Basen stiffened, but nodded and walked out of the residence.

Cale felt a bit concerned, even though he didn’t show it on his face.

***

Basen went into his room, all his energy had been sapped and he brewed himself some tea and took a seat on his bed. He gradually sipped on it, emptying the cup, taking his time. He huffed the steam coming out of the cup. He needed to calm his nerves. The tea he was drinking, Earl Grey, was also introduced to him by Pen. He unconsciously found himself smiling and remembering the times Pen had got him the tea, not to forget, the first time he had got it for him.

‘He was so excited,’ he thought, he looked at his reflection in the tea and frowned remembering the events that had just taken place. He felt the tea in his mouth go bitter.

“I need rest.” 

He mumbled.

He quickly gulped down the entire cup and kept the cup on his side table, before falling over in his bed. He could feel a headache coming over him. He exhaled sharply.

“I’m tired. That’s all it is.” He mumbled, trying to ignore the thoughts running rampant in his mind.

His eyelids drooped, shutting his thoughts along with his eyes.

[homeformyheart]

and the winner is... - m!raleigh carrera x mc (plat)

author’s note: a happy ralence fic for @raleiighcarrera (to make up for the angsty one i published on her birthday XD)

copyright: all characters owned by pixelberry studios. song mentioned is “home” by gabriella aplin. series/pairing: platinum – m!raleigh carrera x mc (cadence dorian) rating/warnings: 13+; fluff word count: 2.4k summary: raleigh and cadence continue to test the limits of their competition to see who is more fashionably late throughout their relationship.

and the winner is…

raleigh checked his phone for what seemed like the tenth time in the last hour. cadence hadn’t replied back since she told him she was running late 40 minutes ago. unlike raleigh, she prided herself for being fairly punctual, so being more than 20 minutes late to an event was a cardinal sin and just plain absurd. they were attending some a-lister’s tequila brand launch party and agreed to meet at the venue since cadence was busy with marketing details for the upcoming album.

a familiar pair of hands suddenly covered his eyes. “guess who?” he didn’t need to turn around to know that it was his stunning and breathtaking girlfriend of two years.

“you’re late, even for you,” he murmured into her ear as he let himself fall into her embrace.

“i think i’m just very fashionably late. besides, i learned from the best,” she said, giving him a quick kiss before pulling back just as a waiter came by with a tray of drinks.

they both grabbed a glass of the featured tequila-based cocktail but not before raleigh gave her a knowing look, his eyebrow quirked and his smirk close to becoming an excited grin.

“i think that has us tied now. i guess i’ll have to up the ante at your album release party next week.”

cadence took a measured sip of her drink before giving him a flirty smile. “don’t. you. dare,” she said sweetly, but raleigh heard the threat underlying her tone.

it had become a game for them, fueled by their competitive streaks, occasionally tempered by their love for each other and not wanting to hurt each other. sometimes they alternated who showed up late to the award shows and event appearances but walked a more careful line for more personal events, like album release parties or concert afterparties.

unfortunately for cadence, raleigh was true to his word and told the group he’d “meet them at the party” the week after cadence’s album dropped. in just a week, she had three singles crack the top 10 list. her release party was at 10 circus again, despite fiona’s best attempts to convince cadence to keep things new. raleigh had given her the idea to celebrate how her success had come full circle since the odyssey and she thought it was an appropriate sentiment for her third studio album. of course, she was currently distracted by the growing frustration at how much raleigh was pushing her patience. he was already half an hour late and that was after she made it clear that he was on thin ice. at this rate, she was going to have to perform without him there.

fiona finally gave her the signal that meant she couldn’t wait any longer and she took a deep breath, preparing herself to perform on the elevated stage. she grabbed her guitar and took a seat in front of the microphone, strumming a few chords to get the crowd’s attention.

“thank you to everyone who helped inspire, create, promote, and enjoy this album. this is ‘home’,” cadence said, looking out at the crowd with fondness at the familiar faces. all but one, of course.

“i’m a phoenix in the water, a fish that’s learned to fly...” as cadence began singing, she didn’t notice raleigh sneak in from the back entrance.

he watched her perform from the side of the stage so he was out of her peripheral vision. he knew he was pushing his luck by making her think he was a no-show but he was putting the finishing touches on his surprise for cadence. as she neared the end of her song, raleigh carefully shuffled forward so he would be in her line of sight. as soon as she noticed, he gave her his trademark smirk and winked, enjoying the glare she gave him.

“as long as we’re together, does it matter where we go?” cadence held the last note before humming along with the final chords. she waved and bowed to the crowd before walking off behind a makeshift paneled area next to the stage, where raleigh quickly caught up to her.

cadence just glared at him and attempted to walk around him. raleigh blocked her until she huffed and stopped in front of him, arms folded over her chest.

“i’m not in the mood to put up with you right now, raleigh. you missed my performance after i told you not to be late,” cadence said, trying to keep her tone even.

“i didn’t miss your performance, i promise – i was watching from the back. and i know i’m late but i have a very good reason, if you’ll humor me,” he said in his most apologetic tone, throwing in what he hoped was an irresistible smile.

it must’ve worked because cadence rolled her eyes but grabbed his hand, allowing him to lead her to the back of the club and up the employees only stairwell. cadence’s irritation at raleigh was replaced by curiosity as she followed raleigh up multiple flights of stairs, past the manager’s office and storage rooms, until they ended up on the roof. raleigh led her away from the doorway and cadence gasped – at least 50 candles created a path from the doorway to the opposite railing, their soft glow illuminating the otherwise dark roof.

as they walked toward the railing, cadence suddenly heard booming sounds and looked up to a fireworks show over the east river. she turned to raleigh, who was looking at her adoringly, but before she could say anything, he pulled her in front of him so that he could wrap his hands around her waist from behind.

“this is why i was late. i love you, cadence dorian,” he murmured into her ear as he watched the fireworks reflected in her eyes.

“alright, you’re forgiven. i love you too,” cadence whispered back, her eyes mesmerized by the fireworks show. “why did you do all this though?”

raleigh stayed silent and before cadence could question him further, her eyes widened as she noticed the “will you marry me, cadence?” spelled out in the sky by the fireworks in dazzling white. as she turned to face raleigh, he took a few steps back and bent down on one knee, holding out a small box with a large emerald-cut diamond ring nestled inside.

“cadence, when i first met you at the one in a million audition, the last thing i expected was to fall for you. but you continued to surprise me with your strength and courage in facing down this crazy industry without losing sight of the real you. and every day i’m reminded that you choose to see the real me and that made it so easy to fall in love with you. i never expected that i’d ever experience true, real love in my life and now, i can’t imagine the rest of my life without you. cadence dorian, will you marry me?” raleigh took a deep breath and held cadence’s gaze, trying to make sure he conveyed as much emotion as he felt.

cadence’s hands flew to her mouth and tears started prickling the corner of her eyes. she had to blink rapidly and remind herself to focus on what raleigh was saying. in truth, she was shocked and overwhelmed. she was always reminding herself not to expect a long-term future with raleigh, since the likelihood of him settling down was low and she tried to just enjoy the present moment.

“cadence?” raleigh shifted anxiously as he waited for cadence to respond. it didn’t really occur to him until that moment that there could be a chance she said no.

cadence let out a laugh and nodded furiously. “of course i’ll marry you. i love you, raleigh,” she said enthusiastically, leaning in to give him a deep kiss.

raleigh pulled back and stood up, taking her left hand in his right so he could slide the large diamond ring on her finger, the cool band sliding down her finger reminding cadence that this wasn’t a dream. she wrapped her arms around raleigh’s neck, kissing him over and over again until she was breathless.

1 year later

raleigh closed the door behind him and took a step toward cadence, his hands tucked into the pockets of his gray suit.

“you know, it’s supposed to be bad luck to see the bride before the wedding,” cadence said, adjusting her veil as she smirked at raleigh’s reflection in the mirror.

raleigh didn’t say anything, but his casual smirked softened into a genuine smile as he approached her from behind. he slid his arms around her waist and gazed at her reflection in the mirror with adoration.

“it’s a good thing i’m not superstitious. you look breathtaking, mrs. carrera,” raleigh said, with genuine affection in his voice.

cadence tilted her head slightly so she could give him a kiss. raleigh immediately deepened it, coaxing her mouth open with his tongue, his hands tightening at her waist.

after a few moments, cadence gently pushed his chest back. “i’m not going to become mrs. carrera if you make us late to our own wedding!” she giggled as raleigh leaned in for one more kiss.

“we can’t have that, can we? i still have more points than you,” he smirked as he walked away.

cadence continued gazing at the door after raleigh walked through it, tapping her chin thoughtfully. two can play at that game, she thought to herself as zadie walked in and immediately scolded her for smudging her lipstick. she stepped outside of the room with zadie, who adjusted her train once before heading inside the chapel, leaving cadence alone with her father.

“you ready?” he smiled gently at her and cadence almost considered being on time. key word being almost.

she heard the music soften that was supposed to be her cue. raleigh, his groomsmen, and her bridesmaids would be waiting at the altar, and her wedding planner would be standing by to cue the organist.

“not yet, i want to make him sweat a little,” cadence said with a mischievous smirk. her dad chuckled and she was grateful that he was going along with her little prank.

it didn’t take long before people came by to check on her. first, she had to convince her wedding planner that it was okay she was delaying the ceremony by a few minutes and swore her to secrecy. next, when zadie came up to her and found out what she was doing, willingly offered to mess with raleigh’s head and tell him that cadence was reconsidering. finally, by the time fiona came out to check on her, cadence knew she couldn’t delay any longer.

“he is about 10 seconds away from running out here in a panic thanks to zadie,” fiona warned, but cadence could tell she was enjoying this too.

“fine, fine, let’s get going, then,” cadence said, rolling her eyes. she walked up to the archway with her father and waited for the music to start before stepping forward.

all mischievous thoughts instantly vanished when she saw her husband-to-be waiting for her at the end of the aisle. cadence barely registered the faces of her friends and family around her as she walked toward the love of her life, and when she was a few steps away, noticed how vulnerable he looked. she immediately felt a pang of guilt for freaking him out, but pushed it aside to marvel at the wondrous look in his eyes as he lifted her veil and took in her appearance.

it wasn’t until after their vows were said and they were walking back down the aisle as mr. and mrs. carrera that raleigh leaned in so that only cadence could hear him say, “you almost gave me a heart attack – can we call a truce so i never have to worry about that again?”

cadence laughed and gave his arm a squeeze. “truce.”

2 months later

“raleigh, i officially win!” cadence said triumphantly, holding out a white stick. “my period is late.”

“what?” radence just looked at her, dumbfounded. she handed the stick to him and he noticed that it had two pink lines. even he knew what that meant.

“are you seriously telling me that we’re having a kid by announcing it as part of our stupid competition? didn’t we call a truce?”

cadence beamed and raleigh laughed. “yep, but this definitely makes me the official winner. you’re going to be a daddy and there is no way you can beat this one and you shouldn’t even try if you know what’s good for you.”

raleigh wrapped cadence up in his arms and twirled her around. “alright, you win. i love you.”

8 months later

cadence squeezed raleigh’s hand as another contraction hit; she barely registered the gasp of pain he released as he tried to pull his hand from her grip, without success.

“why won’t you come out?! you’re already a week late. please, please come out already!” cadence begged her swollen belly.

“ow, cadence! i love you, but you’re definitely going to break my guitar hand,” raleigh grimaced, pulling his hand from hers and massaging it.

cadence gave him a murderous glare. “this is your fault, carrera. karma for that stupid competition and you’re not the one trying to push a human being out of their body so i don’t want to hear another complaint or so help me, i’ll—augh!” cadence reached out and grabbed raleigh’s arm as another contraction ripped through her.

a long 11 hours later, cadence and raleigh looked on in awe at the tiny bundled human in her arms.

“hi baby girl, we love you so much already,” she murmured, her voice thick with emotion.

raleigh kissed cadence’s forehead and shifted so he could sit on the bed and put his arm around her. “i didn’t think it was possible to love something this much,” he agreed softly. “she sure took her sweet time getting here and put her mommy through hell.”

“i think that means she’s probably going to have a rebellious streak like her father,” cadence joked, watching her infant daughter sleep.

“we might have a new winner on our hands, if you’re ready to pass on your crown,” raleigh said, gently taking the bundle from cadence and holding her in the crook of his arm.

cadence laughed softly. “i think you’re right. she wins.”

* * * * * mentions: @raleigh-edward; @dulceghernandez; @thegreentwin; @kat-tia801; @otherworldlypresents; @brycesgirl; @robintora;

[xiolaperry]

The Piano - Chapter 6

Summary: Belle French and her daughter arrive in New Zealand to an arranged marriage with Gaston LeGume.  Gaston shows little interest in her or her piano and books. However, Mr. Gold is fascinated…

Rating: E (for smut, dark subject matter and violence in future chapters)

Also available on AO3

---

That evening the skin of her calf tingled, remembering his touch. She tuned out Gaston's hunting story as she replayed the caress in her mind.

Her attention snapped back when she heard her name.

“Belle, how are the lessons going?”

She gave a cautious nod. This was new. Gaston never asked questions. At dinner, he always spoke about his accomplishments and abilities. In excruciating detail. He sometimes reminded her of an overgrown little boy trying to impress his friends. When he spoke of the Maori it took all her effort to not roll her eyes. “How do they even know the land belongs to them?” was a popular refrain. It was better, though, than the stories of fights and brawls that showcased his quick temper.

“So you're getting along all right? Gold can be downright unpleasant sometimes.”

Belle smiled this time and nodded again. Having a conversation instead of being just an audience for his stories was a welcome change. Although Mr. Gold had not been unpleasant. Far from it.

“Aunt Cora told me to tell you and Tilly about the mission Christmas play. They have one every year at the beginning of December.”

“A play?” Tilly's face lit up.

“Yes. Reverend Hopper and my Aunt are in charge of it. Would you like to be an angel?”

“I would! Mama, please, may I?”

Belle signaled her affirmation. It would be good for Tilly to become part of the community. She knew she needed to make more of an effort. Especially with Gaston. He worked hard, spending more time out of the house than in it. And he hadn't tried to pressure her into his bed. Some men would have.

“It's settled then. Take her to my aunt's house tomorrow afternoon. It's next to the mission, you can't miss it. She can meet the other children and be fitted for her costume while you're at Gold's for a lesson.”

After the dishes were washed, Tilly bounced up and down, refusing to go to sleep. The excitement of the play and the gift of the cat had her wide awake. Gaston had gone to bed, and she did not want to disturb him, so Belle suggested shadow puppets.

“I'll be quiet as a mouse for a shadow puppet story!”

Belle set up the oil lamp while Tilly climbed into bed. She continued the story she'd begun on Mr. Gold's porch.

Her nimble hands created characters on the opposite wall to illustrate her tale. The sorcerer, besides enchanting his castle to look like a cottage, would transform himself into a black cat. Everyone chased the cat away, saying it was bad luck, except for one little girl who made friends with the cat by being kind.

A soft snore interrupted her. She kissed Tilly and snuggled in beside her.

---

The next morning Tilly twirled and danced all the way to the village. Belle didn't know where she got her energy.

“Do you think they'll be other girls there? Do you think I'll get wings?”

“Yes, and maybe,” Belle responded.

Cora's home looked very European compared to its surroundings. Belle rapped on the heavy wooden door with an ornate brass handle. To her pleasant surprise, Reverend Hopper answered.

“Belle, Tilly! How nice to see you again! Come in and meet everyone.”

Women and several children filled the large parlor. The buzz of conversation stopped when they entered. Tilly's damp hand squeezed hers when all eyes turned to them.

“I'd like to introduce Mrs. Legume and her daughter Tilly.”

Belle gave a brief nod and signed to the group.

“Mama says, 'Pleased to meet you all' and that you should call her Belle.”

A few murmured hellos greeted them.

“What's your mother doing with her hands? Why doesn't she talk?” asked a little blond girl, her voice ringing loud across the hush of the room.

“Emma!” An attractive dark-haired woman ran over, flustered. “I'm so sorry.”

Belle smiled and patted the woman's arm. There was nothing to be embarrassed about. Children asked questions; it was natural.

“My Mama talks with her hands. And she says most people speak rubbish anyway, and it's not worth it to listen.”

The woman let out a surprised laugh. “I suppose you know all about outspoken little girls, Belle. My name is Mary Margaret Nolan, and this is my daughter Emma.”

The two children sized each other up. Satisfied with what they saw, they started chattering, well on their way to being friends. The activity in the room resumed.

“Come sit by me,” said Mary Margaret. “May I get you some tea?”

“She says, 'Yes,'” replied Tilly, her answer for her mother second nature.

Belle sat down in the chair. The floral cushions were trimmed with rich red brocade. The two girls plopped to the floor in front of her.

Mary Margaret returned with the tea in cups even more ostentatious than the ones she had at home. They had gold trim, elaborately swirled handles, and roses of every hue. She compared them to Mr. Gold's blue and white tea set, elegant in its simplicity.

“Reverend Hopper is going around giving the children their lines, and Regina is measuring the girls in the other room and letting them pick out fabric. She is such a talented seamstress.”

Tilly pulled the wooden cat from her pocket to show Emma. “Look what I have.”

“Can I see?” asked Emma.

Tilly handed it to her. “Mr. Gold made it for me. He has a cat, Ebony. He let me name her.” Pride at this honor was clear in her voice. “Choosing a name is a tremendous responsibility.”

Belle stifled a laugh at the serious tone Tilly used when she spoke. She sounded almost like Mr. Gold.

Mary Margaret heard the interchange between the girls. “May I see your cat, Tilly?”

She examined it. “This is lovely.” Belle had to agree. It was well formed, the little eyes and whiskers charming.

“I didn't know Mr. Gold could carve. He made this for Tilly?”

Belle nodded.

“Are you.... friends with him?”

Belle wasn't sure how to answer. Were they friends?

Tilly saved her from having to respond.

“Mama is teaching him to play the piano.”

Thunderstruck, Mary Margaret leaned toward her. “My husband, David, told me he heard Gaston say that Mr. Gold traded 50 acres for a piano, but I didn't believe it. Is it true?”

Belle opened the little notebook she kept on a chain. She wrote, “Yes, it's true. Gaston traded my books and piano for the land.” Her mouth thinned as she remembered the 'discussion' they'd had about it.

“That is completely out of character. I would have never thought Mr. Gold would be interested in music. Or books. It makes no sense.”

Cora entered the parlor. “Tilly, Belle? Regina is ready for you.”

Regina was fast with the tape measure. She whipped it around, taking measurements and writing them down on a piece of paper. Finished with her notations, she asked Tilly, “Would you like to pick a fabric?”

Tilly considered them, stroking each one and holding the swatches up to the light. Regina didn't rush her. “May I have the blue, please?”

“I think that would be appropriate for an angel. Excellent choice.” She turned to Belle. “We're bending wire forms to make wings. We'll cover the forms with fabric and you'll attach feathers from an old feather bed. I trust you will be capable of doing that.”

Belle gave a sign of assent.

“Mother, please send the next child in.”

Cora led them out. “You can leave now, don't let us keep you.”

How did this woman infuse so much disapproval into simple words? Belle told herself it wasn't her, she would have found anyone lacking when it came to her precious nephew.

She waved goodbye to Mary Margaret.

“Are you leaving so soon?”

“Mr. Gold is expecting us,” answered Tilly.

“If it's all right with you, Tilly could stay here with Emma and I. After everyone's been measured and gotten their lines, we're going to practice.”

“May I? Please, Mama?”

“It’d be no trouble, really.”

Belle told Tilly that it was fine, she would return after Mr. Gold's lesson, and to thank Mrs. Nolan.

“Thank you, Mrs. Nolan. Goodbye! Pet Ebony for me!”

Thus dismissed, she left, pleased Tilly had made a friend. And she might have made one as well.

---

Mr. Gold was waiting in the doorway when she arrived. “No Tilly today?” he asked.

She shook her head.

He did not make eye contact and appeared ill at ease. She felt powerful. Desired. She never had that effect on anyone before.

After she drank her tea, she played, finding her voice through her music.

“Please take the top part of your dress off.”

The abrupt request resulted in a jangled chord. She stopped but made no move to comply. Did she want to do this?

“I want to see if your arms are as beautiful as I've imagined.”

She blushed. He'd imagined her arms?

“It would be worth two keys. You could earn your piano back faster.”

There were two options. She could refuse, and their arrangement would proceed along the same path. Or she could accept, the piano returned to her in half the time. Yes, she would do it. For the piano. Not because she was curious to see if Mr. Gold would touch her bare skin, and if it would be as electrifying as a touch through a layer of stockings.

Belle unbuttoned the top of her dress. Underneath she wore a thin white bodice with short sleeves above her corset. She resumed her playing.

Gold circled the piano to look at her from every angle. The backs of her hands and neck were the only parts of her browned by the sun. The rest of her delicate skin was pale, like the finest porcelain. He could almost see her nipples through her bodice. His cock stirred and took notice.

He stopped his prowling directly behind her. He let his fingertips just skim over her shoulders and down her arms, tracing the same path over and over, appreciating the softness. His tanned hands contrasted against the whiteness of her skin. It was a privilege to glimpse such beauty, to be close to it. He must be careful to do no more than this, lest he frighten her away.

His gliding fingers sent sparks dancing across her. Heat blossomed, the trail of flames he kindled consumed her. She was unused to the strange, dizzying sensations that rose through her body.

She could not concentrate on the melody, and it became mechanical. The ache he was building was the focus of all her attention. Her nipples tightened, and she could not catch her breath.

Overwhelmed, her fingers stopped. The desire advancing through her was too much. Belle stood up, re-buttoning her dress. Mr. Gold said nothing, only handed her a book.

On her walk back to get Tilly, her thoughts whirled. He wanted her, it was obvious. He touched her in such a reverent manner, like she was precious, like he didn't deserve to. She supposed he didn't. He wasn't her husband, after all. Mr. Gold made her feel alive and important. Her reactions to him were disconcerting but intoxicating. Her confused emotions followed her to Cora’s door, and all the way home.

[thebickedwitchoftherest]

All is Found || Cece, Otto & Simon (Ft. Winn)

TIMING: Last Tuesday (Midday 5/26)

LOCATION: Otto’s Residence

PARTIES: @gravityfissure​, @inconvenientsimonstrocity​, @thebickedwitchoftherest​ (Ft. @packsbeforesnacks​)

SUMMARY: Otto enlists the help of Cece to help track down Winn. Simon also joins the party to lend a claw and proceeds to be very confused. They form the Blood Buds.

Following the message and response from Ariana and Cece Otto had spent the better part of the afternoon running errands; gathering items and components necessary for casting the myriad of spells to try and decipher a location on where Winn might’ve gone. Something gave him the sneaking suspicion it wouldn’t be easy, but a contract was a contract and he’d follow through to see it done. With the furniture shunted to each side of the room it left the expanse of wooden floors exposed. A blank canvas for Cece and himself to work from. By the time the knock came from the door, he was already three-quarters through the process of drawing the necessary casting circles and runes inscriptions into each sublayer of the circle and their own subsections. He set the chalk down, getting up and going over to the door unlatching it and tugging it open. “Good timing,” he said as he stepped back waving the two one “I’m almost done with the sigils.” He didn’t recognise the man with Cece, but figured he must be a wolf and his next words were directed to him, direct and to the point “you have the focus and the hair?”

The last few days had been a whirlwind for emotions and other things for Simon but despite all the nothing he was turning into problems and all the damage control he felt like he was running to keep the other wolves, notably the younger ones, from flipping out and making irrational decisions, he struggled not to drop everything he was doing the moment he received that text from Ariana regarding… well, he wasn’t sure but she gave him instructions and a location so he got to work. He headed to Winn’s house and after spending at least an hour sniffing about both literally and figuratively in Winn’s wolf-smelling, dog-dander-covered house, having to pause frequently to get himself under control but feeling the ability to do so since he was alone, he managed to recover some scraps of the man’s hair in a well-used brush. Finding something ‘important’ took a little longer if only because Winn didn’t HAVE that many knick-knacks. He was able to glean through his… investigative abilities that Winn had a penchant for hockey and at the end of this specific trail, he was deciding between the smashed phone and what seemed to be the part of the hockey stick that you hit the puck with, whatever that was called… he was never into sports. Phone… Hockey bit? He decided on the latter and hurried off. Sincerely hoping that this Otto didn’t have a dog as he drove to the location Ariana had given him, he wondered what exactly was happening. What all would a tracking spell DO? Would this work? What if he got the wrong items? What if… Winn didn’t WANT to be found? That thought ran through his head several times the past couple days, which he figured was part of why he was so even-tempered about this whole thing. He saw Cece’s car and knowing she was going to be there quelled some of Simon’s apprehension and he approached the door to find Cece already there and knocking where he was content to linger just behind her, waiting for her to see him. The door was answered and the man he assumed was Otto immediately brought them into the conversation about sigils and… focus? Hair-- oh wait he had that. He didn’t respond with words but timidly held out the piece of the stick and the hair, each in one hand. He didn’t know what was going on but he was already intimidated.

There was a lot to unpack today. That Winn had run off. That Winn was a werewolf. Speaking of, Cece giggled to herself. Unpack. Pack. She killed herself. She stood behind Otto’s door, laughing at her own inner dialogue as she knocked on it, waiting for him to answer. She realized a moment too late that someone had been hovering behind her and turned to find Simon standing just feet away from her silently, “Fuck me!” she yelled out instinctively, covering her heart and whistling through the surprised gasps of breath, “Simon. When did you get here and why would you do that?” But then Otto answered the door, and the two were heading inside. 

“Ooh, you set up mood lighting and art for every person you invite over to your place or are Simon and I just special?” Cece winked, dropping her own bag onto a nearby couch and beginning to unfold the large pieces of paper she had brought with us. “I brought some maps with me. If he skipped town, we should be able to use this to try to pinpoint a general area where he is. A city or location maybe.” Cece knew if she was skipping town she wouldn’t stick around Maine. She would be across the country by now. “What brings you here Simon? Just dropping off the wig? You helping out with the spell?”

As with most things in life, there was a degree of uncertainty in everything that may or may not come to pass. Winn may very well have taken steps to shield himself from being found by magical means, but something about the rush in which he’d left – by the information he’d gleaned from the wolves involved, made Otto suspect he likely hadn’t. But dwelling on hypotheticals would hardly do anyone any measure of good. Magic and uncertainty were not two things you ever wished to mix unless you seriously wanted to do the dance between major bodily and mental harm. So, such thoughts were compartmentalised and set aside for further analysis later.

He took in the mini-scene outside his door with a single look, his brown eyes flickering between Cece and Simon he presumed; They hadn’t met, but it was easy enough to figure considering he was here at the specified time. He also noted how the latter looked downright set to bolt at the first sign of something going awry, smart really though it didn’t help the fact he looked like a kicked dog with its tail between its legs. “Strong and silent type, huh? Or well…” Otto’s eyes flicked up and down again in a gauging look, though his smile turned a little coy regardless, “silent type… I can work with that” he quipped holding out a bowl into which the items were deposited before rapidly being retracted.

He spun fluidly on his heel, a tornado of graceful yet chaotic movement retreating back into the apartment to set the bowl with the other ingredients set out on the table though Cece’s remark made him chuckle. “Oh you should know the mood lighting is only for special occasions darling. All about the theatrics” The mention of a map made him nod, rubbing his hands together “nice idea, and we should hopefully be able to use the shard as a focus for a scry.”

The thought of being called sarcastically ‘special’ by Cece didn’t sit with Simon as well as Otto’s remark about being the ‘silent’ type; this guy named Otto was… he wasn’t sure if ‘forward’ was the right word but he decidedly carried an air about him, confident and showy. With a couple questions he was asked but not feeling as though it was the appropriate time to answer floating in his head and a distinct feeling that maybe he should leave, Simon relegated himself to ‘lost dog’ and followed Cece around for a moment before pausing near the couch where she set her stuff. Talk of scrying, shards, maps… he supposed the discussion wasn’t entirely unusual but he had to admit that with all things, he was out of his league with these strong personalities - which was fine, but… “Am I in anyone’s way?” He found himself asking quietly, not sure where to look at Cece or Otto so his gaze flickered between them before settling for the floor. He wanted to mention that he’d liked to have stayed because he was just as invested in finding out Winn’s whereabouts than anyone else though if you asked ‘why’, his explanation probably would’ve amounted to something stupid and foolish like… well, the details weren’t important. 

The spell shouldn’t be too hard, with both Otto and Cece working their magic on it. The farther away Winn was, the harder the spell would be to pinpoint. Further distance meant a broader view. It would be harder to get an exact location on him. Of course, there were ways to get the answer they were looking for, but it may take a bit more work. “What’s your game plan? Tracking magic isn’t an exact science. There’s different ways to go about it.” Cece paced back and forth, considering their options before snapping her fingers and point between the two, “Blood magic! That’s our best bet. Blood magic? Blood magic?” Cece repeated, asking both of them with a grin. It was perfect. Whether Otto was keen on the connection or not, werewolf blood to help track a werewolf could only help strengthen the spell. Cece wasn’t about to out Simon, but using supernatural blood to help a ritual always helped regardless. “Simon, I found a use for you. We’re all becoming blood sisters tonight!”

“Nope, actually, provide a rather nice view,” Otto chimed cheekily in response to Simon but his focus was split between the pair especially as Cece paced, mulling over potential options for what they could do. While this happened, Otto returned to the circle to finish inscribing the necessary runes for later. “I figured we could track using the maps, and then narrow it down with a scry” he gestured to the patterns of intertwining circles and triangles that marked his floor. But the snapping of Cece’s fingers and her exclamation caused his brows to tick up a little, “ohh arcane and taboo? Ce, you know just how to tempt me.” Granted it wasn’t his strongest form of magic, but given what they were attempting it made sense and at the addition of using Simon’s blood as well to fortify their magic? 

“Even better! Simon, you don’t mind being blood buds do you?” Of course, he could say no but it would make their work a lot harder and Otto was already moving before he got an actual answer. “Wonderful, let me just--” he clapped his hands and shot across the room to a bookshelf from which he haphazardly pulled several dull and apparently uninspiring modern-looking cookbooks. Each individually glamoured to conceal a grimoire’s contents within. “I’m sure I have a spell like that somewhere… Let me--” he rifled through pages of one, tossed it onto the counter with a scoff before he was leafing through the second “ah gotcha! What about this? Done right it’ll cause the blood to move over the map and mark his location?”

There was an ever-so-slight furrow of Simon’s brow; so he was a flirt, if only a superficial one. Had he-- well no, he supposed he hadn’t ever been flirted with before, or rather no one had ever commented on his appearance being ‘nice’ with the exception of Ariana and she didn’t count. He shook that admittedly-distracting comment from his head at the repeated mention of blood magic, which made him straighten up slightly. “Come again?” He asked rather dumbly, quirking an eyebrow as his gaze moved up from the floor and shifted between Otto and Cece. Blood buds? Blood SISTERS? What kind of magic-- ARCANE AND TABOO? Was-- were they-- His hand subconsciously reached up to scratch at the scars on his shoulder, hidden beneath the layers of clothing as he felt himself getting nervous, a sentiment he had the feeling was only being expressed by himself. He hadn’t heard about blood magic being used so casually. Then again, he hadn’t ever heard of ANY magic being used so casually. Were they breaking the law? What did ‘taboo’ mean in this context? Why did they need HIS blood? Where would they pull it from? How much did they need? “S... sure,” He ended up saying, conflicting all his previous thoughts though he was still fidgeting.

“Don’t be a baby, It’s not like we’re about to slice your throat or something.” Cece waved Simon off. She had hung out with him enough by now. He seemed to go with the flow. Sure, a magical ritual using blood was a little different from grabbing a drink. But all things considered, it wasn’t all that crazier than getting attacked by mime clones. As far as craziness went, this was a solid six at best. “Just a few drops should do.” When Simon finally agreed, Cece clapped her hands together excitedly and found her spot on the floor. “With the three of us, this shouldn’t be too bad. Simon, you’re a newbie.” She turned to him, walking him through the steps as Otto finished setting up, “Spells use power. We feed that power with our own energy. Even though you may not know exactly what Otto and I are doing, we just need you to focus. Using your energy is going to help feed the spell and make it stronger.” She neglected to mention that being a werewolf inherently made the spell stronger as well. The heightened endurance and strength would help the power of the spell and the similar species would help tracking. It would piece itself together. “Otto and I will start the spell. Weird things may start happening. The candles may flicker or change colors, breeze may pick up, the sigils may glow. Shit like that. You just need to try to ignore that and focus on one thing. Winn. We have to focus on that stuff you brought us so we can home in on Winn.” It was a pretty barren rundown, but with the little time they had, it was the best that Simon was about to get. “Ready to get started?” 

It wasn’t hard to tell Simon was uncomfortable with the idea, unfortunately, it was a necessary addition for the likelihood of this speed to be increased. Spells were like that, they needed sacrifice. Otto fetched a small swiss army knife - useful for any modern day spellcaster taking a moment to use the fire from the hob to sterilise the small inch long blade. Cece did a good enough job giving Simon the crash course keynotes speech while Otto put the maps on the ground in the middle of the circle, he also lit several candles around specific points connecting their bases with an inch wide trail of sand. “Always, Ce, you go there” he pointed to an empty circle on the opposite side of the map large enough for a person to fit in sitting down he then pointed to a similarly sized circle to the right “Simon there please.” He waited for them to settle, putting out a few sprigs of incense in a silver bowl “Ce you can light the incense - at the same time Simon you’ll need to make a small cut - your finger should do, let the droplets fall on the map, after that stay in the circle. No matter what happens,” Unlike the effervescent personality from before Otto now seemed rather serious in his request.

He thought he might’ve been anticipating something more drastic the way he reacted but this wasn’t that much different than the magic Winston used to forge those invisible scissors. Simon, now aware of his job, took the explanation well and gave a small, decidedly more certain nod at Cece’s explanation. He took the knife from Otto and took his place over at his designated circle. Draw a little blood, make sure it falls on the map, stay in the circle, focus. Focus on Winn. That seemed easy enough seeing as how he couldn’t get the werewolf’s scent out of his nose - or rather, it wouldn’t leave. Once he was standing in the circle, he held the knife to his finger firmly, keeping his eyes on Cece to light the incense. Focus.

Time to get things rolling. Cece sat in the circle Otto had designated for her and eyed Simon as he followed Otto’s instructions, standing in his own circle with the knife in hand. It wasn’t ideal, making a newbie be an integral part of the spell. But it was the best bet they had to strengthen the spell. “Let’s track this bitch.” Cece smirked one last time before lighting the incense, queuing Simon to draw the blood and Otto to start the chanting. Things took off quickly from there. The candles around the room died out immediately, returning seconds later a brilliant blue color and casting the room in an almost eerie glow. Blood dripped from Simon’s hand and onto the map. Cece joined Otto’s chants, keeping one eye closed and the other peeping open to study the map. Wind picked up around the three, and Cece could see the drop of blood starting to slide across the paper. It left no trail, no smears to indicate that it had even shifted from its original position. The only way you would know is if you had been watching it. “Keep focusing” Cece broke from the chanting momentarily to remind Simon to keep his cool and stay in the circle. She rejoined, eye still glued to the drop of blood sliding further and further away from Maine and down the east coast. “When the blood sticks, that’s how we know we’re close.”

Magic existed in all things; simply an unperceived element that helped to stabilise the universe in its constant state of flux. Every elemental particle was tethered and affected by every other molecule in space by infinite indivisible threads. These were threads that could be manipulated if you knew just the right one to pluck on. As the scent of burning lavender filled his senses his eyes closed and he felt himself relax into the comforting familiarity of his connection with those tethers calling on them to guide. He didn’t look to the map, instead, keeping his focus on the infinite weave and the way just a few tethers seemed to glow a fraction brighter. Tempting and informative in their own way, and his mind reached out, searching to connect to a path he could not yet see but a path that traced across the map regardless in the form of a small circlet of crimson. The trail moved, and moved, its spread slowing to a crawl before coming to rest over Georgtown, WA. Stuck and seemingly not intent to budge. Feeling the warmth of his magic begin to fade, there was a familiar pang of desire to stay connected. But therein lay the danger of tapping into higher powers. It got addictive if you didn’t know how to utilise it in moderation. Opening his eyes, the candles shuddered back to a soft amber flame. “Georgtown mean anything to you or Winn?” Otto asked Simon after a moment, not knowing anything about the place himself.

And thus, it began. When Simon saw her light the incense, he did part of his job and made an incision - perhaps a little bigger and deeper than it needed to be - and he held his arm out for the blood, closing his eyes for a moment. Winn; tall guy, carried himself like a true jock and spoke like one, too. His face, his musculature, how he sounded when he was overwhelmed with everything, how he held his beer bottle, what he smelled like, what sort of person he was to make all of this happen in the first place. His breathing was as regulated as it could’ve been. He felt something tugging at him, perhaps subconsciously but he kept himself planted into place, holding steady against his surroundings. He didn’t open his own eyes or entertain any other thoughts until he heard Otto say the name of a place and he exhaled softly, glancing over to the magician. “It doesn’t mean anything to me,” He admitted first, trying to think of what that COULD’VE meant. He really wasn’t the right person for this; he and Winn knew each other tangentially at best and Simon’s tendency to unintentionally pry hadn’t reached Winn yet. “It might have something to do with Winn’s past, though,” He added, remembering that Winn had mentioned small bits of his history at the meeting.

Georgetown. It wasn’t a place that Cece had personally been familiar with. She had traveled that way for a short amount of time. A few weeks or so, but the stay hadn’t been long enough that she remembered much of it. “Well it certainly narrowed it down.” Cece offered, a piece of positive news during the man’s disappearance. For a moment, Cece considered whether or not she should be helping track him down like that. She certainly wouldn’t have liked the same thing being done to her, especially if her old coven was involved. Of course, running from the supernatural came with a list of musts. Learning how to throw off a tracking spell was one of them. The next time Winn wanted to leave without a trace, he may want to consider that. “Still, an entire neighbourhood doesn’t help us. Especially if he’s still moving.” She sat back, rubbing at her chin as she thought. “Not that I know the dude much, but he travelled all over the place back before coming to Maine. He probably has connections all over.” That didn’t help either, knowing that he could be going anywhere right now. “Okay, we need something else. A bit more specific. What you got Otto?”

Otto hadn’t even met this Winn guy, other than their brief conversations online. So he could neither interpret nor contribute much to the reasoning as to why Winn was there. “Yeah, I guess” he rubbed his chin in thought but ultimately, he wasn’t here to ask questions. Just do a job and collect some favours to bank for later. It never hurt having a few wolves owing you for things. Connections were everything in life. “It’s something though, at least we know he didn’t leg it and book a flight across the oceans. So… There’s that.” But the next question had him reaching for the other items that Simon had brought along. The hair in the bowl and the hockey stick. “I was thinking a scry, it might work but it also might not… but, the fact we’ve got a piece of the person we’re tracking,” he gestured to the hair “will boost our chances of success.” He looked between Simon and Cece, “the same thing goes. Keep Winn on your mind, and if the spell works you’ll feel a pulling sensation - like something is trying to rip you across the country… Don’t fight it, let it take you and we’ll get a glimpse of whatever he’s doing right now.” He didn’t mention the potential complications, like getting stuck in the scry and not being able to get back out without further assistance or the potential mental hazards it posed risk to. No need to get either of them overly concerned.

Aaaand it didn’t seem like they got anywhere. Simon was glad that he was there entertaining this waste of time instead of someone more brash like Ariana. He remained in his designated circle, subconsciously licking at the incision on his thumb as he ran the name “Georgetown” through his head on repeat and admittedly starting to zone out as he realized with frustration that he didn’t know much about Winn at all aside from how casually he seemed to treat being a wolf, his dog and that he’s really into hockey. He… would need to rectify this once Winn came back. He brought himself back to the conversation as Otto and Cece discussed further, expecting to be told that there wasn’t anything to do and to go home but then the topic shifted to scrying and he glanced between the two magic-users again. “Sorry, I was miles away,” He partially lied. “What are we doing, now?”

A locator spell was vague enough that it generally was used as foundations for other spells to build upon, the more information you had to work with and cover more bases the better chance a spell would be stable and less risky. It didn’t eliminate the entire possibility of things going very badly wrong, but it lowered the odds of that happening. “All good,” Otto said looking over to Simon “a scry is… Okay, so imagine if you dropped a single video camera wherever Winn is right now, then imagine we” he gestured to the collective “could hack that camera and see and hear through it. Right?” Otto paused to make sure Simon was following his keynotes version of what the spell was “A scry is a spell that essentially does that, gives us a one angle insight into whatever Winn is doing right now - it’s more accurate depending on what you use to focus in on whoever the target of the scry happens to be.” He pointed to the bowl of hair “this is some of the most accurate stuff we could use. That’s why we are. But I don’t know how long we’ll have… Scry spells are notoriously temperamental for how long they let you view… So we’re all going to have to keep our eyes open and look for any other indicator that might give us more information to narrow it down - a sign, shopfront, streetname - anything.”

The tracking spell had helped narrow down the search, but it hadn’t given them all the information they needed. But never fret, because Otto had another idea. A spell that Cece had never personally performed. She let out a low whistle, “A scry? Haven’t done one of those before. Guess you can teach an old dog some new tricks.” She shifted, swaying around as if she were dancing while still sitting on the floor. “The college is there. Keep an eye out for old buildings. They’re all named after the rich people that funded them.” She kept an eye on Simon. This all seemed new to him. She would need to check back in with him after, make sure they hadn’t scared him off. “Well you’re definitely in charge with this one Otto. Let’s figure out with this S.O.B is, yeah?”

Simon, back into the conversation, nodded as he listened to Otto carefully, inwardly thankful for using terms he was receptive to; Simon didn’t think himself a stupid man by any stretch of the imagination but magic was very foreign to him. Once Otto explained and Cece seemed to acknowledge that the scry would’ve been a good idea, albeit one that she’d never done before, he exhaled quietly and nodded. “Okay. You guys are the bosses; I’m just…” Here because no one else wants to bother. Here because everyone else is either mad or too busy with actual important things. No one seemed to even want to find him that badly anymore.“Here.” He completed his sentence. “Just tell me what you need me to do.”

Otto shot a wink at Cece, encouraged by her faith and his own belief that they had enough to at least get a bit more information out of today. “Just copy what I do,” he instructed her and once he had confirmation moved the map out of the circle leaving the silver chalice containing the locks of hair set before them. To this he added a measured dose of oil of sulphur and crushed charcoal, mixing the contents and once he was happy that they were combined lit the contents with a zippo. The oil caught light immediately, burning a bright sulphurous red “so glad I switched off the fire alarm,” he muttered, drawing his hands back. His palms pressed together in an almost prayer-like motion before parting fluidly so the tips of both index fingers and thumbs remained in contact formulating a circle, the center of which a violet like shimmer began to emanate. The threads of his magic making themselves known as he set about manipulating them to his will pulling and threading. The power felt bolstered, more powerful than if he had tried to attempt this by himself and he knew that was likely Cece’s own magic reinforcing the spell. With a look of concentration he spoke “ex quae vires sint. Da illis qui hic visus.” The magic from both spellcasters, sat in opposition, flared before extending to connect to the burning concoction. Otto felt the sudden gut-wrenching jolt akin to the sickening moment of inertial release at the peak of a roller-coaster; thrown over the edge into the exhilarating and disorientating drop. It was enough to force him to close his eyes, feeling his consciousness ripped from the loft and the rush of air as they were projected across the country towards wherever the spell thought to take them. 

“Don’t worry, dude. You’re contributing.” Cece reassured Simon, making sure he knew that he had a place in this little seance circle that Otto had gathered together. “Magic or not, extra bodies means more energy. That makes a spell stronger. And it prevents the two of us,” Cece explained, pointing between Otto and herself, “From crashing after a spell. So keep what you’ve been doing. You’re coming on this roller coaster with us.” With that, Cece focused her attention to Otto mirroring his movements and catching the moment that the spell began. It felt like a vacuum. It was barely noticeable, but Cece could almost tell that her own energy was helping feed into the spell. She eased it along, controlling the flow so that it felt balanced as she breathed and continued helping Otto work his magic. The fire flared higher, proof that Otto’s spell was working. And then, a sudden feeling of complete weightlessness was proof enough that they weren’t in the apartment any longer.

It started in static, almost, magic pushing back on the spell, trying to protect the location where the scry had found its target. 

But, slowly, the trio found themselves in an office. Its bookshelves were empty, boxes stacked in the corner. Save for two figures, no one would believe that this room had been used in ages, the only signs of a purpose: a desk and two chairs. Winn Woods, werewolf-on-the-lam, stood slowly, eyes wide, and stared at the other figure warily. Someone who was looking closely would see that Winn was caught in a state of partial transformation, claws out, form tense.

The other man was dressed plainly, jeans and a button-down, and his face was serious. He was Asian, his jawline near identical to Winn’s. But the trio did not have time to regard him fully. Spectral tails appeared behind the man, a bright light into the dim room. The three tails closest to the man’s body were near-solid, yellow, and burning bright, flickering like candlelight. 

Winn scrambled, holding one of the chairs in front of him like a shield against this man, jaw slack and brows tight with confusion. Another flash, as the tails wrapped around the man, a cocoon, a transformation…

And then, a jolt of magic leapt from the corner of the room, water dousing the flames of the spell, a cold splash of force in the trio’s faces as they were pushed back to White Crest, no closer to a satisfactory answer.

Simon decided then and there with certainty that he liked Cece’s energy and the effect it seemed to have on himself. Granted, both she and Otto, comments aside, seemed like perfectly enjoyable human beings outside a professional setting. He looked around at all the pieces on motion as the two magicians started to perform the other ritual and unlike last time, he did feel something inside, something almost as if someone were reaching into him and pulling out webs of… himself. It was an odd sensation. Then, without warning, he felt like was being yanked by that invisible bond that tethered Lydia and himself, completely internally and turning his stomach over. He also closed his eyes, biting down on the thumb that lingered around his mouth instinctively as he was hurled through the consciousness and they… found Winn. The scene happened, quick and flitting and altogether far too short before they were pushed back out and he gasped as though he himself was doused in icy water. He caught enough details of what happened though, brief as the visions were; a man, Winn’s wolfish features, what appeared to be a demon or something with a demonic presence attached. Surely not, right? Well, at least that confirmed that he wasn’t… dead? Simon already knew that. “What… was that?” He asked, scratching at his shoulder again.

The lurch of the scry was a sickening sensation, and one he wasn’t quite braced for as after they’d successfully broken through they… Were very promptly kicked out, flung back across the continent and back into Otto’s apartment. He came back to himself with a sharp inhale of air, a distorted sense of self and sudden wave of nausea that he had to raise a hand to his mouth to try and hold off. It took a few moments of focussing on his breathing and getting the room to right itself before he was confident he wasn’t about to spew. That would be embarrassing. He’d been a part of enough scrys to know the sensation was always a shitty one, and it never got better. 

“Fuck,” he growled, fists clenching in frustration as he was sorely tempted to knock the damn thing over. Good lot of use it had done. “If I had to guess… That was a Huxian… A kitsune if you will… The fox-tails would suggest so…” He rubbed his fingers along his lip in thought. He’d had several run ins with Kitsune in New York, all contracting him for work on behalf of their organisations. “The fuck’s he doing… And the place had to be warded… That’s the only way the spell could be rejected so quickly…  There wasn’t enough time to counterspell.” None of this made any sort of sense and it only served to mount his frustration. “I’m… at a loss for what else we can do…” It wasn’t like they could jump cross country and the latter spell had drained him enough that he felt a massive order of cheeseburgers and fries was on the menu later.

Well that was certainly… something. Cece was jolted back to Otto’s apartment, feeling as if she had just left her body for a short amount of time. Shorter than any of them seemed to expect. “We were cut off.” Cece exclaimed. Otto took over, explaining the man they had seen within that office and the suspected reason they were kicked out so quickly. It made sense, though it wasn’t ideal. They had been able to get through the protection, if only temporarily. Cece had a few theories. That Simon and Cece knew Winn personally. That Simon’s similar species strengthened the spell. The personal items that Simon had brought with him. Though the answer didn’t matter because regardless, it had only granted them temporary access.

But maybe that had been enough. “Maybe we don’t need to.” Cece pondered, finally pushing herself up from the circle she had been nested in on the floor. Her legs were weak, proof that the spell had taken a lot out of her. “Whoever that guy was, he was in some sort of office.” Cece needed to find the context clues. The room looked packed up, like the man was leaving. Or maybe unpacked, like he was just moving in. But regardless, a few things were apparent. It was filled with bookshelves and a window looking out into green. “It’s a reach, but it’s Georgetown.” The limited layout of the room didn’t provide any clear answers, but it could have been a professor’s office, “It wouldn’t be too much of a stretch to assume that he’s a Professor at Georgetown.” She shrugged it off. At the end of the day, finding Winn hadn’t been her priority. Just helping out a friend. She still wasn’t sure how he got dragged into searching for Winn anyways, or if Winn had a good reason to leave. All she knew was that the spell had left her tired and hungry, “Who wants takeout?”

Simon reviewed the knowledge that had been given to him throughout this exchange - Georgetown, partial transformation, Huxian (kitsune?). Technically the questions the wolves had were answered, or at least some of them. Winn was alive, he was dealing with… something that he didn’t like, and he was in Georgetown. He exhaled as his eyes danced over the chalk lines on the flor before he gave a noncommittal shrug and he gave Cece a rather tired smile of his own. “Sorry to drag you guys into wolves’ business...” He did what he could, however nothing that was, as usual. He felt drained - three rituals in two weeks after a whole life of none, damage control for Winn’s poor decisions, the dog and work being a literal mess felt like he was spinning a lot of plates on spindles and more plates just kept getting added. He… didn’t want to talk about it. “Takeout sounds great.” He was done for today. Winn would come back and explain himself, he was almost certain of it. Right now, all he wanted to do was eat and not think about it.

[pkmnsdarkqueen]

1, 2, 3!

fun, random questions

-original ask open-

1. Do you have any “yeah I’m good at it but I hate it” kind of skills?

This is gonna start out awkwardly deep for fun and random question time, but there are genuine times I’m mad at my level of self control over my temper. 

I’m very good at working professionally with people whether it’s work place or group project despite having some down right aggravating situations I’ve been in. I’m very good at not blowing my lid in front of the person angering me able to calmly respond if they scream at me, express my thoughts to them in a calm manner to seek resolution, or if all else fails take the appropriate steps to get authority involved. 

However there are some times I just want to go off. There are so many times my brain is thinking up stinging insults and retorts, but I always never say them staying diplomatic the entire time. It always works out in my favor in the end because I’m able to stay level headed and calmly talk to a third party while the other person is screaming like mad, but I want to give people a taste of their own medicine sometimes. 

*want to add this has never happened on here but in real life*

Example: I used to work a desk job at the building my college major was in while I attended. Other grad student wanted to get me fired because I asked her to please stop bringing up her ex as she had gone on about it for two months straight, and he was my ex too so I would really rather forget the guy. I also asked her to please stop telling me all of the professors, many of which were mine, and students, many who I was in charge of being a club president, she wanted to bone adding in vivid detail of parts she found sexy about them. For what I feel are obvious reasons, it made me uncomfortable, and she took that personally proceeding to try to frame me for multiple things or bully me into quitting. When the professors got involved and took my side after I showed them evidence I had started gathering when she started going off the rails, she quit. Really wish I could of gone off on her. 

2. If you could make one type of food cease to exist, what would you banish?

Cucumbers or fondant. 

Cucumbers because that is the only food I am allergic to, pickles are fine tho, idk why, but yeah getting rid of them would be helpful.

Fondant because it tastes awful, and I am convinced no one actually likes the flavor they just like the pretty shapes that can be made with them. Like that’s great, but if the cake is inedible because of how much fondant is on it why bother???

3. You’re allowed to know everything about one highly specific thing/topic. What would you choose?

Film equipment or editing soft wares. 

It’s in my major so for obvious reasons it would be incredibly helpful to have either of those things. 

More fun answer: costume making

It’d make cosplay making so much easier instead of getting stuck trying to figure out how to measure things, and make it all look good. Like what kind of glue to use, how to sew that pattern, which kind of foam to use, etc.

[chameleonwritess]

Infirmary Duties

Myriad of Stars

Not-So-Secretly in Love

Feels Like Home (Ch1 | Ch2 | Ch3)

Forever Starts Today (Epilogue)

Extras:

Infirmary Duties

Fandom: Percy Jackson

Pairing: Nico di Angelo/Will Solace

The kiss that informed the Hermes cabin that Will and Nico were together.

(Part of Not-So-Secretly in Love)

Word count: 2178

Will hadn’t been expecting Nico to drop by the infirmary that afternoon. It wasn’t an unpleasant surprise, necessarily, but Will was getting worried. He knew his siblings weren’t dumb and Will’s absences from his cabin had definitely been noted. Alongside the fact that Nico was almost constantly by his side, Will was sure they had a pretty good idea of what was going on.

Will didn’t mind, of course. He was quite happy if his siblings knew about him and Nico. He frequently wanted to stand by Thalia’s tree on Half-Blood Hill and yell out to the entire camp how incredible Nico di Angelo was- how much he loved the adorable emo nightmare. Nico, however, was not quite as easygoing about the situation.

When Will had first suggested dropping by Nico’s cabin again, he could visibly see the fear cross Nico’s face as he’d asked, “Won’t your siblings suspect something?”

Thanks to Jason Grace, Will knew Nico had had a bit of a bad run in with Eros, making him feel disgusted about his own sexuality. He knew Nico was getting better- talking about it with gradually more ease- but Will knew Nico had a limit and telling the entire camp that the two were dating definitely crossed said limit.

Of course, Will could risk just telling his cabin to stop their constant teases and jokes and avoid the possibility of Kayla making a snide remark to Nico regarding Will and causing his boyfriend to freak out, panic and accidentally shadow travel to China. Will would stand none of that Underworld magic anywhere near his infirmary. Still, he knew how things worked at Camp. Secrets were never secrets for long the second they passed certain ears.

Piper McLean knew. Will had been a little mad at her when she first found out, but upon remembering that Piper most likely already knew about Nico’s sexuality, was bi herself and knew Nico well enough to understand why he’d want to keep their relationship secret, he found his temper dissipating quickly. Will never could stay mad for long.

Which was why he wasn’t really that upset about the fact that Nico wasn’t doing much in regards to subtlety by visiting him at work in the infirmary.

“What brings you here, di Angelo? Come to check in?” Will asked with a smirk before lowering his voice and leaning forward into Nico, “or check out?”

“Shut up,” Nico spluttered in protest, pushing Will away gently. Will laughed and gazed at the shorter boy, noting that his face was a cute crimson colour. He loved making Nico blush- it was always the highlight of his day. Plus, when Nico pushed him away, it was always gentle.

Nico had once told him that he made himself obvious if someone was ever actually bothering him. Whilst Will hadn’t responded too kindly to the comment at the time (they were arguing, okay?), he’d still taken note of it and realised that every time Nico made an action that could be interpreted as hostile or unwelcoming, he always did something else immediately after to counter it and prove to Will that he hadn’t meant it. This time it was taking a step closer to Will and placing a hand gently over Will’s gloved one, indicating that Nico would take over cutting the bandages.

Will offered him a grateful smile and handed him the medical scissors.

“Put gloves on before you touch the bandages,” Will pointed out immediately, always the health freak. He even yelled at his mom sometimes if he noted her performing even the slightest unhygienic move. Will took pride in his healing ability, even if he sometimes got down about his lack of general power as a demigod. Still, if he was going to do a job, he was going to carry it out with the utmost precision.

Nico huffed a sigh as he peeled a pair of hospital gloves over his hand.

“I swear you have a latex kink,” he muttered. Will nearly choked on thin air. Whilst Nico wasn’t usually one for blatant flirting, he made occasional comments that caused Will to flush bright red. They never seemed to be appropriate comments, too. Why couldn’t his boyfriend stick with the safe ‘you come here often?’ style lines?

Two could play at that game, though, and Will wasn’t about to lose his tact over one comment. He leaned closer, slung an arm over Nico’s shoulder and turned his mouth towards his ear.

“Shame there’s so many people in here or you could test that theory out.”

“Will,” Nico spluttered, almost falling over the trolley as he stumbled to put a bit of distance between them. Will burst out laughing as he caught Nico’s wrist, steadying him on his feet. Nico blew a slightly long strand of dark hair out of his eyes. It didn’t really achieve its purpose so Will took the opportunity to reach a hand out and tuck the stray strand of hair behind Nico’s ear, pulling him closer as he did.

Will didn’t miss the sound of Nico’s breath catching as he did so, but considering his own breathing was having a slight dilemma as he gazed into obsidian eyes, he was in no place to comment. The hand he’d used to tuck hair behind Nico’s ear lingered by the side of his cheek, ready to cup it and draw their lips together in an instant. Will wished they weren’t in the infirmary. He really wanted to kiss Nico.

“Will, I need bandages!” an angry voice snapped Will out of his daydream that wasn’t actually so much of a ‘dream’ considering Nico had actually been there, centimetres from his face.

“Sorry, Kayla,” Will spluttered in apology, pulling away from Nico quickly and grabbing the roll of bandage he’d delegated to Nico momentarily, picking up the scissors.

“What were you even doing?” Kayla demanded to know when her eyes suddenly fell on Nico beside him. “Oh,” she realised, “that’s what you were doing. Or should I say ‘who’?”

“Kayla!” Will spluttered, angrily snipping two perfectly measured bandages off the roll and thrusting them in her direction, “take those and leave us alone.”

Will regretted his wording the second the sound left his mouth.

“Don’t worry, I’ll leave you two be for your alone time,” she emphasised, winking as she waved and ran off, her short green and ginger hair whipping around the corner. Why was Will surrounded by innuendos today?

“Hey, Austin, guess what?” Will heard her call out as she made her way across the infirmary. Will leant his elbows on the trolley and placed his head in his hands, groaning.

“For Zeus’s sake,” he moaned, “I’m sorry, Nico, they’re so annoying.”

“’S’ok,” Nico shrugged. Will turned to look at him, surprised by the short response. Nico’s cheeks were still tinged pink, to his surprise.

“Are you okay?” Will asked, suddenly worrying that Nico was actually ill and hadn’t told him and Will hadn’t noticed, ultimately making him a terrible boyfriend who needed to be getting medical attention for Nico right then. Wait- he was medical attention. He leaned in closer to Nico’s face, prepared to check his vitals immediately upon Nico’s response.

“Yeah, I’m fine, I just-“ Nico stopped talking and seemed to grumble something. Okay, so maybe Will was wrong- he didn’t really look that ill and he wasn’t acting ill. Not like he had when he’d caught a fever in the infirmary.

Will’s train of thought was stopped when Nico grabbed both of Will’s hands, causing him to almost fall forwards from the sudden force. Will’s face was only inches away from Nico’s again. He figured the world must be against him. He kept finding himself ridiculously close to Nico’s face yet unable to kiss him because his nosy siblings were hovering over them, watching their every move just so they could tease Will relentlessly about it later.

“Come here,” Nico growled and before Will knew what was happening, he was being dragged by Nico away from Will’s station (luckily he wasn’t tending a patient) and towards the back door of the Big House.

“Nico, what are you doing?” Will asked, following him anyway because he was weak like that.

“Don’t draw attention,” Nico complained.

“I’m not!” Will argued, “I just want to know where you’re taking me.”

Will could practically sense Nico rolling his eyes from the back of his head. With the hand Nico had released from Will’s previously, he pulled him forward, yanked the back door open and tugged Will outside.

Will’s brain suddenly realised what was going on. No one ever came out to behind the Big House. At least, they didn’t unless they were a couple sneaking around to make out. A couple just like Nico and him.

With the excellent timing they seemed to have, Will’s braincells departed him.

“Did you know that germs on door handles fall into one of the four main categories of the way communicable diseases spread?” he spluttered uselessly. The door in discussion slammed shut behind Will and Nico.

Nico grabbed the front of Will’s medical scrubs.

“Shut up with your medical talk and kiss me, Solace,” Nico demanded, his dark eyes gleaming with a dark urgency as he brought his face close to Will’s.

Will was pretty sure his lungs had reached maximum expiratory reserve volume with the way his breath seemed to vanish.

“If you insist,” Will said weakly, just about managing a smirk before Nico pulled him forward and wiped the smirk right off Will’s face with his own lips.

Nico pushed Will back against the wall with such fervour that if his boyfriend hadn’t placed his hand behind Will’s head to cushion the impact, Will was pretty sure he would have had a pretty intense headache.

Will wrapped his arms around Nico tightly, pulling their bodies closer together as Nico’s lips captured his own once again. Will resisted the urge to moan against Nico’s mouth as his boyfriend kissed away every coherent thought in Will’s head.

Will thought it was thoroughly unfair how good at this whole kissing business Nico had become over the last few weeks as the tip of his tongue traced the edge of Will’s lips, causing Will’s mouth to drop open almost instantaneously, allowing him the access he wanted.

Will wound a hand up into Nico’s hair angling his mouth slightly for better access as his other hand gently slid underneath the hem of Nico’s shirt, allowing Will to splay his hand across the bare skin of Nico’s back. Nico shivered against him, a sensation that sent blood pounding through Will’s head.

“Will,” Nico sighed out, leaving Will’s mouth momentarily free to attach itself to the side of Nico’s jaw. Will would never get enough of the way Nico said his name, his beautiful Italian accent giving the ‘i’ a softer sound than any American accent ever could. It was musical.

Will slid his mouth down onto Nico’s neck, kissing the soft skin there. He wanted to leave a mark but knew Nico wouldn’t be too pleased with that- it was bound to raise questions.

With another soft moan, Nico tugged the back of Will’s hair, pulling his face back to Nico’s own and reattaching their lips again. Will trailed his hands down Nico’s side before deciding to loop his thumbs through the belt hooks in Nico’s jeans as he tugged at Nico’s lower lip with his teeth.

“We should go back inside,” Nico muttered against Will’s mouth when they broke apart for air. Will didn’t respond and just kissed him again.

“Mmm, Will, someone might come looking,” Nico pointed out. Will sighed and finally pulled back. Nico had a point.

“You’re right,” he realised.

“I don’t want to go back in,” Nico added breathlessly.

“Me neither,” Will agreed, unable to stop himself from leaning towards Nico’s lips again.

“But we have to,” Nico whispered, his breath ghosting across Will’s mouth. Will wasn’t sure who leaned forward that time but they were soon kissing again.

“Okay, okay, we actually need to get inside,” Nico spluttered, this time putting some distance between the two of them. Will pushed himself off the wall.

“Right, yes, walking. I can remember how to do that,” Will said, realising just how dizzy the kissing had made him. Nico chuckled at that, causing Will’s heart to leap. Really, if Nico ever wanted to get inside again, he was going to have to stop being so adorable. Will could only take so much- he was a weak-willed teenage boy with an adorable yet also extremely hot boyfriend. It wasn’t easy.

“You can, uh, come to my cabin tonight if you want,” Nico suggested. Will hadn’t stopped by the Hades cabin much lately due to attempting to erase suspicion. Today, he really didn’t care, though.

“Sounds good,” he grinned instead, “now let’s get back to actually helping in the infirmary.”

“Yeah, let’s do that,” Nico agreed with a wry smile, allowing Will to tug him back through the door by his hand.

(Will didn’t touch the door handle.)

[darkobsidianquill]

Harry Potter and the descent into Darkness.

Chapter 22

More than a week had passed since the dark arts and dueling lessons had begun. It was Wednesday, and Harry had slipped away from Ron after lunch, while Hermione made her way to her Ancient Runes class. Harry slipped on his cloak and pulled out the Map and activated it. He saw the second 'Harry Potter' dot entering the castle and heading towards the bathroom where he had made a habit of making his daily switch in. He slipped out past Ron, who was leaning against the wall talking with one of the Beauxbatons girls. Harry rose a single eyebrow and stifled a chuckle as he quickly hurried down the hall, under his invisibility cloak, and out of the castle.

Fifteen minutes later Harry was in the manor and climbing up the stairs to Voldemort's study. The afternoon began the same as always. Voldemort was sitting there, already into his meditative exercise. Harry could tell that the Dark Lord was getting very close to finishing the transformation, and was growing more and more curious as to what exactly the man would look like when he finally achieved it.

Harry settled down and began reading a dueling techniques book that Voldemort had had him start reading a few days earlier in preparation for their daily lessons. He kept on going, without pause, even when Voldemort stood up and then sat down in his chair to read through his papers.

As had become normal, Voldemort almost instantly began running his fingers through Harry's hair and all Harry could do was sigh and smile in content.

"I'm curious, Harry –" Voldemort began to speak, nearly a half hour later as he suddenly stood from his chair and began to move towards the door. Harry quickly jumped to his feet as he realized that Voldemort appeared to be preparing to leave the study.

"Yes?"

"I know that you used the accellerant potion and underwent the process to improve that rather impressive body of yours, but I'm wondering if you have been taking measures to maintain it?"

Harry gaped at him as he attempted to process the words that had just come out of the Dark Lord's mouth. Harry's oh-so-eloquent response was a simple, "Huh?"

"Have you been working to maintain your improved body?"

"I... wha... you mean, am I working out?" Harry asked, still confused and trying to wrap his mind around the fact that it sounded like Voldemort had just called his body 'rather impressive'.

Voldemort rolled his eyes. "Yes, Harry, have you been 'working out'?"

"Er... no. Not really, anyway. As I already told you, I used to get kind of physical with my dark arts practice down in the chamber. I would sort of roll around and mock dodge things. To practice falling and improve my aiming while moving. But I haven't gone down there for that in a while, so the only real exercise I've been getting is from our dueling lessons."

Voldemort gave Harry a thoughtful look for a moment before turning and heading towards the door. "Follow me," he commanded simply without pausing in his pace. Harry jogged after him until he caught up and matched the Dark Lord's long strides as the two briskly walked down the hall, down the stairs, and through one of the first floor corridors.

Harry was extremely curious as to what was going on, but knew that if Voldemort was going to tell him, he'd do it when he was good and ready to, and no sooner.

They came upon one of the doors that Harry had long ago sensed a space expansion charm behind and Voldemort opened and entered without even pausing. Harry followed but came to an abrupt halt directly upon entering. What he found was a large windowless, room with a floor that was oddly squishy beneath his feet, a couple of elevated horizontal bars attached to one wall, an assortment of strange contraptions that looked something like exercise equipment, a strange device that Harry thought vaguely reminded him of a muggle treadmill, and a weight lifting bench with a bunch of weights.

"You have a gym?" Harry asked as he gawked at the room. This was probably one of the last things he expected to find in the manor house. It just looked so... muggle.

"Wizards are fools to neglect their bodies as they do," Voldemort drawled as he rolled his eyes and sneered in disgust. "They think that just because they can use magic to do things and avoid menial labor, that they have no need to keep their bodies fit."

Harry turned all of his attention away from the bewildering room, and focused it entirely on Voldemort. He could hear the man slipping into his 'instructor voice' and whenever he did that, whatever he had to say was important.

"The biggest reason that the unforgivable curses are unforgivable isn't because of what they do – there are hundreds of curses that can kill you, control you, and cause excruciating pain – they are unforgivable because of the fact that they cannot be blocked or countered. There is no way to shield oneself from the cruciatus or the killing curse or the imperius – although one with a strong enough will can occasionally break free of the latter.

The killing curse can go through almost all substances. The only thing that can block the killing curse is the body of another living thing. If you have a expendable person around that you can use as a human shield, then you can shield yourself. Otherwise, the only way to avoid any of these spells is to dodge them.

Keeping one's body in shape improves reaction time, stamina, and endurance. If two wizards are of generally equal magical skill levels, the one with the best ability to dodge, and the endurance to last the longest, will be the winner. And since so many wizards disregard the importance of training their body, in addition to their magical training, it is an extremely easy and beneficial advantage to gain."

"How often do you work out in here?" Harry asked, turning his attention back to the room.

"Every morning. I get up fairly early and spend an hour in here each day. I have done so since the morning after my resurrection."

"Oh... wow," Harry said, rather lamely, before he refocused on the room again as he imagined what all the different exercise 'machines' were for. They were obviously of Voldemort's own creation, and had been magically constructed. Still, it was obvious that they were intended for various forms of exercise.

"I want you to join me each morning at 7:30am. Can you manage that?" Voldemort asked, pulling Harry sharply out of his mental wanderings.

"Join you?" Harry echoed in surprise.

"Yes. I think it would do your dueling practice an enormous good if you began a physical training program as well."

Harry's jaw floundered as he searched for the words to respond with that could adequately relate just how the idea made him feel. There were so many reasons to be utterly thrilled with it. For one thing, it gave him even more time each day with the man, who was quickly becoming the central focal point of his life. Any reason to spend more time with the man was welcome. Harry just felt so much... better around Voldemort. Everything fit better in his head. His mind worked faster and clearer. His temper was easier to keep control of. The constant itch and drive to curse everyone he saw was easily controlled. Everything felt better here. The second reason Voldemort's suggestion left him speechless and stunned was the fact that Voldemort had to actually want Harry around more too. Why else would he be offering something that would require Harry to intrude on even more of the Dark Lord's precious time.

He finally gave up on trying to voice his emotions and just nodded his head.

"Good. You can use the time-turner when done, of course. So you should be able to avoid any suspicion about additional strange absences. Obviously robes are far too cumbersome for activities such as what we'll be doing in here. Try to dress appropriately. Loose-fitting clothes are more apt to get caught in some of the devices I've created, so try to avoid them. If you have nothing appropriate, we can transfigure something for you when you come tomorrow.

"Also, I am nearly done with my transformation meditations, but not quite, so I still want you continue to come after lunch," Voldemort continued, and Harry quickly confirmed that he would still be coming for his other usual visits.

"We will continue the dueling practice after my meditation is completed. With all of the added hours and time-turner use, it may become necessary for you to fit in an extra meal, and perhaps a nap. If that become the case you can stay for dinner at the manor, and make use of the same room you stayed in last week, before using the time-turner to return to the castle."

Voldemort continued to lay out the plans for Harry's schedule and Harry couldn't help the wide, warmed smile that spread across his face as he realized how much thought Voldemort had put into his plans involving Harry. He truly couldn't believe the amount of time each day that the Dark Lord was willing to spend with and dedicate to Harry, and he felt a small pang of sadness when he thought about how it would likely all change once Voldemort finally succeeded at his transformation, and brought the other Death Eaters back into the fold. Once he was able to take on his 'scary Dark Lord' look again, he would begin tackling his plans, head-on, and Harry doubted that Voldemort would have nearly as much time to throw away on him.

He pushed back the niggling worry and refocused on the man standing before him, and explaining what some of the different 'machines' were and what muscles groups they worked. Harry was stunned how much the Dark Lord knew about the whole physical fitness thing. What 'muscle groups' aided in what sorts of movements, and what kinds of exercises and movements were necessary to work out each of those groups. But then Harry realized that there wasn't anything that Voldemort did 'half-assed', and realized he never should have been surprised in the first place. Whenever Voldemort decided to learn about something, he buried himself in the topic, and didn't put it down until he was a master of it. The Dark Lord consumed knowledge and skills like a starved man in a buffet. A trait that had always left Harry feeling inspired and determined to master as many things as well.

Harry left the manor that day finding himself feeling both anxious and eager for the next morning's exercise session. He'd never done an awful lot of physical exercise outside of quidditch, and riding a broom really wasn't all that physically intensive – outside of needing a strong grip with both his hands and his thighs. Still, the thought of being physically trained by Voldemort was exciting. He just hoped he could keep himself from acting like an idiot.

– –

Harry entered the 'gym' the next morning at 7:25am. Slipping away from his dorm had been extremely easy. None of his roommates were early risers, as were few Gryffindors, so even the common room was empty when he slipped down under cover of his invisibility cloak.

Getting up at 6:30am hadn't been terribly difficult since he'd been going to bed earlier and earlier lately. Since he'd been living longer days than normal, by the time it was 10pm at night, he had usually gone through enough hours in the day that it would have been after 2am for him. His new tendency for going to bed early had been just one more thing for Ron to gripe about, but Harry didn't honestly give a damn what Ron griped about. He knew he still needed to come up with some sort of strategy for diverting the suspicions of Ron and the other Gryffindors. His little rant to Ron and Hermione had given them the illusion that he was still willing to confide in them, and given them some things to think about. Hopefully enough to keep them from suspecting what was really going on. His evenings spent with Hermione and Ginny was helping to ease some of his fellow housemates concerns about his extreme reclusive behavior earlier in the year, and since he wasn't disappearing away to the chamber for hours a day, he at least no longer appeared to be sneaking off. Hopefully all the changes he had made over the last month would be enough, but he needed to make sure that when Dumbledore started asking his 'friends' questions, over the summer, after Harry 'vanished', that none of them would start telling the old goat that they were worried about Harry's strange Dark behavior.

When he got to the manor, he went to the second floor where the loo he usually used was, since he only knew of the large bath with the sunken tub on the first floor, and there were just far too many unidentified rooms down there to go searching for a 'normal' bathroom. Once on the second floor he changed into the clothing he had brought with him. He had a pair of gray draw-string sweatpants that he occasionally slept in during the winters, and a white sleeveless t-shirt that he had shrunk down so that it was fairly tight against his torso to avoid it catching in any of the exercise equipment. He hoped it would be sufficient. He suspected he was going to need to do some clothing shopping soon. There was a Hogsmeade weekend coming up, but he wasn't sure if any of the stores in the tiny wizarding village would carry what he needed.

He left his bag in the study and made his way downstairs to the gym. Voldemort was in the center of the open part of the room, and what Harry saw made him freeze in place in stunned awe. Voldemort was wearing comfortable-looking black cotton pants, and no shirt. He was doing push-ups, and Harry could already see the smallest indication of sweat appearing on the man's back.

The lean, lithe, and only lightly muscled body that he had seen a month earlier had already come a long way. The muscles were more defined now, but not overly so. Definitely not 'body builder' muscles, but this was undeniably the body of a strong, and powerful man who did not slack off.

Harry was stunned out of his dumbfounded staring by Voldemort pushing himself up onto his knees, and then standing to his feet. If Voldemort had realized Harry was staring, he didn't say anything. Instead, he quickly began to go over the schedule for the next hour, and discussing how Harry would work up to certain goals over time. Harry's head was quickly being filled with new concepts and knowledge, and he was being set to the machines he would use.

Voldemort demonstrated the proper way to move his arms while pushing out on one device, and pulling in on another. How to hold his elbows at a certain angle, and what things not to do, to avoid injury. During the demonstrations, Harry occasionally found his mind wandering back to Voldemort's exposed torso, and he found a growing fascination with the way the older wizard's muscles moved and twisted beneath his skin. But Voldemort loudly scolded him whenever he seemed distracted, so Harry quickly learned to pay attention and stay focused.

He returned to the school that morning sweaty, sore, and yet strangely exhilarated. He knew this was going to be hard work, but he was excited for it, too. The rest of the week passed easily enough, and while his strangely lengthened days were really starting to mess with his internal clock, he was slowly growing accustomed to them.

Voldemort incorporated lessons from his dueling into his morning exercises, and vice-versa. The break in the middle of the day where he just sat and read while Voldemort meditated was a welcome break from the action and activity of the rest of his time spent in the manor, and he found himself eagerly anticipating the light conversation and discussions they had after the Dark Lord was done with his meditation. Harry was even beginning to understand why Voldemort read the muggle newspapers.

Harry was stunned when Voldemort began to explain some sort of mass genocide that had been going on the previous year in Rwanda. Apparently before all the fighting was done, more than 800,000 had died during the Hutu-controlled Rwandan army attempt to exterminate the Tutsi minority from the country. Harry had trouble fathoming the fact that in the span of 100 days, over 800,000 people had been massacred and he hadn't heard a single word about it. There were loads of muggleborns at the school – didn't a single one take a muggle paper?

He could understand that most parents probably wouldn't write to their child about horrible African genocides, but it still seemed like such a big deal.

"Yes, but even most muggles are utterly ignorant of what has gone on over there, though," Voldemort said, after Harry voiced his shock at having heard absolutely nothing about this.

"What? How can they be?"

"Few people give a damn about some tiny African country that tried to annihilate itself last summer, Harry."

"Then why are you paying attention to it?"

"Genocide. It's described as the largest act of genocide since the Holocaust."

Harry felt himself freeze slightly, and he was almost afraid to ask the next question. It was one thing for him to kill Rita Skeeter and not feel remorse, but killing an entire race of people was something that he didn't exactly think he could live with.

"Are you thinking about wiping out all the muggles or something?" Harry asked, cautiously.

Voldemort barked out a harsh laugh. "No, Harry. I no longer have any ridiculous illusions about trying to rid the world of the muggle filth."

"You don't?" Harry asked, both relieved and surprised, as he twisted around and looked up at Voldemort, sitting in his chair.

"No, honestly I don't think it will be necessary. They will likely rid the world of themselves, saving me the trouble."

Harry scrunched up his face in mild confusion – not sure what the Dark Lord meant by that, but he didn't get the chance to ask, as older Wizard continued to talk.

"The fact remains, that at one point, I did have some rather ignorant aspirations of killing off most, and subjugating the rest, of the muggle population. Many of my followers will likely still hold some of those aspirations. I simply want to be able to provide them with with concrete arguments as to why such efforts would not only be ineffective, but idiotic, and a waste of our energies. We have bigger problems to deal with that will already require more than enough time and energy."

"Ah... well, that's... a relief," Harry said, turning back and leaning against the chair again.

Voldemort chuckled and let his hand fall into Harry's raven hair.

"Don't think you have the stomach for genocide?" Voldemort snickered.

Harry shrugged. "Probably not. Besides, I don't see the logic in it. Or how it would even work. There are just so many more of them, than us. Sure, we're superior to them, and can do things that they can't even imagine doing, but that doesn't mean that they're weak or stupid. They're still humans, and it's when humans are desperate that they accomplish the most unexpected things. Their science is still capable of some insane things. I mean, they can go to the moon. Magic can't even do that.

"If they found out about us – about magic – and felt threatened... I can only see that being very very bad. We can use magic, but there's just so many more of them," Harry finished with a sigh and a shrug.

Voldemort hummed in agreement and their conversation slipped back into other topics from the newspaper.

– –

Another week had passed and Harry was feeling extremely comfortable with his daily arrangement. He was having a little trouble staying focused in his classwork – having started to find it exceedingly boring. Very little of it had any practical daily value, and he had very little enthusiasm for learning things that would never serve him in his life. Especially when he had the incredibly fascination and exhilarating lessons from Voldemort to compare.

But at least his Defense Against the Dark Arts classes with Barty – or rather, with 'Moody', were interesting. Voldemort had had Harry deliver several notes to Barty, and Barty would give Harry letters to give back to the Dark Lord when he returned Harry's written essays to him. One day in class, 'Moody' had asked Harry to hang around after class to 'discuss his homework'. Moody had acquired an object for the Dark Lord and since Harry went there every day anyway, it was decided that Harry should just take it with him. It was a reasonably small box. Moody had hallowed out a book and placed an expansion charm inside it so that when the book was opened, inside was a hole large enough for the box. He gave it to Harry with the guise that it was something he might find helpful for the next task, and sent him on his way.

While leaving defense and making his way through the empty halls towards the Great Hall for dinner, Harry came across a pair of familiar, hushed voices. He slowed and peaked around the corner towards where he heard the voices and saw Snape and Karkaroff in the middle of a whispered argument. Harry wasn't close enough to hear what they were saying, and was about to pull out his wand to use his eavesdropping charm when he was startled by another familiar, and far more annoying drawl.

"Potter, what are you doing?" the annoying drawl of Draco Malfoy came suddenly, causing Harry to jump with surprise at having been come upon without having noticed. Apparently Snape and Karkaroff heard Malfoy's voice because their whispers stopped and they both turned towards the sound.

Harry turned and scowled at Malfoy. Apparently his glare was fierce enough that it gave Draco pause because the blond Slytherin's eyes betrayed a moment of fear and hesitation before they hardened to his normal confident sneer.

Harry was a bit surprised by Malfoy's behavior. The blond Slytherin had been mostly avoiding him ever since their encounter several months prior. Apparently enough time had passed that Malfoy had either forgotten what happened, or decided it wasn't bad enough to continue keeping his distance.

"Malfoy, I really don't have time for you," Harry said with an annoyed sigh.

"So it's Malfoy again? Are you over whatever weird thing possessed you over Christmas?"

Harry snorted out a laugh. "Hardly," he said giving the blond boy a leering smirk that caused Malfoy to straighten a bit and his eyes to widen. Harry snickered at Malfoy's reaction and began to turn away.

"Where are you heading off to?"

"Dinner," Harry said, rolling his eyes.

"Running off to the mudblood and the weasel?" Malfoy sneered.

"Well, you know. Gotta keep up appearances. Wouldn't want anyone suspecting me of going dark," Harry chuckled.

Malfoy's eyes bugged out of his face and he stood there, dumbfounded for a moment while Harry began to walk away.

"Wait!" Malfoy called out as he jogged after Harry and caught up to him. Harry huffed and stopped. He looked around anxiously, making sure that there weren't any witnesses. There weren't as far as he could tell. Snape and Karkaroff had vanished – most likely to somewhere more private to continue their argument – and the rest of the student body was already at dinner.

"What do you want, Draco?" Harry asked with a resigned sigh as he took out his wand and cast a small privacy ward around them.

"What's up with you? You've been acting normal again lately, but I see the looks you give them. The looks you give everyone. The way you walk, the way you hold yourself. And more than anything else, when I get close enough, you reek of dark magic."

Harry had to take pause of that proclamation. If Draco could tell he'd been practicing the Dark arts, what was stopping the professors? Or Dumbledore? Apparently something on Harry's face gave away his moment of panic because Draco was rolling his eyes and quickly began to speak again.

"Don't worry, Potter. It's only those with a dark affinity who can sense it. Neutrals and Lights only sense the magic of other Neutrals or Lights."

"Even someone like Dumbledore?" Harry asked, skeptically.

"Do you feel his Light magic?" Malfoy asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Er..." Harry paused, trying to think if he did. "I think I used to... But now that you mention it, I really haven't been able to feel that same energy that I used to when I was around him."

"Exactly – wait... you used to?"

"Well, my affinity definitely used to be Light. I'm sure of that."

"But now it's Dark?" Malfoy asked, a tremendous curiosity glowing in his eyes.

Harry clammed up and gave Malfoy a hard look.

Malfoy chuckled and smirked. "Smart, Potter. Never admit anything aloud."

Harry rolled his eyes. "I've still got a problem though, even if Dumbledore can't sense my Dark magic. My affinity was set to Light before." Harry mused quietly to himself.

Malfoy snorted. "As if anyone would ever honestly suspect the Gryffindor Golden-boy of going Dark. Besides, Dumbledore would only notice the lack of Light magic traces on you. He can't just tell that your affinity has changed. They need a spell for that I think."

Harry glared at Malfoy. "I told you not to call me that. I'm no one's Golden-boy. Besides, you suspected me of going dark."

"Only after you assaulted me," Malfoy said indignantly with his nose turned up.

Harry chuckled and gave the blond another leering look that clearly made him feel exceedingly uncomfortable. "Besides, you weren't the only person I got angry with," Harry said finally with a bit of a grumble. "I was a pretty angry mess there for a while..."

"That's what was going on!" Malfoy exclaimed suddenly, as if he had just made a great discovery. Harry looked at him with confusion, and an expectant look. "You were dealing with Dark addiction, weren't you! And now you've got a handle on it, which is why you're able to pretend to be normal again!"

Harry blinked at Malfoy. "Uh... maybe," Harry found himself admitting hesitantly. "You seem to have some personal experience here... How much Dark magic have you practiced?"

Malfoy scoffed and turned his nose up again. "I'm a Malfoy, Potter. What do you think?"

Harry rolled his eyes, but grinned and snickered.

Suddenly Harry paused and felt his blood run cold. If anyone who practiced the Dark arts could sense that he had practiced them, that would mean that Snape, and Karkaroff would know. Karkaroff was possibly not a problem, but Snape most certainly was.

Thinking back, the Potions master had been giving him some rather odd looks lately.

"How long have you been able to feel the dark magic on me?" Harry asked suddenly.

Malfoy blinked at the sudden shift in the conversation. "Well I can only feel it like... now. Now that I'm right next to you. You have to be really close."

"Shit," Harry muttered as he scowled at the wall beside him.

"What? It's not like anyone in the school who practices the Dark Arts would ever betray another Dark wizard to Dumbledore. And you don't exactly get that close to any of us Slytherins. You don't have to –"

"Snape," Harry said, resolutely.

Malfoy looked surprised, then confused, and then he looked like he was going to laugh. "Don't be stupid, Potter. Severus isn't really loyal to that stupid old man. He's as Dark as they come."

Harry shook his head. "Even if that's true, he hates the ground I walk on. I can see him just loving the opportunity to destroy my reputation as the beacon of the light, and crush Dumbledore's idea of me being the perfect good guy he sees me as."

This seemed to give Malfoy pause, because he looked thoughtful now.

"Hmmm... well, he certainly does hate you."

After a silent moment, Harry huffed and ran a hand through his messy black hair. It was getting longer and shaggier as the months went on, and he was thinking that he probably would start letting it grow out. Voldemort really seemed to enjoy the length. Harry shook his head, refocusing on the problem at hand and letting his hand fall to his side.

"Well, it's something I'm going to have to deal with soon, but for now, there's nothing I can do."

Malfoy gave Harry a long hard look but then nodded his head. "So... so what the hell, Potter? I mean... how did this happen? How did you go Dark? It just... it just doesn't..." Malfoy gave a frustrated growl and shook his head.

Harry began to laugh at the other boy's frustrated confusion, which really only caused Malfoy to scowl at him.

"What!" Malfoy spat angrily.

Harry's chuckled subsided a bit and he shook his head with an amused grin. "It's a very long story, and I highly doubt you'd believe a word of it. But the fact of the matter is, you already know too much. I need your word that you aren't going to start running around the school telling people that I'm going Dark. And if you can manage it, think you can keep an eye on the Slytherins who practice the Dark Arts, who start to notice me too?"

"Why the hell would I do that for you?" Malfoy sneered.

Harry's eyes narrowed on the blond boy for a moment before he smirked. He glanced around the empty corridor again, just for safety's sake. His privacy ward wouldn't let anyone year them, but he still didn't want anyone seeing him talking with the Slytherin boy.

"Tell me something, Draco," Harry began, moving a step closer and causing the Slytherin to tense up and look wary. "Is daddy still loyal to the Dark Lord?"

Malfoy's eyes hardened and his jaw tightened. "My father never –"

"Don't blow smoke in my face, Draco, I'm not stupid. How about this. Where do your loyalties lie? With the Dark? Or not?"

"My loyalties lie with the Dark," Malfoy said, standing tall and raising his nose into the air again.

Harry smirked. "So would you be loyal to the Dark Lord when he returns?" Harry asked in a conspiratorial whisper as he leaned into Malfoy's 'personal space'.

Malfoy looked slightly taken aback, and gave Harry a long scrutinizing look. He was probably debating the dangers of admitting this statement out loud to Harry Potter, of all people – Dark magic, or no. Harry figured he was probably also taking note of the fact that Harry said 'Dark Lord' and not, 'You-Know-Who', or 'Voldemort' – as many people knew Harry had been apt to do in the past. And then there was the fact that Harry had said 'when' he returns; not 'if'.

Finally, Malfoy squared his shoulders and stuck his chin, pompously high. "I would be loyal to the Dark Lord."

Harry's grin widened and he took a step back, giving the blond some of his personal space back.

"Good to hear that Draco."

"That doesn't tell me why I should keep your secret, or why I should watch the other Slytherins for you," Draco spat.

"I suppose it doesn't..." Harry mused, airily. "But it really would be in your best interest if you helped me out. That's what being Slytherin is all about, isn't it? Finding ways to serve your best interests, while making powerful connections and climbing the ladder to greatness?"

Malfoy scoffed and rolled his eyes. "And helping you would benefit me, how?"

Harry paused and looked thoughtful for a moment. "You remember back on the train ride before first year when you stuck your hand out, offering friendship and I was a stupid little soon-to-be-Gryffindor prat, sitting next to the weasel and I turned you down?"

Malfoy's face hardened and his look shifted to a glare. "Yes, I remember."

"I probably should have taken it and left Weasley behind," Harry said with a shrug. "Did you know the sorting hat wanted to put me in Slytherin? I begged it not to, so it stuck me in Gryffindor instead."

Malfoy looked dumbstruck by this proclamation. He also seemed to be rendered speechless by it, because he didn't say anything in return.

"Anyway, you really should tell your daddy to be prepared, because his Lord is back and will be calling on him soon. Can you do that for me?" Harry said, having suddenly shifted to a playful and patronizing tone as he reached up and gave a light, pat on the stunned blond's cheek before taking a step back and grinning evilly.

After a few silent seconds where Malfoy appeared too confused to comprehend what had just been said, his face went pale, and understanding dawned behind his gray eyes. "You're lying," Malfoy said in a disbelieving whisper.

Harry's smirk only grew larger. "Ask daddy if anything interesting happened to his mark on March 20th. Probably hurt a bit, but it also probably glowed and pulsed with power. That was the night it happened. He's already back."

"How do you know?" Draco asked, but his voice was still hardly more than a whisper.

Harry gave the other a toothy, wicked grin and leaned in close.

"I know," Harry began in a quiet whisper, "because I was there."

– –

"That was stupid and reckless," Voldemort sneered as the two walked down the hall towards the gym.

"I made him swear a wizards oath that he wouldn't tell anyone," Harry grumbled.

"You should have made him swear it before you told him anything of value!"

"Yeah, but he never would have agreed to it, then! Besides, he knows that if he blabbed you'd probably have him killed. He's terrified of you."

"Stupid boy. You just wanted to show off," Voldemort spat and Harry pouted. "Anyway, what was it that you wanted to tell me?"

"Oh! Right, so how come you never mentioned to me that people with a dark affinity can detect other people with it?"

Voldemort stopped and turned to give Harry an incredulous look before shaking his head and pinching the bridge of his nose. "I suppose I assumed you knew. Besides, it doesn't exactly work like that. People with a Dark affinity can detect an excess of dark magic use from another person, but they cannot simply tell what people's affinity is. If they could, there would be less value in the affinitatum reveleo spell. Are you telling me that you don't sense dark magic use on others?"

Harry paused and looked thoughtful. "Well, I do, but I haven't encountered anyone who had practiced Dark magic while at school. Just here, and occasionally I can feel it on Barty in class. But I've already told you about my weird magic senses. No one else I know ever seems to sense half the things I do. And I know I didn't feel most of this stuff back when I was blowing through all my magic keeping your soul at bay. So I sort of assumed that most people weren't sensing any of these things."

"That is true," Voldemort said with a sigh. "That was something that often confused me in my youth as well."

"So is there anyway I can keep other wizards with a dark affinity from being able to tell I've been casting a bunch of dark magic lately? I'm really worried about Snape blabbing to Dumbledore."

Voldemort scowled and then took on a contemplative look. He remained quiet for a long moment and Harry found himself suddenly realizing that he still had yet to ask Voldemort about the fact that it was Snape of all people, who had relayed the prophecy.

"Let's continue this conversation this afternoon," Voldemort said suddenly, startling Harry. "This is an important issue and we need to work through it. You're right that it's important, but we don't have the time to dedicate to it now. Gym first."

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but quickly snapped it shut and sighed.

"Fine, but this afternoon can we also talk about the fact that Snape was the spy who witnessed the prophecy too?" he said as the pair resumed their journey and quickly entered the gym.

"Yes, that is part of what we need to discuss."

Harry shrugged, glad that this wasn't something he was going to have to drag out of Voldemort through subtle prodding.

The pair quickly slipped into the routine that they had developed over the last two weeks. Harry was reluctant to leave when their work-out was over, but knew he'd be coming back after lunch and that they'd have plenty of time to discuss things then.

– –

"Severus's loyalties are of a legitimate concern," Voldemort began as he leaned back in his desk chair after having just finished his meditation. Harry quickly put away his book and stuffed it back into his book bag before leaning back against the side of the chair and turning his head to look up at the Dark Lord.

"You are aware that he was the spy that provided me with the first portion of the fake prophecy," Voldemort began again and Harry nodded. "Shortly after you were born, and I determined that you were the most likely subject of the prophecy, Severus came to me and pleaded that I spare your mother."

At this Harry almost choked. He turned around and gaped up at Voldemort in stunned silence. "What! Why?" he finally asked.

"It would seem that he was rather infatuated with her. Apparently they were childhood friends. He said that he knew her even before attending Hogwarts."

Harry's jaw floundered in continued shock. He couldn't even fathom what was being told to him. Snape was in love with his mum!

"Since he was the servant who had brought the prophecy to me in the first place, and I still had yet to reward him for that deed, I agreed to try to give Lily Potter the opportunity to step aside. Of course, I would make no such promises in regards to you or your father, but he made no such requests."

Harry snorted. "Of course not. He hated my dad."

"Yes," Voldemort drawled with a smirk. "Many people did."

Harry rolled his eyes.

"It is my belief," Voldemort continued, "that he did not believe that I would spare Lily. Or at the very least, she would not be willing to stand aside and allow me to kill you."

Harry's mouth formed a small frown as a blurry memory of screamed voices echoed through his mind.

"Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!"

"Stand aside, you silly girl…stand aside, now."

"Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead -"

"This is my last warning -"

"You did give her the chance..." Harry said quietly. Voldemort gave him a funny look, but continued.

"I believe that Severus went to Dumbledore at that point to warn him that you and your parents had been targeted. He soon there after came to me and told me that he had an opportunity to gain employment at Hogwarts as the new Potions instructor. The obvious insinuation was that he could go there to spy for me against Dumbledore. Obviously I was not so stupid as to simply fall for that."

"So you think that it was Dumbledore's idea? He wanted Snape to spy on you for him?" Harry asked.

"Precisely."

"And you think that the reason he went to Dumbledore in the first place was because he wanted to save my mum?" Harry continued with a hint of incredulity in his voice.

"Correct."

"But it failed. My mum died anyway, and I lived. So would he still be loyal to Dumbledore even though he failed on his end?"

"That is the question. I also imagine that Dumbledore would have required some form of proof of sincerity from Severus. Most likely an unbreakable vow."

Harry's eyes widened. "What do you think he vowed? To stay loyal to Dumbledore?"

"That would be the most troublesome. But it is possible it was something else. I can imagine Severus making an effort to avoid a vow such as that. Vowing his eternal loyalties to any one man is simply not something he would ever be stupid enough to do."

"Not even to you?" Harry asked, incredulously. Voldemort just laughed.

"He is a Slytherin, Harry. No one makes life-long commitments in Slytherin, unless they are sure that they can worm their way out of them, should the desperate need arise."

Harry nodded his head in understanding. "Alright, so what should we do about Snape?"

"You are correct that his remains a risk as long as we are unsure of where his loyalties lie. He can undoubtedly detect the excessive amount of dark magic on you from our dueling sessions, and a daily cleansing ritual would be far too annoying and time consuming. I am going to need to identify where his loyalties lie sooner than later..." his voice trailed off as his face took on the look that Harry had come to associate with his deep planning and scheming. Harry remained quiet to allow the older wizard time to think, and enjoyed the feel of the Dark Lord's fingers as they slipped into his hair.

Harry was almost lulled into a relaxed nap before Voldemort spoke again. "Alright, I have a plan, but I will need the rest of the afternoon to prepare an object for it. We will have to postpone today's dueling lesson."

Harry frowned for a moment as he felt a pang of disappointment, but he quickly pushed it away. This was more important, and he knew it.

"You will assist me," Voldemort continued and Harry's mood instantly perked up as he was consumed by curiosity.

Voldemort stood up and motioned for Harry to follow. The two quickly left the study and began to head downstairs. Harry was, once again, led to one of the doors he had never entered before and once it was opened, he found a stairwell reside behind it. Harry followed Voldemort down into the manor's basement, that, until that moment, he hadn't even known existed. At the bottom of the stairs was a short hall with only two doors. One of the doors was large, heavy, and Harry could feel it was heavily warded.

"What's back there?" Harry asked as he jerked his head towards the door.

"That is where I have begun to set up holding cells," Voldemort said dismissively as he began walking to the other door.

"Holding cells?" Harry echoed in surprise.

"Yes. The spells and protections are still rudimentary and will need far more work before I can consider them secure enough to make frequent use of them. Although, there is already one person enjoying a stay down there."

"There is! Who?"

"Barty's dear old father," Voldemort drawled with a chuckle.

"Mr. Crouch is down there!" Harry said, looking back over his shoulder towards the door. "Why keep him alive at all?"

"Polyjuice ingredients," Voldemort said flippantly.

"Does he need to be alive for that? Can't you just take a bunch of his hair and keep it?"

"Once the person has died, any hair removed from them is no longer viable for the potion. It's also why Barty has had to keep Moody alive."

"Oh. Huh. I didn't actually know that."

Voldemort continued in his journey as he led Harry through the other open door and into a large open room with rows upon rows of shelves along the walls, several large tables in the center, and a collection of various sized cauldrons. Harry blinked at the room as he finally entered and took it all in. It was clearly a rather elaborate potions lab, and Harry was impressed by the massive inventory of ingredients that filled the shelves.

"Wow," Harry said as he looked around. "When did you have time to build up such an inventory?"

"Mixey has been busy," Voldemort said, turning his head back and smirking at Harry.

"My potion brewing skills are really only so-so, so I can't guarantee I'll be a lot of help down here," Harry admitted sheepishly.

"You will be sufficient, Harry. I simply require a second set of hands. Now, lets get started."