#if this gets touched on HL I don't know. maybe it gets touched on but I'm on S3 in the hard lessons lmao

[cnl0400]

One of the things that pissed me off from S4 (besides the whole Simeon thing oc) Is that the results of the survey/report MC & Mephisto did are locked in the extra L-A and the results are, surprisely negative lmao

Like you would think that this was foreshadowing to some demon trying to sabotage the whole exchange program, or maybe MC becoming a member of the student council changes everyone outlook on the exchange students, but yeah, this never gets touched again... 🥲🥲

It's specially frustrating because some people don't get that MC relationship with the brothers Is an outlier and doesn't represent the common relationships with demons & other species, so things like Solomon being cynical with how he interacts with demons gets interpreted as Solomon being racist towards demons or whatever

The point of this post Is that we need more antagonistic demons or whatever ✌️ people should be less nice to each other

[animasola86]

🦑 A Special Little Toy

sentient!squid x f!reader 🔥 explicit 🔥 words: 1.2k

One month ago, you found a little creature while skinny-dipping (or maybe it found you?). You took it in (quite literally) as your little pet, and this is how you nurture it.

WARNINGS: NSFW! Explicit sexual content! Assisted masturbation? Vaginal sex. Double penetration. Sentient sex toy? Mirror sex! Tentacles! "Object" insertion.

NOTES: This is a "re-write" of one of my HL oneshots/smut series A Special Kind of Bond, so if you've been following my work for a while, you may already know this. As I can't post a whole new Kinktober piece today (as mentioned here), I decided to recycle my first attempt at teratophilia. You'll find more links to other tentacle-related smut I've written in the end notes. I hope you enjoy this short little piece of monster smut!

A loud moan falls from your trembling lips as a deep shudder jolts through your body. Are my roommates back yet? you wonder frantically, but you really don't care when another shudder makes your hips twitch off the bed.

You press your lips together and grip the bedsheets so tightly your fingers start to cramp. More moans and quiet whimpers leave your throat in rhythm with the constant throbbing pulsing through your insides. You feel your muscles tightening, contracting, clenching and unclenching, the shudders like tidal waves rippling over your body, grabbing you, pulling you with them, as your hips undulate needily, your thighs twitching as you force yourself to keep your legs spread wide apart.

All this because you want to see what's making you feel so good. Your head is blissfully empty, your nerves deliciously on edge, that tension in your gut building up more and more as you look into the mirror at the foot of your bed, giving you a perfect glance at the almost translucent thing pressed deeply into your tight butt as its eight little tentacles slither over your skin.

One is coiled around your clit, others stroking and pulling and flicking it, some gliding up and down your slick slit, and two are pushing in and out of your wet depths in a contrasting rhythm, stretching your entrance, teasing your walls.

And the last one is going deep, it's the one that's made thicker and firmer, that knows exactly where your sweet spots are, and it's determined to press against them with fervor, and each time it does, your body convulses, your moans get louder, your head is thrashed back into the pillow while your fingers claw at the bedsheets.

You are out of your mind with pleasure, ready to explode under the various kinds of stimulation, and weirdly enough, your little toy seems to feel it too. And it's got the worst sense of humor. Because it suddenly stops moving its tendrils, stops throbbing against that tight ring of muscles, stops that thicker tentacle as it's hovering right over your g-spot.

You groan and jerk your hips up, tempted to continue on your own, but you force yourself to be patient, even though your body is not, as it keeps shuddering, your muscles keep contracting, and when you whimper softly, “Come on, please, this is for you too,” the motions continue abruptly, and you cry out when the stimulation is back in full force, maybe even more so, as the tentacles rub and glide and poke and prod, and the bigger one slips in and out your tight channel, thrumming against your walls, dragging over your sweet spots, while its body pulses wildly inside your butt as if it's vibrating.

You moan and buck your hips frantically, your thighs trembling, your toes curling up, your hands ready to rip the sheets you're holding onto. The tension grows with every little touch against your oversensitive flesh, and suddenly, it all erupts. Bright lights explode behind your eyelids, your body spasms uncontrollably as your muscles contract almost violently under the power of your orgasm.

A drawn-out cry of pure ecstasy leaves your throat as your eyes roll back, and you contort in the most blissful way for a moment, hips off the bed, shoulders pressed into the mattress and knees shaking under the exertion.

The thing inside you changes its pattern, rubbing harder, half of its tentacles focused on your clit, the others joining the bigger one in your warm depths, stroking your insides through your release by pushing in and out in a strange kind of rhythm.

You're a whimpering mess as you collapse onto the bed again, body still quivering, twitching uncontrollably, your breaths as erratic as they can be, and under the forceful ministrations of those tendrils, you keep riding the high, head empty, heart thundering, mouth wide open as your noises fall past dry lips.

You force your eyes open and stare at your reflection in the mirror that's shaking under the frantic movements of your overstimulated body. You watch those tentacles writhing in and out of your clenching cunt, the wet squelching sounds adding to the sensation, causing goosebumps to ripple over your skin in waves. You gasp and whimper with every inward thrust as they hit your deepest depths, teasing your sweet spots, expanding inside you, stretching your walls.

You're shaking from head to toe, and when the creature's body starts moving inside your ass, you yelp in surprise as it mimics the movements of its appendages, pushing in and out, turning and twisting its elongated body against your tight muscles, coating it with a combination of your juices and that sticky fluid that drives you insane almost literally, as it seeps into your flesh and makes everything seem even more extreme.

Your head is spinning, and you feel as if you can taste colors now. Moans and groans and grunts tumble from your open mouth, your body completely overwhelmed from all the things happening at once as it still convulses, hips bucking, thighs twitching, and you watch it all out of hooded eyes until it all comes to a sudden stop as you climax again, this time with a force that shakes the mirror and in the end stains it with your juices as your release pushes out of you with a force that hits you like an oncoming train.

You cry out and press your eyes shut, heart seemingly stopping as you gasp deeply, before everything resumes, and you fall into your cushions, completely spent, covered in sweat and your own juices and a stickiness that numbs the shudders of your body. You feel your little toy moving within your tight walls, slowly working its long body out as it pulls itself forwards by its eight arms that seem to be glued to your wet center, some still inside, pressed to your slick flesh.

With a soft wet pop it slips out of your butt and onto the sheets, and if you would have had the strength to look into the mirror, you'd see your tight hole gaping slightly before it would resume its original state. But you're lying on your back, legs spread wide open, thighs twitching, saliva pooling in the corner of your open mouth, as the creature goes to work on your pussy now, its tendrils retreating until it lifts itself up onto them and pushes its wider head straight against your slick entrance.

You feel a deep shudder when it forces its glistening body forwards, and your walls clamp around it and pull it inside. You're too weak to moan, so you just breathe a little louder as it slips into your tight channel, throbbing and humming and evidently sucking up all your juices from your wet walls. Its tendrils flap lazily about as it finds its home deep inside you, body fully sheathed, its head prodding your cervix, teasing your womb.

You shiver, your insides convulsing again, but the motion is too soft to lose your head over it. It's comforting how its thick body fills you out perfectly, nestling within as if it belongs there - and for the last month it has, though when you first found the little squid in the depths of the lake, it has been much, much smaller, before it developed a taste for your nurturing juices.

READ MORE:

A SPECIAL KIND OF BOND MASTERLIST

MORE TENTACLE-SMUT:

PLEASANT DREAMS AND TENTACLES

NIGHTMARES AND HELPFUL SNAKES

MASTERLIST // AO3 // ORIGINAL WORKS

KINKTOBER 2024 MASTERLIST

[j0kers-light]

Hiiiii!!! Can I be known as 🥁anon? I was the one who requested Jokers music taste and the instrument one!! (So glad you liked them btw, you write so welll!!!!!!)

How about 10 signs that joker is in love/likes someone and his love language? I mainly imagine him as someone who denies the idea (just like in HL) but still acts on his feelings in his own way- maybe leaving gifts around and denying any sort of accountability for them?

“I’m telling you, you’ve had that necklace on before” - “Huh? I didn’t even know you liked hand bags.” - “You SERIOUSLY forgot you owned that car?”

Welcome 🥁 anon!!

A huge hey hi to you! Yes, your requests were so much fun to fill, I hope I did them some justice! Ahh! Thank you, I'm happy you love mi work! 😭😭🥹

Lol, ten signs that Joker is in love? YOU MEAN, TEN THINGS HE HATES ABOUT YOU? 🥴 sorry not sorry.

Anyhoo, I hope you enjoy 🥁 anon! 🖤✨

Denial is a river in Egypt because Joker refuses to admit that he loves you! But he's a man where the saying, "Actions speak louder than words” applies. He won't say it (lol Meg from Hercules) but there will be signs he’s in love.

Joker is already attentive but he's even more so as he begins to accept his feelings. He listens and retains the tiniest details about you so he can use the information for later. J shocks you when he remembers your obscure food order (and the extra sauces) when you only said it once in passing three months ago. Joker doesn't know, but his love language is heavy influenced by actions.

Another sign is Joker being more supportive. He's always in your corner motivating you to do anything you set your mind to but now he's more focused on your future with him. If you want a promotion, one is suspiciously available the next week or if you can't take the stress of your job and want to quit, Joker will offer to support you financially. You ask for it, Joker will make it happen.

Joker becomes more protective than ever. If the security cameras and secret detail wasn't enough proof how much Joker loves you, the way his eyes never leave your sight in public, the way he rests his hand on your lower back in crowds, or protects you from danger (that he may or may not have caused) is telling. Joker has never been a knight in shining armor before and he loves having something to protect. He will always protect his Light and takes his responsibility seriously.

Once he admits he's falling hard, Joker will become clingy and start introducing his love language of physical touch to you more. For years, he never let anyone close but you have that honor now. He holds you close while you're cooking, he plays with your hands during movie night marathons, and he denies enjoying cuddles—he's just cold—but you know better. Joker can't stop touching you in someway shape or fashion. He’s addicted now.

Which brings us to another sign. Gift giving is another one of Joker's strong love languages but this man will deny deny deny ever getting you anything!! He leaves them around for you to find and dramatically gasps when you do. "Gee Bunny, I don’t know why there's a shiny new hand bag on your bed.. I didn't know ya liked 'em." Or, "Ya don't know your own closet Bunny? This new winter coat still has the uhh, tag on it." Followed by a, "What a coincidence! Twenty-nine reported subway muggings just this week and you win a uhhh surprise car! Don't ya re-mem-ber entering that contest doll?" Joker loves buying you things but he sucks at lying.

Joker tends to forget his version of love is not normal so he gets possessive a lot. He's a jealous man by nature and if he sees competition, he will eliminate it. You don't need to know why the flirtatious guy at the front lobby no longer works there, or the guy that gave you his number was found dead the following day.. The thing is! Joker finally admitted that he loves you! He will not let anyone take you away from him.

Another sign from Joker is his sudden willingness to communicate. J is a mysterious, closed off individual. Its an honor to know anything about him so when J sits you down and opens up about his time spent in Arkham or explains what his childhood was like (but cautious, it could still be lies)— consider it a miracle. Joker is opening up to you! He wants you to know more about him and his shy, hesitant eyes staring into yours shows that he's vulnerable doing so. Don't take advantage of him in this state or you'll lose him forever.

Speaking of forever, you know Joker is all about planning. His backup plans have backup plans from B-Z. One day he found himself staring up at the ceiling planning on how to make things official with you and now it’s all he can think about. You’re not a secret and he’s tired of treating you like one. It'll be dangerous if he announces you as his girl, (you'll never be safe) but Joker wants the world to know that you love him so he stares off into the void and plots a way for it to work.

Contrary to popular belief Joker is not cold hearted. He can be passionate when the need arises and he cranks it up to 100% with you. Joker never had a healthy relationship so he tends to forget the intensity in which he loves you. He has so much emotion to give that he literally leaves you breathless. His kisses are greedy and desperate, and the way he clings to you during sex makes you combust with love. This man doesn't even know he can destroy you with a single touch and it’s better he remains blissfully unaware.

And lastly. The ultimate sign that Joker loves you. The moment Joker takes you to his main hideout, walking hand in hand, where anyone can see— is the moment you know he loves you. When Joker exposes you to his world, there’s no going back. You’re the one and when he orders all of his men in for a manatory meeting you're in tears. It’s finally happening.

"Good evening gentle men. I have a special announcement tonight." Joker pulls you to stand in front of him and proceeds to wrap his arms around you possessively.

Your heart is beating out of your chest while all of these men stare at you in shock. You don't blame them.

Joker is nuzzling his nose into the crook of your neck but you miss the dark gleam in his eyes. They spell murder for anyone that dares to defy him. He scanned the crowd, looking for any naysayers.

"This is my Bunny and I'll kill anyone.. who's gotta problem with it."

[destinyc1020]

Sunday Confessions:

1. I wonder if Sydney n her man r actually going to get married. I dnt care for her bt feel for her somewhat cuz i think she met him when she was like 18/19.. and they have a 13 yr age gap 💀 they also work together, he does smthn regarding her production company so, their very attached. If he treats her well then good for her

2. I really dnt get showcasing your kid as much as DDG do. Hes a beautiful boy bt the amound of weirdos online... culdnt b me personally, i find it dangerous and the kid didnt ask to get showcased. I remember this tweet of Halle complaining about ppl speaking on her career/son and telling folks to leave her alone. I dnt think folks shuld tell her how to live her life and in no way is it ok to comment on a baby negatively, bt then at the same time yr bf/baby daddy is literally tweeting, livestreaming and making youtube videos that showcase yr son☠️ make it make sense.

3. Ik folks like to clown John David bt imo he really aint that bad of a actor, he just isnt his dad lol i found him to b fine in everything ive seen him in. I think his sister, Olivia Washington is a beyter actor bt i guess nepotism dsnt apply if your a brown/dark skinned woman 😔

4. Nt deuxmoi havimg the Kaia/Austin rumor and JE/Olivia vacation pics side by side lol the 4 of them stay connected lmaoo

https://www.instagram.com/deuxmoi/?hl=en

5. I wuldnt b shocked if Ayo/Jeremy had smthn down the line lol mayb they really r just good friends bt that video if him rubbing her back/touching her braids at that baseball gamr awhile back was suspicious. Mayb their just really touchy tho lol

1. Giiiiirrrrrl....I don't think so. 👀 Anytime I've seen super long engagements like this, they almost NEVER actually make it down the aisle, and the couple actually ends up breaking up. You can't be THAT busy to just get married lol.

2. I haven't been seeing what Duck Duck Goose has been posting on his social media tbh, but you all already know how I feel about him. 😒 Halle did not procreate with a man on her level (if you ask me), but hey, it's her life, not mine! 🤷🏾‍♀️ As long as she's happy, then oh well! 😅🤐

3. Rofl 🤣 Hey girl, it's okay if you've always loved JDW's acting. Art is subjective anyway lol. 🤷🏾‍♀️ I thought he was horrible in "TENET". Everyone (including the extras and side characters were all out-acting him, and he actually has an Oscar-winning ACTOR for a father! 😩🥴😭 I didn't think he was that bad in "Blackkklansman". JDW did some theater more recently, so he's probably improved quite a bit! I will always give someone another chance or two lol. 🤭

4. 🤭🤣😅

5. You know what, I used to kinda think so too in the past, but the way she recoiled back in sheer HORROR when they asked her on the red carpet about his sexy photoshoot for some magazine, I said to myself, "Errrmmmm....I guess NOT!" LOL 😆 🤣 She didn't even try to play it off lol! 😅 She literally FLINCHED like it was something painful to even think of him in that way! Rofl 🤣 I actually posted her reaction on my blog! 😅 So, from then on, I figured that she must really only view him strictly as a brother lol. I don't think there's ever been anything there girl lol. Her gut-level, instant reaction told me everything I needed to know rofl 🤣

[achaotichuman]

Hii!! It's me, Wolf! And I'm here to tell the snippet of the fic I thought about ahaha

It's crack treated seriously (kind of) ahaha with angst

So, Tamlin is depressed, alone, and suicidal, and while he roams his manor, he finds himself in the library, where's the mural of the Mother creating Prythian, and he decides to talk to it as if he's talking to her and then he decides to sing the prayer (maybe with his fiddle) for the ones who are dying (in this case it's for him, bc he's at his breaking point and wants to take his life)

Cauldron save you. Mother hold you. Pass through the gates, and smell that immortal land of milk and honey. Fear no evil. Feel no pain. Go, and enter eternity.

But once he finishes, ready to do the deed a voice interrupts him: it's the Mother, the mural came to life, and they began to talk, with Tam telling and exposing himself bare to her.

He tells her about his guilt towards and especially Feyre (and Lucien and even Rhysand, bc why not, he's delusional, and he hates himself) and so the Mother smiles and stops him hinting that something wrong is going on in Prythian, that there is a corruption of sorts, one that Tamlin could begin to explore, but since he feels so guilty toward Feyre (Nesta words are referenced, and he does feel guilty towards her and Elain for their transformation in Fae), she then "curses" him (not really, it's more the "punishment" he desires) to force him into a woman body with these words (or something like that, this will/could change since is all a wip for now)

"You said you hurt the woman you loved, because you didn't understand her feelings, her heart, her nature, so Tamlin, High Lord of Spring, this will be your punishment you so desire, death is not for you to seek, instead I will curse you: you have lived 500 years and more as a man, son, beast and now you'll live the next five hundred as a woman, daughter, to seek to understand the feelings you didn't. Will you still see yourself as a beast once your punishment has ended?"

And so his body changes to a female version of himself, he's still the High Lord of Spring (High Lady now lol) and he can still shape-shift and use all of his powers, but he can only retake his male form for a short time (an hour or so, to be decided) and then, before leaving him, she gives him some clues and advice.

Now, this is the little premise, inside the story there'll be more of it, and I will touch on the corruption of the world of Prythian (fake bonds everyone? A certain push of narrative/fate? Why is everyone kissing Rhysand's ass?), angst, Eris will become an essential character inside it (he'll be an advisor sort of ahahaha) and so will Tarquin (new bff in town?) and Lucien and even Rhysand, and it'll have a little of all the shipping for Tamlin (My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard begins to play)

And a story that'll find a foot of freedom/comprehension for the Archeron sisters. (GET THEM AWAY FROM THE NIGHT/IC AAAA, LET THEM BE FREEE SJM!!!!)

One thing important to note (spoilers incoming) is that for a loooooooooooooong time only two people will know that Tamlin is a woman (I have ONE particular scene/event/arc in mind ahaha) and when everyone will know I will have Tamlin or Beron say (to Feyre, bc they're a little petty since the last HL meeting) "I guess now we have a real High Lady for the first time" *mic drop, boom*

And of course there will be introspection, angst, and more, and idk, it's a story that I don't know if I will end or publish, but it's and idea that I quite like!

What to you think? If I would actually end up writing it (I might have almost finished the first chapter... help) would you like to read it?

Ps: The rise of fem Tamlin that you and others have made inspired me so much with the idea of this and it's such a fun thing to explore!! (I love your Dhalia series and your Cinderella inspired story!!!)

I hope this hasn't bothered you and, as always I hope you're having a great day or night! ♥

OH

MY

*GOD*

THIS IS AMAZING I HAVE REREAD THIS LIKE TEN TIMES

Okay, the concept of the Mother 'cursing' Tamlin and giving him reprieve from the life he's lived so far with a punishment, amazing. I love that so much. This could leeway into so many things, and I love how this story includes Eris and Tarquin (They have a friendship with Tam and no one can tell me otherwise)

Overall, this looks and sounds so so so good. We need more fics where Rhysand gets his ass handed to him and the IC is called out on their bullshit.

I am so happy fem Tam is rising, we need more of her. I was enraptured by this fic idea, I cannot wait to see it executed!!

Thank you so much for sharing this! Please send me the first chapter when its ready!!

[deliciouskeys]

@cozycornerkinktober's prompt #7: DIY P*rn

Documentary (Butchlander)

@xieyaohuan expressed interest in my take on DIY P*rn. The verdict: I think it's hilarious and don't know what I'm doing. They're in an established relationship here, I'm not going to even bother explaining how or why for a ficlet. Warnings: rated E, HL being HL. Maybe I don't have to censor p*rn, but I'm not taking any chances, Tumblr. AO3 link.

Butcher didn’t really know what he was getting into when he agreed to have sex in Homelander’s apartment. He should have known. The decor was creepy enough but the mirrors, the fucking panoramic mirrors, should have clued him in that his sex partner was insane. Not just in the drunk-with-power-and-fine-with-harming-people-insane sense. The let’s-sit-and-watch-a-play-by-play-of-our-previous-sex-session brand of insane.

The sick cunt can’t seem to wrap his mind around people not wanting to be filmed without consent. Or not wanting the sextape played on several large screens, with the volume cranked up, bass boosted, which is the scene Butcher walks into when he strolls out of the shower. 

“Why the hell are you watching this?!” Butcher immediately tries to snatch the remote off the big ugly leather sofa but Homelander’s hand puts it out of reach faster. The cunt gives him a brief glare.

“I want to relive it.”

Butcher slumps down on the sofa, the bath towel still wrapped around his waist, and watches in spite of himself. It’s an aerial view of them getting ready, undressing, Homelander lying back and hooking his hands around his inner knees. He clearly glances up at the camera.

“Okay, so there’s a camera behind your ceiling mirror,” Butcher says, grimacing as he distinctly hears lube being squirted into his palm although you can’t see much more than the top of his head. “But where the fuck is the sound getting recorded from?”

“What do you mean?” Homelander asks, but he doesn’t tear his eyes off the screen where Butcher has now undressed and slowly positioned himself between Homelander’s legs. “There’s a couple of microphones in my bedroom. On the nightstand and on the wall.”

“So you use surveillance equipment to record sex sessions? You didn’t think to ask me before we started?”

Homelander shrugs. “I don’t understand what your problem is. The only people who have access to this are me and you.”

“Until your cloud account is hacked.” Butcher scoffs. “And I’m sure everyone and their mother in Vought Analytics can watch this too. Probably watching it right now.”

Suddenly the camera angle shifts and it’s a side view of the proceedings.

“How many cameras are there? One behind each mirror or something? And when the fuck did you have time to edit this footage together? Were you up all night working on this?” 

Homelander scoffs and shrugs his shoulders dismissively. “This isn’t Dawn of the Seven editing here. I just took the best angles. Not like it took me hours to do it.”

It’s not clear what Homelander is getting out of watching this, because he’s fully dressed in uniform and definitely not touching himself. He might as well be watching a documentary.

Despite his disgust at the entire thing, Butcher’s eyes keep being drawn to the screen. It is interesting to see himself fuck from the side view. The Homelander onscreen makes breathy little lewd noises at every thrust, tossing his head side to side. It looked random yesterday, but now Butcher realizes he’s vamping for the cameras that only he knows are there. Butcher winces when he sees his screen self grab hold of Homelander’s neck. It’s not an action that can harm the supe but it’s plain to see that Butcher enjoys doing violent-looking things to the man underneath him.

“We look good,” Homelander says, beaming, wholly unperturbed by the fact that his partner fantasizes about throttling him, apparently just taken with the aesthetics.

Butcher’s mind is still put off by the existence of this footage, but his body is starting to respond to the sights and sounds on the screen. He considers crossing his legs, but then decides against stifling anything. If this cunt is going to provoke him with their own pornography he better be prepared to deal with the consequences. 

The Homelander onscreen arches violently, mewling.

“There, right there.” Homelander pauses the video.

“What about it?” Butcher asks. The still does look like a work of art, every muscle in Homelander’s body looking tensed, something that could be ecstasy or agony.

Homelander rewinds a few seconds back. “I came without, you know, coming. With my cock. It’s never happened to me before.”

Butcher shrugs. “I think I remember. You were shaking and seizing and then went all limp.”

“It’s never happened before. I’m trying to figure out what you did differently.”

Butcher shakes his head. “I’m sure it’s nothing I did. You’re just mentally turned on at home, staring at yourself, showing off for your Big Brother setup.”

Homelander seems annoyed. “I was trying to compliment you.”

“I mean, I’ll take it,” Butcher says. “But you were acting pretty differently on your own bed. I thought you were faking it a little. Now I know why, at least. Hamming it up.”

Butcher’s finding it hard to stand it any longer. The video is still playing, the Homelander onscreen lying limp and sweaty in the aftermath of his dry orgasm while the Butcher onscreen just keeps on keeping on. Homelander’s body is so relaxed and loose that now his head lolls with every thrust into his body. “Fuck me harder,” he says breathily, but it’s loud on the speakers. Butcher’s erection is tenting the bath towel he’s wearing. Homelander glances over and presses his hand against it, eliciting a hiss from Butcher. 

“If you’re going to touch it, take off your damn gloves and open the towel at least,” Butcher mutters.

Homelander blinks and sits still for a moment, before doing just that, bare hands reaching down and stroking his length. Butcher groans when Homelander leans over and his mouth descends over his cock, that supernaturally strong suction making Butcher see actual stars in front of his eyes. He leans his head back on the couch, breathing hard, trying not to thrust, not because he doesn’t want to hurt the cunt’s throat but because…. Well… Butcher is having trouble keeping his train of thought. He keeps watching the porn onscreen, although his vision is hazy. The camera angle has switched to the other side view. The Homelander onscreen seems to have recovered from his little death, wrapped his legs tightly around Butcher’s hips and is pushing back to meet the thrusts. The Homelander offscreen has started humming in time with the lewd moans he’s making on the tape, and Butcher can’t help it, can’t keep himself from grabbing the cunt’s head by the golden hair and pushing his head down to take his cock to the hilt, even as his hips jerk upward. Homelander makes a choking sound but doesn’t stop sucking, swallowing down every drop even as Butcher’s body comes down and he sits on the couch bonelessly.

Butcher slowly gets his wits back, and his onscreen counterpart has also finished and slumped down on Homelander’s body (aerial view camera only showing Homelander’s face mostly hidden behind Butcher’s shoulder, only blue eyes peeking out).

“So you just record everyone you sleep with in that room?” he finally asks, his voice still strange and husky. How many of these sextapes does this cunt have?

“I guess,” Homelander says, then mumbles something quietly while turning away.

“Come again?”

“I said, you’re the first person who agreed to sleep in that bed.” Homelander’s still looking away, down at the floor. “Cause apparently it’s a ‘weird setup’,” he airquotes and Butcher has to wonder who said those exact words. Maybe Maeve? But this supe cunt actually sounds hurt about it.

Butcher suddenly gets up and grabs Homelander by the hand, still bare, which always causes a startle in him.

“Come on. Let’s go to your ‘weird setup’ and peel you back out of that uniform.” 

“You just came…” Homelander protests, as if Butcher needed the reminder.

“You don’t think I can improvise?” Butcher chuckles. 

When he’s got Homelander toppled over on the bed, and undoing the buttons holding the hard shell of his suit together he adds, quietly in the cunt’s ear. “But if you make those little slutty sounds like you did last night, I’m sure I’ll be ready to go again soon.”

Homelander makes a small whimper at those words, as if on cue.

[faustinio27]

Eagles don't belong in cage (HL fic)

Summary: Orphaned since birth, Faustine escapes her dull everyday life with fantasy books. As she dreams of magic, her wish may be granted, for better… and for worse.

Warnings: child abuse, violence

MC is my character, Faustine Daemon. You can find more info about her here. This fic is her backstory and takes place before she joined Hogwarts

A BIG thanks to @alsopartgekkos who has been my beta reader (and moral support) from start to finish 🫶

“I see at intervals the glance of a curious sort of bird through the close set bars of a cage : a vivid, restless, resolute captive is there ; were it but free, it would soar cloud-high.” -Jane Eyre, Charlotte Bronte

Faustine no longer believed in God.

Hands clasped, head bowed, body bent on a bench in silent prayer to a crucifix.

A quick glance while everyone is busy: same people, same poses, same eyes closed in reverence. Some murmuring prayers. Others are so bent double that knees touch faces.

She wasn’t the only one without faith, was she? 

A question burned inside her mouth: Faustine tried to find the answer in someone else's face so many times. Tried to decipher every furrowed brow and wrinkle, every movement of the lips. Maybe it’s just her, really. Maybe she should not blame others for choosing otherwise. To get through life, some people clung to God.

Faustine, on the other hand, preferred imagination.

Her gaze shifted to the high ceiling and followed familiar gothic arches, descending into pillars. Her favorite stained glass windows depicting the flight of a white dove reflected the rays of the morning sun in a harmonising blend of blue, red and yellow. A splash of colour in the dull reality of an orphanage. But it’s only a moment before suffocation, when her eyes linger on Christ's pain-stricken face depicted on each mosaic.

No one has to know she lost faith now.

Or maybe it's already happened long ago. Maybe she lulled herself in promises of a wonder, but the years went by without a miracle. They say you always have to believe in Him. A question dances on the tip of her tongue like a sin.

Did He ever believe in her?

Her mind sought to wander beyond the walls, leaving the confines of the church for the little paths of the garden, the busy city. In her daydream, Faustine passed a shop window: her reflection dressed in one of these luxurious gowns, dazzled with beauty a little more with each step, so light that she seemed to fly, moved like a ballet dancer on an imaginary stage. She reached Big Ben, overlooking London in all its splendor and a pair of black wings materialized on her back, feathers twirling. Effortlessly, Faustine flew up to admire the city: passers-by not bigger than little ants, staring at her with amazement and admiration. She smiled, before soaring even higher into the sky, caressing the fluffy clouds, waving to the thousand-colored birds. Pure air entered her nostrils, allowing to breathe deeper. Her numb limbs waited to expand, again and again, until she reached the night sky. The moon was right in front of her, huge and softly shining white.The scene unfolding before Faustine  resembled a play  in which she was the lead actress, only the stars weren't made of cardboard  but actually stood before her eyes. They began to dance around her, leaving a  trail of light behind, reflecting  off her skin, which now seemed to contain a galaxy of its own. They twirled in chorus towards the full benevolent  moon. Faustine raised her hand in its direction, to-

"Can I, please, get through?"

A voice ripped Faustine back to her senses, back to Earth and the hustle of morning prayer. Her eyes darted to see other people rising in turn: the mass was over and she happened to be the one too engrossed in daydreaming to notice.

Girl’s face scrunched, gaze brushing Faustine in mixture of christian pity and disapproval.

Right.

Dreams weren’t allowed at St Maria-the-Bow.

As soon as they left the prayer room, the young residents followed one after the other, silent under the stern eyes of the nuns. Once they reached the main hall, the anthill was divided: each group of children going about their own tasks. Some headed for the kitchen to help prepare meals, while others went to the storeroom to arm themselves with brooms. For her part, Faustine climbed the stairs to the bedrooms, closely followed by a flock of girls slightly younger than herself. After passing through several dull corridors, they finally arrived at the baby room. A dozen cribs stood there, each containing a toddler to be cared for: some asleep, others screaming more or less loudly, awakened by the light streaming in from the just-opened door. The girls already rushed  into the room, past Faustine, who remained standing at the landing. Some gave her questioning looks, others frowned at her motionless stance, but no one remarked. She kept staring  at the babies, heart in her throat.

Although no memory of it remained, Faustine had once  been in one of those cradles, years before. That some other girls, who came before, had to change her diapers, gave her a bottle. What had become of those girls? What would become of me?

"Miss Daemon, what are you waiting for?"

Faustine raised her eyes to glare at a nun towering behind her, hands clasped behind and small brown eyes squinted in judgment.

"Don’t think you can escape your duties by standing there in the hallway. If you don't want to do chores until midnight, hurry up and get to work."

"Sorry, Sister Kezia."

Head bowed, Faustine entered the room. She approached the first crib and observed the chubby baby, who had just woken up. No sooner had their eyes met than he started screaming at the top of his voice.

It was going to be a long day.

The sun finally set, and the babies, changed and fed, fell asleep again in their cribs, and even if they didn't sleep, it was no longer Faustine's problem. The children dined in religious silence before going to their own rooms. After washing up, they all prayed to God and thanked him for the day - Faustine didn't really pray - before going back to their beds.

Faustine shared a bedroom with five other girls: white, musty , three bunk beds facing each other, wooden bindings threatening to give way at any moment. A single chest of drawers was enough to store the residents' meager belongings. The nuns claimed owning little was a sign of virtue, but in reality the orphanage was too poor to garnish the room with anything more. Still, a crucifix remained on the blank wall, as if it followed Faustine wherever she went.

One by one, the residents slipped under their comforters without a word. Faustine followed, lying down on the bottom bunk. A quarter of an hour later, a nun opened their door to check if they were asleep. Half an hour later, the children's breathing became more regular.

Except for her.

Faustine jumped out of bed as discreetly as possible. She crouched down and reached under the bed, grabbing a slightly raised wooden plank before pushing it off. Her hand groped around in the hiding place, until it touched the object she was interested in: out popped a thick book. Faustine dusted off her blanket, smiling broadly, before snuggling back under the sheets. 

Since no candles were allowed, Faustine benefited from the moonlight streaming through the window onto her bed. The young girl set the book in front of the glass. As soon as she opened it, the inky black words seemed to dance. Faustine immediately lost herself in a world filled with wizards, dragons and magic. Although books were not forbidden at the orphanage, there were certain…recommendations. Witchcraft was associated with the Devil, and had no place in a religious establishment. However, after reading the entire library available to the residents, from textbooks to children's stories, Faustine's overflowing imagination couldn't stop there. May God forgive her, for it was to these cursed stories that she preferred to take refuge in.

The next day was a repeat. Up, prayers, breakfast, lessons, lunch, until it was time for chores.

As Faustine headed for the stairs, Sister Kezia intercepted her.

"The director wants you to go to town on errands."

The orphan prevented the smile from forming on her face to not tempt the sister to change her plans. So Faustine simply nodded.

"Go into the kitchen, so Sister Judy can give you what you need," ordered the nun.

Faustine obeyed, forcing herself to walk at a measured pace, her legs itching to run. The cold corridors of the orphanage suddenly seemed more colorful than ever.

As she entered the kitchen, a group of girls stopped chatting, staring as one in her direction, and their piercing eyes unsettled the joy felt only moments before. They look like vultures. Faustine tried to pass them with an indifferent expression, but when one of them whispered in her neighbor's ear, eyes glued to the newcomer, she  gritted her teeth to avoid making a scene. 

"Did you see the smug look on her face?"

"She keeps thinking she's better than us."

"Is she going to bother us again with her magic stories?"

"That crazy girl should be locked up in a hospital."

All those phrases she already before swirled in her mind, poisoning the mood.

"Ah, there you are." 

Sister Judy was a tall, overweight woman. She stood  over a large copper pot of steaming soup, the preparation of which Faustine suspected contained more water than any other ingredient. The sister grabbed a basket and threw it into Faustine’s  arms, handing a piece of paper with a bunch of words scrawled on it.

"The list."

Just as Faustine was about to take it, the nun raised her arm sharply.

"Don't dawdle, you've got to get back before nightfall. No detours."

"Of course."

The woman then held out the piece of paper, followed by a small wad of crumpled bills. Faustine felt the burning gaze of the orphans behind her, as she took them to stow away in her pocket.

"Ask a sister to give you the keys to the gate. Chop-chop!"

Faustine left the kitchen without further ado. Arriving at the gate in a long cloak to ward off the winter chill, Faustine watched the gates rise into the sky. She called out to a busy nun  clearing snow to make a path from the gate to the front door.

"Mrs. Robertson asked me to go shopping. May I have the keys to the gate?"

The little woman judged her up and down before taking out the bunch of keys without a word and let it fall into Faustine’s  hands. However foolish it was to entrust an orphan with the exit from her prison, no one was going against the director. They needed extra hands to fetch the groceries, and Faustine was the oldest resident, so it made sense for her to go.

When she put the key in the lock and it made that satisfying little click, Faustine took a deep breath and stepped outside.

If London seems like a gray city to you, try looking at it through the eyes of an orphan who'd lived cooped up all her life.

Sure, her clothes were rags, she didn't have wings growing out of her back, and the sun shone brighter than the moon. But Big Ben still towered high in the sky.

Every detail became a source of comfort: footsteps crunching in the burnished snow, the smell of pastries coming out of the corner bakery, the constant hubbub of passers-by who could range from shouting to laughter. If no one was paying her any attention, all her senses were on the alert to rediscover every little insignificant detail of this city.

The route she took was always the same: the bakery, the grocery, the fishmonger, the butcher. Each brimmed with the little secrets she loved so much. The sound of crusty bread in her arms, the countless rows of cans and bottles of different sizes and colors, the fish with strange faces that seemed to come straight from the unknown depths of the sea, and the smell of red meat so enormous it seemed to come from a legendary animal. Faustine examined each of these stores with a particular interest, which displeased some. Vendors would give her indiscreet glances for fear that this louse might steal something from them. But she always ended up with enough to pay, offering them her few bills with a broad smile.

The sun was beginning to set as she exited the last store and her basket was overflowing with supplies. She readjusted her jacket to keep warm, as Londoners began to head home to warm up in front of their open fires. But her afternoon wasn't over yet, and the best part of the day was just beginning.

The snow was starting to fall as she pulled up in front of a picturesque building. The crooked edifice made of aged red bricks and a wooden storefront that seemed to struggle to hold it up. Flower boxes brightened up the windows, overcoming the cold by some miracle. An "open" sign, written in curvilinear script inviting the curious inside, hung on a door engraved with pretty symbols and a hand-shaped knocker. It was the most beautiful building Faustine had ever seen.

A bell announced her arrival and immediately the smell of books enveloped her. The warmth quickly dispelled the icy cold from outside, as if she'd come home to a roaring fire. The walls of the store were narrow, but the high ceiling allowed hundreds of books to pile up to the top. The owner, Mr.Callan, was busy at the till with a couple. Faustine greeted him with a nod, which he caught, and responded with a large smile.

Books were everywhere. On the floor, on the staircase leading to Mr.Callan's private apartments, on the shelves, on the cash register. She walked carefully to avoid tripping over a detective novel, and weaved her way between two stacks of books taller than her, all the while ogling the titles on the shelves. To find what she was looking for, Faustine didn't have to be afraid to rummage from cover to cover. Not that she minded.

She let her finger wander along the edges, bending her head to read titles. A color, a name, a particular design could be enough to catch her eye and make her pick one up. She chose a substantial book wedged between an insect encyclopedia and an Austrian dictionary. The title was "Around the World in Seventy-Two Days" and featured a woman with a suitcase in hand, looking confident and determined. Faustine opened the book and flipped through a few pages. Thus, she found herself plunged into the heart of Japan, heard the sound of a steam train arriving at the station, greeted a fish through the porthole of a submarine and smelled fresh croissants in a Parisian bakery. Closing the book with a firm hand, she could still hear the foreign laughter of French sitting around a table. She placed it back on top of a pile carefully  before moving on.

Faustine barely moved away from a young reader slumped on the floor in a corner, so engrossed in his story that nothing seemed to disturb him. She tiptoed to the top of a shelf and grabbed a blue book with beautiful golden arabesques, only to open it without even reading the title. The sound of a seagull and the salty smell of the sea propelled her onto the pontoon of a pirate ship. She listened to the captain spouting orders to his crew and felt the frenzy of everyone going about their respective tasks. She would have stayed to see them dock with a royal ship, but once again, she closed the book and put it back in its place.

She began again and again. With each book Faustine found herself in a new universe. She could ride a horse through a haunted forest, fly alongside a Phoenix, swim among mermaids, lose herself in infinite space... Each book had its own smell, its own texture, its own story that took her on a journey. She loved to run her fingers over the paper as she passed each page. She could spend her days here, if no obligation held her back. Never had freedom seemed so close as in these words printed in black ink.

With a thud, she closed the last book in her hand. By staying here, she was losing all notion of time. She didn't want to be reprimanded - again -  for getting home after dark. Faustine clutched the fantasy novel she'd just leafed through. It was a forest green cover with a majestic dragon on it, promising a tale to take her far away from her monotonous life. She gritted her teeth, fighting an internal battle between want and responsibility.

Finally, she reached into her pocket for the remaining change. She rotated the coins in the palm of her hand, undecided. Faustine didn't like stealing and that money didn't belong to her. She had been trusted to run errands, which she had to take back to the orphanage. The money left over would be used for future purchases, which would go to all the children's possessions. But another part of her whispered that the director didn't need to know she'd given too much money. She deserved to be paid for the dirty work she had to do, didn’t she? This book wasn't too much to pay for all that was asked of her. It would be her reward for being the daily errand girl. And, above all, it wasn't the first time she'd done it. It was her treasures hidden under her bed that kept her going another day.

She watched people walk past the bookshop window, busy with their own lives. Inevitably more hectic, more interesting than that of a poor invisible orphan. She watched the ladies bundle up in their long, warm coats, the men clinging to their gloves and top hats. They all exuded a standard of living she would never attain. A child lingered in the window, pointing at a storybook. His mother  looked at him tenderly, murmuring an answer that only they could hear, before kissing him on the head and leading him away. Faustine's eyes drooped, the hole in her heart making itself felt more than usual. But once mother and son were gone, they revealed a person sitting across the street. An old man, dressed in rags and sitting on a wooden crate, was warming himself as best he could by rubbing his hands against his arms. No one looked at him. Faustine's heart sank at the sight. She took another look at the book she was holding, before putting it down and leaving the store.

She looked left and right before crossing the street. When she reached him, the old man didn't notice her, too tired and cold for that. Faustine bent down to place a few coins in the bowl in front of him. Their clicking finally woke him up, to meet the newcomer's blue gaze.

"I hope this is enough to buy you a hot meal," she murmured.

The homeless man smiled at her from beneath his white beard, without a word. The girl returned his smile, before continuing on her way. She had given him the few pennies she could’ve bought a book for. But in a way, she didn't care. If it meant the old man could warm up with a stew or a soup, that was enough. And so much for the money she should have given back to the director. She bit her lower lip, feeling guilty for complaining about her life, while others suffered more than she did. She was lucky to have a roof over her head, a semblance of an education, and meals every day - albeit meager.

The return journey was less spirited: the colors gradually turned gray again, as Faustine dragged her feet to the gate, which she locked. A prisoner who has to immure herself in her cell. Ironic, right?

Once inside, the cold didn't seem to have left her. Faustine took the shopping basket to one of the kitchen tables. No one seemed to have noticed her, while the nuns and children ran about, the former barking orders, the latter shivering as they carried them out, a sign that dinnertime was approaching. At least she'd made it back just in time.

Emerging from the frenzy of the kitchen, Sister Kezia was waiting for her. 

"Miss Robertson wants to speak to you in her office."

Faustine swallowed at the news. It was never a good sign when the director specifically wanted to see someone. She skirted the walls as she climbed the stairs with a step intended to be composed. She didn't want to attract any more attention by looking hurried and worried, but from the glances and murmurs of passing children, the news had already made rounds. Perhaps even before she got home. Faustine maintained a neutral, confident expression, but her throat was drying up and she couldn't do anything about it.

Arriving at the heavy wooden door, Faustine breathed for a moment to calm her racing heart, before knocking.

When the director’s voice ordered her to enter, the teenager felt as if she'd arrived in hell.

The room was large, yet felt more oppressive. The crackling fire in the fireplace didn't help. The walls were drab, a sole bookshelf stood proudly against the left-hand wall, filled with perfectly organized books and photos of the orphanage and its residents over the years. Faustine knew she had to be present for the last fifteen. In the center of the room, Miss Robertson sat at her wooden desk, writing with a steady hand on a sheet of paper she seemed to take a malicious pleasure in torturing. In front of her stood two chairs that looked as comfortable as sea urchins, these were set to welcome visitors. Those who had come to collect a child, and those who had come to drop one off. Faustine wondered if her parents had sat there, with her as an infant in their arms, to ask the orphanage to accept her. The director had always told her that she'd been abandoned on the doorstep, but she could just as easily be lying. Just to make her suffer, preaching that Faustine’s  parents hadn't even bothered to put her down in a warm place, but in front of the gates at the mercy of anyone.

Faustine was relieved when the director didn't ask her to sit down. She'd probably be the Ice Queen if she'd come from one of her fantasy books, with white hair pulled back in a high bun and an unsympathetic look behind small glasses, so much everything about her exuded coldness.

"Do you know why I brought you here?"

A sign that she was allowed to  speak. 

"No, ma’am."

Faustine clasped her hands behind to hide their trembling and stood straight, her gaze fixed on an imaginary point so as not to meet the director's gaze. Despite disgust for this woman, she couldn't help wanting to please her - more out of fear than affection.

The director crossed her hands in front of her and finally decided to turn her attention to the newcomer.

"Did you bring the groceries to the kitchen?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Did you manage to buy everything on the list?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"You're always late. Did you make a detour for this?"

Faustine knew how to arrange the truth. Technically, the bookshop was on her way home. If she got home late, it was because she stopped to go there, but she didn't make a detour.

"No, ma'am."

She squinted her wrinkled little eyes at the remark, before sighing. She bent down to grab something from the floor, before tossing it onto her desk. Faustine's heart sank.

All her books were stacked in a neat pile. She recognized each one by edge, size or color. Eyebrows raised and eyes wide, she betrayed her surprise and stress to the director, who remained as impassive as possible.

"I got this from your room. A child who was doing the housework wanted to sweep under your bed. That's when she saw a wooden slat askew. Pushing it aside, she discovered these books, which she promptly brought back to me, as they're normally kept in the library.”

With a lump in her throat, Faustine didn't reply and remained fixated on her wonders. 

"Can you tell me where they came from?"

An answer was required of her, but she'd be doomed either way. And the director knew it.

"Did you steal those books?”

"No."

"Did anyone give them to you?"

"No."

"Did you use the money I gave you to go shopping to buy them?"

Faustine swallowed.

"Only what was left over. I made sure to do all the shopping beforehand, and if there were a few coins left over, I'd put them aside to buy myself a book. I would never-

"So, you used the money from the orphanage to buy yourself presents?"

Faustines’s clammy hands began to shake again, as she tried to avoid the director's gaze.

"Y-yes... But it was only a very small amount, and I thought-"

"-So in addition to being a liar, you're a thief. And have been for a long time, if I judge this pile of books. I knew you were a selfish child, Faustine, but not to this degree."

The words felt like a punch in the face. She'd always disappointed the director, but it was something else to hear her say it.

The old woman grabbed the book at the top of the pile and adjusted her glasses in disgust as she read the cover.

"And… for what? For such... nonsense?"

Faustine bristled as she saw the hooked fingers leafing through her precious book. She bit her tongue to keep from yelling.

"Dragons, fairies, magic. Where did you get the idea to fill your head with such ludicrousy? You've always had your head in the clouds, but I was hoping you'd at least think about your future, not... this."

"But I need it!"

"No, you don’t, young lady!" the director shouted, rising from the chair, unable to bear being contradicted. "What you need is a strict, firm education. You've got to stop fantasizing about imaginary worlds and start living in reality! The only life you have is the one our Lord has granted you. Can't you see I'm trying to help you survive  a life outside these walls? What good are your dreams, when you're out on the street with nothing but your body to sell?"

The violence of these words cut Faustine off at the seams. Her muscles twitched. She would have liked to retort, but the director wasn't entirely wrong; part of Faustine's reason for reading was to escape this monotonous life. She would rather lose herself in these worlds than have to face reality. Miss Robertson realized  that she had touched a nerve, and continued to plunge in.

"Would you like me to remind you of the future that awaits you on the other side of our gates? Here, you're fed, you have a roof over your head, but outside, you'll have to fend for yourself if you don't want to sleep under a bridge. You'll have to work, if anyone is willing to take you on. Which won't happen if you keep daydreaming and wasting your time."

She finally picked up the stack of books and moved dangerously close to the fireplace. Faustine's eyes widened, but she had no time to react. 

"You're a smart girl, Faustine. You know I'm right. And if I have to go that far to make you come to your senses, so be it."

The director tossed the books into the fire. Faustine stifled a frightened scream and raised a desperate arm towards the quickly blackening paper. She was ready to burn her hands to retrieve it, but the old woman turned sharply and unfolded her hooked fingers towards her.

"Give me the book you bought today."

A flash of memory made Faustine flinch, propelling her down the snowy street, only to be brought back by the stifling heat of the flames decomposing her treasure.

"I don't have any," she replied, her throat dry.

"Then give me back the money you had left over from the errand. I'm sure you didn't spend it all."

"I don’t either-"

A vein in the director's temple threatened to explode in anger as she cut Faustine off from her explanation by violently grabbing her wrist. The teenager's blue eyes widened in horror at the sight of her raised hand, which immediately lowered to her cheek with a sonorous clap.

"A thief... a liar..." growled the director between her teeth. "A beating, that's all you deserve."

Faustine's mind clouded with shock. In addition to the pain, it was the violence of the act that left her dazed. She blinked several times to come to her senses, and the first thing she saw was her precious books charred in the fireplace. She wanted to scream at her tormentor. To tell her that she couldn't be satisfied with a life like this. That she didn't owe her or God for her current situation. That she wanted more. That she needed more.

But when the old woman raised her hand again to strike, fear took control of her body. Faustine managed to break free from the steely grip and ran.

The director’s shrill cries ordered her to return, but she did not. She ran towards the exit and violently pushed open the doors. The cold winter wind assaulted her face, but she didn't care.

Arriving at the high gate, Faustine slowed down, her heart racing. Howling sounded behind her. Panicking, she shoved her hands into her pockets and sighed as they touched a small metal object. The gates couldn't resist the key she'd kept from her afternoon outing. Once again, Faustine stepped through the gate like a penitentiary that had seen the light of day after years of confinement. She surrendered to her footsteps, which guided her to who knew where. 

As long as it was far from the orphanage, she’d be alright.

Faustine didn't know how long she'd been running. Step after step in the snow, arms crossed over her body for warmth, Faustine tried to tell herself that she'd been right to run away, even if it didn't seem like it. With each doubt that crossed her mind, she recalled the slap on her face and her books burning. The thought of that fire overwhelmed and made her shiver. What would she give for a little warmth? The moon shone high in the sky, although the stars were hidden by the light pollution of the street lamps. How many times had she admired the white moon from her bedroom? If her situation wasn't so desperate, she'd savor this moment of silence she'd missed so much at the orphanage. London seemed to have frozen into a resplendent tableau. Her eyes moved from the sky to the lighted windows in the houses. If she listened carefully, she could hear children laughing.

She took a step in the direction of one of the houses, before changing her mind, caught up in her doubts. She looked around, searching for a familiar building in vain. When she was allowed out of the orphanage, she always took the same route. The stores, then the bookshop. She had never strayed from this path, as she preferred to burn her time among the pages rather than in the real world. Determined to find a purpose, she set out to find her favorite store. With any luck, Mr. Callan would be able to help her. Running her tongue over her chapped lips, she strove to take another step forward, motivated by the idea of being able to reach her sanctuary.

After about ten minutes, she finally stood in front of the building.

The store was closed. Looking up at the windows above, Faustine put her frozen hands around her mouth to echo.

"Hello? Anybody home, please?"

No light came on. Faustine waited a few minutes, calling again. She knocked on the door with the knocker, but no soul intervened.

Faustine slid down the door. Her skirt came into contact with the snow, but she didn't shiver. I'm only taking a break, she thought to herself, before setting off again. But go back where? She could retrace her steps back to the orphanage, but a shiver crept up her spine at the very thought. She could always wait here till dawn, wait to see more clearly, to see people, and... what? Beg? Ask for help? Who'd want to help a bum orphan? It wouldn't be long before the police brought her back. The director was right: she was fed and housed there. She thought of that old beggar she gave her coins to. Was he alright and fed tonight?

Curled up against herself to fight off the cold and her thoughts in anxious disarray, Faustine felt her eyelids close on their own, before a movement caught her attention. In a narrow passageway between two buildings, two men appeared literally from nowhere, before their feet touched the ground. Faustine stood up, unsure of what she had just witnessed. The strangers glanced around, but failed to spot the teenager at the other end of the street. They moved deeper into the dark alley, as if nothing had happened.

Intrigued, Faustine decided to follow them.

She ran down the alley, the sound of her footsteps muffled by the snow. Keeping a good distance between her and the two men, she  nevertheless observed them in more detail. Both wore  long trench coats, the one on the left was taller, slimmer and with  a distinguished top hat. The shorter one was stocky and bald, but also sounded older somehow. Without shouting, snatches of their conversation reached Faustine. 

"... Ready... Good time...?" 

"... Don't worry... Important merchandise…"

"... If ever... magic..."

Faustine almost stopped at the word. 

Wide-eyed, she wanted to learn more, before realizing that she had to slow down: she had been mechanically speeding up. She stood still for a moment, only to see the men turn between two buildings and disappear from sight. Panicking, she hurried to join them. Around the corner, she saw them take a high iron door. As it closed heavily behind them, its features began to fade, as if someone was erasing them. Without thinking, Faustine ran towards it, grabbed the still visible handle and stepped inside. The entrance vanished at once. Her amazed eyes remained fixed on the now smooth wall. A problem for later.

Turning around, she discovered a small open-air courtyard, surrounded by tall buildings with faded facades. A long corridor led at the end to a brick wall, where one would expect to find a door. A tall cylindrical tower overlooked the apartments, with small square windows opening onto a staircase. The smell of carrion wrinkled her nose.

The two strange men faced a new stranger. His clothes matched: a luxurious black suit under a long brown coat. He wore graying sideburns and small, round glasses. His features wrinkled as the two men approached, revealing a growing anxiety. Faustine hid behind a wooden barrel, serving as a table with bottles of alcohol on its lid. In this position, she couldn't see the men, but their voices came through loud and clear.

"Mr. Thompson, what a pleasure to see you again," declared the smaller man. "Are you satisfied with our boiling teapot?"

"Y-yes. My mother-in-law has been in the hospital ever since I gave it to her. I didn't see with my own eyes the miracles you promised, but the result was there."

Faustine tilted her head a little more towards them, ears wide open.

"Apparently, her house was turned upside down, there was tea everywhere. Her face was burned -but she'll get over it. The authorities blamed it on an argument between neighbors."

"I'm delighted," continued the older man. "Will you be interested in our latest merchandise?"

"Invisibility potion," croaked the young man in a squeaky voice that made her wince.

Faustine peeked out a bit.

He twirled a vial with his long fingertips, like charming a snake with his flute. The man with the sideburns seemed mesmerized, before coughing his way out of the daydream.

"Perhaps I could have a... glimpse of its effectiveness?"

The bald man placed his hands on his hips.

"The teapot worked fine, didn't it?"

"Just a precaution."

The two sellers exchanged brief glances, eyebrows furrowed and backs straightened. The younger directed his hand beneath his coat, before the other raised his arms in submission.

"You heard him. The gentleman wants to check the quality of our products."

The younger man grunted. He caught the cork in his teeth before spitting it on the floor, then lifted the unfamiliar liquid to his lips. In three gulps, the vial was empty. Faustine's breathing came to a halt as she watched the man's contours gradually disappear, like the door a few moments ago. First his feet, then his hips, back, arms and finally his head. If a slight reflection still allowed a glimpse of a shape, the illusion was almost perfect. A long smile spread across her cold-rosy face. She had never witnessed anything so extraordinary.

The invisible figure spun around, as evidenced by the footprints in the snow. Then, a few seconds later, he reappeared. Faustine’s heart pounded in her chest.

The magician pulled another bottle from his coat, while the other held out a greedy hand.

"As for the price... You'll understand that we're the only ones to sell these items to the Muggle world. You'll never find them anywhere else. As for its effectiveness, there's nothing better. You're free to do what you like with it."

Muggle world? Now they were talking in strange words that filled her ears like a sweet melody. The sight made her forget the biting cold that froze her limbs from crouching behind that barrel. Until her foot landed on a sharp texture that made a screeching sound. Shards of broken glass are crushed under her sole.

"Damn," she muttered.

The three men immediately stared at her with big, round eyes. Faustine remained motionless, naively hoping they wouldn't see her. But in her eagerness to hear a little more of their conversation, she had moved far too close, the barrel no longer hiding her. Suddenly, a terrible tension filled every bone in her body, the magic of one moment turning into the dread of another.

Faustine took a step back, her hands raised in submission, well aware that she shouldn't be here.

"Listen, I won't say anything. I didn't see anything."

A big fat lie. 

The taller dealer was the first to walk up to her, while casting a questioning glance at the second, who shook his head briefly. Faustine stepped back.

"I swear to you. No one will know an-"

A bolt of red lightning struck. Faustine quickly crouched down with a scream, clasping her hands over her head. The young man clutched a distorted wooden wand in his hand, a scarlet glow emanating from it. Glancing back, Faustine saw a smoldering black mark on the wall where the door had previously appeared.

"What are you waiting for?" spat the eldest.

His arm rose. Sparks flew from the end of the wood. The girl didn't wait for the rest. She leapt up, and another bolt of lightning struck the spot where she had been a second before. The snow melted there with an icy crackle. Not asking for more, Faustine ran to the tower. She passed the customer, who just stood there, helpless. As the girl reached the gate, her hands struck the cold metal as she gripped it with all her might. Miraculously, it opened under her weight.

"Confrigo!"

A searing explosion melted the metal centimeters from her fingers. Wide-eyed, the orphan rushed up the spiral staircase.

The two men set off after her. Their every step echoed in the narrow tower. Spells kept coming, but the circular architecture meant they could never aim right. A brick exploded just above her. Each explosion vibrated in her chest, as if her heart would stop at the next one.

With wobbly legs, Faustine shoved the exit door open. She found herself on the rooftops. London was sleeping just below. Breathing heavily, she would have stopped to admire the scenery, if two wizards - were they wizards? - weren't trying to kill her.

"Come back here!"

The shout snapped her out of stupor. Faustine placed a shaky foot on the first snow-covered roof. Her legs hesitated between running and walking. The void pitched at less than a meter. The cold wind swept through her blond hair and unbalanced every limb. But she kept going, one slippery step after another. Don't look down. Don't look down...

A shout snapped her out of her stream of thought.

"Bombarda!"

Immediately, the roof jumped under her feet. Tiles smashed into her forearms as she shielded her face. A cry escaped her lips as she desperately reached out, clawing at the void to grab hold of something. Her right hand caught a hanging store sign, a stabbing pain shot through her shoulder. A gag turned her stomach. All her limbs would have shattered if she hadn't caught herself. Her left hand joined the first on the board, transfixed by the touch of icy metal and snow. But her fingers slipped inexorably.

"No, no, no…” she mumbled through clenched teeth.

Until she let go.

Her buttocks landed first, the snow taking part of the fall. But that didn't stop her legs from hitting the sidewalk hard. Her body begged to lie still. To not move. Blood pounded in her temples, while an icy breath crossed her chapped lips. How good it would be to close her eyes and feel nothing. But the voice of her pursuers immediately put her back on her bruised legs.

"You're going to wake up the whole neighborhood!" 

Windows in the surrounding buildings lit up with candles, alerted by the noise. Some shutters opened. But most remained closed, as if the inhabitants were trying to escape the danger from outside.

"Help!"

Her words bounced into the void. The wizards came closer and closer. Which way did they come down? No time to think, no time to wait for help. Her feet had to start running again, despite the pain. Unfortunately, she didn't know this part of London: every street seemed a labyrinth.

Faustine slipped on a patch of black ice, which made her turn at a crossroads. She caught herself in extremis so as not to fall, just as another bolt of red lightning streaked across the sky to burn a lock of her hair. Out of breath, she straightened up and rushed into the new alleyway. Her feet pounded the ground, shaky but holding firm. A groan caught in her throat as she spotted a wooden palisade standing in her way. The footsteps of her enemies reached her ears. Turning back was impossible. She took a short breath before jumping. She slid down the fence, but her hands caught painfully on the edge of the wooden planks. Her right shoulder shot with pain again. Without paying any attention, Faustine pulled herself up as fast as she could, before landing crouched on the other side. She winced as she felt a snap in her leg. Get back on your feet, get back, get back!

But the palisade exploded right behind her, dragging the girl along in its blast. She screamed in surprise, thrown forward. Her face crashed into the snow. Her trembling hands immediately tried to pull her to her feet. Stand up.

"We've got you at last.”

Faustine turned towards the pursuers, still lying down, crawling away.

"Please..."

Her back jerked as she hit a wall. Her face sank: a dead-end. 

"I won't say anything," she begged once more, "I have nothing to say to anyone, I'm nobody."

Her suffocating respiration was the only thing she held on to. A breath.

Both wizards raised their wands.

"Please..."

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

They pointed in her direction.

"Please..."

Inhale. Exhale.

"Avada kedavra!"

Inhale.

Faustine's body instinctively folded in on itself, ready to receive the blow.

A crackle. A bang.

Everything went black.

Rays of sunlight seeped through the windows to caress her face. The scent of plants hung softly in the air. Gradually, ambient noises reached her: rapid footsteps on the wooden floor, muffled speech, the rustle of leaves. Faustine opened one eye.

The first thing she saw was a white ceiling. She turned her head back onto the pillow she was resting against. To the right, a half-closed shutter on a high window let in the sun. To the left, a few peonies slumbered in a vase, surrounded by medicine-scented bottles. A small basin of water stood on the wooden bedside table, along with linen and bandages. In the corner of the room, a lonely wooden chair lay.

The girl winced as she tried to sit up. Her whole body ached. As she tried to move her right arm, she realized that it was wrapped in a scarf, which passed behind her neck. Abandoning the idea of using it, her second hand palpated her face. Faustine ran her fingertips over her  forehead, down her left eye, then down her cheek to her neck. Her heart began to palpitate. Bandages.

The basin suddenly began to shake, startling her, then stopped. Faustine remained motionless for a few seconds, staring at the copper bowl that seemed to tell her she'd just been dreaming. Hesitantly, she raised a hand timidly towards her bedside table. The object remained in its place. What did you expect?

Until it moved in her direction. It was so slight that she couldn't believe her eyes. Her mouth half-opened astonished. Then a pain in the back of her head jolted her to life.

Suddenly, the door to her room opened, and a young woman in a gray dress with a white apron appeared. Her auburn hair was pulled back into a tight bun, while a white hat sat delicately on her head. A few strands of hair fell over her softly pale face. A gentle smile widened on her pink lips. 

"Are you awake?"

She swiftly turned and tapped a nurse passing in the corridor behind her.

"Tell Doctor Harding to come and see the patient in room 32."

Finally, she approached the bed, her arms laden with linen and bandages. Faustine couldn't help but recoil at her approach. The nurse stopped dead in her tracks.

"It's all right, you're safe here.”

She placed her belongings on the sheets.

"I'll have to change your bandages."

Her voice was gentle, but firm. It wasn't a question. Docile, Faustine relented. The young woman then set about removing the pins holding the bandages around her head. One by one, she gently unwound them. Unlike the new ones, these were yellowed and spotted with red marks. As soon as the bandages covering her left eye were removed, she could see fully again. Her blond hair slipped in contact with her mutilated skin, making her shudder.

"Can I... can I see myself?" she asked in a hoarse voice.

The nurse frowned, not in annoyance, but in concern.

"I don't know if it's advisable to... The doctor will come..."

"Please."

Faustine held the end of her sheets tightly, trembling. The young woman withstood her pleading looks for a few seconds, before giving in. She placed the basin on the Faustines lap. The girl’s gaze dipped into the reflection.

The scar began on her forehead, before reaching her left eyelid. Then from dark circles came two lines, one running down to her chin and ending in a curl. The second scribbled three arcs, crossing her entire cheek, descending a little further towards her ear, before zigzagging across her neck, divided into multiple strokes before ending.

Faustine sat still, staring again and again at the scar. Her eyes kept gliding over the loop, uncovering something new with each pass. Half her face was disfigured. Above the reflection of her head, she noticed a crucifix towering over her, hanging on the wall.

"What happened to me?"

"... We thought you might be able to shed some light on the matter."

The door opened again as the young woman finished pinning the last bandage. An older man, with brown hair plastered to his head and a beardless chin, stood upright in the doorway. A leather-bound notebook, aged by time, stood in his steady hand.  The nurse immediately stood up.

"I've finished, Doctor. I'll leave you with her."

"Thank you."

Faustine didn't have time to thank the nurse in turn before she had already left, closing the door. The doctor approached swiftly.

"My name is Dr. Harding. I'm the one who took care of you during your convalescence. Glad to see you awake."

He pulled out the wooden chair calmly to sit opposite the bed. Faustine sure wasn't used to such benevolence, especially in the space of fifteen minutes.

The doctor's voice was warm, deep and well timed as he spoke again. Faustine found herself thinking that he would have made a good singer. 

"Your situation has been stabilized. You have a sprain in your arm, which should recover in a few weeks with rest. Your pelvis and legs are riddled with superficial wounds, requiring only a few days' immobility for a full recovery. Your facial wound came very close to blind your eyeball, but thank goodness your left eye was spared."

Faustine assimilated this information without flinching. The doctor then opened his notebook and took a pen from his jacket.

"I'm now going to ask you a few questions."

The girl swallowed, her voice still hoarse.

"Name?"

"Faustine. Faustine Daemon."

Fortunately, no remark was made about her too un-Catholic name.

"Age?"

“Fifteen."

"Place of residence?"

Her throat went dry.

"St. Maria-the-Bow Orphanage."

The pen didn't stop tracing black lines on the yellowed pages.

"What is the last thing you remember?"

Faustine narrowed her eyes, trying to put her memories together like puzzle pieces.

"I left the orphanage... and wandered the streets. I found myself... er... in a park. No, in front of Mr. Callan's bookshop. And I..."

The burning books. The slap. Her legs tumbling down the stairs. The cold biting her skin. The moon shining in the night. From there, her memories cracked more and more, until they ended in little pieces.

"... I don't know."

The pen stopped dead on the page. Doctor Harding raised his head, scratching his chin.

"Don't blame yourself for this. You've had a shock and a concussion. I wanted to find out how far back your memory went, but it seems that some of it has escaped you.”

"Will I regain my memories?"

"Only time will tell."

The notebook closed with a snap. The doctor leaned forward, as if about to confide something.

"Neighbors found you unconscious, alone in the street, in the middle of the night. Apparently, they were alerted by screams. You were found in a pitiful state, but fortunately you were quickly taken to our hospital. We suspect an assault with a knife, from the look of the wound on your face."

Faustine digested this new information, trying to paste it back together with her memories, in vain. She shivered as her fingertips touched the bandages. What happened to me?

"I've prescribed two weeks' rest, we'll see how you recover. You're malnourished, which may lengthen the time of your recovery. You'll have to take medicine morning and night, and eat well to regain your strength. The police may come to question you, and an investigation should be opened."

"The police?"

"Don't worry, they’re here to help you. Just answer what you know."

The man rose from the chair, before grabbing the door handle.

"Right, I'll let the director of your orphanage know you're here."

The next day, the police did indeed come : Faustine told them everything she knew about the attack, which wasn't much. Even the neighbors had gathered more information. Those who had found her unconscious had heard her cry for help. Two silhouettes of men had been identified, but everyone was too far away to describe them. Faustine wasn't much help at this point.

From the look on the police officers' faces, the case would be dropped. No one wants to waste time investigating an orphan and two vanished thugs.

As soon as they had left, Faustine's throat was dry from all the talking, she wanted to help herself to the glass of water on the table. But no sooner had she thought of this than it came right up to the rim, threatening to fall to the ground.

This sort of thing started happening more and more every day. Whenever she was alone, objects began to move. The shutters opened in the morning to let in the soft glow of the sun, the sheets covered her up to her shoulders when she shivered with fever, the chair turned towards her as if to watch over her when she felt lonely. Only the crucifix above her head remained peaceful.

No plausible explanation came to mind for all this. Except that she was really going mad.

The days passed slowly. Faustine's legs almost fully recovered, and her arm was on the mend. Her scar had not become infected, the wound now stabilized. The nurses removed the bandages for good, judging that they were no longer needed. However, the doctor confirmed that she would remain scarred  for life.

On the morning of the tenth day, the bedroom door slammed against the wall as it suddenly opened. Instead of a nurse or the smiling face of Dr. Harding, viper's eyes hidden behind rectangular glasses darted in the direction of the patient's scar. Miss Robertson's wrinkled face immediately grimaced with disgust.

"This time, for sure. No one will want you anymore."

An invisible punch struck Faustine's chest.

The director inspected the small room around her, sniffing. The empty chair invited her to sit down, but she deliberately ignored it.

"I suppose the Lord has punished you enough for your insolence. Nevertheless, don't think that everything will be forgotten when you return to the orphanage. You'll have so many tasks to complete that you won't even think of running away."

Faustine wanted to cover her ears. Every word exuded nothing but contempt. Worse, reality had really caught up with her: the director was right. She was nothing outside the bars of the orphanage. A single night out had landed her in a hospital, disfigured. If there had been any hope of adoption, it was now gone. No one would want a crazy, mutilated thief.

"The doctor said you'll be home in two days."

With that, she turned on her heel and left.

Two days.

Two days before returning to the routine of the orphanage.

Two days before returning to the low masses, the chores, the punishments, the hopeless prayers. Her books now ashes, she'd never set foot outside again until she came of age, and then - and then what?

Magic didn't exist, nothing could save her from this fateful destiny, all because her parents hadn't wanted her.

No one will want you.

Her head bowed and her fingers clutched at the sheets, Faustine bit her lips and fought a sob in her throat. Objects around her began to shake, subtly at first, before threatening to fall. The glass on the bedside table cracked, the shutters slammed, the flowers lost their petals, the chair crunched to the floor. Faustine felt Christ's gaze burn her back. She turned sharply to unhook him from the wall and raised her arm, ready to throw him. Red-eyed, holding back tears, her body trembled like the whole room, like a heart in unison. Her skin broke as she clutched the cross so tightly in her hands. Breathing hard, she was about to throw away the sacred object, before finally changing her mind. The room stopped shaking. She turned it over in her hands to observe Christ's wounded expression, bleeding on his cross. A tear rolled down her wounded cheek before falling onto his face. With her back bent and her shoulders slumped, Faustine could no longer stop tears from flowing.

"I'm sorry." she murmured between hiccups.

She didn't know to whom she was apologizing.

There was only one day left. Faustine rested, head buried in the pillow. All she wanted was to enjoy these last few hours of calm. The sun's rays caressed her skin. Her sleep was constantly disturbed by nightmares, a mixture of screams, blows and green lightning. It all seemed far too real. Even her imagination had decided to abandon her.

Someone knocked on the door, causing her to open her eyes.

"You have a visitor." announced a nurse.

A man of advanced years, dressed in a strange blue and brown jacket, stepped into the doorway. He wore a blue scarf studded with arabesques and stars. His gray hair and wrinkled face made him look wise, but not hard, unlike Miss Robertson. Unlike her, his gaze glanced distractedly at the orphan without seeming to see her. The nurse left them alone.

"Sorry for my lateness," he muttered. "Professor Weasley asked me to come and welcome you, but I've been caught up with business at the Ministry and haven't seen the time. All for the sake of trivialities, once again..."

He stopped short in his tirade as Faustine stared at him with two big round eyes. She had never seen this man before. It was the first time she'd seen anyone dressed like that, even in London. 

Her gaze moved from his jacket to his brown vest, leather sleeves and beautifully patterned scarf. When he spoke again, she feared she'd been rude to spy on him like that.

"Anyway, none of this is important, and I forgot to introduce myself. I'm Professor Eleazar Fig, I teach magical theory at Hogwarts. You must be Faustine Daemon?"

A familiar feeling, coming from she didn't know where, made her shudder as she assimilated so much information at once, all missing a little more meaning. She wished she could have paused the conversation to try and understand these terms. Hogwarts? Magic theory? And where did he know her name from? This name, pronounced with no hatred in his voice.

As if reading her mind, said professor grabbed a letter from inside of his jacket, before handing it to her.

"This should be able to enlighten you."

Hesitantly, Faustine reached for the envelope with a limp hand, her right arm having almost recovered. Her hand folded in on itself, as if she feared burning herself as she reached for the paper, before taking it with her fingertips under the old man's warm smile. The wax seal showed an "H", surely for the name of the school. She gently broke it to open the contents.

Her eyes roamed the black lines, her heart beating faster and faster with each word.

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry as a fifth-year student.

Term begins on 1 September.

Preliminary supplies have been collected for you and will accompany you on your journey to the castle.

As you may be aware, the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery prohibits the use of magic by those under the age of seventeen outside the school. However, due to your unique circumstances, the Ministry has graciously agreed to allow Professor Eleazar Fig to help you hone your spell-casting before escorting you from London to the castle for the start-of-term feast and the Sorting Ceremony.

Yours sincerely,

Professor Weasley

Deputy Headmistress

The emblem at the top of the letter depicted a lion, a snake, a badger and an eagle, surrounding the letter H. Faustine's fingers were gripping the paper so tightly they were turning white. The professor was about to speak again, but she was quicker:

"Is this a joke?"

The old man's gray eyebrows furrowed.

"I beg your pardon? Why would it be?"

The orphan's whole body began to tremble. The letter crumpled under her clammy hands.

"Please," she begged, "if it's a bad joke, say so now. If... if this is false hope…"

These last words ended  with a sob. Why was this happening now? Why, after resigning to dream  of a better life, after having been told all these years  that she wasn't good enough for anything, was she being told that she was a student at a magic school? The very thought would earn her at least fifteen strokes at the orphanage.

Professor Fig glanced at the closed door.

"Perhaps an example is more telling."

A slightly twisted wooden wand appeared in his age-stained hand. With the other, he picked up the empty glass beside the bed. He twirled the tip of the wand just once in the air, and a jet of water plunged from it into the container. It all happened so fast that Faustine thought she was daydreaming. He reached for the glass, but before she could grab it, he dropped it. When it should have spilled onto the sheets, it just hung there. She stared at it, not daring to touch it for fear of breaking the spell. Nevertheless, she passed a hand over and under the glass, to check that no threads were hanging from it.

"So... it's true?" she murmured. "But... Why isn't anyone talking about it? Why does everyone seem to fear just the mention of magic?"

The professor coughed in embarrassment.

"The Wizarding world and the Muggle world - the world of non-magical beings - are two very distinct things. We live in hiding, because we're... well... not very well received."

Faustine thought back to the orphanage, the prayers, the witchcraft associated with the Devil and all the torments of Earth. Yet here, in front of her, magic had never seemed so benevolent.

"Ever since I've been in the hospital, I've been seeing objects move around me. I... I thought I was crazy."

"Not at all, my child. They're just fragments of the magic inside you. A far greater power awaits you, with a little practice."

My child. Her eyes moistened at the mention.

"But why now?"

"According to your doctor, you seem to have experienced a, uh... assault," he continued carefully, lest he hurt her feelings. "This traumatic event may have awakened your dormant powers. Your name appeared in the Book of Admittance on the night of the event. By the way..."

His gaze fell for the first time on her scar. But no disgust contorted his features.

"... Sure you were told it was a knife assault, however, the shape of your wound hints of its magical nature. I'm afraid you've met some dark wizards."

At these words, images of green and blue lightning battled in her mind, causing a sudden migraine. It was all too blurred to make any sense of it, but that might explain her nightmares.

"Let me reassure you," the professor added, "that you won't have to deal with those kinds of individuals at Hogwarts. The school is protected by powerful spells that prevent anyone with malicious intent from attacking our students. Not to mention our teachers, each more powerful than the last, will defend you.”

"And Miss Robertson? The director of my orphanage?"

He winced at the mention.

"I met this charming lady before coming to see you. As she's your legal guardian, I had to inform her about the magical world and your nature as a witch. She looked like she was going to chase me off with a crucifix. But she can't interfere with wizarding law. She's the only one who knows this secret, and knows the consequences of revealing  it to anyone.”

"Does this mean I won't be living in the orphanage anymore?" she asked, hopeful.

"Only during summer vacations though, and until you come of age. But during the school year, you'll be living at Hogwarts, in the house to which you'll be sorted."

Faustine lowered her head at this announcement. While she was delighted to be able to escape the nuns for more than half the year, she would still have to go back. But it was a good start. She'd never expected so much.

As she wanted to ask more, so many questions rising in her head at once, but Professor Fig spoke to her calmly again:

"If it suits well with you, I'll be your mentor for the next few months between now and the start of the new school year. I'll teach you the basic spells, provide you with history books on the wizarding world, everything you need to catch up to your peers and start the fifth year in peace."

If that suits me? Why wouldn't it suit me? All her life, she'd hoped such a moment would come. While she waited for parents to free her from the burden of orphanhood, here she was, thrust back into her beloved fantasy books. She would be able to live in a castle, meet magical creatures, surrounded by students who were just like her. Wizards.

Her voice trembled with excitement, eyes brimming with tears.

"It does."

She believed in magic again.

Thank you so much for reading this far. I sincerely hope you enjoyed it 🫶 it was a great adventure, and I'm happy with the result 🥹Thanks again to @alsopartgekkos for your precious help ✨ I'd love to know what you think, so please don't hesitate to leave a comment 💙

PS: english isn't my first language, sorry for the mistakes!

[further-from-maths]

28th Feb 2024, 12:24

I'm back lol sorry for dropping off the face of this blog. that's what IB does to you I guess

Some very cool things have happened since I was last here in writing. I got all five offers back, and I've accepted a firm and insurance choice to two wonderful places!!! Their creative writing departments were wonderful, and the lecturers at my firm were genuinely inspiring to listen to. To get in, I need a 6 in English, and 36 points overall. I think I can do it. My current goals/predictions are:

HL English LangLit: 6 needed for uni, and I managed it in my one mock since switching up. If I get a 5 I can still get into my insurance just fine, but I REALLY want to get into my first choice if I can.

HL Psychology: 7 is the goal. I really want a 7, and there's no excuse barring a lack of revision to not get one. My psychology department is genuinely incredible, and I've done very well in all my mocks. I really want to make them proud so I'm hoping the essays they give us are kind.

HL Global Politics: 7 suggested by the mocks so far, but I'm not the most confident in my politics abilities. I do want a 7 in it if possible though because I really like my politics teacher and also want to make him proud lmao

SL CompSci: 7 almost certain considering my mock grades thus far. I'm not worried tbh.

SL Maths Analysis: 7 PLEASE Maths is so easy to revise and it's easy points!!

AB German: 6 is probably more realistic than a 7 because too many minor slip ups can sink the grade completely, but I really want a 7 too.

Core: 2 is what I'm expecting tbh. My EE and TOK were both fine but I don't think they were WOW yk. I'm expecting a B for my EE hopefully and a B for my TOK, but if I've made my corrections well then hugely maybe I can get an A, which would give 3 points????? That's assuming my EE is in fact B-worthy which I really have no clue about.

Obviously I want to get as high as I can, but if I get a minimum of a 6 in everything, that's still more than enough with Core. I know I'm extremely likely to get a 7 in at least CompSci, so at a minimum I'm thinking I'll get 39 unless core flops?? My goal is to get over 40 though:))))

I'm terrified of making some kind of mistake that gets me disqualified. I know that's irrational but the fear is still there. My English teacher kinda spooked me by saying someone once failed their diploma because they didn't put page numbers in their EE so uh.......................... woooooooo. I'malso terrified about AI writing affeciting me. I haven't touched AI for anything I've done for school ever, but I'm nervous that the AI checker will be bad:( And what if I haven't cited something correctly?????? aaaaaaaaaaaa:(((((((((( Also as a heads up, for this exact reason, I won't be liveblogging my exams lol. I don't want to risk saying anything I'm not supposed to regarding the exams, so I'll make notes and post about them after results day or so. If I post anything during exam season, it'll probably be good-luck posts and nothing more lmao.

We've finished content in pretty much every subject now, which is exciting!! IAs are nearly done -- just waiting for final confirmation that a handful of them are ready for submission, and I've got my computer science IA to finish correcting. The end is scarily close.

Feeling terrified, but as long as I keep my head down and work hard, it'll be alright. Less than 11 weeks left. Let’s do this.

75 days until.

[alarrytale]

Do you think it would be obvious and noticeable if hl broke up?

Yes, i do. Very much so.

I think they are the love of each others lives, and i think both would be absolutely devastated if they weren't able to make the relationship work for them. I think they would blame themselves, be really sad and have a really hard time moving on from each other. If they broke up i think they'd perpetually would want to get back together and work towards that. I still think they'd stay in touch. I think they'd miss the familiarity, intimacy and connection to each other. They are each others rocks. They've been through deaths, losses, legal fights, and have also shared many happy moments together. It's hard to erase all that. I don't think either of them will find something that special again.

I think they would have a hard time performing the songs they've written about each other without becoming emotional. I think it would be hard talking about each other. The houses they own together would be sold, their common belongings divided and so forth. I think people in the know would talk and it would reach us. We'd also see it physically on them, their mood would change, their goals would probably change and their motivation to reach them. Their lyrics would change, and maybe after a time, they'd start pursuing relationships again (with other men). So yeah, i'd think it would be very obvious and we'd know.

[grazhir]

HL - Sebastian (again)

Some thoughts.

The main quests make us complicit in his actions, whether we learn the unforgivables or not. To an extent I can live with this due to the fact that PC is fresh off the train deadly carriage ride from London and may not have had many friends due to the late-blooming deal. I dunno. (Or at least, not magical friends, because she recognizes literally no student at Hogwarts.)

Sebastian is just a bit cocky, but generally personable at the beginning. No big deal. He's fifteen (maybe sixteen, depending on what month he was born in), and I expect that kind of shit from a teen. The "you got lucky" vibe or the "I could have done that (better than you)" thing he has going.

So we're complicit, because we literally have no choice, even if we side with Ominis every time (I do) and call Sebastian out on his shit (like the cruelty he shows the PC at times).

I can even understand—again, knowing that these people are teenagers—why the PC isn't shouting certain things down (such as Isadora can remove pain, so you can too, why the fuck aren't you helping Anne, when Sebastian is misunderstanding the situation) and the PC unhappily and gravely nodding at the end of the scene.

Spoiler alert: I'm muttering obscenities at the screen at the sheer idiocy involved in all this. And the lack of logic (I know, I know, we're dealing with wixen, who do not historically have even a nodding acquaintance with logic and such), or logical arguments.

In the end (first run) I chose not to turn him in. I as the PC am fucking complicit, forced to be, and I am as the PC a charming, polite, and probably too kind, mass-murdering psycho (what with the hundreds, possibly thousands of humans, goblins, and beasts I've slaughtered over the course of the game). I can't exactly judge without calling the Hypocrisy Police down on me.

[But let's be real. Punting wixen off a cliff is the equivalent of Skyrim's Fus Ro Dah, and hilarious every damn time.]

Solomon was abusive, should never have been guardian to children, clearly needed a therapist, and tried to kill me with no proof I'd ever done anything wrong (aside, apparently, from killing those goblins who were trying to raze Feldcroft to the ground, when really I should have offered tea and nibbles and talked things through while being decapitated or my intestines ripped out).

[Seriously, Solomon's comments during that scene were so out of touch with reality it was awful.]

So the man was an utter dick in the end and I'm not sorry he's dead. It's just the way it was done, and the clear evidence throughout Sebastian's storyline that he was losing his mind over this Dark Arts stuff and his obsession with curing Anne that using unforgivables was somehow "instinct" and not "habit".

Is any of it believable? Yeah, mostly, again taking age into account.

Except for the part where none of these hard-core Dark wixen are using unforgivables. I guess because they want us to suffer as we die? Except, that is why Crucio exists? Huh, I'm suddenly confused.

[Except, you know, like Rookwood (and maybe Harlow? I can't remember), who does, but only for the dramatic "we read about/saw this at the conclusion of the TWT between Harry and Voldemort, so let's do it again and assume every player will assume we all have matching, twin/triplet cores"?]

What truly baffles me is this:

Why the hell does everyone have such a hard-on for Sebastian? We have no proof that he'll reform, that he'll stop this obsession, if we fail to turn him in. He knows Ominis' thoughts on the Dark Arts and more importantly why, and Sebastian keeps convincing him (or getting the PC to do so) to let it slide, what he's doing.

For all we know he'll immediately fuck off after OWLs to hunt both for a cure and what deep shadow Anne went off to hide in, not having learned a damn thing, because he'd rationalize what he's done up until now.

He's like the MCU version of Steve Rogers. And I loathe Rogers. I don't loathe Sebastian, but he's in the same zip code.

Will he listen for once?

Too little information from Sebastian, not enough proof.

Kudos to Anne for having enough of this shit and destroying the book (now that the artifact is already destroyed). And I can take that as both "I'm done with this" and "this is the polar opposite of sanity" as well as "revenge for murdering our really not so great uncle" and "without this maybe you'll come to your senses, along with me leaving".

No, in the end, I care way more about Ominis and Anne than I do Sebastian, and I somewhat resent that both the PC and Ominis (and even Anne) are dragged down this particular dark path, treated poorly, and forced to be complicit.

That said? The whole game is a theme of pain, obsession, failure to listen, mental issues, and lies. With whimsy. Often very amusing whimsy.

I also wonder exactly where Sebastian will be staying during the holidays, because I shudder to think he'd be at the Gaunt home with Ominis. And Ominis now has no decent-ish place to stay (as in, not with his actual family), and Anne? Cursed, random bouts of agonizing pain, and I don't even know where she would go and how she'd survive.

I'm not saying the whole questline is bad, because it's certainly cause for plenty of discussion, and it was interesting. (I don't necessarily place it on a higher level than Natsai and Poppy, though.) It definitely invoked feelings in me (empathy, frustration, anger, resentment, and hurt, so mostly negative), which means someone did something right in crafting it.

That said, part two? I hope the PC becomes besties with Ominis and helps him in a more sane way, even if it's only a shoulder to cry on at what whackjobs his family members are.

[weirdraccoon]

Ok. Long rant for anyone bored or curious enough...

Long story short. I consider myself asexual and aromantic. Living in the aroace spectrum surrounded by all kinds of romantic and sexual marketing is tiring 😪 but anyway I didn't mind.

I was content.

All my "crushes" are platonic and I know it and I never actually try for anything! Like. Being in a relationship is exhausting! The attention the money the emotions... Not for me.

And so far until recently, I had thought "sexual attraction" was similar to aesthetic attraction or something cause I'd never felt it before and I've never enjoyed sex (tbh I don't really like people touching me but I guess I liked them enough to give it a try -with no good results).

So. I met this one person.

This one person is 90% my type.

Taller, older, smart, secure, fun, handsome...

We talked. A lot. Almost daily. Almost.

I was happy to just be friends, as I said, I usually keep my crushes platonic, telling myself nothing will ever happen and I don't want it to happen and that way nothing can not work.

Gods. This is stupid. Hah

Anyway. I'm already struggling with suicidal-thoughts 24/7, but like, I won't do anything. I have my lifeline in place and it looks sturdy enough. Works for me even if I'm not really fixing my mind. I tend to joke about this a lot. Part of my defense I guess even when not many people get them 😅

This one person got my jokes! Like they knew when I was struggling and gave me space or even cracked their own joke to help me or even by just being there it helped 😭

And then the day came when this one person confessed to have "a thing" for me.

This part is funny for me bc my mild autistic brain thought they meant a gift lol. Then I understood they meant they liked me. And I liked them!

You know, being aroace and super selective in general, how difficult is it for me to meet someone I like and like like???

And then there were plans to go out, hang out... I allowed them to touch and it actually felt nice!!?! Is that what sexual people feel? Cause then I kinda understand why they like it so much 😂

So. This one person who was attractive for me and whose personality was awesome and with whom I had a lot of chemistry exists.

And I feel butterflies.

Here's where you make a wish cause this has never happened and I don't think it will happen again 🥲

And then.

They had to go.

So this one person who I really really liked just vanished.

Well not exactly. But we heaven't talked in a little while. And I got so bad I went all self-destructive and shit and I know it's stupid but it just feels like... Like... Loss.

So I guess I'm grieving. And to top it all, there's one person I wished I could talk to. If only to make fun of myself or to get advice or to shake me back to my usual heartless self.

But my uncle died almost two years ago now and I miss him a lot.

And so. That's my spiral.

I didn't want to worry anyone with the last HL post where MC does the deed but this fandom, that character, helps me express in a roundabout indirect anonymous way.

Everyone and everything's been telling me to be patient, like maybe this one person will come back and we can go through things the right way, and my aroace ass will have the one person who confirmed we're part of the spectrum but not on the limit... Idk if I'm explaining myself well enough. I'm still spiraling if I'm honest...

But I'm here.

And I will be here.

As long as my lifeline lives.

Anyway. Thanks for reaching out to me! I'm just another stranger on the internet but believe me, you helped, and if you ever need help, I'm here.

[freyjas-musings]

I am sort of tired of people just looking at Azriels character on face Value without really looking into how he has been written ....

People like Azriel because he is an interesting, layered and complex character . People like him because while he has some of the most attractive characteristics on one hand he also has these unsavoury traits that are glaringly obvious.

He certainly doesn't have the personality of a rock its what you have chosen to see but it's a personal opinion so you can feel free to keep it.

But if you are genuinely interested have a look at this post regarding his personality.

He is not allergic to emotionally available women , he is a 500 year old guy who has always been an outcast and a reject from the moment he was born. Clearly, it's too much for people to understand the psychological trauma of being locked away for 11 years without a window or sunlight or being burnt beyond repair and we are talking about a species that heals quickly. He was then thrown into a camp where he was again an outcast. Not to mention, he spent centuries convincing himself he is only wanted as long as he earns his place and becomes useful , thats a trauma response. He genuinely believes no one would ever want him atleast not beyond the fucked up fantasies they have of him in bed.

I don't cater to Elriel agenda so the whole not being chosen loony bit I am not even going to touch. But I will say this for someone who has never been pursued because of his reputation Elain kept leading him from the word go, why wouldn't he take notice? And with terrible math where 2 of his brothers are mated to her sisters ... why wouldn't he get confused that maybe that was his chance to happiness? Is it right ? No it's garbage.... you don't choose people based on math but this is a guy who is lonely , desperate to be loved and just wants someone to love him unconditionally without the fear of being abandoned. Why do you think Az is obsessed with a mate more than his brothers ? He believes only a mate would love him and never leave him. It's the fear and it's trauma response.

Self worth issues that he refuses to work on? Refuses to work on? His mother was a slave who was abused and he couldn't save her , he saw her being abused .... as a child .... so how about you pay attention to whether you would feel worthy of another person when you couldn't save your own mum from abuse ? Was it his burden to bear? No , he was a child . But based on how protective he is of his mother , how she is always at the back of his mind example when he was speaking to clotho , it has clearly affected him and he carries the baggage and trauma from it. Which is where his need to protect comes from. The fact that he thinks him being less worthy as a life is not cute its sad and heart breaking.

Just wait for his book mate he will address those issues . Unfortunately stories are not written for characters who are already ok and have worked through their issues. Just a suggestion perhaps pay attention to how mental health and seeking help works ..... I just don't feel like explaining why it's wrong to blame someone for not seeking help when they perhaps don't realise it.

If you want to look at the way he spoke of Elain vs how he spoke of Lucien. Lucien for him is an outsider one that came from a court his high Lady was abused in. He is the son of another HL from a court that abused his first love Morrigan. So, do you truly believe his judgement towards Lucien is surprising or uncalled for ? Mor doesn't trust Lucien either nor did Cass until recently and we all know how Elain behaves with Lucien, what is he supposed to go by ? He doesn't need to take the time to understand whether or not Lucien is a better male. He simply thinks Elain doesn't find him worthy while falling all over Az .... it would be confusing to someone who is messy in the head.

Lucien is certainly a better male and I do believe Az will see that in his book. Now, if you really want to be disgusted with Az, I think the fact that he spoke about Elain like she is some object to gain and that he has earned the right to her is the point you can hold onto ... because that was fucking disgusting and one he will pay for.

Be disgusted about the fact that Az the moron did not even think through his words.... he would kill Lucien if challenged but what would it cost Elain to lose a mate ? He is making no sense with that statement. I truly believe Lucien is going to save Azriels ass from being killed somewhere in the next book thereby bringing Az back to ground and pulling his head out of his ass.

There is nothing cute about self worth issues mate. I would urge you to address mental health traits with a bit more respect.

He is a spymaster its his job. It's OK you are not on board with his torturing I am sure he is not either. The torturing clearly weighs on him based on the way he hides his hands when Nesta observes he tortured info out of someone , please do have the patience to wait for his book for things like that to be addressed.

I don't want your girl Elain anywhere around Azriel. Elain has her own well of issues to sort through... they are both terrible for each other and they will only enable each others toxic traits. Two great characters could be just wrong for each other and that's the case for these two.

I am confident Azriel and Gwyn are the ones getting the next book and I can assure you all your additional issues with him will be sorted !!!!

This is not me tearing you apart .... this is just me answering your question.

Cheers!!!

I really want to understand why people like Azriel.

I'm a little scared of getting torn apart over this post, but i genuinely want to understand.

(granted i have not read CC yet, so maybe more about him is revealed)

But after reading acotar, it seems like he has the personality of a rock.

He seems to be allergic to pursuing emotionally available women.

There’s all this nonsense about him “never being chosen” but like he has a whole ass found family who love him and choose him every day. And as for not being chosen by a romantic partner, this kinda feels like his fault. He’s had 500 years to look for someone, but chose to spend it pining over the same woman who clearly doesn't want him. And then the second another emotionally unavailable woman comes along he latches onto her too.

He has self esteem issues that he apparently refuses to work on (again he's had 500 years to go to therapy and process his trauma), but at the same time he also seems to have a superiority complex and is super judgy? (doesn’t think he’s good enough for Elain, but also doesn’t think her mate is good enough for her either. also his judgements and generalisations regarding the Illyrians) Even when he is being heroic/selfless it seems like he’s doing it more bc he thinks his life is worth less than the others, so it’s better if he takes the risks instead of them. This is not cute to me personally.

Also i’m not super on board with his torturing people thing. Like.. in some cases, it’s justified (the Attor for instance) but i feel like a lot of the people he has tortured are probably just average joes working their 9 to 5 (the people in the human queens’ castle he “interrogated” for info on Briallyn. Surely they’re not all evil) or they are not even in their right minds (eris’s soldiers in the crown’s thrall. Also those are your ally’s soldiers. Why are we torturing them?)

I genuinely want to see what the Azriel stans see in him in case my girl Elain does end up with him in the end. I don’t want to be mad about it. And I want to care about him enough to read a book in his POV if it ever comes bc right now I do not.

[talkfantasytome]

OMG! NOBODY TOUCHES LUCIEN!!! I will already be pissed off if someone from autumnal other than Beron dies but I can handle it but if SJM makes Lucien die I will be disgusted, I will be VERY pissed off.

I don't believe it, like, there is the possibility but she said she was going to give the characters happy endings and I like to think Lucien is included in that. She also said that she didn't like to read books where the couple she was expecting didn't happen or when the characters died. So I hope she doesn't kill him off, with so many characters, kill him? If she does that, I'll be the first one to show up in front of her house holding a sign that says "JUSTICE FOR LUCIEN".

I'm not well, someone help me

I feel you, Nonnie. 💕

I don't believe she'll kill him, and I don't know who was saying that about the heart thing, but I find it a highly unlikely connection. Possible, but maybe not plausible, you know?

Everything you said about what she's said is true, and it just strengthens my feeling she won't kill him. But, to be honest, I don't know if I'd consider him the most likely character to be killed even with an author who is more likely to kill off an MC. I think one of the Archeron sisters would be one of the most likely. Or one of the bat boys.

As much as I DON'T think that will happen in an SJM book, just in general, authors who are willing to kill off MCs are often gonna go right for the jugular. That's what I'd do. 👀 It's so much more powerful to kill off one of the three sisters, in my opinion. One of the bat boys could work, or one of the Valkyries. But, if you're really trying to hit hard and get the most meaningful of deaths, right at the end of a book series, I'd say one of the Archerons, because those three are, in some ways, the main three characters of the series. Not entirely, of course, but in terms of what's happened to them, their powers, etc., you know?

If it's a death that happens earlier on in the last book, to motivate the characters. Then a Valkyrie or Bat Boy, for sure.

Basically, as awful as it is, at the moment, Lucien doesn't really fit in any of the right categories for a super meaningful/important death in terms of the characters' arcs. Even a death happening at the very end, Lucien isn't in a place where he needs to redeem himself through a sacrifice. So, unless SJM makes the Elucien book the most amazing love story, and we're sitting there like "yes, absolutely, this love is infinitely more powerful than all the other stories before us", I can't see him being that super hard-hitting death.

It's morbid, I know, but that's just coming from more of a writer's POV. Again, that's for writers looking to do something hard, sad, but meaningful. Authors looking for a death just to make the ending less "perfect" won't go for a main character. They'd go for more of a side character, like Jurian or Vassa or Helion (which, like, I really don't want it to happen, but it could to make Lucien HL of Day).

Basically, Lucien is going to be too big to be a "death so it's not perfect". But, based on his current story and arc and everything, he likely won't be in a place to be one of those hard-hitting deaths that shakes all the characters completely to their bones. He could get there, and I'm not saying people don't love him and want to keep him forever. It's just in terms of what would make the most impact to the characters and story, it would be hitting one of those three main groups.

Not that it matters, because I honestly don't think SJM is gonna do that at all. 😂 So, that "writer's analysis" really wasn't important. Sorry. 👀

[mangakaquestions]

In Review: Loew Cornell Watercolor Set & Goldfaber Aqua

Recently I treated myself to some new watercolor supplies since I've started painting more, and I wanted to do a proper review.

I wanted to expand my color selection, since I've only ever used my Reeves 12 color pan and my pencils. But it's surprisingly hard to do when you prefer pan/cake watercolors over tubes. I paint infrequently and in the past I've had tubes bust on me when I'm trying to open them. My search started at Hobby Lobby. Their selection was... not great. Really the only pan options I had was Artist's Touch. And I don't mind them but I always try to go middle of the road in terms of both quality and price, unless some guardian angel blesses me with low price and high quality. There was only one other craft store in town. Jo-Ann's. While I'm sure the Artist's Touch would have been absolutely fine for a hobbyist like me, I wanted to know all my options. At Jo-Ann's I found this:

It was about $7 after tax, but I used the app and clipped a 60% Off coupon (if you love yourself download the Hobby Lobby and Jo-Ann apps. Every day you can use a 40% off at HL and Jo's has anything from 30-60+% off one item). Total I paid maybe $2.50.

I had seen mostly positive to mixed reviews for this product. A lot of "vibrant colors goes on smooth" but also a lot of "dries chalky". Overall the price was right and the amount of good reviews was enough to sway me. And boy am I glad! The reviews were right. When I put the color down it was bright and bold, lots of pigment. It went onto the paper smoothly and looked damn near identical to my Reeves when I put it down. The colors dry vibrant, and there's so many of them it's exactly what I wanted. It does however dry a bit chalky, but not how you might imagine. The colors dont get all weird and powdery looking. There is a marked difference between the smooth feel I get from my Reeves and the slightly rough powder feel I get from the Loew Cornell.

But! If you're like me and this is a hobby of yours, and you dont need the best top quality paints money can buy but still want it to look decent enough to maybe take photos or make prints from, this is it. I'm going to do more tests and see how it interacts with my Reeves and my pencils, but I havent had an issue before so hopes are high! I give the Loew Cornell watercolor set a solid 7.5/10. There's better and fancier for sure, but I'd still reach for it without hesitation.

As for pencils, I picked myself up a few more browns for skin tones, since my current collection is seriously lacking. At Hobby Lobby there was a fancy new display for Faber Castel Goldfaber pens, pencils, and watercolor "Aqua" pencils. There was tons of shades but I picked out two perfect ones.

They're each about $1.49 before tax, so total I'd say around $1.55-ish after. I own two different types of pencils, Artist's Loft and Sargent Art. Here's what my quick test looks like:

The lead on the Aquas is much harder than my other pencils. Which can be good for building up color, but you can see the strokes are much more visible than in the Sargent and Loft pencils. But that also may just be an issue of not having much experience using them. Unlike the other pencils I noticed the color on the Aqua pencils seemed to get more vibrant after using water. These three brands are ranging from cheap to decently priced, but I would say again for someone like me, all three work great! They all come with some upsides and downsides, and in comparison to the untrained eye they are all fairly similar in use. I would definitely recommend the Goldfaber Aqua pencils, mostly because their color selection was amazing, and had a lot of colors in shades I haven't seen in standard packs of watercolor pencils. For the Faber Castel Goldfaber Aqua water color pencils I go with a solid 8/10! They're fairly priced if you're looking for a few colors you don't have, and work great!

[heartlandians]

I saw your podcast for this week. You had doubts whether Amy could gentle a wild horse as quick as she did. I also have my doubts but based on a PBS (U.S.) program it just may be possible.

In 2019 there was a two part series called “Equus "Story of the Horse". It was a very popular show for PBS. By the way PBS is similar to CBC. Both networks are run by the U.S. government and the Canadian Government.

Equus "Story of the Horse" had one segment where they had a “Cowboy” start a colt (remind you of anything). It took only a day from going from a horse that never had a halter, blanket, or saddle on him to being to being fully tacked up and the “cowboy” being able to ride him without any problems. I don’t know if the horse was a “wildy” or not. The point is, wild or not the horse never had been ridden before but was gentled in less than a day.

Equus "Story of the Horse" also has other stories in the show that have a direct tie in to Heartland. They had a segment on the “Mongolian Horse”, Rodeo’s, Wild Horses, Veterinary services. There were many other tie inns to Heartland. If your interested, Equus "Story of the Horse" is available online or on DVD (Amazon) for $19.99 U.S. per episode. Don’t know if the DVD can be used in Europe (different DVD formats). The PBS program may come in handy when used to fact check Heartland’s horse stories. The show really was interesting, especially if you’re into horses. This is a follow on to my previous post. Forgot I referenced this show several years ago.

I started watching Heartland during its seventh season, fell in love with it and eventually caught up with all episodes. As of the end of season 13 Amber Marshall ‘Amy’ is the only actor who has been every episode. There is however something else that has been in every episode besides Amy…the horses.

Over the weekend I bumped into a show on our PBS station that was about the history of horses, ( Equus: Story of the horse ‘Chasing the wind’)

The thing about the show was they touched on a things that made up a lot of the story lines of Heartland, examples are ‘Colt Starting’ ‘Show Jumpers’ ‘Race Horses’ and the endangered ‘Przewalski Horse’ from season 11. The other thing that was evident from the PBS show is that even though horses are one of the main plot points of Heartland the stories they do about horses only scratch the surface of what horses are. Amy is supposed to have this deep connection with horses, but the show never really goes into detail on what Amy is really looking for when she works with a horse. We get a lot of pretty videos of Amy touching or dancing with a horse but no real insight one how she connects with a horse. In the PBS show there’s a segment that goes into depth on what a real “horse whisper” is and it’s a lot more complicated than a simple “join up”.

The PBS show gives a deeper context on the horse that’s lacking in Heartland. If you or anyone else wants to watch the program you can check out the PBS website ‘Nature’ or go to Amazon and buy the DVD ‘ Equus: Story of the horse ‘Chasing the wind’.

Submitted by: Anonymous ____________________________________

That's a good point, and I mean, we've seen people starting colts before in this show too, so I guess in a way it's not that new for us, but it just seems different for some reason - maybe it's the horse being a wildie part.

I do think my lack of knowledge about horsemanship plays a part in this, and while I've ridden horses and I used to read everything about horses when I was a little, there's still so much I don't know. Not to mention, I've not been around horses for years now, so a lot of it I've either forgotten or I never got to expand more (I remember this one time when I was like 12 and they had a western saddle at the stables I went to and it was sooooo exotic).

I do also come from a different "horse culture" than what they've shown in HL. From my experience, people here, for the most part, don't start getting a horse ready to be ridden until they are about 5 years old or so and it's always done in a way that is a slow process, building up layer by layer, so to speak. I do remember back in season 2 when Kit was showing Ty what do to with Harley, I was kind of shocked (like Ty), even though for people in the western culture "that's just how it's done". So to me Amy gentling the horse in such a short amount of time must've seemed very rushed for that reason as well - but I guess it can be done, like you said. Not to mention, there's always that Amy Magic involved with it as well when it comes to the story in this show.