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sinsiriuslyemo · 4 months ago

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Chapter Fifteen: Package From Uncle Jack

“I smelled what I smelled,” Penny said the next morning, her eyes fixed on her reflection in the mirror as she styled her hair.

Sirius had brought up her reaction to the Amortentia the day before; if he was going to test it on her, he needed to add the scents that would attract her specifically. Her answer had both stunned him yet not surprised him; it was rather clear by now that she was just as attracted to him as he was to her. Any other time he would’ve acted on it without a second thought, and perhaps he would still, but that would mean having a realistic conversation. One which he was not yet ready to have with everything else on his mind.

“Right. Ink, I understand, even leather, but burning dry leaves?”

“I love that smell,” she mumbled to herself, setting her brush down and sliding her glasses back onto her nose. She picked up a lipstick off her vanity and slowly began to spread it over her lips — a ruby red color that drew his eyes to them like a dog to a hydrant. “It reminds me of the Fall back home.” She pressed her lips together in an effort to even out the color. “People rake all the leaves that fall from the trees into a pile at the edge of their driveway, and then burn them.”

“Right,” he replied. “But it’s not Fall yet, we’re still in the Summer. Where would we get a fallen leaf?”

An aging charm was something he had not come across in his revision over the last few weeks. However, he did remember a potion that might do the trick, though there was little time to send Penny back to the Owl Post to order more ingredients.

“There’s gotta be a way we can just, you know, dry a leaf,” she replied, letting out a breath and turning on the balls of her feet to face him. “Well?” She put her arms out at her side, glancing down at herself. “Do I look okay?”

Her dress was white on top, with short sleeves and a V neck with three buttons in the center. Below her bust the fitted dress was red and white polka dots, which loosened at the waist and fell down to the middle of her shins. She wore short black and white heels on her feet.

She looked more beautiful than anything he had ever laid his eyes on. Inhaling slowly, he took in her scent again, the lovely, divine aroma of Maplewood and peaches… and something else… copper?

The corner of his lips curled upward as he answered, “You look much better than just okay.”

“Yeah, but do I look like I know what I’m talking about?”

Snorting softly, he pushed off of the door frame and put his hands on her shoulders. “Yes. Stop worrying. It’s like I said last night, and you did as well, you’ve been working on this… dissertation —”

“Yes!”

“— for years. All you have to do now is present your work, which I believe you could do in your sleep.”

“Yeah,” Penny whispered to herself, seeming to gain a bit of confidence as she added, “Yeah, you’re right. I got this.”

“You do,” he agreed.

Suddenly, her eyes widened. “Oh no.”

“What?”

“Oh no, no, no, no!” Her hands went to his chest, gently pushing him into the hall before she closed the door abruptly.

“Penelope, what?”

There was rustling on the other side of the door, then the sound of the toilet lid being lifted. She let out an exhale, and opened a drawer.

“Penelope…”

“Just a second!” she called out. There was some more rustling before she opened the door and turned to wash her hands in the sink, her brows pulled together slightly.

“Is everything alright?” he asked, taking a small step closer and leaning against the door frame.

“Yeah, it’s just… cramps. No big deal.”

Sirius nodded once in understanding, his eyes lowering to her stomach. “Have you taken anything to help with the pain?”

“I ran out, but it’s okay. I’ll just have to deal with it,” she replied, gently waving him off after she’d dried her hands.

Stepping closer to her, Sirius took her hands into his and slowly knelt in front of her.

Her eyes widened. “What are you doing?”

Smirking up at her, he brought one of his hands to her lower belly and whispered, “Leniens.”

The micro muscles in her face instantly relaxed. She glanced down to where his hand was, then back at him. “You didn’t even use the wand.”

He smiled back at her, standing up after a moment. “As my wandless magic gets stronger, I’ve had to use it less and less for some things. Is the pain gone?”

Still smiling at him, she nodded.

“Good. Now you can concentrate on what you need to do,” he replied.

“No magic spell to do it for me, huh?”

“Let’s hope so. The last thing I wanna hear is an I told you so from my mother,” she mumbled to herself.

"You'll be great."

Sirius snorted. “No, I’m afraid not. But you’ll do beautifully. I know you will.”

It had been nearly twenty years since Padfoot had set foot on a school campus, and he never imagined it would be at a muggle university. He laid outside a tall oak door, waiting patiently for Penny to emerge from inside. The summer heat was beginning to give way for the approaching fall season, with only one week left before September. The days were still hot, but the shade offered a lovely breeze that made the outdoors tolerable.

Most of the students who walked past him seemed to ignore his presence. Very few would stop and pet him, but he was perfectly fine with being left alone for the most part. It gave him time to plan out the rest of his day; he decided to take Penny up on her suggestion to test the potion he’d brewed. Theoretically, he could have a chocolate ready for testing by the evening, and if it worked, he would have the rest of the week to brew another for Wormtail. If it didn’t work, he would only have a few days to work it out if he was to make another brew in time for the start of term, otherwise he would need to think of something else.

Before he could think on it much further, the heavy door creaked open, Penny emerging from the other side. Wordlessly, she went to untie Padfoot’s lead from the bike rack she had tied it to, waiting for him to stand and walk beside her.

His eyes were focused on her as they walked briskly back toward her car, bouncing anxiously on his front paws, as though he were trying to get her attention. But she continued to look straight ahead, her legs moving swiftly down the pathway that led away from the campus. She smelled of shock and nerves and something else that had a tangy note, which he couldn’t decipher. Padfoot whined, nudging her with his snout and finally gaining her attention.

She stopped walking and took several deep breaths before looking back at him. A hint of a smile curled at her lips as she pondered aloud, “I wonder if I can change the name on my driver’s license to Doctor Penelope Mitchell.”

Padfoot launched himself straight into the air, jumping with joy for her and making her laugh. His tail whipped back and forth as they continued their walk to her car and as soon as they were inside, he licked over her face again and again, his way of congratulating her in the moment. He would do so again when it was safe for him to be in his human form, but for now, he wanted her to know how happy he was for her. Although they hadn’t known each other for long, he had a fair idea as to how hard she worked toward this moment, and that not every person in her life was very supportive of it.

“Thanks,” she said in a giggle, petting his neck as she took another breath. “I still can’t believe it. I… I did it. I finished.” Her face fell, eyes widening slightly. “Holy shit, I finished.”

Well done! Padfoot barked.

Letting out one last breath, she started the car and pulled onto the road, driving them back to her flat while she rattled off all of the things she had to do now that she had finished her education. It sounded like quite a bit, but with each word she spoke, Padfoot could sense her excitement and hope for the future, and he wished more than anything that he could be there to see it.

“There is one expedition that I know for a fact is looking for a historian, but they aren’t set to leave for months. The question is, will they accept one with such little field experience. I mean the only research I’ve done are things I’ve decided to research on my own. Nothing official,” she said as she parked the car.

Outside her front door was a brown package, which Penny picked up immediately, turning it to look at the name on the package.

“Oh! From Uncle Jack,” she said, holding the package in one arm like a child before she went to unlock the door with her free hand.

When they got inside and she shut the curtains, he transformed and scooped her up into his arms, hugging her tightly and twirling her in a circle. Penny laughed, her arms snug around his shoulders as he put her down and pulled away to look at her.

“Congratulations. I know how much that meant to you,” he said, his hands still on her waist.

“Thanks,” she answered, smiling up at him. “Of course now I have to actually publish it, and then put my degree to good use.”

“I have no doubt you will,” he answered.

Biting her bottom lip, she lowered her hands from his shoulders and turned to pick up the package her uncle had sent. Placing it on the sofa, she opened it and pulled out three more books.

“Oh my God, they’re heavy. I don’t know if any of these will help you, but I’m certainly excited about them,” Penny said with a grin as she looked at the different titles, handing them to him one by one.

Uncle Jack had sent Olde and Forgotten Bewitchment and Charmes, The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection, and One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi. Three books that would no doubt serve Penny’s purposes as well as his own. Sirius also couldn't help but notice that these books would serve to keep Penny safe once she read them. Even as a muggle, there were still certain precautions she could take to keep herself guarded from evil forces or Ministry officials who would seek to have her memory wiped. He would need to make sure she read them before he left for Scotland.

Sirius opened up Olde and Forgotten Bewitchment and Charmes hoping to find an aging charm as Penny read the accompanying letter out loud.

Dearest Penelope,

Here are three more books, which will hopefully aid you in your studies. I hope they can be useful additions to your personal library. Your Uncle Frank and I are very proud of you.

With love,

Uncle Jack

Penny looked up at Sirius. “Anything useful?”

Nodding gently, Sirius closed the book in his hands and looked back at her. “I now know how I can dry a leaf so that we can test that solution.”

“Sweet,” she answered, taking the empty box into the kitchen.

“If we’re going to do this, I’ll need time to make another batch for Wormtail,” he said, going into the kitchen after her. “We’ll have to test this tonight.”

Penny was about to answer when her phone began to ring. She walked back to the sitting room to answer, turning to Sirius as she said, “If you want, while you’re making the chocolate, I can look through these books for an alternative. Just in case it doesn’t work, you know?” She picked up the phone. “Hello?”

Her eyes rolled as she forced a smile on her face.

“Hey mom. Yeah, I was gonna call you later. You are now speaking to Dr Penelope Mitchell!”

The smile fell from her face, shoulders slumping subtly as she sat on the sofa.

Sirius made himself busy in the kitchen, not wanting to seem as though he was eavesdropping, but wanting so much to take the phone and tell her mother what a brilliant daughter she had. It broke his heart that her own mother seemed to fail to see that.

Opening the cabinet beside the sink, he reached to the back and pulled out the vial with the solution he’d brewed and set it on the counter. After he took out a pot, he went into her study to take the bottle of ink he’d transfigured a few days prior and brought that into the kitchen.

“Yeah, she emailed me last week about it. That’s great! I’m so happy for her,” Penny said, now sprawled over the sofa, her head against the back of it and legs stretched out on the coffee table. “Yeah, probably not, mom.” There was a pause. “Because after I publish my paper, I’m going to be looking for another job, I’m not gonna have time for it. Besides, he seemed to have trouble understanding the word, no.”

Another pause.

“Yeah, he showed up at the library a couple days ago with flowers, it was weird.”

Sirius stopped what he was doing and looked over his shoulder at her, arching a brow. Was she talking about that bloke that called her some time ago? What was his name? Nicholas?

“Well, I thought it was weird. Freaked me out,” Penny said, sighing heavily. The next moment, a warm smile appeared on her face. “Hey dad. Thanks, I can’t believe it either.”

Smiling softly to himself, Sirius went to the back door, and opened it, transforming into Padfoot and running out into the back yard. For a moment he forgot why he was there in the first place, getting distracted by a rabbit that hopped quickly toward the back fence. As soon as the small animal disappeared behind the wide wooden panels, he turned to the only tree in the yard, looking for a branch that was low enough for him to break off some of the leaves. The closest was one that appeared to bow toward the ground slightly, and Padfoot jumped as high as he could, missing the leaves by inches.

He continued to try, jumping again and again, desperately trying to gain more height with each leap, but never managing to do more than scrape the edges of the greens with his teeth.

“What are you doing?”

He turned his head as Penny walked toward him and barked, glancing at the leaves again.

“Oh…” She reached up and broke off one of the thinnest stems with a few leaves on it. “Is that enough?”

Yes, Padfoot barked, following her back inside and transforming as soon as he passed through the threshold.

“Thank you,” he said, slightly out of breath. “I used to be able to jump higher than that.”

“Not a young dog anymore, huh?” she teased.

“Ha-ha,” he replied, smiling back at her. “Do you have anything leather?”

Penny lowered her eyes in thought. “Actually, yeah.”

Brushing past him, she walked down the hall to her bedroom while Sirius brought the stem of leaves to the counter and set it down beside the ink.

“I actually want to use this, is the only thing,” Penny said as she came back to the kitchen with a brown, leather shoulder bag wrapped in her arms.

“That’s alright, I’ll only need a small bit,” he assured her.

“What do you need it for?”

“If I’m going to test this out,” he gestured to the vial on the counter. “I need to add a bit of each thing you smelled in the smoke.”

“You’re gonna put all that in chocolate?!”

“Yes,” he replied.

Penny grimaced as he pulled out his wand and used it to cut a small piece off of the strap. “I wont get sick when I eat it, will I?”

“Of course not,” he assured her with a smirk. “I just need to get their scents into the solution before infusing it into the chocolate.”

Her brows shot up above her eyes. “Okie dokie. I’m… just gonna run to the corner store and grab a paper. Do you need anything?”

“I don’t believe so,” he replied, turning on the stove to heat the pot. Turning to face her, he asked, “Why didn’t you tell me that git showed up at the library?”

Penny shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s not that big of a deal.”

“How did he even know where you worked?”

“I guess my mom must’ve mentioned it at some point,” she replied.

“Bloody wanker,” Sirius mumbled, turning back to his task and trying not to grimace.

“That’s pretty much what I said.”

He couldn’t help the smile that pulled at his lips as he placed the ink and leather into the heated pot. Taking out his wand, he used the charm he’d found in the book Uncle Jack had sent over, waving his wand over the leaves. In an instant, they all went from a bold green to red and orange. He put those into the pot as well and set the glass vial with the solution in the center, pulling off the stopper. Then he waved his wand over it and covered the pot.

“Right, that should start to whistle once it’s ready,” he said, putting his hair up and using his wand to hold it in place.

“How will we know it works?”

“Well, once it’s ready, I can hide it somewhere in your flat. If you find it, then I suppose that means it works,” he replied.

“Seems simple enough.”

“It does, doesn’t it?” he mumbled. Sirius had never been terribly comfortable with anything that seemed too easy, especially when the stakes were so high. That was, in part, why he suggested changing the Secret Keeper from himself to Peter all those years ago. Though considering how that had turned out, perhaps ‘easy’ would be the change that would work out in the end this time round.

While Sirius made a chocolate bar and infused the potion into it, Penny had been on the phone with quite a few different people after she returned from the corner store. First Uncle Jack, to let him know that she had received his package and thank him for it. She’d also told him her good news, which seemed to make up for the lack of enthusiasm she had apparently received from her mother. After that she called various people, none of whose names Sirius recognized — apparently there was quite a bit she needed to do in order to get her research published. Still, for as much work as seemed to go into it, Penny looked happier than he’d ever seen her, and that was well enough for him.

“That smells amazing,” Penny said, looking at him from her place on the sofa. “You have to leave me that chocolate recipe.”

Smirking to himself, Sirius placed the mold of chocolate into the freezer. “Unfortunately, the recipe I use needs magic.”

“Boo,” Penny mumbled.

He snorted softly, and went to clean the pots he’d used with a flourish of his wand. Going to sit beside her on the sofa, he picked up The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection and began to look through it. While it wasn’t likely that anyone would think to come after Penny, Sirius would feel much more comfortable leaving her if he knew she was safe. If he were to be captured and subjected to any form of legilimency, he would at least be certain there were charms and wards in place to keep her from being found. The Fidelius Charm would’ve been ideal, but for how complicated it was, he feared he wouldn’t do it right.

“They actually call it ‘The Dark Force’? Is George Lucas a wizard too?” she asked.

“Who?” Sirius replied, his eyes still scanning the index.

“The creator of Star Wars.”

“Oh.” The corner of Sirius’ lips quirked upward. “No, not that I know of. Anyway, we refer to this type of magic as dark magic. I think The Dark Forces is just the title of the book, not necessarily the term we often use,” he said.

“I’ve been thinking…”

“I assume you never stop,” Sirius replied.

“What if I asked my uncle about Hogwarts? See what he says.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Don’t you think it’s a good idea to have someone who could possibly help you get into the school?”

Sirius smirked and turned his eyes to her. “You don’t have to worry about that, Darling. You’re talking to one of the wizards who created a map of the entire school. I know many of the secret passages to the castle.”

“Still, it wouldn’t hurt to have somebody who could accompany you inside,” she said. “Plus, he can move more freely than you can.”

“I can’t ask anyone else to risk going to Azkaban for my sake,” he replied. “I appreciate that you want to help, and you have helped me. More than I could’ve ever asked for. You don’t need to do anything else.”

“I want to,” she said. “I don’t want you to go back to prison.”

The corner of his lips curled slightly. “Nor do I. I won’t get caught. No one knows that I’m an animagus, I have that to my advantage.”

“So let’s say you expose Peter… then what? Would they give you a trial? Would they just lock you both up? Or would your name be cleared?”

Sirius would have been lying if he’d said he had thought about what might happen to him after he found Peter, especially since all he wanted to do was kill him for what he’d done to James and Lily, and what he’d done to Harry. At least then he would be in Azkaban for something he actually did.

“I don’t know,” he replied, thinking she might not like what he was really thinking.

“Well, I’m gonna ask him,” Penny replied. “I wasn’t asking your permission.”

Sirius sighed heavily, turning back to the book. “I suppose there’s nothing I can say to talk you out of it.”

“Nope. Not a thing,” she replied with a satisfied smile.

“Penny, just leave it alone,” he said, turning the page.

“No, I won’t,” she replied. “For all we know, Uncle Jack knows someone who can help you clear your name so you can actually live without having to hide.”

Sirius rolled his eyes slightly. “It’s a risk.”

“So is you going to Hogwarts,” she pointed out.

“Aye, but that’s a risk worth taking, especially if it keeps my godson from harm’s way.”

“And this could help you with that too,” she argued.

He looked over at her again. “Why are you being so difficult? I have a plan —”

“A half-baked one,” she mumbled.

“That doesn’t mean I want you to be taking more risks on my behalf.”

“What’s risky about asking my uncle a simple question?”

“It’s not simple. And if you do, he might think I used magic to make you do it. What if he informs the Ministry —”

“He wouldn’t do that.”

“Right, but how do you know he won’t?”

“Because he’s my uncle. He’s one of the few people who has supported me and my choice of studies. He’s even helped me with them by sending me books that apparently are considered muggle contraband. Do you honestly think he won’t believe me when I tell him that I believe you’re innocent?”

“I think he’ll believe that, I just also think he’ll believe you were manipulated into believing it,” Sirius answered.

“I think you’re wrong,” Penny said.

Sighing again, Sirius shook his head. It was clear she wasn’t going to back down from this idea. “Could you at least wait until after I leave?”

“Fine.”

“And don’t tell him about me being an animagus.”

“How am I supposed to explain why you were here in the first place?” she asked.

“I don’t know, but I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

She stared at him for what seemed like ages. “Now you’re being difficult.”

Smiling back at her, he shrugged. “Maybe I’m just being cautious.”

“I disagree. You said you trust me —”

“And I do, it has nothing to do with that,” he argued.

“Yes, it kind of does. If you trust me, then you would trust me to know what I can and can’t tell him. And if I think I can tell him something, you would know it’s because I trust that he’ll listen. He won’t go off and tell people if I ask him not to, and he’ll give you the benefit of the doubt — just like I did — if he knows the whole story.”

She stood and smoothed down her skirt before looking back at him.

“Now, I have to send an email to my friend from high school. She’s getting married. I’ll be in my office if you need me.”

Without another word, she walked down the hallway toward her study, leaving him to think about what she’d said. It seemed unnecessarily risky to pull someone else into the situation, especially one who wasn’t even in the country and could likely do very little if anything at all to help him. Still, if he weren’t so stubborn, he could admit that Penny was wise enough to know when it was best to stay quiet. If she thought her uncle could keep his secret, it was very likely she was right.

Ugh. He hated being wrong.

#sirius black #sirius black x ofc #harry potter and the prisoner of azkaban #if she only knew #gary oldman #fanfic

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greypetrel · 2 years ago

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HI I saw your art come up in my feed through mutuals and can you please tell me about?! Dragon Age X Tolkien?! My top special interests…

Hello there!

I'm glad you asked, of course I can tell you more!

So, it all started on Instagram when I posted this illustration I did. She's my Inquisitor, I did her an official portrait. On Instagram, where people don't mainly follow me for DA, one person asked me if she was a villainess, because she "got the eye of Sauron vibe going on".

And as a fellow person with the same top special interests, you can see how and why my mind exploded.

You see, my Lavellan, Aisling is a VERY Neutral Good character. She's a cinnamon roll, a huge horse-girl, and honestly she'll use sparkly pen ink if it was already invented. She and Dorian are besties, likes to experiment with magic in the silliest experiments ever (add a Solas who runs behind them trying to contain them before they make something explode. They did, in fact, made things explode. Namely, an Arcane Horror and the corpse pit in the Exalted Planes, they… Redirected on of the flame-throwers and BOOM. It was disgusting, BUT it got the job done AND set the pit on fire. Also, the Bog Unicorn? They brought him back, it was Dorian's PhD dissertation in Necromancy and Aisling helped. Go on like this for the whole inquisition).

So you can see that seeing her as Sauron was particularly ridiculous. And of course I jumped on the train right away and created probably the silliest AU ever. More LOTR than Dragon Age, but I'm still planning things. A long rant and a plotline under the cut!

Aisling is, in fact, Sauron. Or well, call her Maira or Annatar, she hates the nickname "Sauron". She sided with Melkor because he told her she could experiment to her heart's desire, he understood her view of Orcs, Wargs, Balrogs, Dragons and so on as "Still Eru's children"… And yes, he totally used her, but she was dissatisfied with Aule keeping her on constant check and leashing her out and to everyone laughing when she suggested that dragons could be tamed. She wasn't exactly ok with Melkor's conquest plans… But couldn't quit because 1) She didn't know where to go if she did, elves would have killed (tried to) on sight, she didn't like humans much (they live too little to be significant, to her, Luthien and her had a lenghty conversation after the first kicked her ass badly). 2) She didn't want to abandon the Orcs, Melkor didn't treat them particularly well (he would have cut out the minimum wage can you believe it).

She made a new life in Nùmenor, she didn't lie to them to deceive anyone… But just to have anonimity and start anew. But she did lie nonetheless, and even if she had years and years and years as Annatar, brilliant orephicer first and wise advisor later, when it was revealed who she really was she had to fled.

Which was good because she found the Orcs in Middle Earth totally in disarray and with no guide. So she started her new pet project: Mordor. Aka a Kingdom where Orcs could thrive. The Ephel Duath protects them, volcanic earth is very fertile! She evoked so many dark clouds to provide rain and water, found Adar all over again (they're besties), tried to build a net of relationships. It never worked with Gondor because they never got past her fame, but elsewhere…

About the Rings: That was another silly experiment, she told Celebrimbor that those rings shouldn't have been given to anyone, the power thei wielded was too big. Maybe some of the remaining Noldor could be ok with it, but regular humans? She had her doubts. Because you see, the Rings aren't evil per se. It's just like having on your finger a ring made of Uranium. It will hurt you not because the ring is evil, but because your body isn't build to be in contact with the material. In this case, magic. Fleeing from Nùmenor, she managed to take the Nine with her, and spent a lot of time thinking about what to do with them, exactly.

In the end, she forged the One Ring as a catalyst for the Nine, to keep their magic stable and wieldable. She gifted them to the people she befriended and allied with (those who agreed), making them immortal and granting them some powers. Basically, the Nine Nazgul are the DA inner circle. Their immortality depends on the One Ring, she never poured her life essence in it ("Who would be so stupid to do that? With a Ring you wear in battle???" cit). But it's important for her to have it because she doesn't want her friend to die or be corrupted by their rings.

The inscription is evil, you say? "One Ring to rule them all"? Oh no, my dear, it was just severely mistranslated. Gondor scholars never cared for the Black Speech and are terrible with it. "Them all", you see, is a reflexive form of not the plural but the DUAL. It should be "one another"/"each other", and rule? More like "Belong". :)

Back to LOTR… She didn't attack Gondor first. She started back her project to reforestate Mordor, sent a contingent of Orcs to Osgiliath, hoping to commerce… But the meanies attacked her Orcs on sight and took it as a war declaration. Which never was but it's difficult to go the Diplomacy way if your people and ambassadors are attacked on sight…

Her fault with it all was not acting when Saruman started to get crazy and suggest her plans of conquest. She just rolled her eyes, told the "old geezer" that she wasn't interested at all, thank you very much and let him do his own things. Corrupting more orcs and well.

Meanwhile Mordor is a really nice place if you don't mind the stormy clouds looming over! Frodo and Sam entered it through the Black Gate, got a welcome bag of goodies with some typical snacks, a travel guide, a map, a brochure informing them of basic Orc culture tips and tricks ("Grinning is considered very rude, please don't show too much teeth when you do"), an enamel pin with "I <3 Mordor". They had a very pleasant stay travelling to the volcano, all the Orcs kept inviting them for dinner, insisted they should have slept in their hut, feed them to bursting. Add a very distressed Dorian the Witch-King flying overhead and not finding them because they keep being sidetracked. By the time they reach Mount Doom, the Hobbits have gained 3kg each, are very well fed and rested, and are extremely confused about what to do. All the Orcs have explained to them that the Lady wants them polite, and she's so kind, they don't want to disappoint her! She… Is not that evil, isn't she?

Oh the giant evil spider you say? Eh, yes, it's a problem because it's eating the orcs, poor Shagrat up in Cirith Ungol doesn't know what to do… But Shelob is still a living creature, so they're discussing long and hard on how to move her. Because the Dark Lady feels bad in killing her.

The Dark Lady who was taking cuttings in Ithilien to plant back in Mordor and was found by this strapping Gondor Lieutenant, born in Rohan, who instantly decided she was a Lady and needed protection in these dangerous lands. She tried to tell him that she was in no danger, the Orcs wouldn't have attacked her… But he insisted! Scorted her around! As if she needed help! She!! She felt very amused and kept on going there just to meet with him and chat. They got along you see… Even if he's thoroughly convinced, somehow, that she comes from Rivendell and is stranded. Add an enemies to lovers sub-plot when, finally, Cullen will realise whom exactly she is when a particularly out of patience Dorian will come to collect her and bring her back to work.

I need to add Solas somewhere there, they worked together for a long time and it still ended in him betraying her and making it so that she can't grow her left arm back.

Oh and the real villain here is Saruman, yes.

Can you feel the migraine that Gandalf will have in all this, because I can.

#aisling the dark lady au #lotr #dragon age #crossover #writing petrel

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illustratorintheprocess · 2 years ago

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Week 11: Monday - Tutor Group Meeting!! Yaaay!

Diving straight into week 11 because week 10 is a blurr. After last Wednesday I know I did some chores and stuff off my to-do list but it's all a blur now and then I worked over the weekend. So Monday usually hits like a truck.

What I do remember from last week is ordering Tracing Paper and Carbon Paper on Ebay to make the transfer from sketch to Lino plate easier. I also ordered and collected 5 A3 lino boards from lcc at some point last week. It was heavy carrying it all the way back.

Alright so Monday and week 11 have come!

At the beginning of this group meeting we talked through the brief of the major project already, just so we've heard it officially at least once before the winter break. I had already printed and read the brief at the beginning of the year so this was just a nice refresher + some extra notes from Maisie, our group tutor, who has seen multiple years work on the major projects. So she has good tips and insights for us.

After that we were left to work on our projects while 3 people at a time would talk to Maisie about the progress we made with our projects. I was really nervous because with a lot of doctor and dentist visits + covid booster sickness + recent crying at the crit + last weeks crazy Tuesday night....it's just so much. And it left me feeling like a total useless slacker who doesn't even deserve to be here.

So yeah. I was anxious.

Maisie called Mia, myself and another member of our group who I don't know by name up first. Honestly the best thing that could have happened because if I was left alone with my thoughts again I would have probably freaked out again. So, the guy in our little group went first and I remembered him because of the presentation all of us gave a whiiiiile back on our project ideas. He is working on a single player table top game for people with severe social anxiety. I can somewhat relate. He has designed 15 cards already and the illustrations looked super good and the characters were very endearing! I would love to purchase his finished game honestly. You can tell he has spent a lot of time and love in developing every detail of it and it blows my mind he made a whole game by himself for this project! Truly original and amazing.

I also knew about Mia's project. Packaging design that caters to the blind consumer. Again, very original and out of the box thinking. I don't remember her showing any samples of her work but she was talking about doing lino cut instead of screen printing. She is also Route B in CTS which means instead of a loooong dissertation like me, she is working on yet another physical project and a shorter essay.

Then it came to me showing my progress and I was really nervous so I can't even remember half the stuff I said but Maisie was really nice and agreed with my work plan of finishing over winter break and printing first thing in January. She said that for the Lino cut prints I have to figure out how to make the characters stand out and pop. That was good feedback and I'm thinking about it a lot. I told her about thermo powders, Ellen mentioned to me, those could be applied to the ink after printing and give the whole image a nice shimmer.

Maisie also encouraged me to check out the 3D workshop area to make a quick wooden board I could put my lino board on while cutting. A little corner in the top of the board would hold the board in place, making the whole process safer.

After the group session Mia and I showed the guy (I REALLY WITH I KNEW HIS NAME AAAH) where the digital print and print finishing area is. Then I showed Mia our common room because turns out she never went there before. I delivered all zines, posters and post cards for the winter art fair here and Mia and I went to the 3D workshop together. Since we both are doing lino cut each of us needed a wooden board like Maisie suggested.

The technician was really nice and had a very calm demeanor. He cut some scraps for us and let us glue the corners to the boards. It took 30 minutes for the glue to dry during which Mia and I took a little lunch break in the cafeteria. It was nice catching up with her again.

The boards turned out nicely so we thanked the man who helped us and headed back home just as it got dark.

All in all a day full of productive and surprising turns.

Oh and I have bought new planner for 2023 and it's all blue and pretty!!

Things are looking up.

#student life #ual #university of the arts london #london college of communication #studyblr #illustration and visual media #lcc #uni life

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lurkingteapot · 2 years ago

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I strongly suspect he was pressured into … at least thinking that was his only way out. I don't think anyone explicitly told him "take that scholarship from that girl". I do think the expectation that HE WOULD GET THAT SCHOLARSHIP was expressed very clearly and as something with no alternative. Ming runs from confrontation when he knows he's in the wrong over and over again in the show -- runs off when Pat calls him out at the end of ep 10, doesn't respond to any of the hints that get dropped in ep 12 -- and there's no reason that couldn't also have been the case earlier on in life. I do, however, also think that the way Ming behaves with Pat is an expression of him trying to be the dad he thinks he himself would have wanted from his own father -- he clearly believes what he's saying when he tells Pat he 'lets him do what he wants and doesn't pressure him' (ep 8), which I think may be down to the fact that the way he pressures Pat is very different from the way his own father pressured him.

Why? For one, a lot of the time, he talks to Pat almost though they're buddies – think the dining table conversation in ep 1 or the way he talks with Pat in his room in ep 2. He calls Pat มึง /mɯŋ/ on several occasions throughout the show, which comes across as him trying to be buddy-buddy more than anything -- it's the same pronoun all the boys in the show use with their peers -- and is pretty unusual. And the thing is, Pat could absolutely not use it back at him without seeming incredibly rude, so it's not actual parity or anything like that, just … Ming trying to be "cool dad"? maybe? (Fwiw, Ming calls Paa (and later on, Ink) by her name and ลูก /lûːk/ ("kid"), which is more common; name + ลูก /lûːk/ is the mode for all other parent-child interactions in the show that I can think of.)

Ming spoils Pat in the material sense -- any instrument he wants as long as he's doing well, LASIK (shit's expensive!), a new car … all things that probably also weren't on the table when Ming was young if Ming needed a scholarship for university, and, given that we know that Dissaya (and by extension, Ming) was in highschool in 1994 (the year of her pageant certificate), it's likely that they graduated around the time of the Asian Financial Crisis and there wasn't much money to go around.

I think you're right that it's common for parents to use the same tactics that their parents used when raising their own kids. But there's also other common options: the "fuck you, my parents screwed up and I'm going to do the exact opposite of everything they did" and -- and I think that's what's going on with Ming -- the "my parents meant well, I'll do better by my kid(s) though". He's trying to break the cycle, and maybe he does change its shape in some ways, but he's not escaped it. We can hope his kids will. #thisbetheverse, anyone?

Anyway, that was half a dissertation, can you tell I have a lot of thoughts and feelings about the parent generation in BBS? If you stuck it out until here: thanks for reading.

let me start by saying i don't like ming and i hope he rots. that said, it's more common than not for parents to use the same tactics that their parents used when raising them. do you think it's possible that ming received pressure from his own parents to take her scholarship? i would even go as far to say it's specifically ming's father who would have because of how strongly patriarchal the jindapats are. ming raised this tough little boy who doesn't show his feelings, who looks up to his dad and wants to earn his respect. i can't imagine ming wasn't treated the same way, as many ethnic family dynamics revolve around that sacred cycle

#bad buddy #bbs #bad buddy series #ming jindapat #ming and pat #they fuck you up your mum and dad #bad buddy meta #sorry this got long #sorry for appending all this to your post OP #hope it's at least somewhat coherent #my nonsense #reblog with own addition

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bonelessghoul · 2 years ago

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A Prophecy

Summary: Everyone knows the story of how the Devil himself was once an angel who was banished from Heaven. But he wasn’t the only one and the poor angel he fell for suffered the same fate, cursed with lifetimes of never being brought back to the man she loved...until now. When Ada is brought to a Ritual by her friend after a year riddled with strange happenings, she meets Papa Emeritus and his Ghouls. But something strange happens when she gets a closer look at them and can see that there’s more to this group that no one else can see but her.

~~~

In a long hallway similar to that one that he’s walked many times before, a woman is dancing and twirling away through the long white curtains that move from the gentle breeze coming through the windows. She disappears ever so often behind them...

and Terzo is chasing her.

There is a light hearted feeling to him that feels foreign, but he knows the smile on his face as he tries to grasp her hand she teases him with before running ahead is unable to be stopped. While he cannot hear the laughter that reverberates through his own chest, he faintly hears hers, muffled as if he were under water. It makes him run faster and he doesn’t even question the fact that the hall does not seem to end.

Terzo catches glimpses of the open back of her gown, two slits at her shoulder blades that have long since scarred. It’s the only thing he can keep his eyes on, her long brown hair frazzled from the wind sometimes covering it. He wondered if it was a trick of the warm light, but he could have swore they glowed.

HIs heart races as they nearly brush fingertips, and he leaps again finally grasping her hand and the smile on her face is blurry when he finally turns her towards him. But she doesn’t let up the chase, proceeding to twirl herself under his arms and pull him ahead. A sense of peace washes over him, as warm as the chandelier above their heads, but it lasts only a moment before their hands slip apart again.

Terzo gets one look at her smile again before she disappears behind another curtain that covered his own vision with a big gust of wind but this time... she doesn’t appear.

The lights go out and in an instant he is alone.

There is a profound anguish that wakes Terzo Emeritus from his sleep, the first morning breath of air coming out as a gasp from him as he lay on his back and eyes staring at the ceiling. It takes a moment for him to realize that it was only a dream, but one so powerful that he felt like he were still in that hallway. The shakiness from the grief took a moment to disappear and he grew agitated by the fact that a simple dream left him waking this way.

Or perhaps, he was just frustrated that he became so riled up over a dream.

It wasn’t just a dream though and as he sat up in his bed, sheets thrown all over the place and his chest damp, he knew he’s had that one before.

With a slight grunt, he slid out of his bed and took a deep breath knowing he had to focus for this evenings ritual. Satan knows the Clergy would be breathing down his neck before he even had coffee.

Ada had a similar start to her morning just miles away.

Outside the gaping library windows, the murky white skies cast their light along the long wood tables where Ada sat buried in books and her dying laptop. Wind brushed the glass, creating a low pitched whistle she could hear sometimes through her headphones and it certainly created a draft in the high ceiling library. She had been at this for hours on a day meant for rest, but after a restless night that was becoming a trend, she found herself back on her project once more.

Even with her laptop open, Ada took her pen to paper, jotting down notes on whatever she could pull from this library to aid her in the early steps of her dissertation. Unfortunately there were still a few more classes she needed to power through.

But as her hair fell over her hand that her face rested upon, the black ink grew blurry and her blinks became slower. Even the shadows of the library in her peripheral closed in and before she knew it, she had drifted off for only a few seconds and welcomed the darkness behind her eyes with warm and open arms.

“Ada...” a voice whispered.

Her pulse raced, and she felt locked in a strange world between sleep and wake, and her legs felt restless from running in the darkness.

The voice called her name again and it almost lulled her, but when she felt a pressure on her shoulder like fingers upon her trap muscle, Ada jolted awake with a soft gasp, turning to find that no one was there and that an earbud had fallen from her ear.

Flustered, Ada glanced around the library only to make eye contact with a student, a boy easily five years younger than her glancing back at her from one of the towering bookshelves with curious eyes.

That was her cue to call it a day.

Ada packed her things into her tote bag, throwing on her long patterned coat of plaid auburn and navy blue and bracing the winds that howled against the library. It wasn’t a long walk to her apartment, essentially living in her campus. Pulling her hood up from the sweatshirt she wore underneath, Ada kept her head down as she walked through the wave of students coming and going.

Leaves matted the sidewalks as they were pulled from their branches, mostly green ones but hints of the approaching fall were clear in the few shades of orange that appeared in the mix. She could barely keep her eyes off the ground as she walked to look at each and every one.

But as Ada zoned out to the sounds of passing cars and other passing conversations, her phone buzzed in her pocket underneath her hand. Her friend Gemma had texted her.

“Stopping by your apartment after work. It’s a Friday so I hope you’re ready.”

Ada’s face scrunched up slightly, wondering how Gemma kept figuring out where she would move her spare key, but as her long time friend (and only friend, probably), it didn’t surprise her. What surprised her was the fact that she was going to be dragged out for whatever Gemma had conjured up for the evening.

To no avail though, when she entered her apartment through an unlocked door she found Gemma sitting on her couch in her royal blue scrubs and Ada’s cat Ziggy beside her. It was only four in the afternoon and the girl was seemingly woken up by Ada dropping her bags on the island counter of her kitchen.

“Oh, hey, you’re back early!” Gemma yawned, springing up from her couch.

Their friendship started the first day they started medical school in this city almost a decade ago. Gemma had come all the way from Sweden to go to school here and Ada was the poor soul destined to be her tour guide she supposed.

The accent was mostly gone, her native tongue still strong, but she had gotten much better at pronouncing things in English.

“Did you do an overnight?” Ada asked, grabbing a drink from her nearly empty fridge, hearing the soft patter of Ziggy’s footsteps running to greet her in the kitchen.

“Also, you know I hate when you sit on my furniture with scrubs.”

Ada bent down to pet Ziggy and by the time she stood up again, Gemma was already shuffling to greet her from the other side of her kitchen counter. Seeing her knotted blonde hair falling from its clip and the tired eyes of her former coworker sometimes made Ada miss the rush of their days. But even still, she was just as tired now anyway.

“My love, no one sits on your furniture anyway. Not even you. And it was pretty bleak.” she shrugged, twiddling her thumbs.

Ada took a sip of her seltzer and eyed the girl curiously. It was almost never a bleak day where they worked. Well, where Gemma only worked now.

“Just because I am not currently practicing as a doctor at the moment doesn’t mean you have to withhold the fun stories.”

Gemma beamed, straightening in her seat, proceeding to ramble on about the wild stories of an emergency room in the middle of the night.

Ada did laugh a little, imagining the chaos that must have ensued. Behind her laughter, there was a tinge of nostalgia too, missing the days of running these emergencies like the back of her hand. But Ziggy pleasantly distracted her as the cat cried for her food bowl to be filled.

“If you’re going to crash my apartment you can at least feed him.” Ada teased, grabbing a bag of the cats food.

“I already did. He’s just fat.”

Ada was already mid pour of her food and sighed, quickly shutting the bag.

“You sneaky little bastard.” she whispered to him, patting his nose.

By the time she rejoined Gemma at the counter, Ada sensed the giddy look on her short blonde friends face.

“What is it?”

“Do you want to go to a concert tonight?”

Ada’s face deadpanned into a frown.

“No.”

“Come on, you haven’t done anything fun in like a year!” Gemma cried, dramatically sinking in her seat.

When she put it that way, it made it feel so much longer since her residency ended. When she put it that way, it reminded her that the strange occurrence that felt like yesterday left a gap in her soul that made it feel like ages. It seems Gemma realized she came off to harsh too because she reached over the counter to grab her hand, and it felt cold to her.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way.” Gemma said, her chin resting above her hand placed on the counter top.

“I know you didn’t.” Ada inhaled, slumping in her seat too, staring blankly at the counter.

“I just hate to see you drive yourself mad over this PhD work and wither away. I miss my best friend, and not the one who falls asleep early on New Years Eve.”

Ada was able to crack a smile and seeing the urgency on her friends face was all she needed to agree.

Ada and Gemma caught the subway to the venue in the city, and the entire commute was spent on edge as she kept tugging down at the black dress she had covered by a leather jacket that just barely reached her thighs.

When the subway surfaced to cross the bridge, she could just barely see her reflection on the dingy glass doors of the train car. She fixed herself once again, watching Gemma turn to her in the reflection to share an earbud with her.

“Just give a listen so you’re at least semi prepared.” her friend shrugged.

When Ada turned away from poking and prodding with her appearance to do so, a shadow in the reflection remained by her shoulder unnoticed by her eyes.

It felt like there was a shadow lingering over her shoulder for weeks now. Faint whispers scattered her ears in her sleep, a gentle finger tapping or grazing, and yet she could never notice it enough to be wary.

The music was subtle. The train car scraping against the rails and it’s echo made it impossible to really hear it.

When their stop came, Gemma seemed to know the way out more than Ada who had lived here her whole life. There wasn’t always much to do in the city when her campus overran the town outside of it. The commons was a massive park, probably the one thing she recognized as Gemma held her hand and led her through the winding city streets.

“Where are we going?” Ada asked.

Gemma pulled her phone out as they got to the corner of an intersection, the street lights coming to life as the suns last little glow disappeared behind the towering buildings both historical and new. Her eyes narrowed in on the map on her phone before she glanced up and scanned the area.

“This way!”

By the time Ada and Gemma made it to the street they needed to be, Ada had found herself slowing to a stop as they made it down the narrow alleyway. It wasn’t the alleyway itself that threw her off but instead, the dozens of other concert goers that passed them clad in black and most notably skeletal face paint. Some even wore crimson read robes.

“What kind of concert are we going to?” Ada asked, throwing her purse strap across her body.

Gemma whipped around, just noticing now she was hesitant upon continuing down the street, and a faint look of disappointment crossed her friends face.

“Well...it’s not really a concert. They call it a ritual.”

Her eyes widened slightly as she nodded her head slowly.

“Mhmm. A ritual? This sounds a lot like---”

“It was the church I used to attend in residency for a bit before they returned to their home country for the past few years. This is more like a welcome home show.”

“And you went to this every week?”

Gemma warily looked up to her friend and shrugged.

“They threw cool Halloween parties.”

“Well I would hope a Satanic church could throw a good one.” Ada said, leaning towards the idea of it despite the first images that came to mind.

“They’re not some cult worshippers though. They’re good people, very kind and welcoming. They don’t judge, I mean, unless you’re some Jesus freak. Plus, do I look like some crazy member of a Satanic cult?”

Ada glanced at her, but then, her friend put up a hand.

“Actually don’t answer that.”

They laughed as they walked, and just up ahead Ada could see the line for the venue beginning and under the lights of the old church that was turned into a theater ages ago, the crowd looked like a shadow.

Above on the old fashioned sign that peaked out overhead, the plastic words read “Ghost” against the fluorescent lighting.

The name and the face paint began to stir up memories of seeing this group around on social media, more so from when Gemma went there weekly.

For some reason, she kept seeing the same face over and over again as if she had seen it before but dismissed it to seeing it on every other face that passed by.

“I just feel like this place helped me get through my tough times in residency and the first time I ever made a mistake. It happens to everyone and regardless of what you believe in, I think you could use this night as a break and some enlightenment.” Gemma rambled, fidgeting with her purse as they strolled to the line.

“Relax. As long as they play good music they could sing about anything they want to get me hooked.” Ada said, bumping into her.

“That’s the spirit. Plus, you’re in luck, I got good seats because I’m a member.”

By the time they reached the line, Ada felt extremely out of place. The crowd was dense with those who wore the upside down cross and the three quartered circle wrapped around it. Women were dressed as nuns but when they would turn their face she would see the skeletal face paint on them. It’s not like she was opposed to any of it, and certainly not intimidated if little Moira endured this, but it was strange for her to be around. It actually surprised her that Moira was involved with this group.

As they waited in line, Gemma explained a lot of it to her as well, particularly the roles of her “sisters”.

But truthfully, her ear kept ringing and she momentarily zoned out as she cautiously eyed the other end of the entrance where men in suits were blocking off people protesting the event.

“And those are the Jesus freaks.” Gemma sighed. “They don’t see us crowding the Vatican every time the pope wants to come out and celebrate!”

“Do they just stand there and try to yell at these people that Satan is bad?” Ada snickered.

Ada, supposed, that it was inherently wrong in the grand scheme of things but the more she thought of it, the same could be said about Catholicism.

“Pretty much. They’ve been getting a little rowdy though since they’ve come home and it’s making these venues bump up on security. Anyway, we’re next! Let me get in front of you to give them the tickets.”

Gemma brushed by Ada and her eyes scanned the crowd of angry protestors with their signs and crosses being thrust forward past the guards who held them back. But as she slowly walked behind Ada, there were two men that were unmoving in the chaos.

Staring directly at her.

One wore attire that a pastor would, and perhaps maybe he was. The other was dressed more casually, more sophisticated still, and both looked not much older than her. They seemed more daunting than those she stood among now with their unnerving stares.

“Come on let’s go!” she heard Gemma say, dragging her in by her arm.

But Ada couldn’t shake the feeling they were still watching her.

Gemma somehow wiggled her way to the front, dragging Ada along who could barely keep up with the platform boots she kept tripping over. It wasn’t as bad as the crowd she had to suck in to push through though. The church was massive, having been renovated entirely to a theater and had seats all around her head facing the stage.

Ada was in awe at the amount of people that were here, not expecting it to be such a turnout for their city.

Whether Gemma was just easily impressionable by cults or this group had a huge following, Ada was almost excited to see what would come out on stage. She was briefed on their rock and roll roots, mixed in with messages of the Satanic church but a lot of people truthfully came for the music alone.

“So they just think all the women in their red robes in front of us are just for show?” Ada asked, shuffling in her seat as she kept unconsciously scanning the stage.

Gemma giggled, waving to one of the groups of women she referred to in the rows in front of them.

“Precisely.”

Ada nodded, taking another look around at the crowd around her, unable to shake the hum that ran through her blood. Maybe it was the fact that it was her first concert in ages let alone first real night out in months, but she was eager to get it on with.

As if the world had read her mind, the lights dimmed, and excited murmurs rose among her. Once they finally squeezed to the front, just stopping at the barrier that separated them from the crowd of sisters, Gemma momentarily left her side to converse with them and even hug some. Ada looked away, wondering if those were other friends from the church.

“They’re coming out now!” Gemma whispered excitedly, rushing back to her side.

“Welcome my brothers and sisters.” a dark, accented voice said, booming throughout the theater with no face to be seen. “In these troubling times, it amazes me to see such an amazing turnout of loyal supporters of the clergy new and old.”

Ada peered over the stage and could only see a silhouette of where the voice was coming from but she kept standing on her toes to try and see. Her heart hammered in her chest, still startled from the sudden announcement, but something deeper stirred in her. When she turned to Gemma who had a beaming smile on her face, the girl looked over.

“That’s Papa Emeritus the third. He’s the one who I told you about!”

The lights came on, causing her head to sharply turn back to the stage before her, hues of purples and blues all around but with one spotlight on the man in the middle. He was dressed a lot more simply than she expected for the embodiment of the antichrist, so Gemma says. It was the face paint that took her back, and she could now make the connection as to why others had a similar paint on theirs. He wore black papal robes that were stark in contrast to the stain glass backdrop before him.

“But fear not, because Papa Emeritus has returned home and all your worries will be gone.”

The Papa Emeritus’s voice reverberated through her as he spoke out to the crowd, and as he strode closer to the end of the stage where dozens around her screamed and reached out, she was instantly enamored.

The sudden strum of guitars made her jump slightly and on stage appeared several masked characters Gemma had referred to as the Ghouls who no one had seen the names or faces of. Not even her.

“Their wings are cool.” Ada said loudly to her friend, studying their attire and even catching sight of the tails hanging from behind them.

“What?”

“Their costumes! It’s cool!”

The music began, growing louder with more beats and she didn’t bother repeating herself as Gemma had gone to a place a little more reckless than Ada could as she banged her head to the music. But her eyes were stuck on the bat like wings the Ghouls wore. They looked so real. She could see why Gemma was nervous about the impression they’d give off.

“All those things that you desire.”

Papa sung, his voice growing low as he walked the edge of the stage.

As he looked down at the crowd, eyes scanning, Ada thought it was a trick of the flashing lights but the Papa had paused for a moment, his eyes diverting in her direction and it wasn’t until then that she got a good look at the heterochromia he had.

With eyes like that, Ada knew for certain he looked down at her by the way she felt frozen in place.

“You will find there in the fire.”

“He looked at us! Ada he looked at us!” Gemma jumped, squeezing her arm. “I think he remembers me!”

Ada smiled at her friend, the giddiness radiating to her and as the music grew heavier she found herself jumping with her friend. It sure felt easier moving with the rest of the crowd around her, but her nerves were rattled.

The concert continued on the same way, and needless to say, Ada was enjoying herself and she doesn’t remember the last time she could say that. She would be lying if she said she wasn’t excited when their lead singer made his way to their side of the stage again.

However on stage, Terzo was in turmoil deep down.

Every word he tried to focus on was overshadowed by one lingering thought.

“It’s her.”

The Ghouls seemed to pick up on this and he noticed when Cumulus had ventured further on stage to play her piece of the ritual, and she shot him a thumbs up. Terzo simply turned away though, trying to cast away his thoughts and keep his eyes on anything but the woman in the front row.

It’s impossible, he thought. It was only a dream.

The songs continued on, and Moira explained to Ada what they meant when she could. But Ada was certain her eardrums were already blown when she would look at her friend and barely hear her voice.

“Oh, I love this one!” Gemma shouted when the next one began, shouting a cheer that was long and drawn out til her voice cracked.

Now, that, Ada could hear.

“I feel your presence amongst us You cannot hide in the darkness Can you hear the rumble? Can you hear the rumble that’s calling?”

Ada liked this one the most so far, feeling pulled in by the voice that sung it. At this rate, lyrics were beyond her and she was perhaps as easily as impressionable as Gemma was when it came to the allure of this group.

But she wasn’t complaining.

As her eyes followed the Papa Emeritus, she noticed he had not come to their side of the stage in some time. She only knew because she had been leaning over the gate more. But as the song neared its end, he made a sharp turn on the stage and Ada went still, nudging Gemma.

“Is he coming this way?” a voice asked.

“What is he doing?” another called.

Ada felt like she had blinked and suddenly, the Papa Emeritus was mere feet away from her and his towering presence alone was enough to leave her star struck. In the few seconds it took her to analyze every inch of his face and his peculiar eyes, she didn’t notice his hand was holding out for hers and with her breath caught in her throat, her hand seemed to move on its own to his.

What was happening?

“I can feel the thunder that’s breaking in your heart...”

Ada’s lips curved upwards, the soft gloved hand in her own feeling numb. She had to hold back a laugh as she looked into his eyes when he began singing, unsure if it wasn’t even real.

“I can see through the scars inside you, I can feel the thunder that’s breaking in your heart.”

But as he sung to her, a perturbed feeling spread through her chest and an odd sense of deja vu with it. Why did it feel like she had met him before?

“I can see through the scars inside you...”

Papa Emeritus sharply turned away, disappearing as fast he arrived and back onto the stage to finish the song. Beside her, Gemma was shaking her shoulders screaming about how amazing that was but Ada’s hand still hung in the air, in awe of whatever just happened. She turned to her friend, finally able to let that first breath into her lungs and laughed excitedly with her. But over Gemma’s shoulders, some of the other church members glared.

“I cannot believe Papa came up to you! In the middle of Cirice!” Gemma cried, throwing her head back.

Ada walked beside her as the exited the venue, her ears feeling like she were under water with how muffled everything was but more importantly, whatever happened tonight left a strange, lingering feeling. The cool night air was welcoming to her and she thought it would rid her of the shakiness she felt.

“Yeah, that was unexpected. Does he do that sort of thing?”

Gemma crossed her arms as they stopped on the sidewalk to stare at her, letting the rest of the crowd pass by to leave.

“Once in a blue moon maybe but you have to understand, when I used to show up to help at the Ministry that man is untouchable. He’s got a reputation for being an absolute whore, but I rarely ever see him around.”

So clearly, it wasn’t a coincidence and while that thought simmered on her mind, she went quiet again. Most of the venue had cleared since they were so close to the front and by the time they got out most people had gone.

“Are you okay?” Gemma asked her as they leaned upon a brick wall.

“Yeah, I just can’t shake this weird feeling. I feel like I’ve met him before.”

Gemma chuckled.

“I mean, you also have to consider this is your first time out in a while and when the lead singer/head of a Satanic church singles you out in a crowd, you can get quite flustered.”

Ada nodded and reluctantly agreed.

“That is also true. Where are we going after this?”

“You want to go out somewhere?” her friend asked, raising her brows. “Didn’t you say you wanted wings earlier?”

“Not particularly. I thought you would already have something in mind. I’m ready for bed if I’m being honest but maybe with wings as a side.”

Before she could protest, Gemma already seemed to jump up from the wall with an eager smile upon her lips.

“I’m going to pretend like I didn’t hear that last part and go ask some of the Sisters if there was going to be a big after party planned.” she said, already walking backwards to their little circle she could spot inside the lobby of the venue.

“Oh, the Sisters?” Ada chuckled dryly. “A trip to the bar would sound lovely with them!” she teased. “But our Uber is on their way so I’ll wait out here.”

Gemma was already gone and on the chilly night, she hung by the wall and pulled out her phone while wrapping her arms around her a little more snug. She thought about what her friend had said about this being her first time out in a while, and maybe she was flustered and unsure of how to even act anymore. Scrolling through her phone alone made her realize she had been missing out on more than she thought.

Speaking of Gemma though, it had been a few minutes since she had come back out and when she looked up from her phone to start making her way back in she noticed the street was almost entirely empty now except for two people:

The two men from earlier standing outside the venue.

Ada’s blood ran cold the moment she made eye contact with them standing just across the corner from her. She took one glance at the entrance of the venue, hoping that Gemma would come out any second now but instead there was just silence by the door.

Without looking back at the men, she slowly started to walk towards the door.

Before she could make it a few steps though, something had tugged on her jacket and her heart dropped when she was pulled back and a scream just barely escaped her lips when a hand clamped over her mouth. Ada’s heart pounded as the most bare minimum survival instincts kicked in and she writhed around in the strong grip behind her and kicked out her legs, but they were also grabbed too.

Sheer panic coursed through her when they ventured from the street lights, and deep down a part of her urged her to calm herself down knowing very well she could take on two spry older men. On the outside though, her widened eyes were almost ready to pop and her heart was racing harshly.

As they slowed to a stop, Ada took advantage of her momentary opening and kicked out her leg once more in the right direction into the pastor man’s chest while the other nearly dropped her.

“What do you want from me?!” Ada shouted as the hand slipped from her mouth.

When she tried to drop to the ground though the grip around her ribs grew painfully tighter. But Ada did not give up. Her jacket was loose around her arms and made the grip the man had on her quite slippery, so she tried to escape through that, attempting to slide out of her jacket.

As the pastor tried to grab her legs again though, Ada heard someone call her name.

“Gemma!” Ada screamed, returning to kicking her legs out at the man.

She felt the tension loosen as she wriggled free of her jacket and when she finally was able to drop to the ground, she had meant to spring up just in time to run but the end of a sharp cane suddenly dug into her spine.

“She has the mark.” the man said quietly.

Ada went still, the pain in her back spreading like fire and she cried out into the damp asphalt beneath her. Visions crossed her eyes beyond the stars that danced across them and in the void that was all she could see, specks of distant memories appeared.

There was his face; the singer. A shadow lingering in the corners at all times and glimpses of tattered wings, almost like that she saw on the Ghouls. It was all too fast for her to even conceive.

“Ada?” someone screamed again, and this time, it was Gemma.

But when Ada looked up, she did not see her friend but instead, a silver masked Ghoul who had nearly thrown the regular dressed man out of sight. Whoever he was gave her time to roll away despite the paralyzing pain. Once more she kicked out again, hoping her boots were enough to send the pastor on his knees with a swift blow to his shin and she got up to see Gemma running towards her down the short alley.

However, her attention was drawn away when she heard her attacker cry out in pain at the hands of the Ghoul who had him pinned up on a wall. It was slightly too dark to immediately see what was going on, and quite frankly, her adrenaline left her fuzzy.

But when her eyes finally did narrow down on what was happening, she was left dumbfounded, watching the tail of the Ghoul wrap itself around the neck of her attacker to the point where her gasped for air and blood stained his shirt from what looked like clawmarks across his chest.

“Kill him and you all will be exposed!” the pastor laughed from behind them, still heavily out of breath as he kneeled on the ground.

Gemma was trying to tug her away but Ada stopped herself from being pulled in anymore directions tonight.

“Those are real?” Ada asked.

The Ghoul behind his silver horned mask looked over at her while the man struggled underneath his grip. Perhaps he didn’t hear her, or maybe he did and was trying to figure out an answer.

“Dew!” a woman shouted. “Stop!” another followed, a deeper voice this time.

Ada glanced over by the corner to see two other Ghouls running by and they too had the same wicked wings and tail as if they were ready to pounce into action the way “Dew” had done.

“Are what real?” Gemma whispered, staring in horror at everything else happening. “Are you okay?” she asked, turning Ada around to face her.

“Oh dear, you’re bleeding.” the female Ghoul said softly, and when she heard the footsteps approaching, Ada jumped back a step.

But even behind the silver horned mask, she could sense the sincerity. It just wasn’t enough to break through the sheer terror she felt.

Over the Ghouls shoulder, she could see the more large, broad shouldered Ghoul yanking Dew back to scold him.

“I was just trying to help her! They were attacking her! It’s the one Papa went to off stage tonight.” he pleaded, his words hushed at the end.

But even in shock, Ada’s eyes could not leave the tail extending from his back side.

“Are-Are those real?” Ada asked more firmly.

Gemma sighed, clearly frustrated as she tried to take her away.

“Ada, what are you talking about?”

Dew slowly turned around to her, and it seems the Ghouls exchanged looks under the tense air.

“I’m sorry, my friend is just in shock. Thank you guys for helping but we’d like to get home now or you know, possibly call the police while these men are here?” Gemma urged, putting an arm around Ada’s cold and bare shoulders.

Even in the dead of night with the cold wind howling, Ada could not sense it now because she knew the Ghouls heard her question and didn’t seem too concerned with Gemma.

“No, the Clergy will deal with these men appropriately. But what did you mean by that question?” the taller, more broad male Ghoul had asked.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Ada laughed without an ounce of humor. “I’m talking about the tail that was wrapped around this guys neck and the claws.”

They exchanged a weary look again and Ada wanted to crumble right then and there as the insanity worked its way in. Was she imagining this? Was this some twisted dream?

“How can you see those things? It’s impossible.” the female Ghoul answered. “And you, you’re a Sister, yes?”

Gemma cautiously nodded.

“Do you see what your friend speaks of?”

When Gemma shook her head no, Ada backed away from everyone.

How can she not see it? It was right there in plain sight and somehow, her own best friend, a mere human like her could not see what was right in front of them.

“I was attacked by two strangers and now I’m apparently seeing things?!” Ada exclaimed, raising her voice to the air, smiling manically. “Can someone please tell me what is going on?”

“Come with us. We’ll take care of this and make sure you’re okay. It’s not safe to be out here right now.” the Ghoul urged, clasping her hands together.

“No, I’m going home.” Ada affirmed, sharply turning away with Gemma at her side. “I—I can’t just trust you people all because of a few kind gestures! I was attacked and somehow that’s the least of the problems!”

Gemma seemed more paled and sick than Ada felt, or perhaps it hasn’t hit her yet. Not a single word was exchanged between them as they caught a ride back to her apartment and the fear seemed to dissociate from her once she stepped foot through her door. But as she stood in her kitchen, numb to the dirt that scuffed her skin and the cut on her back, she curiously watched her best friend pace around the living room.

“Gemma, what’s wrong?” Ada sided, hands pressing into the edge of her kitchen counter. “Tell me you’re not buying into this nonsense? Maybe that I was just seeing things?”

“No, nothing’s wrong. I should be asking you that. You are surprisingly calm right now.” Gemma answered, her words so fast they nearly stumbled over each other.

She could have used a bath and some wine, yes, but there were more pressing matters on her aching mind.

“You’re more frazzled than I am.”

Gemma finally stopped pacing to look at her.

“I am not.”

“What do you know?”

“I don’t know anything.”

Ada stepped around her counter to meet her friend in the living room, arms crossed and her face set in a frown.

“You are apart of this church, Gemma. Now, I was targeted by two men protesting the event and suddenly can see things on these so called Ghouls. I need answers or else I will have a meltdown because I cannot process a single thing right there.”

Gemma bit at a hangnail on her finger, looking at the carpet beneath her feet and Ada was ready to scream if she couldn’t get it out of her.

“Okay, I might know something.” she finally said after a minute of silence, putting emphasis on might. “I have theories, but there is a possibility of why you can see what others cannot and why they said it was impossible. But you need to be ready to accept a new set of beliefs that are going to defy all that you know.”

Ada took a deep breath.

It was what she wanted to hear, but at the same time, she wished nothing more than to dial the clock back to when she got out of bed this morning and what would happen now.

~~~

Praying this isn’t cringe and people want a part two even if it wasn’t very juicy in the beginning. I’ve had this “Mortal Instruments, Clary seeing the Shadowhunters” vibe idea for a hot minute now so here is my word dump.

#papa emeritus iii #papa emeritus x reader #papa emeritus iv #ghost terzo #terzo x reader

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fw00shy · 3 years ago

Text

in which Draco studies the universe, and I, him

I’m finishing up a cup of tea in the living room with Hermione when an eagle drops a letter into my lap. Long day, Draco writes. Miss you terribly, but miss sleep more. Please do not resent me, as I am sure I will make it up to you in my dreams. There’s a dot of ink right after the first you, and it’s not hard to imagine him slumped over his desk, quill stalled to sudden slumber, the parchment an aged, yellow relic under the bright light of a laptop screen. Really, Hermione says with a roll of her eyes when I look up, I haven't used parchment since Hogwarts. You can’t possibly find that romantic.

Except I do. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a biro-hating, old-fashioned Pureblood now than I ever was. But there is something about a man who, in a fraught, new world of instant gratification, takes time out of his day to write out his love to you with his own hand. I don’t reciprocate in kind, mind; I’ve not the patience. But I love him, and I love that he does.

What else do I love about Draco Malfoy? I can say his eyes or his laugh, or I can tell you about the time he came over and dusted my flat. It was two or three years back, when I wasn’t as good about saying no to things, and I’d nearly died stretching myself thin over Auror training and Teddy’s second birthday and Ginny’s wedding and Hermione’s dissertation and and and. Think my allergies are acting up again, I’d scribbled on the back of a used sticky note, one of several dozen piled up on my desk still to do, and I nearly cried trying to remember if I’d done the thing on the sticky after I sent it.

Dust, was what I’d written. So Draco came and dusted and kissed my temple and left for a late lecture. And, just like that, I could breathe again.

But can you really explain an entire existence in a slice of a few hours?

We were at his flat the other day when Draco tried to explain to me the shape of the universe. Draco applied for Muggle uni after Hogwarts and got into cosmology that way, so he was thinking about this type of problem all the time. I understood that it was his job, but why dedicate his life to uncovering the formulas to a time and place he could never go, when he’d barely grown roots on his own planet? Don’t you want to know? he said. I didn’t have the heart to tell him no.

So you’re telling me that the universe is flat.

Most suspect it is, yes. Otherwise, the universe would fold in on itself.

Didn’t people think that the earth was flat?

Flat with respect to general relativity, not in our sense of reality. But there are other theories—

I don’t feel flat. Merlin, can you imagine it? Me, the width of parchment. Couldn’t even hold myself up. Would you still love me then?

I think we’d fold up nicely together. He kissed my hands.

In truth, all that spacetime local geometry talk just went in one ear and out the other. No matter how many times Draco explained it, the universe refused to hold shape in my mind. I likened his research to taking a drink of sea water and going, yeah, it’s salty, but not like salt on a pretzel; more like salt mixed in a broth. And then someone asks, What’s broth? And there goes another three years trying to explain broth when all you wanted to explain was salt. And it wasn’t even about the salt. It was about the sea, and the vastness of it, all that space that wasn’t salt, and all that space that wasn’t planets or stars but was just space.

The skin between his eyes. The minutes between his hours. The moments between our meetings. How do I explain that the spaces between his days and the nights he spends alone are, in a way, still mine? That I love him for everything he does as much as for everything he doesn’t? How do I explain that the shape of his being is more than his body; that, to me, he is the universe?

(Eyes that see on another’s face. Heart that beats outside my body but is no less mine than my own. The ends of our lives folded up so that our past and our future touch.)

At best, the universe is perfectly flat and expanding at a constant rate toward the edge of infinity. Tonight, I can almost see it, shifting over my eyelids: the faint shape of a body; the familiar smell of ink.

for @drarrymicrofic prompt: space song (very loosely lol)

#apologies for typos! i wrote this on my phone #drarry microfic #drarrymicrofic #drarry #drarry squad #fwoosh writes #cw: space #ali don’t read

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araekniarchive · 3 years ago

Note

If you don’t mind me asking, how do you find all these quotes and images and lyrics? You do a really good job at finding ones that fit together perfectly

Oh ty! Generally, I start a web by looking at the work of other web weavers - for example, I'm currently making a web about learning to love yourself, so I whacked 'web weaving, self love' into the tumblr search. How much there is on each one varies from topic to topic, and I've recently started running into my own previous webs doing this, but it often gives me quotes and art to look into further which might well bear fruit. I also often go into the spilled ink tag, which is used for people's original poems and artwork, again with the topic of my web attached.

Next port of call is goodreads, entirely because of the quotes function; although there is a lot of crap irrelevant stuff that comes up - mostly YA novels, fake deep quotes, misattributions - it does have a pretty solid tag function that lets me go through a large catalog very fast, and half the time it'll even tell me which book something is from. If I'm particularly stumped by a topic, I'll often go to TV Tropes which often includes a wide range of examples with quotes and sources under each specific trope, which again gives me some great leads.

All the quotes I have then generally get run through a quick check that they're legit, and not misquotes or misattributions; some I will find that are attributed to the wrong person, but I'll still include them with the correct name. Other times, I can't find a source, or the sources I find aren't definitive - e.g., if the whole internet tells me that somebody called 'Michelle B' wrote a particular quote, but there is no actual original place of 'Michelle B' writing it (and to be honest, I'm not good enough to track down such a vague citation) then there's a non-zero chance that it's a misattribution that's just been repeated so many times that the original source has disappeared, but I will likely include the name anyway, just with (attrib.) next to it, as it's better to do that than slap it with 'unknown' (imo). Sources do sometimes turn up afterward, but generally if I fail to find it on my first search, I won't happen upon it afterwards.

Then, once I'm (relatively) sure who the author of something is, and where it's from, I turn to the Internet Archive. I started using it last year when I was stuck on at home, unable to go to the uni library, and writing my dissertation. It saved my life then, but even though I graduated, I have never gone back to life without it. It's a godsend, a miracle, perhaps the greatest tool you've never heard of. It lets you read books - FOR FREE - legally, as well as listen to audiobooks, look at old web domains, search metadata... it's genuinely amazing and I tell everybody about it. For the webs, I plug in the name of the book/author and 2 out of 3 times, I can find a scanned in copy of the book, which comes with a search function. As in, I can just type in a fragment of the text I'm looking for, and the archive finds exactly which page it's on for me. I then just screenshot the page, paste it onto Paint 3D, and crop it to my desired specifications. For those sources that aren't in the archive, I usually put them into google docs, put them in a nice font and screenshot again, once more turning to my good friend Paint 3D to smarten it up.

If I know of any film or TV shows that touch on the topic, or I think it would be a good addition, I generally look on YouTube for them first (and, you guessed it, screenshot and then move to Paint 3D where I add subtitles manually if they're not already included/look ugly) and if they aren't there I branch out into streaming services and, uh, other sites. That I turn my VPN on for. If I really have no idea what scenes would be relevant, I often look for those really basic, Buzzfeed or Ranker list articles for 'The Best Doomed Romances' or 'Ten Great Sisterly Relationships on Screen' - they're generally scalped from reddit, but they do have some fairly solid recommendations which I can then investigate further. I also do this with songs - there are so many lists of song rankings around - but often you can just search lyrics in Google and they’ll pop up.

There are other steps I use depending on the specific web, but these are pretty much the ones I use every time - I use TinEye and Google Image Reverse Search when I'm trying to find the name of a piece of art or the source of an image, and this often helps me source things that other people have marked as 'unknown'. It doesn't always work, but it gives results more often than not. And, of course, there are things I add that I know about from my own memory - I really should emphasize, however, that in a web of say ten different excerpts, maybe two are ones I know about beforehand. The main process of finding stuff to put in webs is simply searching in the right places, knowing how to spot a promising lead, not giving up, even if you're on like, the fifth page of the goodreads quotes tag and you feel like banging your head against the wall (the best quote is always, always on page six) and referencing as you go.

Web weaving is something I love to do because it's broadened my literary horizons so much, it makes me better at researching, and I find it super satisfying when a web is completed, but it's not something that you can only do if you have super advanced computer programs or technical knowledge or an eidetic memory - this laptop has been on the verge of death for some time, I regularly go to my fifty-nine year old mum for troubleshooting advice, and my memory is absolutely shot to shit. All you really need to do is stick at it, and it comes together.

#asks and answers #the process #i know that sounds incredibly pretentious i do but i want to have a tag for posts about it so people can find them

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lulu-zodiac · 4 years ago

Text

Title: Blue Ink

Pairing: Castiel/Dean Winchester

Tags: College AU, Tattoo Artist!Cas, Fluff, Pining, First Kiss

Summary: And then, with the same tender carefulness with which he’d just been tattooing Dean, Cas leans in and kisses him.

If you want to be added to my fic tag list, let me know! <3.

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Dean eyes the needle in Cas’s hand apprehensively, suddenly feeling very vulnerable. They’re both sitting facing each other on Dean’s bed, the lights low and Zeppelin playing softly on the record player.

Cas’s blue gaze flickers up to catch his, amused and reassuring all at once. “Dean. You’ve watched me do this plenty of times.” It’s true: Cas trained as a tattoo apprentice for part of his art course last semester, and since then has informally tattooed a bunch of their friends at parties, as well as himself. Dean has been pestering him to give him one for months.

“I know, I know,” Dean hedges, fiddling with the bedspread. “It’s just –”

“It’s normal to be nervous, you know,” Cas tells him, “You don’t need to do this if you don’t want to,” his eyes are suddenly serious, regarding Dean closely, soft blue and familiar in a way that tugs at Dean’s heart. “And if you want to stop at any point, I’ll stop.”

“Christ, I’m not some blushing virgin, Cas,” Dean rolls his eyes, mainly to cover up the way his heart is suddenly fluttering in his chest. “Just get on with it, okay?”

Cas rolls his eyes right back at Dean and rolls up the sleeves of his vintage patterned shirt, exposing the intricate ink on his own arms. “Alright, give me your arm, then.”

Hesitantly, Dean holds it out and Cas’s fingers grasp it reassuringly, warm and dexterous and familiar. His heart rate picks up further, not entirely from the prospect of being tattooed for the first time. Swallowing, he watches Cas swab his bicep with alcohol and pick up the marker that’s sitting on Dean’s bedspread.

Cas leans in, head bowed in concentration, fingers skilled and precise as he inks the outline of the sigil on Dean’s skin. This close, Dean can smell the distinct muskiness of Cas’s skin, the way the patchouli incense he always burns clings to his tousled hair. Dean has to force himself to concentrate on the image taking form under Cas’s touch, resisting the urge to lean in closer than he should and do something monumentally stupid like brush Cas’s hair away from his face or kiss him.

“Alright?” Cas’s low, gravelly voice breaks Dean’s spiralling thoughts. He glances up fleetingly, a flash of dark blue that has Dean’s heart racing. They’ve been friends for years now, but the rush is still the same, the thrill of being this close to Cas. Fleetingly, he wonders if it’ll ever change.

Wordlessly, Dean nods.

They’d met at freshers’, at some house party thrown by someone Dean doesn’t remember. Dean had known he was a goner the moment he glanced up and found Cas’s blue gaze on him, quiet and intent, head tilted slightly, watching Dean like he was fascinated, like he could somehow really see him. They’d flirted that night, but when Dean next ran into him Cas had made a whole speech about not wanting to date anyone, and so Dean had tried to put how Cas made him feel out of his mind. By the time Cas finally dating people last year, they’d already fallen into the pattern of friends and Dean couldn’t stand the risk of losing him to some stupid crush that had no guarantee of working out.

Slowly, though, it’s felt increasingly like they’re edging into this, into something more. Cas spends most of his evenings round at Dean’s, and Dean often looks up to find Cas’s gaze on him, as intent as that first time but laced with something different now; warmer, heavier. It makes Dean’s stomach do cartwheels. It’s got to the point where he doesn’t trust himself not to say something both of them might regret, so he’s started deliberately distancing himself from Cas to protect their friendship. This is the first time they’ve been alone like this for a few weeks, and the quiet tension between them seems to have deepened rather than dissipated. With a not insignificant degree of panic, Dean wonders how he’s going to get through this, Cas’s hands all over him, without doing something stupid.

“Tell me about the design again,” Cas says quietly, interrupting Dean’s internal panic. The cold wet nib of the pen tickles Dean’s skin, slow and careful. Dean watches his hands move expertly, long fingers with chipped black nail polish that Dean finds inexplicably sexy.

“Uh, it’s from the mythology on divine beings I’m looking at for my dissertation,” Dean forces himself to look away from Cas and breathe, trying to calm the thump of his heart and the heat blossoming through him. “An ancient sigil. Enochian, it’s called.”

“Like this?” Cas is frowning, examining his work.

“Yeah,” Dean nods, a little breathlessly. “That’s perfect.”

“Alright,” Cas clicks the cap on the marker and looks up, blue eyes glittering, “Ready?”

Dean swallows, “As I’ll ever be.”

Cas smiles, tightens his grip on Dean’s bicep and leans in again, this time with the needle. “First few moments will sting, but after that it’ll fade, I promise,” he says, eyes searching Dean’s. “Let me know if you want to stop.”

Dean nods, biting his lip. The first pierce of the needle does sting, but it’s not as bad as he imagined, and it soon numbs into vague, prickly discomfort. The downside of this is that Dean isn’t as distracted from Cas’s proximity as he’d like. The sooty sweep of Cas’s lashes, his full lips slightly parted in concentration, his rumpled hair. He’s wearing his shirt unbuttoned and Dean can see a distressing amount of smooth, toned skin, the tangle of pendants round his neck, including the one Dean gave him for his last birthday. Cas had been quiet when he’d opened it, had hugged Dean so hard it hurt a little. It makes Dean’s chest ache just thinking about it now, about this fleeting moment where Cas had just looked at him like he wanted him too, like something was going to happen. But neither of them had made a move, and Dean has always wondered if he’d read too much into it.

“Okay?” Cas asks quietly above the sound of the needle, not looking up.

Dean nods dazedly, before he remembers Cas can’t see him. “Yes – yeah,” he mumbles stupidly, dizzied by the strong grip Cas has around his arm, the tenderness in his touch and the care with which he tattoos Dean. “Yeah.”

“You’re doing so good,” Cas murmurs, and god, he’s so close that Dean can feel the warmth of Cas’s breath against his skin along with the heat that blossoms through him at Cas’s praise. “So good, Dean,” he strokes his thumb along Dean’s skin where he’s holding his arm in place, sending sparks shooting through Dean.

“Uh,” Dean grunts, because Cas’s praise has turned him from low level horny to uncomfortably hard in his jeans. He shifts slightly on the bed, breathing hard. His arm is aching dully, but all he can think about is Cas’s hands on him, Cas warm and familiar and so goddamn close Dean feels dizzy with the proximity. He watches dazedly as black ink slowly appears on his skin under Cas’s careful hands.

“It’s halfway there, almost,” Cas glances up, maybe planning on reassuring Dean – but something unreadable passes over his expression as he takes in Dean’s face, the flush Dean can feel on his cheeks and how he knows his pupils must be blown wide.

For several, long beats they just look at each other, and it suddenly feels impossibly quiet, even with Zeppelin humming in the background. Cas hasn’t let go of where his hand curls around Dean’s bicep, palm a brand of heat against his shoulder. The sexual tension in the air between them is almost unbearable, years of almost crammed into a single, charged moment.

Dean watches the way Cas’s eyes darken slowly, the way his tongue darts out to wet his lips unconsciously. He always looks gorgeous, but right now in the soft light of Dean’s bedroom with dishevelled hair and hooded eyes and inked skin, he’s so beautiful Dean aches with it.

“Cas –”

“I’m going to finish this,” Cas says, at last, voice even rougher than usual, sending a thrill of arousal through Dean, “And then I’m going to kiss you.”

Dean lets out a sound that might be a breath of surprise or a groan, staring at Cas wide-eyed, heart pounding. Because this, this is all he’s wanted since he first laid eyes on Cas all those years ago and he can’t quite believe it. “Yes,” he murmurs, dazedly. “God, Cas – yes.”

Warmth mixes with the heady darkness of Cas’s expression, a small smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. “Okay,” he strokes his thumb across Dean’s bicep and turns back to his work, the smile even wider than it was a moment ago.

Dean’s smiling too, he realises, so wide it should hurt but it doesn’t. He winces fleetingly at the sharp point of the needle again, but it soon fades into the background. The muscles in Cas’s forearms are taut, tensed under their ink. Dean looks at the constellation points of ursa major, two lines of Latin poetry, the wildflowers. It doesn’t do anything to help his current state, looking at Cas’s soft, warm skin, picturing it against his on these sheets. Knowing that Cas wants that now too, that it’s not just a fantasy. That maybe Cas has fantasised about him like this too. Dean has to bite his lip against a groan as Cas’s grip tightens slightly, blue ink slowly blossoming under his fingertips.

Cas has moved closer, leaning over Dean to work at a slightly harder to reach spot. One of his thighs is pressed against Dean’s in a warm line that sends arousal shooting through Dean. He shifts slightly against Cas, pressing closer, heart thumping. From the sharp intake of breath, he knows Cas can tell how worked up he’s getting, how affected he is by this.

Cas lets out a sudden breath against Dean’s skin, as though he’s been holding it, and his hand tightens on Dean’s arm again. Dean hears himself let out a sound this time, helpless, rough and low in the back of his throat, and watches Cas’s throat work as he swallows, jaw set in determined concentration. “Cas,” Dean breathes out, shifting again, cock uncomfortably hard in his jeans. “Cas –”

Abruptly, Cas, sits back on his haunches, breathing hard. “I can’t concentrate like this,” his eyes are darker than Dean’s ever seen them, a flush just visible creeping up the exposed skin of his chest. He lets go and sets his materials on the bedside table without moving away from Dean, without letting go. Slowly, not breaking eye contact, Cas leans back in until they’re even closer than before, both breathing unsteadily. Then, with the same tender carefulness with which he’d just been tattooing Dean, Cas leans in and kisses him.

Dean’s heart fumbles a beat in his chest, his world implodes quietly, infinitely. Cas’s mouth is hot and wet and perfect. Dean tangles his hands in Cas’s tousled hair like he’s always wanted to, tugs him closer, all warmth and racing hearts. Cas lets out a low groan against Dean’s mouth and then suddenly Dean is on his back on the bedspread, breathing heavily. It’s the same one they’ve sat on together night after night, all those times Dean wondered if this would ever happen. It should feel surreal, but it doesn’t. It just feels startlingly real, like this was always inevitable.

They kiss until Dean’s jaw is aching, until they’re both breathless and grinding against each other like they’re still teenagers. When they pull apart a little to catch their breath, Cas’s eyes are shining with the same quiet happiness threatening to overwhelm Dean, full of the same longing that Dean has spent years trying to hide. Dean’s heart suddenly feels so full it hurts, and the moment turns serious, quiet, as they lose themselves in each other’s gazes just like that first night they met. Gently, Dean traces the line of Cas’s jaw, and when he pulls him in again, the kiss is searing, poignant, so full of promise it should terrify Dean, but it only makes his heart beat harder. Cas’s hands are all over his skin, more memorable than any ink.

#reorganising all my fics onto tumblr!#feedback makes me smile like an idiot at my screen <3 #destiel #destiel fic #destiel fanfic #destiel fluff #destiel au #deancas #dean winchester #castiel #destiel fanfiction #spn fanfic #spn #superntural #spn fandom #my stuff #my posts: fanfic

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bobfloydsbabe · 11 months ago

Note

Kiss prompts and you don't expect me to send in a request for Eccentric Professor Bob? How about "kisses as a promise" because, wow, would I love to see what that's like. ✨

Also, yes, I've totally been neglecting our Librarian!Bob, but know he is also deeply rooted in my heart I'm just having a moment with Professor Bobby, okay???

Rebecca, my darling, Librarian!Bob is alive and well in my heart too, but Eccentric Professor Bob just hits different right now. We'll find our way back to the library eventually, I promise. Enjoy this ~500-word blurb ✨

kiss prompts open for: eccentric professor bob, librarian bob, mob boss bob, and rhett abbott

It was all fun and games when it began.

She would rile the professor up, be purposefully obtuse or argumentative because she loved when he got flustered. That delicious flush would color his cheeks and spread up to his ears, and disappear down the collar of his perfectly pressed shirt.

Their first kiss set her on fire and when he’d touched her, she swore she’d gone to heaven.

She’s sitting on the couch in his office, looking at the bookshelves that line the walls. He’s not much for decoration, but has practical things like the chessboard he taught her to play on. The old projector stands in the corner because he refuses to use his laptop unless absolutely necessary. The teacup she bought for him as a present sits on his desk, holding an assortment of page markers.

The office door opens and Bob comes through it, his brow furrowed, not in anger but in surprise at seeing her. Tears prickle behind her eyes at the sight of him. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days.

Setting his books down on the desk, he approaches her slowly. Last time they saw each other ended in a shouting match with no winner. Dr. Kazansky somehow found out their relationship wasn’t just professional, and while the code of conduct doesn’t forbid them from being together, it doesn’t look good with Bob being on her dissertation committee.

After arguing for what felt like an eternity, she’d left and slammed the door behind her.

“Imogen,” he says as he walks closer. “Are you alright?”

She looks up at him then, letting the tears trickle down her cheeks because she’s never been able to hide from him. Not really.

In three long strides, he’s in front of her and crouching down, resting his hands on her knees, and rubs soothing circles against her skin. She feels his warmth and his scent fills her nostrils. Ink and cedar. Him.

“Talk to me, baby.”

She’ll never tire of him calling her that. It’s so unlike everything she knows about him, but it feels right and still makes her stomach flip.

Drawing in a ragged breath, she places her palms against his broad shoulders. “I don’t want to lose you,” she whispers through the tears that are still falling in a steady stream.

His blue eyes soften, and he cups her face with his large, warm hands. “You won’t,” he whispers and brings their lips together in a brief kiss. “I’m right here.”

He kisses her again, pouring his heart into it. His thumbs stroke her wet cheeks as they move together, and it feels like a promise. A promise that they’ll somehow make it through this.

It was all fun and games in the beginning. Now it’s real.

#mail #answered #ryebecca #robert bob floyd #bob floyd #robert floyd #bob floyd fic #tgm fic #bob floyd x oc #otp: bob x imogen #oc: imogen van doren #fic: gold rush #lewis pullman #professor bob #professor bob thots

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doctorthreephds · 4 years ago

Text

Synapses: Part 2

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

WC: 3.3k

TW: Again, nothing, except excess amounts of knowledge about forensics. Also the books suggested are great reads.

Summary: Your not-so-date date with Spencer arrives and you prepare for the worst to find out that the two of you have more in common than you realize. It is then when you begin to find feelings for the resident genius.

Masterlist

Taglist: @obsssedwithjustaboutanything @green-intervention

The next couple of days are a blur, with the signing of paperwork at the Bureau and enjoying your time off before you’re officially hired. Your lack of excitement was confusing. Usually most are nervous or excited to start a new job. But, for you, seeing Spencer was the most nerve-wracking thing you had experienced in a while.

That Saturday, you wake before your alarm. Even though the night before you had a hard time getting to bed, you wake once the light shines in through your window. It streams in and baths you in a golden glow. You had told Spencer to meet you at the bookstore around nine in hopes of checking out some books and then grabbing a bite to eat together, but you knew little to nothing about how flighty he would be. Would he take the books and leave? Or would he want to stay and chat? Perhaps you were overthinking a little bit.

A startling ring comes from your phone, forcing you to sit up and grab at it to silence the loud alarm. You groan as you throw your legs over the side of the bed, walking over to the closet to look through the hangers of sweaters and blazers amassed from years in academia. You think back to that night, what Spencer was wearing. His usual get-up was a blazer over a sweater vest and a button-up, at least it was for that night. It was cold then too. A beige sweater over a white button-up and a thick wool coat would do for today, it was rather chilly in D.C with the recent snowfall.

Your stomach bubbles with butterflies as you walk into your bathroom. After splashing some cold water on your face, you brush your teeth and try to calm your shaky hands. The blood rushing through your ears is like an anthem playing to your every movement. Was your heart pounding that loudly? You pause and take a deep breath before walking out of your room and into the kitchen. Opting for decaf so that your hands don’t shake as violently, a splash of milk and a teaspoon of sugar drop into the blue cup before you sip on the warm drink and stare out at the cityscape through your window like the calm before the storm. It was peaceful to see the bright white snow stand out against the brick and concrete as people pass by and get on with their Saturday morning. The steam from the drink tickles your nose as you take small sips, trying to pass time in an effort to not show up too early. You didn’t want to appear as if this was the only thing you had been thinking about for the past week, even though it was.

“You can do this,” you whisper to yourself, the phrase playing over and over in your head like a mantra, before grabbing your bag off the island countertop and typing in the code to start the security alarm. Rushing out the door, you close it behind you, the blanket of safety falling around your shoulders. Just another one of your father’s little things. At least you always felt safe.

Making your way down the stairs, you get down to the lobby and then out the glass doors into the rushed city streets. The chill relaxes you, calms your warm clammy skin as you walk down the sidewalk to the bookstore. A small smile grows on your face as puffs of air are made present with each breath. Your apartment was perfectly located, close to both the metro and the bookstore that you loved so dearly. It killed you to leave it behind when you got your Ph.D. but you were determined to be near it when you moved back.

A familiar ringing of the store bell engulfs you in a feeling of comfort as you near the store. It had been years since you went on a date, not like this was one, but you were definitely interested in Spencer and feared scaring him away or just not being interesting enough for him.

Walking through the door was like being transported into another world, The walls were lined with books, floor to ceiling. It was like a palace and you knew that every single book had a different world you could escape to when you needed to, when reality got too much. Every time you brought your dad here to sign some of Shelby’s collection of his books, he too had a similar face of awe. His job was stressful enough, it was the least you could do to help him gain some sort of escape.

“Hey there!” Shelby, the owner, calls out.

“Hi, Shel! How are you today?” you ask, glancing over at at the wall of candles next to her and checking to see if any of your favorites were restocked. It was one of the most alluring parts of the store, the book-themed candles with matching scents.

“I’m doing great, how did your last interview go? I know you were on the last one of the whole process,” she asks.

“It went great! I actually got the job and celebrated that night with my dad and his coworkers. There was actually this one guy--”

You hear the bell ring behind you and twist around to see Spencer standing there, an awkward smile across his face.

“Hey, Spencer! Welcome to the best place on earth,” you swing back to wink at Shelby and then walk forward to stand next to the young doctor. It makes you smile to see his crooked tie sitting underneath his maroon sweater vest and navy blazer. Out of instinct, you reach forward and adjust it before pulling back to realize what you had done.

“I am so sorry, it’s just a force of habit from when I do it for my dad,” you mumble and look down to the floor bashfully in an attempt to hide from the awkward shame.

“No worries. Shall we get to the books?” he asks and looks out to the bookstore. It was mostly barren due to the early hours, but it was perfect in your eyes. The overwhelming smell of paper and ink fills your senses as you direct Spencer over to the true crime section.

“I remember when I first found forensics books in the true crime section. It makes sense, though, forensics is all technically up to interpretation as anything but to me, it’s an interesting way of looking at science,” you state and begin pulling out books from the shelves. The Poisoner’s Handbook by Deborah Blum, Forensics by Val McDermid, and All that Remains by Sue Black. It wasn’t the heftiest stack of books you had walked out with, but you were sure it would tie Spencer over for at least a couple days.

“The same thing could be said about profiling, a lot of people show hesitation when it comes to our profiles, but we haven’t been wrong yet. It was only really in the last 50 years that people started to take it more seriously, although some still don’t believe it to be helpful” he states and you look up at him.

“Alrighty, there are three of my favorite ones. And honestly, if anything I can get you my college textbooks if you really want to enrich yourself, but I doubt those will be as entertaining as these,” you say and let out a little laugh.

“I’ll probably get through these today,” he glances down at the stack of books as you stare in awe.

“How? No way,” you mumble, your eyes widening.

“I can read 12,000 words per minute,” you pause in place, staring in awe as he speaks.

“I stand corrected, I wish I had your mind when I was working on my dissertation. God, I spent hours reading research papers and textbooks that I thought my brain would melt. For you? Light reading,” you state and shake your head. “Spencer you’re incredible.”

“Hm,” he hums and looks down at the floor, almost like a resignation. It was sad to see. Did he not know how amazing his mind is?

“What?” you ask and frown.

“Most people don’t say that when I tell them about me. They usually look at me in awe or like I’m a freak of nature,” he mumbles and huffs. You pause and stare at him for a moment before speaking.

“Well, you shouldn’t listen to them,” you boldly state as he looks up. “Growing up, knowledge and education was the one thing that no one could take away from me. Spencer, I think you’re the coolest person I know, and my dad is pretty famous.”

He lets out a small laugh at that as you take a moment to look at him, really look at him. His hair was a plop of messy curls on top of his head, smoothed down to try and look somewhat put together, and his eyes were a deep brown although slightly dull from lack of sleep. He carried himself a little bit timidly, but he carried the books in his arms like they were the key to unlocking everything. And for that? You adored him.

“Do you wanna go grab some lunch? I’d love to get to know one of my new coworkers,” you tell him and begin walking over to Shelby.

“Sure,” he says, a slight flush on his cheeks appearing as Shelby rings him up and you go through a couple of the candles, taking a quick whiff of the ones that look interesting. You take one that smells like butterscotch and place it on the counter, reaching over to your bag to bring your wallet out.

“I got it,” he mumbles and smiles as you frown, shaking your head.

“No, it’s okay,” you tell him as Shelby takes his card, looking at you pointedly.

“No, it’s alright, I got it.” he responds and takes the small receipt back from Shelby along with his card.

You narrow your eyes, a playful smile appearing on your face as you stare at him while Shelby bags up the books and then hands you the candle.

“I’ve got lunch then,” you tell him and gently nudge his shoulder, a smile spreading over your face. He nods and the two of you walk out of the bookstore into the cold D.C. street. The cafe you had in mind was only a couple stores over and the irresistible smell of freshly baked pastries was unmistakeable as the two of you walked closer. As you approach, Spencer speeds up and holds the door open for you as you mutter a small thanks to him.

The cafe itself was rather small but full of people who were enjoying their mornings out. The menu was littered with several different drinks and food in French. Glancing into the case full of food, you set your eyes on a spinach and cheddar cheese quiche as well as a warm mug of tea. When you walk up to the counter, you look over at Spencer for a moment as he too stares up at the menu. He suddenly looks back at you and you feel like you get whiplash from how quickly you look back to the woman behind the register.

“I’ll take what she’s having and a coffee with room for cream and sugar,” he responds as you quickly hand over your card, ensuring that he has no time to take out his wallet. When the transaction is finished, the two of you move off to the side to wait for your food and drinks.

“So what else do you do besides working and reading? Although, I’d guess work takes up a majority of your time,” you ask, looking over at him as you rub your hands together to help warm them up a bit. You should have brought your gloves, but it had slipped your mind this morning in the midst of all your chaotic thoughts about the day.

“I play chess in the park when I find the time. I also like to watch foreign movies and knit occasionally, although I haven’t really found time for it recently. Most of my time outside of work is dedicated to reading,” he responds.

“Oh gosh, I could never knit. I tried it once and it went very poorly, I just have really bad coordination with my non-dominant hand. Crocheting is my personal favorite type of fiber art, it only really requires one hand,” you smile as your name is called out and your drinks are put on the counter alongside your food. Quickly, you grab the mug full of tea with one hand and feel relief as it begins to warm your cold fingers. With the other hand, the two of you grab your quiches and walk over to the condiments section where you watch as Spencer proceeds to dump several sugar packets into his coffee.

“Not a fan of the bitterness?” you ask and laugh as he dumps the sugar in, stirring it around with a stir stick.

“Just a sugar addict,” he smiles up at you and your heart almost skips a beat in your chest as the two of you maneuver over to a table.

“I remember, sugar over alcohol. I hope the cake that night was to your satisfaction,” you say and begin digging into your food after a quick sip of tea to warm your insides.

“I think it could have had more sugar,” you bark out another laugh and take a bite of the quiche.

“I’ll keep that in mind next time,” you mumble.

“What about you? What do you do in your free time?” he asks and you pause your eating to warm your hands with the mug of tea.

“I like to read as well, although I usually read science-related books. I’ve been trying to broaden my horizons and read some classical literature, I think there’s a lot to be learned from fiction that most scientists fail to recognize. There’s often a gap between humanities and science-related majors, but I think that they’re a lot more similar than they realize,” you speak and feel your hands sweat as you look up at Spencer who appears to be watching you as you talk. “Sorry, I’m rambling, aren’t I?’

“No, you’re fine. It’s not often that people think the two are connect when, in fact, there is a lot that can be bridged between the two. Science can only be progressed if information is shared and made available for people to read, that’s why papers are only accredited if they’re peer-reviewed. I’d like to think psychology is a marrying of the two, both humanities and science. Without the knowledge of human nature, we cannot predict and better ourselves as human beings but without the scientific process, we are left unable to process experiments and theories. So, you’re completely correct,” he says and the two of you are left staring at each other as you soak in the information. Your heart soars at his response and you can only smile as you bow your head slightly to try and hide the warmth in your cheeks.

“Very astute analysis there, Dr. Reid,” you mumble, hiding your smile in your cup as you bring it up to take a sip.

“Thank you, Dr. Montgomery,” Spencer does the same with his coffee and you feel your cheeks stretch even further than imagined, a warmth growing in your chest.

The rest of your “not date” is spent talking about similar things, the disparity that people seem to observe between humanities and science as well as fun facts thrown around to keep the atmosphere light.

“I mean, before photographs, people had to draw crime scenes to keep track of where everything was. The procedures for crime scene investigation were very poor then, though, but they did what they had to do. I find that facial reconstruction is one of my favorite connections between art and science, the fact that scientists learn how to sculpt faces in order to make an identification,” you state as you finish the last bite of your quiche and drink the rest of your tea.

“It goes hand and hand with forensic anthropology to help identify victims. It’s moreso for the family than it is to help find the unsub, but it can add to victimology and help understand how the victim died,” he responds, also finishing the last of his sickeningly sweet coffee.

“But it’s so cool how science and art really are married. To be good at figure drawing, you have to have a good understanding of anatomy and to successfully construct a face, you must know how to sculpt,” you finish and look down at the finished meal, you feel a bit sad to find your time with Spencer coming to an end. “I’ll bring this over to the trash.”

You stand and take the plates with their respective mugs over to the tub of used dishes and discard your tea bag and napkins used. Walking back over, you find Spencer standing next to the table grabbing his own bag, slinging it over his shoulder.

“Shall we?” he mutters and you nod, following him out the door.

“I’m going this way,” you tell him, pointing back in the direction of your apartment and the bookstore.

“You didn’t take the train?” he asks, hugging his bag close as he furrows his brow.

“Oh! No, I live just a couple blocks down from the bookstore. I chose my apartment for that reason,” you clutch your bag close as well, almost a sort of object to ground yourself so the endless nerves are redirected some place other than your brain.

“I’ll walk you down, then,” he states and moves to stand beside you.

“You don’t have to, it’s just a couple blocks,” you state and shake your head.

“I insist,” he smiles and you can feel your heart jump in your chest. Maybe it was the bright blue cloudy sky behind him or the chill in the air, but something about him felt a bit unreal.

“Al-Alright,” you mumble and begin back down the street, a calm silence settling as the two of you walk in tandem and allow the noise of D.C. to fill the air. The walk is short, shorter than you remember, but the warmth of Spencer next to you is distracting so perhaps the fact that you can’t keep track of the streets is enough to make it feel like no time has passed. In fact, you almost walk past your apartment building, but the glass doors swing open and stop you in your place as someone else walks out.

“This is me,” you glance up at the building and look back at him, unsure of what to say.

“We should do this again some time. I’ll bring you some of the classics that I have so you can have more to read,” he suggests but takes a step back, almost like he regrets the words coming out of his mouth as they do so. “Only if you want to, you don’t have to--”

“I’d like that,” another pause as your heart begins to pound faster. “I’ll text you.”

You lean forward on your tip toes and press a kiss to his cheek before spinning around and walking into the building, attempting to catch your breath and not turn to look at his reaction. Hoping and praying you didn’t overstep, you head into the elevator and look out at the street where you see Spencer staring in a sort of awe, a silly smile on his face. The doors close in front of you as you ponder. Maybe it was a date.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid fanfiction #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #penelope garcia #david rossi #derek morgan #jj #jennifer jareau #emily prentiss

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auggieparkhurst · 3 years ago

Text

Labyrinth

Perhaps he could not find respite in the shadows of their shared hearth, the second chair now occupied by someone else, but he could still find it within dust-filmed tomes. The bell’s chime welcomed Augustine into Stacks. It was an old, decrepit bookstore. Haphazardly wedged between two towering buildings, as if it’s been an afterthought. Even late in the evening, as Augustine had left the house at nine bells, the door to the shop remained unlocked. Ever confident was the Archivist in her security measures. The runes of her ingenuitive mind were etched into the doorframe, their lament light barely visible. He blinked up at them, flashed a smile, and stepped inside. Immediately the young man was met by the dower countenance of the Archivist. A gnome, who showed the first signs of grey as testament to her age, by the name of Tinkara, perched behind an adjacent counter. The ledger sprawled across her desk marked by a quill as she peered over horn-rimmed glasses.

“Hello again, Augustine.” She spared no time for pleasantries. Any kind word to be offered by him promptly silenced by an upheld hand. She licked a fingertip and flipped a few pages in her ledger. The crow’s feet at her eyes deepened as she strained to read. Her lips puckered in an indignant pout, nail tracing along a line of text. “Here we go. Alchemical Principles and Runic Associations,” -she quirked a thin brow- “Just got it in, if that’s what you’re lookin’ for.”

He forced his smile to grow beyond its limits, revealing a sliver of teeth, while he stuffed any misgivings down his throat. The passenger in his bag squirmed. “Oh,” he chittered, clutching his satchel’s strap in a white-knuckled grip. “Um...Not tonight, actually. I was just looking to browse.”

“Hmph.” Tinkara squinted. Milky gaze traipsed up and along his length until it lingered on his face. Another chuff. She flipped the ledger closed with a satisfying smack. “Look to your heart’s content, I suppose.”

“Thank you.”

Just as he turned to leave, Tinkara beckoned him back. “One moment, Augustine.”

He froze in the aisle, gaze fixed on some distant point. “Yes, ma’am?”

“You don’t have that cat with you, do you?”

His laugh was effortless. Light and airy, he expelled it like any other breath as he shook his head- extra sure to jostle his curls just so. “Of course not.” He looked over his shoulder to the Archivist, canting his head. “Wouldn’t dream of bringing her inside. Not after what happened last time.”

“Uh. Huh.” Tinkara pushed the spectacles further up her nose. She gave Augustine another once over. “I should hope so.” She waved him on.

Augustine dipped his head in gratitude and scurried down the seemingly endless aisle of books. That was the magic of Stacks. It’s exterior belied little of it’s interior. A street view would lead by-passers believing the shop to be little more than an insubstantial accrual of second-hand books. Only those who ventured inside knew the truth-- that the shop was bigger on the inside. Augustine ventured down the aisle, hand trailing along the spines of leather-bound books, and veered right when the path forked. And continued to choose right whenever the opportunity presented itself. Further and further, he dove into the labyrinth. His shadow growing into itself by glow of alchemical lanterns. The tension in his shoulders began to unwound as the thick shelves swallowed any idle sounds made by the Archivist. Sure that he had placed enough distance between himself and her, Augustine paused. Knelt down and opened his satchel. From its fold, a black coil spilled onto the floor. A pleasant purr rolled from the feline shade as she nudged his hand.

“Yes, hello.” Augustine ran his hand down Calcifer’s back, and smiled when she rewarded him with the languid swish of her tail. He rose onto his haunches, arm extended down. “Come on then.” A devious smile curled at his lips as he added in a haughty tone, “As it please you, my Shadow.”

Green gaze wrinkled beneath the weight of the cat’s smug grin. She plodded up his arm and curled herself around his neck- tail coiled just under his chin.

The two continued their journey- always right, never left- until they reached the emporium’s heart. The endless line of books opened into a central chamber lit by alchemical lanterns and furnished with a handful of weathered tables and accompanying chairs. A few ink pots and quills dotted the separate work spaces for anyone who chose to use them, stacks of parchment kept at the head of each table. Everything always kept in order, no matter the occasion, by an unseen force which enacted on the Archivist’s demand for organization.

Augustine expected the space to be vacant, as it normally was at this time of evening, and found himself a bit miffed when a mysterious man occupied his favored spot. A Kaldorei reclined back in the chair closest to the trolley of books. One hand supported the back of his head while the other held a weathered-novel folded back on its spine. He read with an impassive countenance. Skimmed through the pages as if they were little more than filler.

Retorts churned in Augustine’s stomach. Unsure if he could muster them beyond a shy whisper, he continued to swallow them down. His fingers flexing as they worked the icy-pricks of annoyance from his hands. Resolving to leave the man alone and choose another spot, he turned on his heel-

-and froze when the gentleman cleared his throat.

“Master Parkhurst?”

Augustine bit back a crestfallen smile as he faced the man. “Oh. No. You must have me mistaken for my sister- Max Parkhurst.”

The Kaldorei rose from his chair with the shake of his head. Stepping out from the shadows and into the lantern’s glow, Augustine caught a better glimpse of the man. He was such a miserable specimen. Ears cropped to a length far unusual, cheeks hollowed and eyes - faintly lambent and silver- sunken into his skull. Wisps of black hair, dull and a bit lackluster, pulled into a haphazard tail. Only the wire-thin hairs of a goatee brought softness to his features. Augustine might’ve thought him to be bitter with his ill-fitting clothes and slight limp. But then, the man’s thin lips curled in a beaming smile. All teeth and no eyes.

“No. I am quite certain I have the right man.” He dipped his head low. “Augustine Parkhurst, yes?”

Augustine cast him a dubious look. “Yes…” A tentative hand reached for Calcifer, finding remedy to his nerves in the down of her fur. “That’s me- I’m sorry. I don’t believe we’ve met.”

Laughter eased the bite from the man’s appearances. He extended a callused hand out to Augustine. The chemical stains on his fingers contrasted against his ash-grey skin. “My apologies, young master. I am Hyleass Duskbough.”

An excited current danced up Augustine’s spine. “You’re...The Hyleass Duskbough?” he breathed, lips curling in a manic grin. He promptly took Hyleass’s hand in both his own. “The Glasswork Alchemist?”

“Anu’dora,” -Hyleass turned bashful gaze skyward- “That is one of my many titles. Though, these days I’m referred to as Councilman Duskbough.”

The sudden realization sapped the warmth from Augustine’s blood, and settled heavy in his stomach. He pulled his hands from Hyleass. Swallowed back the lump crawling up his throat. “High Alchemist…” He folded himself over in a low bow- Calcifer spilling from his shoulders. “I-I am so sorry for the disrespect! Had I known- If I was more observant… I’d wouldn’t have guessed you of all people would frequent- erm. Um! Not saying you couldn’t visit a bookstore, but tha-”

Hyleass culled Auggie’s stream of incoherent babble with an upheld hand. His smile turned gentle. “It is quite alright. I am no more a man than you. Amongst these stacks, we are equals. So, please, just Hyleass.” He left no room for interjection as he canted his head.

Augustine nodded slowly as he rose. His gaze remained rooted to the ground. “Then it is an honor, Hyleass.” A moment’s contemplation passed before he cracked a meek grin, stealing a glance up at the elder alchemist. “I am a big fan of your work.”

“As I of yours, young master.”

Inklings of warmth swelled in Augustine’s chest. “Really?”

The Kaldorei gave an affirming nod. Either of his hands came to rest in the depths of his coat pockets. His gaze found the young man’s, twinkling with aged whimsy. “Quite. Unique ideas with execution of equal measure. And your dissertation?” A breath of laughter filled the momentary quiet. “It I was none the wiser, I’d have sooner thought you a wordsmith rather than alchemist.” The gaiety all but withered from his smile. “A pity,” he lamented with the twitch of an ill-cropped ear, “That the Board refused to advance it.”

For all the praise in the world, Augustine couldn’t ignore the thin dagger which those words slid between his ribs. Old wounds never quite healed reopened with a simple reminder. The rejection still lived rent free in his head. Denied advancement. Try again next year. He tried to not let the disappointment show in his smile. Brushed it off with a half-shrug. “It gives me plenty of time to re-evaluate. To hone in on my research. As they say, ‘A jack of all trades is a master of none.’”

“Dora’ dor,” Hyleass remarked, “Though, you neglect the entirety of the quote.” He ventured back to the table, gaze thrown over his shoulder. “ ‘But oftentimes better than a master of one.’” A knowing smirk given as he began to collect his things. “You’ve remarkable potential, Augustine. Let not the word of a few pious individuals sully your thirst.”

The tailspin of emotions had begun to make Augustine dizzy. He entered Stacks with a seedling of resentment in his chest. So quick it shifted. Like the passing of a season. First to annoyance. Then annoyance rolled into excitement. To embarrassment. To pride then shame. And now, he stood in a dizzying stupor. Strength siphoned from the current dancing up his spine. Not a name to be given to this buzz as he merely beamed at Hyleass. For once, he was left speechless.

Hyleass filled the silence for him.

“It was a pleasure to meet you in person. Unfortunately, I’ve other duties to attend to.” He paused beside Augustine, casting the young man a knowing look. “Shall I see you here tomorrow, same time?”

Augustine blinked out of his stupor. Met the question with an eager nod. “Oh. Um. Yes, sir!”

A dubious brow was quirked at Auggie. He quickly checked himself. “I mean- Yes, Hyleass.”

The elf grew a face-splitting grin. “Excellent. Until then, ande’thoras’ethil.”

And with a departing nod, Hyleass ventured into the labyrinth of books. Augustine left to simmer in his excited buzz until Calcifer’s delicate chirp plucked him dust-filled clouds. He smiled down at his feline shadow.

“Tomorrow,” he echoed, reaching down to stroke Calcifer’s ear.

The cat responded with the deft thump of her tail.

Tomorrow.

[Prelude] | [Audience]

#| Labyrinth |#The Alchemists #| Omens Etched in Crimson |#Augustine Parkhurst #Hyleass Duskbough

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thadelightfulone · 4 years ago

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All I Want... 25 Days of Christmas Challenge, Day 2

November 15-19th, Part 2

Erik Stevens’ office phone rang incessantly, even after he told his assistant to hold all calls. When it finally quieted down, he stood up to stretch the stiff muscles of his neck, shoulders and arms. He moved in front of the floor to ceiling window that makes up the back wall of his office. Taking a few deep breaths, he rubbed his temples when the cell phone in his jacket pocket started to ring.

“T. Can I breathe? We have been working on this project all morning.” Silence greeted him on the other end. “Hello?”

“My bad. I figured you would be at lunch right about now. It’s after 3 over here.” The voice spoke.

Erik looked at the contact on his phone and started laughing, “Damn man, I’m sorry. My cousins and I have been working on this project and -- let’s just say I am ready for a vacation.”

“It’s ok. I get it man. I have about 4 students preparing to defend their dissertations next month. I am nowhere near ready.”

“That’s right, Dr. Oubre, preparing our future doctors of science and research. So, what’s up?”

“Well, I just spoke with Dr. Giacomo and she said someone came around asking about you.”

“Really for what?”

“Yeah, I guess they came across one of your papers and decided to find you.”

Erik rolled his eyes, “So, why would they go to her and not just reach out to me directly?”

“Look, I don’t know. I am just letting you know what was relayed to me, but I wanted to reach out to you before I gave out your information.”

“Bruh, give them my email and get off my phone.” Erik laughed at how silly Marquis was being.

“Aye, you can never be too sure. I’m just looking out for you.” Marquis whispered into the phone.

Erik walked over to his desk and leaned against the edge, “Quis, man what is really going on?”

“I don’t want to send you another stalker.” Marquis sighed before laughing.

“HA, man. No one could have seen that shit coming.” Erik began to laugh as well. “I definitely lucked out when she graduated before us. Who knows how bad that could have gotten?”

“True, true.” Marquis cleared his throat, “By the way, Serena asked about you. She wants to know when you are bringing yo black ass back to Louisiana? You know to see us, your friends and extended family?”

“What else? I know she didn’t stop there.” Erik retorted.

“Oh, the usual. Has he found anyone yet? When is he gonna settle down? Yada, yada, yada.” Marquis shot back.

“Of course, she did.” Erik sighed out. “I definitely want to take some time off, so I can come and see you both, including my nieces and nephew. I just don’t know when that will be.”

“Alright man, I understand. Look, I just wanted to give you a heads up about the contact. But I gotta run to class now.” Marquis rushed out.

“Yeah, I’ll hit you up later this week.” Erik said before hanging up.

Setting his phone down on his desk, he closed his eyes. Arms crossed over his chest, he relaxed into the moment. Alternating between short and long breathes, he felt himself calming down from the morning and the call from his best friend and brother.

They met in undergrad and were as thick as thieves instantly. You never saw one without the other anywhere on campus. And then, while they were in grad school Marquis met Serena, who would later become his wife.

Laughing to himself, Erik recalled being jealous of what they had and continued to build together. It reminded him of his parents’ relationship and the love they had for one another. He rolled his eyes as his mind started to wander. Serena wasn’t the only one asking those kinds of questions lately.

Shaking those thoughts from his head, he decided to focus on the reason for Marquis’ call. Someone from Southern University was looking for him, that’s very interesting. He hadn’t thought of his alma mater much since returning home to Oakland, about 10 years ago. Outside of Marquis and his family, who he kept in touch with; he never needed to think about it. He had written plenty of papers due to his current research and his studies while he was working on his doctorate, so it does make sense. Well, whoever it is will be reaching out to him soon enough.

---

It’s been three days since DeeDee learned that her mystery man was connected to a current faculty member on campus. She walked to his office and knocked on the open door.

“Hey Dr. O.” DeeDee said to get his attention.

“Come in, DeeDee.”

DeeDee walked into Dr. Marquis Oubre’s office and took a seat in front of his desk. She pulled out her notebook and set it down on her lap.

“So, how are things going?” Dr. Oubre asked as he walked over to the chair next to her.

“They are going, but it could be better.” DeeDee answered as she fiddled with her fingers.

Marquis sat down and crossed his leg at the knee. “What’s bothering you, DeeDee?”

“I’m nervous about how all the interviews went. I mean they were all in September and October, and I have not heard anything.”

“What did I tell you when you left for the first one in San Diego?”

DeeDee sighed and rolled her eyes, “I will know if they are a great fit for me and not the other way around.”

“That’s right. Besides, you visited about 6 schools over a 2 month period. Those are on-campus interviews and that number is unheard of DeeDee.” Dr. Oubre looked at her, “I didn’t even get that many.”

“Really?” DeeDee looked at him in disbelief.

Dr. Oubre discussed his entire experience of applying for a tenure-track position. DeeDee listened as much as she could manage, but in the back of her mind, all she could think about is the fact that her doctoral mentor knew her mystery man. She wanted to blurt it out when she first walked in, but it didn’t seem like the right thing to do. But now, she is reminded that the man can talk and couldn’t wait any longer.

“Dr. O?” DeeDee interrupted his current train of thought.

“Yes?”

“Can I ask you about a former student?” She picked up the notebook, pulling out a printed out black and white newspaper clipping. DeeDee handed it to him.

He took it from her, looked at the image and laughed. “It’s you?”

DeeDee looked at him in confusion.

“You know people talk around here and I am friends with a lot of folks in Computer Science. Dr. Giacomo told me that someone was looking for Erik. I guess I just wasn’t thinking it would be you.” He continued to laugh.

“Oh. Of course, she would.” DeeDee huffed out as she scooted further back into the chair.

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to laugh.” He reached for her notebook, “May I?”

DeeDee handed him the notebook. Dr. Oubre pulled the ink pen from his dress shirt and wrote on the first blank page he found. He handed it back to her.

“That’s his email. He said that he is fine with you asking him anything.”

“Wait. What? He is expecting to hear from me?” DeeDee fumbled with the notebook when Dr. Oubre handed it over.

“Yes, he was surprised that you didn’t just search for him using the information on the article.”

DeeDee silently chastised herself, remembering what she told the other professor the other day. “About that, I didn’t even think of it. I saw Southern University and that was all she wrote.” She nervously laughs.

“No problem. I’m sure he’ll be able to answer whatever questions you have.” Dr. Oubre stood up. “So, how’s your unnecessary prepwork going?”

“It’s not unnecessary. I just want to be prepared, Dr. O.”

“DeeDee, you have been studying this stuff for the last 4 years. You know it and your 150 page dissertation shows that.” He moved around behind his desk, “They are only going to ask you about what is in there and what work you want to do with the information from this study.”

“I understand that, but --”

“Look, you have nothing to worry about. It is more a presentation then an actual defense. And I wouldn’t stress about the lack of response from those other universities about your interviews because I know you have applied to others. You got this.”

DeeDee took a deep breath before responding, “You are right, Dr. O. I have applied to about 5 other places, but those were all in my top 2 tiers.”

“And about your upcoming defense?”

“Right again. I know it like the back of my hand. So, I will try not to stress about it anymore.” DeeDee stood up and grabbed her things.

“Glad to hear it. Oh, by the way, you do know Dr. Bell is retiring at the end of the year?”

“Yeah, they told all of us last week. Sounds like the annual department Christmas party will be her retirement party.”

Dr. Oubre handed her a small flyer, “That’s right. Here’s your invitation. Hope to see you there.”

DeeDee looked down at it, “I’m there with bells on.” She laughed at her little joke.

“Nope, you gotta go.” He pointed at the door, while trying not to laugh. “I don’t think we need to meet next week, unless something comes up and you want to talk.”

“I agree.” DeeDee stopped at the door and held up the notebook, “And thanks again for this, Dr. O.”

“You’re welcome, DeeDee.” He sat down and watched as DeeDee left his office.

---

Sitting at her home office desk, DeeDee stared at the blank message box on her computer screen. The only thing typed out was Erik’s email address. She picked up her glass of water and took a sip.

She spent the last hour looking up information on him. Found out that he’s back in Oakland and not even active in the science field anymore. He was the Director for one of the Wakanda Outreach Centers. It was fascinating what she read and found out about the work he was currently doing.

And just like that, she was afraid to move forward. It should be simple. Send him an email about finding the little note in an old textbook. The end. He could do whatever he wanted with the information. But DeeDee’s mind was playing out possible scenarios like stuff she had seen in her favorite sappy romantic movies. And while the thought excited her, it also freaked her out at the same time.

Things like that did not happen to women like her. Sure, she was kind of pretty and low maintenance, but most guys did not find her interesting enough to have a relationship with. And because of that she just didn’t try to pursue them, which is much different than what her friends believed about her. There was no message in a bottle type romance or love for her. So, why even bother?

She closed the email and decided to let the matter go. At least, she found out who wrote the note. Curiosity piqued and answered. Now, time to focus on her future and career.

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#25 days of christmas challenge #erik killmonger x oc #black panther fanfiction #bp christmas #all i want #thadelightfulone

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