#jules watches: the musketeers

[the-tenth-arcanum]

[adhd-merlin]

watching the musketeers ep 1x10 and why did everyone turn against d'artagnan when it turned out he slept with milady. porthos and aramis go from "who is this woman" to "you slept with athos's wife??" in the space of two seconds, bro no one even knew athos had a wife?? what was that

[musketeers-brothersinarms]

Chapter Three: Window Washing and Wishing

Julius had always been deathly afraid of heights. When he was little, he never joined his brothers in climbing trees or leaning over bridges to watch the Seine slip by below. Even glancing up at the towering spires of the cathedrals they walked past was enough to turn his stomach.

So it was with horror that day that he read the first entry on the daily list of janitorial tasks Pete had tacked to the door of their quarters: Clean Hall windows inside and out.

No, please, no, he thought helplessly, sitting down heavily on the bed and putting his face in his hands.

“What’s wrong, Jules?” Oswald asked from the table in the corner. He and Mickey sat with two cups of coffee and a stack of crepes that they were busy tucking away. “Did Pete give us stable cleaning again?”

“Worse,” Julius groaned, the list crumpled up in his fist. “We have to clean the windows today. Inside and out.”

“Ah,” Oswald said, furrowing his eyebrows. “Well, that’s unfortunate.”

“He KNOWS I hate heights!” Julius cried in despair. “He’s doing this on purpose!”

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Mickey said thoughtfully, cupping his coffee mug in two hands.

Julius felt dread pulsing in his stomach, threatening to upend the crepes he had eaten. Meanwhile Oswald tapped the side of his mug, thinking. “Maybe you can work on the ground windows by yourself?” he offered. “Then me and Mickey can do the higher floors.”

“He’d think I was trying to slack off,” Julius muttered, then clutched his upset stomach. “I’m gonna be sick.”

“Oh!” Mickey said brightly. “If you do get sick, hen he’ll think you're ill and you can lie in bed while we clean.”

“That’s a non-factor in Pete’s mind,” Oswald countered. “Remember last winter when we all had the flu? We still had to scrub floors for three hours.”

“Oh yeah…” Mickey paused. “Shoot. Well, maybe we can blindfold Julius, so he doesn’t see the ground from up high?”

“Then he can’t see what he’s cleaning, doofus. Maybe we could get a dummy of Julius and make Pete think he’s cleaning with us, and he can sneak off and work on something else.”

As they started shooting more hare-brained ideas back and forth, Julius smiled slightly in spite of himself and set the list down on his bed. “No, I can do this, guys. I’ll be fine. We’ll need all three of us to get everything done on time, anyways. If Pete wants to give me chores I hate, fine. I’ll just… stomach my way through it.”

He stood up, handed them the list, and started gathering tools from the corner cupboard to keep his hands busy. Mickey stuffed another crepe in his mouth while he read it through. His ears drooped at the massive list:

-polish furniture in the ballroom

-clean and polish the floors of the throne room

-shovel gravel on the garden paths

-set up rat traps in the cellars

-scrub ballroom stairs

-clean all the fireplace grates and chimney

-replace leaking water pipes in the basement

And that was just the first side of the paper, he realized, flipping it around and seeing another long list on the back.

“Does he think we can freeze time?” Oswald exclaimed in shock, reading the list over Mickey’s shoulder. “We can’t do all this in a day! And some of these aren’t even our duty,” he noticed indignantly, pointing to a task that read -clean musketeer capes in storage. “We’re not maids!”

“I suppose all the maids and court servants must be busy with the coronation preparations,” Mickey reasoned, although he too was frowning at the list. “We’re going to have to skip dinner and maybe supper to get this done… We should probably grab some food to bring with us.” He stood and stretched, then grabbed his musketeer hat and put it on.

Julius held out a bucket and rag to each of them. “Guess we’d better get started, then? If we hurry, we can fix those pipes before we start on the windows.” He was mostly successful at keeping the shakiness out of his legs. Mickey nodded in agreement.

Oswald sighed and gulped down the last of his coffee, then picked up his bucket and rag and followed his brothers out the door. It’s going to be a long one, he thought.

~~~~~~

The morning went by much too quickly for Julius’s liking, and as much as he tried to cherish the moments spent soaking wet and wrestling with pipes in the basement, before he knew it they were headed outside to begin the window cleaning. Mickey and Oswald chatted aimlessly as they walked ahead, letting Julius lag behind them. 

It frustrated the cat how easily heights filled him with terror. He wasn’t entirely sure what had borne the fear inside him- It was just the thought of being so high up in the air with nothing underneath him, falling and plummeting forever, dropping like a rock through the sky to the ground with the wind rushing by and everything so far below and nothing to catch him or save him— He shook his head furiously, heart thumping wildly in his throat. Thinking like that isn’t going to help you, Julius! Just bite the bullet and get through it. You’re just going to wash some windows 50 feet in the air. It’s not that bad. Steeling his nerves, he jogged ahead to catch up with Mickey and Oswald as they reached the shed.

The suspended scaffolding system used to maintain the higher floors of the palace was nothing more than a few rickety wooden boards lashed together with twine, two pulleys strung with frayed rope on either side, and a couple of loosely nailed-in iron railings, all of which lay cobbled together and largely unused in a shed outside the Great Hall. It was, in Oswald’s humble opinion, the worst feat of engineering in the entire world. I wonder what it would take to convince Pete to let me fix it, he thought offhandedly as they carried it around to the front and began attaching the ropes to the pulleys. 

Julius took a minute to pull himself together as he gathered the supplies and lifted them onto the platform next to a couple of dusty empty crates. You’ll be fine, it’s going to be fine, he chanted desperately in his head as Mickey and Oswald started tugging at the ropes to lift the scaffolding into the air. The courtyard fell slowly but surely away from under him, and he felt his insides once again lurching as if trying to escape his abdomen. He clutched the bag of food they had brought along with trembling hands.

“Alright, first window,” Oswald announced as he and Mickey stopped tugging and tied the ropes into place. Julius swallowed hard and tore his gaze away from the ground twenty feet below to start work on scrubbing the windows. It was slow work, but gradually the grime and muck disappeared under the determined scrubbing of the three brothers. For a while they worked in silence, save for the squeak of wet cloth on glass and the occasional splash from the water bucket; after a while, Mickey broke stillness with a small sigh. 

“This is going to take all day,” he said despairingly. 

Oswald rubbed at a spot on the window and shrugged. “Maybe, but all we can do is just keep working at it. We’re almost done with this floor, at least.”

“But we have the whole rest of the list to finish on top of this,” Mickey replied, wringing out his rag anxiously. “And Captain Pete wanted all of it finished today!”

“Honestly, Mick, Pete has to know we can’t do all that in one day. If we have to push some of those tasks into tomorrow, then we’ll do that,” said Julius resignedly. “And he’ll just have to deal with it.”

“But he’d think we weren’t trying hard enough. He’d think we’re incompetent, or… or lazy.” The small mouse dipped his rag back in the bucket with a quiet sploosh. “It’s just… I guess I want Cap’n Pete to see me as a hard worker. I want him to think I’m trying my best.”

Julius frowned. “You are a hard worker, Mick. I’ve told you that.”

“But… he doesn’t think I am,” Mickey sighed. “We try so hard every day and he still doesn’t take us seriously. And if he doesn’t think we’re hard workers, if he doesn’t think we can work together, then he won’t... I mean, we have a bad track record, but couldn’t he change his mind? Couldn’t he just see we really want to be musketeers?”

So that’s what this is all about, Julius realized. That’s what was bothering him this morning too, I bet. He shifted from one foot to the other uncomfortably; what could he say? He wanted nothing more than to reassure him and Oswald that of course Pete would make them musketeers, but that would just be lying. The last thing he planned on doing was sugarcoating anything for his brothers; at the same time, he didn’t want to voice his real doubts. His doubts about whether they should be musketeers at all, whether it would really ever work out for them. No, that would just discourage Mickey further. The best option, then, was uneasy silence. 

“Well… I think there’s a chance,” Oswald pitched in, hands on his hips. “I mean– Pete’s not an easy one to persuade, and it’s not like he’s ever presented the opportunity to us in the past five years, and he likes reminding us about how much he loathes us every chance he gets,  but…” he shrugged. “Rome wasn’t built in a day, so we might as well keep trying and keep hoping, right?” 

He grinned and twirled his rag jauntily, and Mickey smiled back gratefully. “Anyways, whether we’re musketeers or janitors, I don’t see the hurt in working hard. That doesn’t mean we need to bust a gut doing an impossible amount of jobs in one day, though. Let’s just take it slow.” Mickey nodded, looking relieved.

Julius sighed quietly. “Well,” he said, examining the windows one more time. “If we’re done on this level, then we’d better get to the next floor.” Mickey jumped up quickly and ran to the first pulley, Oswald heading to the other. Julius, suddenly remembering they were suspended in midair, swallowed hard and busied himself with the buckets. 

The platform had started to rise shakily, when suddenly there was a creak of doors opening below and the sound of crunching boots and chatting filled the air. Mickey gasped in excitement, straining to see down to the ground while pulling on the rope. “The musketeers are coming out to drill!” Oswald leaned over the rail to watch, his eyes glowing.

“Keep going up,” Julius reminded them, staring at the sky now, and Mickey gave an absent tug on the rope in reply. The musketeers had formed into rows and were listening to orders commanded by the hulking figure of Captain Pete. Soon the chinking of steel on steel filled the air as the musketeers sparred together. Mickey and Oswald were entranced, following every move, window cleaning forgotten. Sensing no movement, Julius tore his gaze away from the clouds to see his brothers leaning over as far as they could to watch. “Can we go UP?” he demanded impatiently. Startled, Mickey gave the rope a hard tug- too hard, it turned out.

The mossy old ropes in Mickey’s hands, unused to the sudden stress, groaned their last and snapped. Julius barely had time to yell in fright before the entire end of the platform swung downward, throwing him over the side. Oswald was the luckiest- his grip on the ropes gave him enough support to stay in place. Mickey, however, was thrown stomach-first against the railing, punching all the air out of his lungs.

In a moment of panic he gasped painfully, blinking stars out of his eyes as his feet found traction on the wood. The ground swung back and forth below, a blur of stone and gravel. A frayed rope swung through the air, snapped in half. The sounds of training below had been replaced with shouts as the musketeers stopped drilling, although their attention barely registered in Mickey’s mind.

“Are you okay?” Oswald asked, his voice panicked. “Where’s Julius-?”

A puffed up white tail appeared over the edge, followed by the terrified face of Julius as he scrabbled at the railing. “HELP-!” he yowled, terrified. Mickey jumped out to grab his hand, attempting to haul his brother back up onto the platform with much yelling and clawing and wild thrashing (mostly from Julius). Oswald, clinging to the other rope at the top, started to feel it straining and snapping under his fingers. He barely had time to close his eyes with a heavy sigh before another loud SNAP pierced the air, completely severing the ropes holding up the lift.

For a few comical seconds, they hung in the air- three brothers, a rickety platform, and a sudsy soap bucket. Then those seconds ended, and the only thing Mickey and Oswald could hear was jumbled yelling and wind whistling by as the earth rushed up towards them like a giant stone fist ready to punch their brains out.

~~~~~~

“Are they dead?” “Sacre bleu… “It was those janitor boys again, of course." "Really? I thought the Captain already fired them." “How on earth did they do this…?” “I don’t see any movement.”

A crowd of musketeers surrounded the pile of wood and rope that lay in the courtyard, muttering and staring in shock. Dust swirled about underneath polished brown boots and swishing blue capes, and a few musketeers shook their heads, used to the shenanigans of those janitor brothers.

A small mouse, his head and shoulders poking out underneath a rotted board, blinked his eyes open blearily and looked around, dazed and disoriented. Through a raging headache he vaguely heard a booming voice commanding musketeers out of the way, not quite registering as a hulking figure made his way forward to stand, seething, over the wreckage. It wasn’t until a large, meaty hand shot out and grabbed him by the arm, yanking him free from the rubble with a swift tug that he came to and realized the dire situation they were in.

Dangling in the air by his arm, staring into the cold glaring eyes of Captain Pete, Mickey swallowed hard and smiled nervously. “Morning, Captain. I, uh, guess you might be a little upset…?” Upset wasn’t quite the word for what the snarling captain was. More like collasally, tremendously, completely pissed off. Mickey barely had time to mutter a prayer to Mère Marie before he was being dragged off across the courtyard under the glaring sun to an unknown, but almost certainly painful, fate.

____

A/N: GOD, FINALLY I'M DONE WITH CH 3!! I'm literally so sorry it took so long to post, I've had so much happening in my life and then of course writer's block hit... anyways, I plan on releasing chapters WAY more frequently now! Also sorry there was no illustration this time- more technical difficulties :( Anyways thanks for reading!!

[terrorhqs]

[tw: blood, major character death]

A week after the takeover, the Promethean is well on its way to finish its trek. Cutting through calm and complacent waters, the crew and guests note that the ice that had once held them hostage has dissipated overnight with the dark and the gloom. Perhaps the deaths of the soldier and the girl sated the beast, some whisper — it’s leaving us alone. No, their comrade scoffs. Too easy. You heard the French - the thing killed a boatload of them before it left them alone! Two people are nothing but crumbs to it. It’ll be back.

“You’re all buffoons”, another chimes in. “The Agathe? Mutineers all along. It’s as Estrada said. They killed their crew and are killing ours too.” 

Amid the new tension borne of the mutiny, suspense heavy as wool hangs over the ship as it resumes its course. Lookouts are silent as they watch the ice, dread fraying their nerves, the same thought trawling across their conscience. Surely, it will reappear. After everything, it will come back.

But nothing parts the ocean, not even the breeze. An uneasy quiet descends upon the ship as those with an interest in completing the passage outnumber those who seek to return now that the waters promise an easy journey. An end to all of this is feasible — the only question remains: will all that’s been lost have been worth it? Is there any end that justifies the means?

It’ll be weeks, months yet before the Promethean reaches Hong Kong, but a call rings out in the midst of the morning. Wick and Bastien, high atop and on lookout, wave down wildly at the deckhands below. 

“Land! Land ahead!”

A seaman relays the message, bursts into the captain’s quarters where Marcus waits, in covenant with Hugo. Both men snap their heads at once, when they see the rallied cry that’s being picked up among the ranks. Both men, yes, to the slack curl of their jaw, can hardly credit it. It cannot be, their dark eyes say, pupils flashing. Even down to their mannerism, they have begun to look the same. 

“Land, sir. Lookout’s caught sight of land. Of a city - and its harbor!”

The vice-admiral-made-captain starts in his seat, brow furrowing, skeptical. “You’re joking. Even you must have looked at a map, we’ve got quite a way before even—”

“I swear it!” In his haste, he doesn’t mind his manners. As frantic as anyone’s ever seen, even Estrada cannot deny the truth from his eyes. “The lads are calling for you up-deck, Sir. The whole world is. A port awaits us.”

The rest of those onboard join the watch on the upper deck, curious clamoring seizing even those under the watchful eye of a musket barrel. There is no mistaking it - an oceanside city perched on low, rocky stone worn by lapping waves is clear through the spyglass. Slender, shimmering buildings of white spiral towards the sky in spires; others buildings are lower to the ground, and all are built with the same stone upon which the city sits and all are half-hidden behind a mist. 

“Make plans to dock.”

—

“Don’t stand up, Dowling. It’s only me. I come bearing news.”

Silence. In the space between the bottom of the floor and the door, Malachy’s silhouette shifts. 

“Too much of a coward to face me, Estrada?” Ragged voice tears through the air like a dagger, muffled through the door. “State your peace and leave.”

“Is that an order, captain?” A humorless, hollow laugh. “This is a gesture of goodwill, Dowling. I’d mind yourself until I’ve said what I’ve come to say.” He pauses. Perhaps to hide his own disbelief. Perhaps to spite Malachy. “We’ve fucking crossed it, Dowling. We think we’ve found the passage and we’ve found a way through. Hell, we might have already crossed it. We’ve got a city in sight and we’re making plans to dock in their harbor.”

A long pause. “No. No, that can’t be. It’s far too soon. A week, that’s not enough.”

“Say it as much as you want. By the time we lay anchor, you can come see for yourself. I reckon, see, that it won’t even be a day. As a truce, I’ll let you out—supervised, of course, and never too far from my sight. But freedom, Dowling. You’re to partake in it as well.”

“Thrilled, are you?” A soft thump on the other side of the door as Malachy leans against it. “How neatly this all transpires for you as soon as you seize the helm. Should’ve mutinied sooner, I bet you’re thinking.”

“Not here to question it. For your sake, I hope you don’t either.”

— 

Up close, the mist that cloaks the city shifts with every step taken. Appearing transparent once, then cloudy with a thin, greenish film next, then shimmering with an opalescent, abalone sheen. It is cold, but not cold enough for the thick coats that have proven imperative for standing outside in the Arctic. A strange humidity permeates the air - it is thin and thick, at once, and one feels a shortness and a swelling in every inhale - not painful, nor is it natural. The luster visible from the sea is procured from shells embedded into the foundation of every building, in between the stone and plaster - old and weathered, they glint in the light that parts through the mist. Perhaps the first thing that can be glimpsed, like a maroon carpet of colour, is the red sands on the eastward beach. Ground to a fine point, blanketing uniformly around the village until the paved streets begin to stretch on, it resembles a carpet of leaves or clipped gems as much as a natural phenomenon.

No other ships are docked at the silent harbor. Cobblestone lines the path up the crumbling seawall and into the city where townsfolk mill about in the marketplaces and town square, a vast space eclipsed by grand, towering edifices - a spindly cathedral demarcated by an unfamiliar brass symbol of the very tallest of its spires; an ancient, squat tavern; an inn with patrons streaming in and out like shoals; a surfeit of various shops of every variety, marked not by words or names, but by images painted into the overhanging signs. As the sun begins to dip below the horizon, one realizes there is an absence of gas lamps that dotted London in abundance. Instead, white wax candles spill over every ledge, every crook and cranny, their bases melted into the stone and bedrock and wood. 

Townsfolk cast strange, curious glances at these newcomers, but their gazes never linger long before they carry on with their businesses. The accents are implacable, though they speak English - not even a mishmash of any known dialects, but entirely unfamiliar. Not even the Promethean’s most well-traveled guests can narrow their tongue or the origin of their accents down. 

The shops and inns here refuse currency - one takes what they need, and they carry their debt with them until it's repaid, metaphorically or literally. 

— 

Malachy emerges from the boiler room a fragmented man, gaze trained on the multiple barrel ends that follow his every movement. Every breath he takes lifts his entire body in a heaving pulse-thrum. Hair unkempt and eyes wild with animal fury, his lips lift into a sneer as he finds Marcus in the crowd of muskets.

“Is this where I’m supposed to thank you for your mercy, Estrada?” He appraises the armed crew. “And your lackeys, for their restraint?” 

“Chin up, Dowling.” The vice-admiral’s lips curl into a grimace. “Even you cannot deny this good fortune. Certainly this justifies some of the trouble.”

“It justifies nothing. If you’re wise, you’ll not let me out of your sight.”

No more is exchanged between the two men before Malachy is ushered up the main ladderway, up to the upper deck and onto the dock, one armed escort in front and behind him. The rest of the crew begin to disembark, all who aligned with Malachy closely followed by another who wasn’t. 

The dock creaks beneath their feet, and the procession is slow, tentative, upon reaching this new port. Everything is familiar, and yet nothing is - not even the screech of a gull to announce their arrival.

Then, a scream, feral and hoarse. 

Behind them, Jules takes advantage of the momentary awe and sweeps the legs of her captor, knocks them into the harbor waters. A musket fires. The narrow dock doesn’t allow much in the way of room, and those who have not yet made it out of the ship clamber back on. Captors shout for their captives to STAND STILL, MOVE BACK down into the lower deck, but the chaos and the overlapping shouts overpower them. Smaller squabbles break out as the rest milk the opportunity given to them by Jules’ commotion. Ahead of them all, Malachy slams himself into the guard in front of them, tackling them both to the ground. His second escort scrambles for a clear shot, musket trembling - only to lurch back, struck in the shoulder. Behind him, Ephraim had broken free and wrestled the gun from his warden, his aim true then and now as he holds it steady on Malachy’s escort, who wordlessly surrenders his own weapon to Malachy. 

On the boat, chaos descends. Roi has easily overtaken his guard, pinning them to the side of the boat. Before he can hurl them into the water, Mariah throws himself onto his back, pinning the steward’s neck into the crook of his elbow. A flash of silver in his free palm - but then Laurents is on him, twisting their arm back until the knife drops to the ground with a clatter, and drives his fist into the mercenary’s gut, allowing Roi the chance to break free. Elias dives for the dagger and slashes at the ankles of Fahra’s guard, who had her wrists firmly in their grip. He cuts deep, cuts an unthinkable and irreparable gash over both calves; enough to maim, perhaps, if another one of Estrada’s hounds had not stepped in. The second man, bigger, wrangles the steward into a deathgrip. They both take the fall, tumbling several paces across the teak. In the somersault, the snowfall of movement and limbs, Ayla Dowling steps in with a lifeline. A physical rope, no time for metaphor, no time for anything but the hard gnashing of the present. The doe loops the rope around the guard’s neck, and, with a vicious tug that no one would’ve wagered on, pulls him off Elias and onto the planks. She waits no second before helping Elias up, and together they join Jack, the sergeant’s dagger blocking Violet’s aim on August.

Some paces away, Noemie leads the rest of the Agathe survivors through the skirmish and off the ship - they start down the docks, but Katja blocks their way, and it’s her musket to their none. She grabs Tristan by the arm, presses the musket to his stomach - if you want him alive, you’ll do as I say. A gun close by goes off, causing all of them to flinch. In that instant, Nyima breaks from the hostage group to lunge at Katja. The two scuffle, until Nyima gets a grip at the barrel of the musket, shoves it into the air - it goes off. Tristan tries to pin Katja down, and she hisses, points the gun at him - Nyima yanks the barrel back. It goes off again - whether by accident or as a result of the scuffle or by intention, it finds its mark. 

A wail cuts through the air, and for a moment, the bedlam stills. Nyima clutches a weeping wound on her chest, collapsing into Tristan’s arms. Ever the protectress, she is restless still even with her grievous wound, tries to force herself before the rest of the Agathe survivors as they fall to her side. This is one of the last attempts, the last slingshots of action in her muscles and spirit: to interpose between her friends and Katja. The translator backs away, wide-eyed, but still in possession of her wits - weapon poised to fire again if they tried to seek retribution. 

“Call Jonathan! Casimir! Help her!” Emma begs to no one in particular. She is quick to kneel, had already torn off half the scarves she was wearing, and is pressing dry palms, wet cloth, crimson sash to Nyima’s blooming chest. The petal spreads, swallows the entire front of the amulet’s dress. For all her time spent in gardens, for all that she turned stem and stalk to see the wonders of the world, this is a flower Emma cannot understand. Cannot weed out, or stall, or even conceive of. The blood flows, pours, goes over easy; a swell like the motion of waves, on what was once a ferocious, then a frozen, now an utterly becalmed sea. Nyima’s hand raises to Emma’s cheek, and, like the curl of a gentle claw, wraps around the jawline. Tristan falls to her other side. She whispers something to both of them, a voice that doesn’t carry, a wisp already flattened into velvet by the winds. Then she presses her own face into Tristan’s thigh. Her Judas, her Captain; it’s hardly appropriate, isn't’ it, that he’s the one that has been betrayed again—that he’s the one left behind. Perhaps this is why the cook smiles to him, last. To assure, as much as assuage. To promise there is another turn to this story, even as her own is already fading. 

By now, Malachy and his officers and Marcus and his loyalists have found the source of commotion and gathered, wordlessly. Jonathan weaves through to reach Nyima - there’s shifting, the subtle sounds of men taking aim,  and Ephraim immediately raises his gun to Marcus. It takes his own Captain’s voice to make him lower it, hip level, eyes murderous.

“Let them go. Let her…” Malachy pauses, swallowing through his hoarseness. There is no doubt as to the injury’s severity - the bleeding has not abetted, thick rivulets seeping through Emma’s fingers and pooling on the fallow ground. Malachy Dowling was a man of many wounds; some borne within, some hidden, but most of all witnessed. He knows what a death mark looks like. Nyima’s body is a canvass of carnage.

Not much for Jonathan to do, no, not much for anyone to do at all. Doing has led them here; the rough, loud, prideful fall of it. The impossible tally. The Captain, the former Captain, rises his voice once more. “Let them care for her in peace. You’ve had the upper hand, and now - now neither of us do.”

It’s Tristan’s cry that announces it; the death, the finality. Emma’s face is as white as the sky above them. Hands as rusty as the sands on this beach, on this strange place of salvation. Ayla and Noemie huddle closer to lift her up, lift her away from Nyima, but she won’t go. It seems no one is going anywhere, anymore — the whole possibility of it has been culled. Bones resting as slack as burlap; as unconscious as the flotsam left after a flood. 

Behind him, Edward and Jaya usher those they knew to be aligned with the old command off the docks and into the city. Marcus watches, impenetrable, his own musket held limp at his side, unmoving, unspeaking. 

Then he extends a hand to Katja, like a faraway tyrant, the stone hewn statue of one, calling home its acolytes. He waits until the thief, once-translator, now trembling toll paid in blood, comes into his shadow. Lays a hand on her shoulder, protective and proprietary all at once. Lays a gaze, then, like the snag of a chain; drags it over all of them that remained up deck. Only then he begins to speak.

“So that is how these things end: the pointless brutality of it. Man’s obsession to keep a code of honour that has long stopped serving. Has everyone seen it, looked their fill? Good. I am nothing if not prophetic, hm? Now. Now. Let us make sure no other prediction of mine will see the garrish, gruesome light of day. Have you all had enough of mutiny and cockfights? Are you ready to make something of your life?”

His body turns to the rest of the crew, a full recoil, almost a repose.

“Seems to me this is as good a place to start as any.” 

To his own, Malachy offers his own words. Exhaustion permeates his words, weighs them heavy as lead - the fight is over, all there is left to do is rest. Regroup. Loss, they all know by now, regardless of their alignment, is consumptive. It eats and it steals and it offers nothing in return. “Let us not forget the dangers that have led us here. Betrayals. Mutinies. Guns at our heads as we lived and slept. A beast that knows not of compassion nor mercy. Just because we are alive does not mean we are safe - do not let your guard down. Rest, and we will regather. Salvation, whether it be here, or home, awaits us in unity.”

OOC: We hope you enjoyed today’s plot drop, lovely members and lurkers! The Promethean has landed in strange new lands where nothing is at it seems, with tension aboard boiling over into a chaotic climax. The crew has mostly dispersed into the city, with each side of the mutiny looking to gain their bearings and regain control. 

A poll will be posted in the discord so that you can choose if your muses retreated with Malachy Dowling or stayed anchored with Marcus Estrada. Please remember that everyone who helped Mal/Jules stage the insurgency is no longer a crew member. However, if your character has motives for staying (a loved one, a status as double agent, suddenly undecided etc.) you are welcome to have them remain on the Promethean. Just be sure to keep us up to date if any major loyalties have shifted, and, as always, to have a blast writing & plotting through these little rats’s conflicts. 

There is, of course, much to explore in this nameless port city, including NEW LOCATIONS, listed below, and new NPCs with which to interact as sideblogs. These will be ran by the admin team: K., Venli, and Rhi, and will be strangers to the rest of the crew, each bringing their own motives, mysteries, and intricacies into the interaction. Keep an eye out for the follow post within the next few days! More locations will also be added as the plot and exploration of the area progresses. As of now, THE CAPTAIN is an active muse and may interact with the rest of the characters. Have fun, and happy writing!

AT HANGMAN’S TRINKETS.  

At the other end of the port, pushed far enough from the seaside that it almost looks like any other village, splays the tight, narrow venue of the store. If most buildings on the docks look comely, a peace that alludes to most corners of the world where the ocean laps the shore, this one has a marked touch to it. It draws the eye, the firm painted a gaudy russet, as red as the sands that litter the eastward beach. Despite its hue, the sign has been battered into something closer to dried blood by the gale, and the marks on it are illegible. Could be any human language, or not at all. Perhaps what makes the shop stand out even more is the absence resounding in the harbour. The maroon posts are entirely devoid of any other ship, not even small fishing vessels anchored at half-length on the wharf. It should make the Promethean loom, but instead it diminishes it; could be soothing, could be dangerous, the way the quiet waves knock it about, with very few inhabitants coming to stare at it, to help tie it to the pier, or even to barter. Yet there is plenty of bartering to be done further inland. The rest of the expanse might be barren, but the shop is bright and bundled up, like an old woman sat by the fire. A string of fairy lights are hung over it in a diagonal row, the sash of it lolling slack enough to catch a taller sailor’s head and dapple it with warmth. At the counter, a young, plucky clerk spreads their arms in welcome. Behind them, vials, jars, and tinkling bottles litter the entire front wall. It is such a kaleidoscope of size and color that any customer might be more dazzled than tempted to purchase. From camphor oil to whale teeth necklaces, from silk handkerchiefs  to beads of black glass, everything seems ready to be displayed, bartered, and doubted. The clerk is nothing but exhilarated to have someone to talk to at last. Their bronze face is dappled with the hanging lights, and a nose ring stretches from their septum to their ear. That golden chain makes them look both older and younger at once — as they chuckle and lapse into chatter, already ready to soak up all the information visitors might bestow, it becomes more and more difficult to gauge their age. Or their intentions…. How much will you share?

HIGHWAYMAN’S REST.

Perhaps the most striking front belongs to the port’s hotel, a polished three-tiered complex that occupies the main street. Oddly enough, despite the fact that the port seems all but deserted, the building has the most upkeep in the area. The outer walls are painted olive green, in a stark contrast with the houses’ cream-colored front and the greyed, saltwind-bitten outstretches of wood along the pier. The double doors allow a glimmer of light to cross the threshold, since its glass panels are painted with scenes that resemble the stained glass on churches and temples all over the world. Once inside, the vista opens on a waiting room decked with paintings and sculptures, with works of art that don’t seem to resemble anyone in particular. In order to ring the receptionist’s bell, you have to wrangle your hand through a number of small statutes. One bust on the receptionist’s counter, reads king sylvester stuart. Another, an effigy that seemed carved in filigree, depicts josephine robespierre.  On the usual, there is no one in the waiting room, and no noises pour from above. For all intents and purposes, it feels as if the entire establishment is deserted; or perhaps never used in the first place, simply spruced, polished, and displayed for the hollow beauty of it. On the fourth clanger of the bell, the receptionist finally walks into view. A door in the wall opens, and they step through with a merry gait, not allowing anything to be glimpsed behind them. At once, they are ready to sort the visitor with the best sets of chambers for their disposition. They try to strike up a conversation, one hand already on the ledger, and do not even presume to ask for money until after the end of the stay. Their demeanor might almost foster the sense of a homecoming; only their remarks, and the parental, proprietary style of their speech, makes it feel more like a transaction instead. For all the luxury that defines the hotel, a visitor may wonder if, in fact, they’re being sold something else underneath. However, after such a long journey of darkness and water, who can say no to even a few hours in an ivory bedroom—for a dalliance, a tumble into unconsciousness, or just to experience the decadent beauty of those who’ve had easier lives?

THE SIREN’S SORROW. 

Coming up from the docks, the hard-teak stairs lead into a bulky tavern, a building more squat than inviting, which carries a barrack’s efficiency about it. The place’s foundation looks rooted into the scaffolding itself, the moldy, barnacled pillars somehow supporting the weight of the place. At the ground level, the dingy, round windows open up into the street, but it’s difficult to peer through the grime crusted over the glass pannels. At the upper level, which the two-storied construction seems to be bowled over, the blinds are drawn shut, their velvet dusted a bile-yellow even from afar. Yet through it all, what actually grabs the visitor’s by the throat, is the strange allure of the place. Not a disparaged charm, mind you—most of these sailors have spent their pay and day in shindigs far worse than this. It is not much, in way of grotesque, just as it is not much in way of poetry. But a certain shimmer permeates throughout, like mist gathering over the shingles, and it renders the place noble and faraway. One might almost expect to see a lighthouse cave around it. When the doors open, the interior is low-ceilinged and vast, the chambers burrowing further than the outside lets on. Depending on how the sunlight, which is still paltry further off the Arctic glare, the main room of the tavern looks both too hollow and too overcrowded, all at once. Truth be told, no one can be certain if it’s not the most beautiful place they’ve ever seen; if only because it peals out to a sense of humanity, a sense of being rooted down. It takes a while to realize that the humanity, for all its urgency, is slightly skewed at the corner. Takes a while to gather up the questions, rather than just gawk at a bar stool that isn’t nailed down into the ship’s timber floor; at a glass that isn’t canister, but actual earthenware, tangible and frail. When the questions do gather, the barkeep is there for the tending. Jaded, old, he seems to have borne both the glow and the gloom of the place, allowed it to mantle them from brow to navel. They seem, also, like the kind of man who has heard a story for every life the sailors wished upon, for every lie they cast over dice. What will you ask him?  

[rapha-reads]

Summoning Circle

Question: If one could put five fanfics/books in a pentagram to summon you, what would that be ?

Tagged by @schweetheart, thank you ! I love this. Though only five ...

1. Lord of the Rings, Tolkien. Between ages 9 to 15, I’d read those books basically every year and watch the movies every six months. I have a deep, unwavering love for these books, this universe, the literary quality of it. 

2. Romeo and Juliet, Shakespeare. If there’s one thing you know about me, it’s my weird obsession for this play. Literally planned a whole rewriting of it, novel-form, spanning their childhood and fixing their fates. I’m a romantic at heart.

3. The Three Musketeers, Dumas. I love, love, love this book (technically books, it’s a trilogy). I’ve reread it so often. I’ve dreamed of being a musketeer.

4. La Saga Malaussène, Daniel Pennac. It’s a series, but it’s just. So perfect. Absolutely hilarious, a feel-good read, filled with so much family feels and absurd situations. 

5. L’île mystérieuse, Jules Verne. I’ve read a lot of Verne but this one (literally The Mysterious Island) is by far my favourite. It’s the story of five people (an engineer, a freed slave, a journalist, a sailor and his adoptive son, plus the engineer’s dog) escaping the Siege of Richmond during the American Civil War, getting caught in a storm and landing on a - what a surprise - mysterious island where they have to survive with only the island’s resources. They build a house, find fire, food, weapons, medecine... I’ve always dreamed of being half as resourceful as this found family.

There are so many books that have fascinated and impacted me, you can have a look at a little sample of my tastes here (my personal, cultural blog). 

If you want to play, I’m tagging : @tinyrubywolf, @iwilldieonthishill, @marloviandevil, @tasha-lemon and @irrational-dreamer

[glaciations]

when: a few days after the mutiny, evening where: the common mess with: @riversoaked & @resurgentisjaya

“Steady?” Ephraim had first signed across the mess. He can hardly fathom answering any notion with more conviction to it. Steady is all they can manage at the moment. Steady is how they hold in the mess, in these blurring days since the mutiny. Steady, is how the hand of the old order brings the forkful of rations to the mouth in the mess, so the new doesn’t take it as an incoming strike.

It grates on the nerves, every second of it. Steady is all they have. Having found a break in attention, Eph had nodded to Jules and Jaya across their tables. Jaya within arms reach; Jules separated from them by several tables and a half dozen heads bowed into their drinks. The guards that mind the ice master, the quartermaster, and the gunner are preoccupied with their own meals. Their own noise. They hardly mind the trio’s lack of it as Eph silently snickers. They’re a little ways into their quick and loose conversation, now. Eph Nudges Jaya near him, first, before he catches the quartermaster’s eye across the mess:

“Really, Jules,” he signs and nods to the watch assigned to her, who stands with his hip canted to the table — tankard in one hand and musket in the other. “You should tell him.” As for what she should be telling him? Rather plain to see: his fly’s not proper buttoned.

[xenowlsome]

sweater, kitsch, and doll

sweater: do you remember any of your dreams? describe them if so!

I usually don’t remember my dreams or I forget them very quickly which is a shame, but some stayed with me from waaay back like the one I had after I watched the Soviet treasure island cartoon one too many times (I find a pirate skeleton and hide it under my bed), the one I had after watching two versions of the nutcracker cartoon (I fight the rats and one bites my head off), or that one time I dreamt that darth maul was stuck hanging out with my high school class and was understandably pissed about it.

kitsch: what are your favorite books?

All the old adventury ones (jules vernes, ivanhoe, the three musketeers etc), any murder mysteries, history fiction even when it’s bad

doll: describe yourself through a mixture of fictional characters

Hmmmm brienne? for a long time I felt that I wasn’t feminine enough; also the constant feeling that you don’t live up to your parent’s expectations. And shireen for that lonely only child experience

[disappearinginq]

Hey I was kind of a bitch to you in the past... Holy Fuck I’ve just understood why you hate shippers, ok I’m a shipper but yikes others are worse. I mean so many people who just want their faves to get together quickly, yikes that can ruin a show fast. I mean yes certain characters could be great together but it needs to be done right not in the batshit crazy cheesy cringe way the shippers demand, yikes. And sorry again for being a bitch in the past.

(2/3)Shippers who are like “and now kiss” or “oh that look they are going to become a thing” and a whole bunch of other BS annoy me so much. If the writers of any show are dumb enough to listen to that it would kill it fast (oh yeah ranting about the Magnum fandom). As a shipper (hahaha you probably hate me now sorry) I cringe when I see others behave like that, I think maybe there’s potential but kinda in a slow burn way (though not ultra show because way too slow and it would end like TIVA).1 (3/3) 2. If a ship is being done right the chemistry needs to build more over time and certain aspects need to change about the character. I just hate the “toxic shippers” who act all entitled wanting a relationship to just happen. Like no it needs to build and the characters need to grow and change slightly, though I can see the possibility of a relationship though I could also see one or two other possibilities that would probably make the psycho shippers burst into flames 😂😂

You know, I’ve held onto this for a long while because I wasn’t entirely sure how to answer it. It’s not even the people who basically mash characters together and don’t care about plot (though it does contribute). But I like watching some of my mutuals having their ‘ships that they follow and love and adore and I get these happy little moments of ‘awww, I just love them, look at their faces!’ or even talking with people about ‘oh, wouldn’t it be interesting if so and so wound up together? I think they could be good, etc’. People who have their happy little bubbles, and their happy little ships, and write their fun little coffee shop AUs where everyone gets to be happy....fine. It’s not my deal, just like dark, super angsty whump fic prrrrobably doesn’t fall into their orbit. It’s cool. 

I do not  like the little shitfucks who pop in just to harass people about either 1) preferring a different ship or 2) not liking their ship. I don’t like the people who get so fucking worked up about an imaginary character that they ruin real lives. Clearly, they don’t like getting that sort of hate, so their brave little selves show up on anonymous so I can’t (unless I feel like recalling OPSEC training that I wasn’t really paying attention to the first time around to back track their digital footprint to throw molotov cocktails at their very real front doors, but I am fundamentally lazy, so...). Shippers of that type are the reason why I stopped watching Voltron - you know, a goddamn kid’s cartoon. Because people were heinous and harassing the voice actors and the writers to the point that the creators didn’t want to work on it anymore. 

And the romance thing I hate because it’s quite often lazy writing, and they make it super melodramatic just for the sake of arguing or having something stupid to bring up later. Chloe and Lucifer = I adore. They spend four whole seasons, each character evolving, becoming better, finding out more about themselves, having real life problems and doubts and trying to decide if they even like who they are with their person. Those stories? I love. But that is pretty much the only one I can think of that didn’t make me shriek at the TV “JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP AND GET A GODDAMN PLOT”. I hate that media and shipping just ignores any other relationship. I hate that years of friendship are ignored or put on the back burner because ROMANCE. I hate the stupid, awkward ‘oh, well, we once slept together and now we have to work together and this is weird haha’ - no, it’s fucking garbage. I hate that once shippers decide ‘this is what I want to happen’ they don’t care about anything else. I hate that relationships are becoming these awful, horrid things where people just fight and bicker and break up and make up and just become an awful round robin of WHERE THE HELL DID THE STORY DISAPPEAR TO?! 

And it’s not like it can’t be done well. Like I said, Lucifer and Chloe. Danny Rand and Colleen Wing from Iron Fist (WHO I LOVE AND ADORE), Jessica Whitly and Gil Arroyo (talk about a trash fire where the least dramatic thing is almost having a moment with the guy who caught your serial killer ex-husband) in Prodigal Son, Martha and Francis from Mr. Right, Ty and Amy from Heartland, Jake and Leslie from Republic of Doyle, Danny and Lexi from Blood & Treasure, Jules and Shawn from Psych. And that’s just off the top of my head. 

Thomas and Higgins have potential, but not if writing is still bullshit. There are honestly some moments in episodes where I love how Higgins changes. I love the way that she takes one look at Thomas as he considers having to tell a woman that her newly wed husband died and immediately does it for him rather than making him be the one. That is a solid example of character growth and mutual understanding. I hate the constant fake dating, fake marriage, fake whateverflavoroftheweek. I would hate it in any show, but I really hate how they use it in this show because they just...ruin any progress she mad as a character, and any progress they made as writers. The next thing we’re going to have is a fake pregnancy, or a fake shared child, or some other equally awful crap that sidelines Rick and TC to their own spin-off within their own show, doing exactly what they made fun of Robin for doing to them in the pilot episode despite the ‘rolling like Musketeers’. 

And for anyone who thinks I just hate on Higgins, my least favorite episode is actually “Die He Said” which has nothing to do with her, but just...wtfuckery plot holes and shoddy writing. 

Just....ARGH. They’ve proven they can do this story and these characters justice, but then they just keep shooting themselves in the foot. 

[the-tenth-arcanum]

best part of aramis and the queen's secret affair is how fucking done athos looks every time he's reminded of it

[note-katha]

Evenfall Chapter Three: Dinner And Show

Chapter Three already? I fear I’m becoming far too like Rajesh Shurv. That’s a tragedy but nonetheless! Chapter Three. I’ve always been partial to odd numbers, they deserve more love, I would say. I’d call this a more peaceful chapter but you never know with these kids. We’ll get through this and then get to the action, that what people are interested in these days, isn’t it?

Let me just get us another cup of tea, it’ll be delightful with some of Tatti’s cookies, they gave me some to share during their last visit.

“You really want to make dinner together?” Kal asked, despite having already gone to the campus store for supplies.

“Of course!” Jules nodded, “My mom always says that making something together is the best way to make friendships.” It was a fair idea, and fortunately, the trio before us were the kind of people to get involved in community cooking. “I asked Mary, but she refused.”

“Mary…she’s kind of weird,” Ardis said, “We’re in class together for Fifth Circle Magic.”

“Oh! How did that go for you guys?” Kal fiddled with a strand of hair. She wasn’t very good at starting conversations. “That whole Guardian ritual was a bit overwhelming. Wasn’t it?”

“I thought it was cool,” Jules laughed, as she grabbed vegetables to start cutting. “I was chosen by Fye? So I feel special.”

You are, Jules. You are.

“To be honest,” Kal started, “I don’t know how to really feel about any of this. How am I supposed to believe in something that I’m just being told is mysterious and mystical?” Well, I can agree it is quite a change. I wasn’t totally a believer myself for quite some time, so I’m on her side.

“I guess it’s easier because I was able to tap into some of it before I even came here,” Ardis thought aloud. “I’ve always been used to going with the flow, so magic was just exciting.” Ardis was watching Jules cut, not sure where or what to do. Kal handed him some lettuce.

“Rip this apart, just enough for a salad,” Kal ordered, “I get where you’re coming from, but it just hasn’t sunk in for me yet.”

“Fair enough,” Jules nodded, “But...can I ask, what’s the Second Circle class like?”

Kal took a moment to find a word for what her first class had been like. “A lot of theory,” she said. “After we got through talking about the Guardians and familiars, it was mostly just concept-wise what it meant to be attuned to creation or destruction.”

“That sounds fun,” Jules hummed, “I like the Fifth Circle though, I find it accurate that I’m a ‘Voice Witch’.” She paused her cutting of vegetables to put air quotes around her title.

“Really?”

“Yeah! I like to sing,” Jules grinned. “It’s fun, though I wonder if the magic has anything to do with it now.” Carefully now, Jules. If you’re keeping your semi-popular internet musician identity a secret, then you shouldn’t give up too much!

“That’s pretty cool though,” Ardis pointed out, “I just dance, not really related to nature or anything.”

“They did mention that Second Circle people tend to be creative,” Kal recalled, “I do art, so I guess it’s accurate.”

“Wow, are we a suite of artists?” Jules laughed, “You think Mary does anything?” No.

“I don’t think so, based off our few interactions,” Kal shrugged, she was in the middle of stirring noodles. It’s quite important to not overcook your noodles. I couldn’t count the number of times I’ve forgotten that I had noodles cooking.

Oh, wait. Oh, dear. I’ll be right back.

Alright, no noodles cooking. Shall we continue?

“Anyways, so, Juli you said your Guardian was Fye?” Kal questioned, trying to return to the topic she had accidentally moved away from.

“Yep!” Jules bounced on her heels, “Exciting! What about you two?”

“Ravere?” Kal recalled with a slight frown.

“Sair,” Ardis answered a moment later.

There was a silence. Rather than an uncomfortable one, it was one made by teenagers that were all awkward in their own right and anxious enough about living together in a very new place. It had only been a few days, but those days were filled by quite a lot of new information. I don’t blame them for being overwhelmed, I was, once upon a long long time ago.

“Are the noodles ready?” Jules suddenly asked, breaking the silence.

“Oh, yeah!” Kal nodded, jumping back into action, “Just need to put them in bowls. Should we make a plate for Mary?”

“That would be considered nice,” Jules said, though it wasn’t really an answer. The trio started placing things on the small, pre-provided table in the little area that could be called a kitchen and dining room.

Quiet chatter was there to finally replace the silence. Talk of majors and classes. Discussion of familiars and wondering when they could appear. None of them knew about magic very deeply, which made it quite stressful.

They all seemed to forget about their wonderful room advisor Tatti, who as a third-year and resident of the Nevermore knew quite a lot about what familiars were.

“Familiars are cool,” Jules said, “Not only cool but helpful! We’re in a whole new world, it’ll be cool to have someone there to be, like, a companion.”

“You have a point,” Kal nodded, “I mean, it wouldn’t be bad. Just when my professor described it, she made it seem a little...scary? The idea of having someone just able to talk to you in your head?”

“Telepathy, I wonder if Mind Witches can do that….” Ardis murmured, looking down as he thought. Ardis was quite interested in learning about more than just his circle. A very good trait to have. However, the moment he realized that he had spoken aloud, he jumped. “Uh, yeah. I don’t know, I guess I just find it all too interesting to be worried?” Poor Ardis, always fretting over what he says.

Kal snickered, a smile on her face. “I like you, Ardis.” She paused before panic overtook her face. “I mean, I mean, I like how you think!” Kal corrected, “I like how you think, not like you, but I mean I like you but not like like you….” she trailed off, seemingly realizing how unnecessarily flustered she had gotten. “Ignore me, really.” Then there’s Kal, fumbling rather than fretting.

Ardis shook his head, “Don’t worry, I like you too!”

“You guys are cool!” Jules said with a level of confidence that while frequent was much more than what she had shown so far. “We’ve only really just met but I think we’re all gonna get along wonderfully!”

“I wonder if we can do that with the fourth musketeer,” Kal mumbled under her breath, eyeing the door to Mary Sue’s room.

“On that note, we should explore the forest outside our dorm!”

“No!” Ardis and Kal both answered at the same time. Oh, I’ve heard that simultaneously answering things is a sure sign of friendship! Or at least, that’s what that friendship-making book that Cavallo bought me. I’m not quite sure if she intended to mock me or thought I’d appreciate it. Regardless, I added it to my collection of “books about people interaction” for later use in my work.

Jules pouted, “Why not?”

“It’s clearly dangerous,” Kal said.

“Tatti told us not to go in there!” Ardis added.

“It’s dark.”

“We definitely aren’t equipped to deal with anything that could be in there!”

“It’s gonna be really dark.”

“Yeah! It’ll be dark!” Ardis nodded fervently. Clearly, the two weren’t interested in what risks and danger could lie in the admittedly mysterious and frequently deadly forest. I often went in there myself. I wonder if my hidden hideaway spot is still there.

I would check if I still could. However, it’s quite an adventure!

“It could be fun…,” Kal said suddenly.

Jules’s eyes lit up. This was her chance!

“Yes! Adventure!” She insisted, “We’re at college. Magical college! What’s the harm in taking a few risks here and there?”

“We haven’t even been here a week and you want to go into the dark and mysterious and scary woods?” Ardis questioned.

“She has a point,” Kal shrugged, “Even if I’m not totally on board when has adventure hurt anyone?” There was a glint in her eyes, one that signaled a sort of flip of a switch. From a more logical rational Kalavathi to the Kal that wanted to do much more than sit in a classroom quietly for another four years. The dark might not be enough to discourage her now.

It was at this point, that Ardis may have given up on any type of peace in his college life. I’m rather surprised he didn’t sense this danger earlier. Maybe he didn’t realize that Kal would join Jules on the side of “reckless adventure”, certainly anyone that didn’t know about her life as Razz would assume that she was a very rational person.

Kal herself knew she was being a touch irrational. She had read enough adventures to know that going into that forest would likely not be a walk in a park, yet she found herself compelled to do it anyways.

It was a small act of rebellion, considering her ‘secret identity; as Razz.

Ardis leaned back in his chair. “Adventure tends to go wrong,” he pointed out, “If we’re going to do something that dangerous, can we at least wait until we know a bit more about magic? Like, when we know some more ‘here’s how to not die’ stuff?”

“Boring, but fine,” Jules grinned. Ardis, you can’t just give in like that! He needs to try a little harder, I would say. Maybe that will be his character development? However, as of now, Ardis just sighed and smiled weakly.

Possibly dangerous adventure just wasn’t his forte. He was much better at low-risk things, like wearing a green hoodie and a face mask with a lime on it to go dance-offs and show off.

Yes, really. Ardis thinks he’s boring. We have quite the interesting cast of people before us. Let’s see how long they last without uncovering themselves as the identities they work so hard to keep hidden.

Moving on, as we often do, the trio finished up, cleaning their dishes before heading off into their own rooms.

You have to have some ‘me time’ after all, especially at college!

Jules was in her Fifth Circle Magic class again that morning, when those odd people in the corner approached her. She had greeted them during the first class, to no response. She had greeted them every one of them before every one of the few classes that they had had together, yet every attempt resulted in no response. Not the type to give up, she had greeted them again before heading to her desk.

Now, shockingly, the four people stood before her. None of them spoke, rather simply handing over folded slips of paper before walking off back to where they sat.

The first one warned her to read them alone, or at least not let others read what they contained. Jules, being less rational than her roommates or friends, quickly planned to read the notes the moment she was out of class.

Before that, those aforementioned friends arrived. Asha Ocean, Melissa Nguyen, and Ásvaldr Lykke. Yes, she made friends that quickly. I’m quite proud.

“Hey, Jules!” Asha waved, “What was that?” She pointed at the group leaving. “Did they talk to you?” Asha was an Energy witch, with eyes bright enough to prove it. She insists the shine is natural, but we all know she uses a spell to do so. Don’t tell her I told you that, however! I quite like her visits and would quite prefer them to continue peacefully.

Jules paused, “Kind of, they just looked at me, I think I’ve gained their approval?”

Ásvaldr snickered, “I feel like that’s probably the most magical thing that could happen here.” Ásvaldr, a good kid, if a bit of a trickster type. He often tells me about his escapades, doing things that he certainly shouldn’t be able to do. “Trust me, I’ve grown up in magic, and mysterious people talking to you is the first sign of danger.”

“You think everything is dangerous,” Melissa scolded, “But you insist on doing it anyways!”

“Danger is fun! It’s adventure!” Ásvaldr argued, “Right Jules?” He waved in the direction he had heard her voice in.

Jules could only grin. “Absolutely! My roommate thinks it’s a bad idea to go explore the woods near our dorm.”

Ásvaldr’s expression dropped, “Wait, you live in the dorm by the West Evenfall forest, don’t you?”

“I think so? Unless there are more forests by dorms,” her light tone contrasted the seriousness of Ásvaldr as he continued to speak.

“Haven’t you heard the story of Dean Ailan Creek?” Ah, yes, Ailan. The ‘k’ in his last name is silent, he used to hate it when people called him “Creek”. He was very particular about it. My name is often said wrong, I never made a big fuss like he did.

“Ásvaldr, she’s a Initus, remember?” Melissa said. I never quite got behind the use of “Initus” to refer to new students of magic but that’s Western Arcane Theory for you. Evenfall has their preferences and I have one as well.

“Right, right,” Ásvaldr nodded, “So, I guess we get to be the ones to tell you the story about the last Dean of Evenfall.”

“This is before Dean Kair, she took over after him,” Asha helpfully supplied.

“It’s a very dramatic story, with mystery and intrigue!” Ásvaldr started, only to be interrupted immediately by Melissa.

“The Dean went after a girl who had gotten lost and he never returned. The girl that was missing did, however. She said she never saw him.”

“Lis! That was my story!” Ásvaldr pouted, “Move so I can punch your shoulder.” The three, if I can remember correctly, are childhood friends, all born into Everless and magic, which makes this class quite easier for all of them, it would seem.

Jules giggled as she watched the two friends bicker. She wasn’t quite fazed by the fact that someone might have passed away or disappeared into the forest.

Or, rather, she was too committed to the idea to give it up just yet. She wasn’t going in alone after all.

“While the Dean did disappear a few years ago, it’s not necessarily dangerous, other than rumors and apparent scandals,” Asha offered reassuringly. “I wouldn’t personally recommend it, though.”

“So, you’re saying I could?” Jules asked.

“Not ex—” “Thanks, Asha!”

Unfortunately, it was at this moment that the professor entered the room.

Jules was not only frequently confident, but also frequently stubborn.

taglist: @falling-rivers @superwaywardangel @immawritethat @arynneva  @likeicarusifall@aschenink, @writing-for-the-batfam, @ekrizdis, @wiccanchester, @spacebrick3

[moviesnmisc]

Favorite Books

The Three Musketeers by Alexander Dumas. It's a tale set in 17th century France where the three musketeers alongside the main character D'Artagnan is in the middle of a power struggle between the church and the crown. The fellowship are mostly virtous and are guided by their allegiance to the king trying to uphold virtues like honor and chivalry while battling with treason and deceit from the Cardinal. Fun fact Alexander Dumas Father was the first black officer in the French army.

Tarzan (don't remember which one the author wrote numerous of books) by Edgar Rice Borroughs. When I read it at the time the world was a much smaller place and Afrika was an exotic destination. So it was as much about the story as the setting and exotic location.

Birdie by William Whalton. The novel is about two young men and their journey into adulthood. Because of war and different other events one of the men becomes inflicted with mental illness and escapes this world to a world where he essentially becomes a bird (in his mind). It was an important book at the time when I read it because I also wanted to escape this world.

Moby Dick by Herman Melville. It is an expression today I guess chasing the great white whale. Nonetheless, it was first in adulthood that the symbolism became clear to me that you can waste your life chasing something you can never have.

A 1000 Leagues Under the Sea by Jules Verne. Saw the Disney movie first and read the book afterwards. It is still a powerful book about injustice and Captain Nemos quest for revenge.

Carrie by Stephen King. I liked the book but must confess that the movie with Sissy Spacek in the titular role is my favorite Stephen King adaptation.

Mythos: The Greek Myths Retold by Stephen Fry. He explains Greek mythology in bite size portions which makes them extra palatable. A favorite story was the one with Arachne.

The Steppenwolf by Herman Hesse. This is s book that deals with psychological issues such as alienation by other people ( Verfremdung in German) as well as other issues as far as I recall.

A certain sci fi book. The title of this book eludes me. I have read a few books in the sci fi genre for instance by William Gibson: Neuromancer, Johnny Nmemonic, Isac Asimov: I Robot, Philip K Dick: Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep, Paycheck and Ray Bradbury A Sound of Thunder.

The story in this book centers around spacecraft's left by aliens on some celestial entity. The twist is that the spacecraft can only fly to a preset destination but humans, firstly, don't know where the journey takes them and, secondly, the coordinates could have been corrupted by time. So in principle the vessel could end up at an inhabitable planet or a star a black hole etc. Anyway I just can't remember the title of the book.

Mephisto by Klaus Mann. It is a portrait of an actor who will do anything in order to succeed An opportunist who will sell his soul to achieve this and in the process he even betrays his (coloured) girlfriend. It is a chilling story written in the mid nineteen thirties of what some people was prepared to do in Nazi Germany.

Catch-22 by Joseph Heller. A book which has spawned its own catch phrase.

The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald. It is a book about the roaring twenties but for me at the time I could relate more to the relationship between Gatsby and Daisy and his futile infatuation.

Das Perfum by Patrick Suskind. Essentially it is a book about a serial killer but also about perfume and obsessions.

In the Name of the Rose by Umberto Eco. A great fictional historical book about a munk and his apprentice and the trappings of monastery life. Also a great film with Sean Connery.

The Call of the Wild by Jack London. A book about a wild America which has long gone.

Metamorphosis (in German: die Vervandlung) by Franz Kafka. It tells a story of a man who is slowly transformed into an insect and becomes totally unrecognisable to his family.

Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck. A friendship between two unlikely men.

The Picture of Dorian Grey by Oscar Wilde. A portray of a fin de sicle generation caught up in a sense of being romantic for the sake of romance.

Animal Farm by George Orwell. Although he had left winged views, he would never fall into the trap of pandering to the Soviet Union as many of his contemporaries did. In fact Animal Farm written in the middle of WW2 is highly critical of the stalinistic cult of USSR and throughout his book pointed out that Stalin was a dictator and traitor to the cause (communism). Quote from Animal Farm "All animals are equal, but some animals are more equal than others".

Bonfire of the Vanities by Tom Wolfe. Is a satire about the press as well as the upper class in the USA

The Trial (Der Prozess) by Franz Kafka. If you have ever felt caught up in a system which you were unable to control or understand you could relate to the main character in the book.

The Human Stain by Philip Roth. A modern take on the underlying racism in society.

The Rebus series by Ian Rankin. It is as much about the seedy Scottish underground and the relationships of Rebus as it is about the crime stories themselves. For fans of the books, the titular crime tv show with John Hannah is also worth watching. Books in the series include: The Hanging Garden, Hide and Seek, the Naming of the Dead to name a few.

The Scarpetta series by Patricia Cornwall. The books centers around the Kay Scarpetta who is a medical examiner and at the same time solves crimes in conjunction with the detective Pete Morino. Again as with the Rebus series it is as much about the private life of the central character as it is about crime solving. A modern template for crime books. Books in the series include: the Body Farm, All that Remains, Post Mortem to name a few.

[nitrateglow]

Favorite film discoveries of 2018

Most represented year: 1968

I watched a lot more movies this year than I did in 2017, though I didn’t quite make my record in 2016 (over 400 titles). I was a little disappointed that I didn’t find anything that enamored me as much as A Clockwork Orange did in 2016 or Wait Until Dark did in 2017, but I still got some new favorites from this year, so here’s the top twenty.

The Thomas Crown Affair (dir. Norman Jewison, 1968)

This is one of my dad’s favorite movies and now it’s one of mine too. Though some accuse it of being “dated,” I consider it dated in the best possible way, in that it oozes 1960s coolness. The story is fun and bittersweet, the performances are top-notch, and the jazzy soundtrack makes me wish Michel Legrand scored my life.

The Incident (dir. Larry Peerce, 1967)

This movie is incredibly disturbing, despite having no graphic violence. A group of passengers on a midnight subway are terrorized by a pair of sadistic thugs. The thugs mock, harass, grope, and eventually injure the passengers. The passengers never band together, each one hoping that if they stay silent, they won’t be next. It really is astonishing, shot in a noir style and bringing up uncomfortable truths about human behavior.

I Am a Fugitive from a Chain Gang (dir. Mervyn Leroy, 1932)

Essential pre-code. Film noir enthusiasts often make the mistake of saying American movies were juvenile before WWII, but movies like this prove that was not so. Fugitive deals with injustice and misery, the farthest thing from juvenile. From the stark visuals to Paul Muni’s haunting performance, this is a movie which pulls no punches and does not sweeten the ugliness of American society.

A Shot in the Dark (dir. Blake Edwards, 1964)

Funniest new (to me) movie I saw this year, hands down. I enjoyed this one thoroughly, from the clever sight gags to Peter Sellers’ antics to Herbert Lom’s exasperated performance. Such care went into the construction of the story and gags. I feel like I should take notes the next time I see it.

Behind the Door (dir. Irvin Willat, 1919)

Think silent films were all innocence and light? NOPE. Behind the Door smashes all notions of innocence with its brutally violent revenge-tragedy plot. This was some Sweeney Todd level nastiness, let that suffice.

The Three Musketeers (dir. Allan Dwan, 1921)

Definitely my second favorite of Doug Fairbanks’ romantic swashbucklers (The Black Pirate is still my number one). Like Vivien Leigh with Scarlett O’Hara, Fairbanks was born to play D’Artagnan. 

Au Revoir Les Enfants (dir. Louis Malle, 1987)

Oh, how I cried-- this movie is what all coming of age stories should aspire to be. The kids felt so real and the tragedy was played with restraint.

A Patch of Blue (dir. Guy Green, 1965)

A lot of social message pictures tend not to age well, but A Patch of Blue puts such care into the central relationship between Sidney Poitier and Elizabeth Hartman’s characters that it remains a touching story about compassion and love.

Carnival of Souls (dir. Herk Harvey, 1962)

Awesome cult horror movie. It was like a feature-length Twilight Zone episode. I loved the weird atmosphere and acting.

Carrie (dir. William Wyler, 1952)

This story of class conflict, illicit sex, and broken dreams feels like it should be noir, but at its heart, Carrie is a thoroughly romantic movie. Despite the dismal fates of the characters, you walk away still believing love conquers all else and ennobles the soul. As always, Jennifer Jones is lovely, an underrated actress if ever there was one. Olivier gives one of the subtlest performances of his career. Wyler’s direction is assured and I would argue this is some of his best work.

The Whispering Chorus (dir. Cecil B. DeMille, 1918)

Cecil B. DeMille is a lot more responsible for setting the ground for film noir than most realize. While The Cheat from 1915 is known for its combination of chiaroscuro lighting and moral nastiness, The Whispering Chorus feels like it could have been made in the 1940s. All the familiar tropes are that: the wronged man sliding into sordidness and misery, crime, sex, death, the works. I was thoroughly moved by the sensitive direction and performances.

Don’t Look Now (dir. Nicholas Roeg, 1973)

I didn’t know how to feel about this movie at first. It’s billed as horror, but it isn’t particularly scary... until the end. But the tone of one of gloom, grief, and dread, and the atmosphere is so vividly portrayed that you feel as though you’re locked within a tomb, suffocating. I know I want to see it again, but the experience was so overwhelming that I’m nervous about doing that too soon.

The Nun’s Story (dir. Fred Zinnermann, 1959)

Audrey Hepburn’s performance, and the sophisticated treatment of religious and moral questions are what make this movie. For my money, Hepburn never gave a more sensitive, interior performance than this one-- if you needed proof that she was more than a charming clothes-horse, here you go. I also relate hardcore to the film’s depiction of an individual struggling within a religious system. It also features one of the most perfect movie endings ever.

Bullitt (dir. Peter Yates, 1968)

While the plot is typical of the police-thriller, the execution is what makes Bullitt a classic. I loved the slower pacing and the way the action scenes were shot-- no over-the-top acrobatics or shaky cam here!

The Last Unicorn (dir. Arthur Rankin Jr. and Jules Bass, 1982)

This movie has a melancholy I wish more family films would embrace. Philosophical and wistful, the film is nonetheless entertaining, well-animated and featuring a great voice cast.

The French Connection (dir. William Friedkin, 1971)

This movie deserves its place as one of the defining New Hollywood works. I enjoyed the acting, pacing, and action, as well as that brutal ending.

The Other Side of Hell (dir. Jan Kadar, 1978)

No one’s definition of a picker-upper, but man, this is a good TV movie. Alan Arkin plays the mentally disturbed lead who figures out he’s stuck in a hospital for the criminally insane where the end-goal is not rehabilitation but exploitation. It’s a long film, but a fine one, and a great showcase for Arkin’s dramatic chops for those only familiar with his more comedic modern roles.

Due Date (dir. Todd Phillips, 2010)

This movie is a new guilty pleasure. It isn’t really original or overly clever, but man, is it hilarious. I’ve seen it a few times and I laugh every time. Plus the soundtrack is really great.

House (dir. Nobuhiko Obayashi, 1977)

How do you even explain this movie? It’s a horror-comedy, yes, but unlike any other horror-comedy I have ever seen, it’s a million times more insane. It was one of those movies were I wasn’t even sure if I liked or disliked it at the end, but over the next several days, I just listened to the soundtrack constantly. Now I own the Criterion edition, so that counts for something.

Sorry, Wrong Number (dir. Anatole Litvak, 1948)

I’m all for cool thriller set-ups and Barbara Stanwyck, and this movie delivers. Stanwyck plays a possessive, bedridden heiress who overhears a murder plot on the phone-- only to realize she is the intended victim. It’s a slow-burn thriller and a great character study.

What were your favorite film discoveries in 2018?

[youcantkillamutant]

The Mystery of the Golden Fang: Part 4, The Discovery

Part 1: The Collision–––Part 2: The Enlightenment–––Part 3: The Exploration

Author: youcantkillamutant

Fandom: Marvel (Black Panther)

Pairing: Erik Stevens/Killmonger x Black!OC

Summary: A girl stumbles into another world. A baby disappears. A private investigator wonders if this will be the case he can’t solve.

Warnings: Mentions of blood and death, cursing

Words: 11.5K+

A/N: So…here’s another one of those AU’s that absolutely no one asked for! I only own my original characters of course, Marvel don’t sue me I’m broke.

Listening To: Ride by Lana Del Rey, Ridin’ by Lana Del Rey & A$AP Rocky, Nuit de baise II by YELLE, Barton Hollow by the Civil Wars, Bones by MSMR, Promises by India Arie and Godspeed by Frank Ocean

Part 4: The Discovery

—l—

Of all the languages the moon has mastered, magic is her favorite. Spells and enchantments slip from her lips like an endless waterfall and trickle down into every world she visits in her trips through the starry sky. Her power falls into the hands of the good hearted and strong willed, leaving them with a key to worlds otherwise unknown.

—l—

Earth Stream 328: October 20, 2040

5:06AM

Grooved rubber resting on the hard packed dirt. Golden pipes hugging the pitch black sides. Short handles cased in black, gleaming with reflective glass. A glittering silver grill beneath the engine. One piercing headlight, and the name Killmonger etched above the seat like a promise. This is the bike Harley had dreams about. Sleek like a silver bullet, so loud she could feel it reverberating in her bones, this bike is the first and only thing Harley had ever coveted.

Killmonger sat on the beast, sliding on black leather gloves and taping his foot on the dusty ground. Void black leather groaned beneath him as he shifted. Harley had finally emerged from the club, having spent the past few days preparing with Shuri. She hadn’t stepped foot into the Golden Fang, not without Ayana, and certainly not with the Golden Jags looking at her like that. They stared like she was already a lost cause, destined to be cannon fodder for Killmonger.

“Took you long enough.”

“I’m early.” The pair had agreed to leave at 5:30AM, but Killmonger had been waiting since 5. He wanted his daughter back. No matter how early he had to drag his ass out of bed.

“Whatever witch, let’s get going.” For Harley, it was too early for Killmonger’s shit. She’d tolerated his forked tongue for too long.

“Okay first off, watch your fucking tone Monger. Second, if you want my help you need to call my by my actual name. Not ‘witch’ or whatever else you come up with.”

“Fine.” Harley quirked her eyebrow. That was too easy. She needed more, and Killmonger knew it.

“Fine Harley.” Killmonger resisted the urge to savor the name as he said it. This witch was nothing more than a babysitter. She’d never be anything more to him. She shouldn’t be anything more.

“Great.” After a curt nod, Harley shoulder her bag and approached the bike. It was even more beautiful this close. She could smell the engine oil and longed to feel the bike purr. Killmonger pulled a smirk as she swung her leg over the bike seat and grabbed onto him, resting as little of her body as she could against his back. With a tap to his stomach to tell him she was situated, Killmonger really smiled as he started the bike with a roar.

The duo made it onto the open road in a cloud of dust, both of them reveling in the sound of the engine. There was something about riding west, the wind whipping around them, the sun beaming on their backs that made the both of them feel…whole. Not in a way that family or relationships bring, in the way that solitude could promise anything but loneliness. For a moment, Harley and Killmonger breathed as one. After all they both wanted the same thing. To find Ayana. And maybe a bit more. But for the first part, they drove west, past the mountain range and into the Cactacae Forest.

Juvian Sparrows survived on the liquid they could pull from the cactus and the few flowers the cacti bothered to grow. The cacti in this forest were known to bloom under the light of the moon, and anyone knew that a spirit touched by the moon could do amazing things.

The two barreled up the only road in the copse of towering cacti, saguaro’s on one side, and prickly pears blooming on the other. Killmonger took in the pointed orbs behind reflective shades, and Harley thought they reminded her of something, or someone. Monger rolled to a stop as the road fell to the overgrowth of a wildly growing barbary fig. A few small hedgehog cacti sat below it, small and plump with their bright white flowers.

“Look’s like we’ll have to walk the rest.”

“And where exactly is the rest wi––” Killmonger caught himself and shook the word out of his head. “Harley. Where is the rest Harley?”

“According to my research, about 5 miles in.” Harley’s research hadn’t been entirely scholarly. She remembered some of the legends of the Juvian Sparrow, and followed their trail. Apparently, the bird liked to rest on the highest spike of the largest golden barrel cactus in the forest.

“We’d better get going. We only have until noon.”

“Noon?” Harley only nodded, already having brushed past Killmonger to tread deeper into the forest. The time constraint was something she tried to ignore, Finding the sparrow would be hard enough, she didn’t need the added pressure of watching the clock. Besides, they had almost a week until the full moon. They’d be fine.

—l—

Earth Stream 947: October 21, 2040

1:23AM

Hazel had never met a witch. Especially not one so small. Bug was tiny. Teeny tiny if she was being descriptive. Point is, the baby girl didn’t look like any witch she’d ever seen on tv and movies. She was a kid. A kid that could apparently bring her through a faery ring into another world. Though that information didn’t matter much now, all Hazel needed to know was how to get back.

“You can send her through the faery ring first. She’ll be fine.” The Queen Mother said this so nonchalantly that Hazel almost believed her. The question tripped out of her mouth anyways.

“How will she know what to do? She’s an infant.”

“She did find her way into another world. Seems to me like she’s a natural.” Shuri said this with a grin and a shrug, tickling Bug with lightening fast fingers. She giggled so much Hazel thought she might shift her skin right in her arms. Ramonda sighed before answering with an annoyed sort of gravitas.

“She’s a witch. This will come naturally to her. It’ll be as easy as breathing.” Fixing her gaze on Hazel, her lips pulled tight. “You are the one who should be worried. Humans don’t usually make it out of faery rings whole.” That statement was enough to stutter Hazel’s thoughts.

“Um, what?”

“They usually lose their minds. Or their limbs. Or both.” A shrug from the Queen Mother.

“Oh. Great. And how exactly would I prevent that?”

“You’ll need a talisman from your home world and a blessing from a fae. Blood would be best, but I doubt you’ll be able to get that in time. The full moon is almost here.”

“Okay two impossible things to get to keep my sanity and a time constraint. Easy peasy.” N’Jadaka, Angel and Shuri recoiled from Hazel’s last words, something about it sitting uneasily in their ears. Human’s are so strange.

“Don’t you have a talisman already? What’s that black rectangle you carry in your pocket?”

“My phone?”

“That’s a phone in your world?” Shuri found herself feeling sorrier and sorrier for the human. In her world that tech was old they didn’t even call it tech.

“Okay you’ve got the talisman, does anybody know a faery?” N’Jadaka did his best to keep his annoyance at bay. The Queen Mother was only helpful when it suited her, and he needed all of the information up front if he wanted to get his life back. Humans are, in a word? Cumbersome. Not to mention the kid. Terra loved her sure, but she didn’t belong in this world. Neither of them did.

“I might know a guy who knows a guy. As long as you don’t mind a trip south.” Angel’s voice treaded lightly into the space between the group, unsure of her status. The Queen Mother wasn’t exactly what she was expecting; regal and enchanting for sure, but a little colder than she was hoping for. N’Jadaka might have been right about meeting your heroes.

“How far south?”

“You know where I’m from.” Angel shrugged as she answered N’Jadaka. They had started talking when she first made it to the Golden Fang and hadn’t really stopped since. The pair knew a lot about each other by now.

“Uh, I don’t.” Humans.

—l—

Earth Stream 245: October 21, 2040

7:16AM

“So, I just have to wait and see if she comes back on the next full moon?” Erik didn’t like the sound of that.

“From what I can gather, yeah.” Nakia’s voice crackled over the line, and though the words were no help the sound of her voice was a comfort. Erik was at the end of his rope, and this call transported him back in time.

When they were in university, Erik, Nakia and Okoye were a set. Most of the campus referred to them as the ‘Three Musketeers’ though Okoye curled her lip at the lack of ingenuity and Erik rejected the name for the sheer fact that the French were colonizers. Finals season had always been hard on Erik, quietly desperate to excel, and Nakia had always been the one to talk him down from 48 hour study sessions and coax him into sleep. Her voice took on that same tone now.

“Kia, I can’t just wait around.” He’d been waiting for nearly a month. Jules Fay had been waiting.

“I had a feeling you were going say that.” Nakia wondered if there would ever come a day when Erik would be patient. She supposed if there did she should get him to a doctor.

“So give me another option.”

“You said yourself that she’s a smart girl. I’m sure that no matter where she is, she’ll figure it out.”

“I made a promise––”

“You always do Erik.” Ever since he’d started as a PI, Erik made it a point to promise his clients a resolution. He always delivered, even if it wasn’t pretty.

“Nakia I have to do something.” This case was burning a hole in the pit of his stomach. The fact that the girl had gone to another dimension meant nothing to Erik. He still had a case to solve, and getting her back was his first priority. Answers would come after, but he needed her back here, in this world. Jules Fay needed her back too.

“Well go talk to the witch doctor again! He’s the one that came up with the theory in the first place.” Erik didn’t like the idea of going back, but it was all he had. Besides, Nakia was rarely wrong.

—l—

Earth Stream 947: October 15, 2040

5:14PM

Two days of traveling in the car had Terra and Bug growling at each other playfully while Hazel read all she could about Faeries. N’Jadaka, Angel and Hazel were the only “adults” on the journey. Shuri protested being left behind, especially when N’Jadaka brought Terra and Hazel refused to leave Bug alone, but the Queen Mother insisted.

“This will be a lean journey Shuri. They’re on a deadline after all.” No pressure or anything.

N’Jadaka spent most of the drive south staring between Angel and Hazel, marveling at their mere existence. The two were clearly similar, most would guess twins and they acted like it too. N’Jadaka would know, he’d met his fair share of vampire twins. Still, they weren’t just similar, in looks they were exactly the same. Even through Angel’s sweet soucouyant accent certain words the pair said were identical. From the pull of their jaw to the tenor that vibrated from their lips.

“N’Jadaka, are you done staring at us, or do you need another few minutes?” Angel question with a smirk, pearly fangs flashing in her laughter as Hazel whipped her head up in shock.

N’Jadaka for the most part wasn’t cowed. So he got caught staring at a beautiful vamp. He’s gotten caught doing worse. Still, he turned his attention to Hazel before Angel could get another rise out of him. He didn’t like the way she pulled every… emotion, laugh, smile, grimace, everything out of him with a turn of her lips. Pushing his black leather boot to kick Hazel’s paint and sticker covered sneakers he asked.

“Why are you reading that?” Hazel did her absolute best to ignore the fact that she was the knife cutting the UST between N’Jadaka and Angel, and answered with a finger pointed to the title. Fae, Fairies, and Earthen Magic.

“Better the devil you know than the devil you don’t.” For all intents and purposes, Hazel knew nothing about the blessing she was supposed to get. She’d never even knew there was a difference between fairies and faeries. N’Jadaka let out a laugh at her reasoning.

“We’re all the Devil’s creatures. Haven’t you heard?” He smiled that extra wide grin that made his fangs gleam. Hazel repressed a shudder, knowing N’Jadaka was doing this to be annoying. He did the same thing to Shuri all of the time.

“Are you always this unhelpful or is this a special occasion?”

“I am when you’re reading books that old.”

“Shuri game it to me. She said it might help.” Hazel had a hard time believing that Shuri would do anything to lead her off track. The girl had been so kind to Hazel this whole time. She’d been the one to explain all of the tech shit, kimoyo beads being the most important.

“Sorry to say, Shuri might be wrong on this one. This book is older than my grandma, and she’s like twelve centuries old.” Angel said this with a small shrug, sliding the book out of Hazels hands, leaving her grasping.

“Well what exactly should I be doing because I am the only one at rick of losing an undisclosed amount of limbs or my sanity in this faery ring!”

Hazel had done her absolute best to stay calm. She really had, but her heart flinched every time Bug shifted into her jaguar fur, and she shuddered every time some vampire dropped their fangs on the street. None of this was normal, or her normal, and it was all starting to add up. Angel could see her counterpart beginning to crack and tossed the book at N’Jadaka, ignoring the grunt he released, to pull Hazel into her side.

“I’m not saying you can’t do research but this book is way too old. Faeries have changed, hell, all creatures have changed since this was written. Change, evolve, adapt. It’s what we do, It’s in our nature.

“So I’m just supposed to fly blind?”

“No, but we won’t let anything happen to you or the little shifter. You’re safe with us.” Hazel shook her head even as Angel extended her own kimoyo beads towards her. They didn’t get it. They didn’t understand that all of this was life and death for Hazel. Hell, she had a hard time understanding that herself. Angel let Hazel wallow for only a minute, knocking her with her shoulder.

“Hazel, do you trust yourself?”

“Well yeah.” Out of everyone here, she trusted herself the most. Sure she somehow got sucked into another world, but she’d been smart enough to keep herself alive up till now.

“Then trust me. I’m basically you.” Angel finished her declaration with a smile, and Hazel couldn’t help but bark a laugh. She wasn’t entirely wrong.

“Fine.” Angel clapped and took a peak out of the window.

“Good, and not a minute too soon. We’re here!”

—l—

Earth Stream 245: October 21, 2040

7:16AM

“You need to call her.”

“Oh hello Okoye, so great to see you, please come in.” Okoye rolled her eyes and placed a cup of hot coffee on Erik’s desk. His attempts at making coffee were shitty at best.

“Erik, you need more help.” He raised the cup in thanks before taking a sip. Black and burning hot, just how he liked it.

“I don’t. I have you.”

“This is more than I can handle. Erik. Call Nakia, ask her to come down for this.”

“I’m not going to pull her away from the work she ‘actually loves’. Besides I already called her. She gave me whack advice.”

“Oh will you get over yourself?! You two had that fight years ago and you’re still licking your wounds. both of you! “

“I’m not––” A knock interrupted what was sure to be another lie from Erik and Okoye was grateful.

Jules Fay waited at the door, hand poised to knock again. It fell to her side as Erik pulled her into his office, guiding her to a seat and offering her water or juice. Anything but his shitty coffee. She waved it all away.

“I came to see if you’ve found anything about Hazel?”

“I’m sorry Ms. Fay, I haven’t yet. most of my investigation has come up inconclusive but I still have a few more leads to follow.” He didn’t have a few more leads to follow, but he couldn’t tell Jules Fay his working theory either.  

“If it’s money, I don’t have much but I can––” Erik waved off her words, walking around his desk to kneel in front of her. On his knees, he was nearly eye to eye with the woman. He could see fear in her eyes, exhaustion, and worry. He wanted to make all of that go away. He promised to make all of that go away. He would make good on his promise. By the full moon, he would get Hazel back to her mother. Somehow.

“Ms. Fay, it’s nothing like that. I assure you I’m working to find Hazel, it’s just that her case is particularly different than the others I’ve investigated.” A silent nod from Jules had Erik speaking again, if only to fill the silence. “I made you a promise and I intend to keep it. I will find Hazel.”

“Of course he will, he’s assembled the best team in the country.” Nakia entered Erik’s office, the third person today to come in uninvited.

“Ms. Fay, Erik is the best at what he does. We’re going to find your daughter.” Jules Fay nodded with more confidence. Nakia had that effect on people. The woman who had assured her that Hazel would be found oozed a confidence she had never seen, and there was no choice but to believe her. Jules Fay was out the door before long, and Erik raised brow at Nakia.

“You always knew how to make an entrance.”

“And I haven’t missed a beat.” Nakia mirror his gaze, raising her brow in return. “Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

—l—

Earth Stream 328: October 25, 2040

5:06AM

They were decidedly not fine. Killmonger grew more impatient by the day and Harley was starting to lose hope. They hadn’t even seen a Juvian Sparrow, let alone caught one. Cacti bloomed and grew before them as they waited each day, coming earlier and earlier when Harley read that Juvian Sparrows are easiest to find in the dawn. The pair tried everything they could, approaching from different angles, splitting up, setting traps, and still no sparrow bones.

They were running out of time and they could feel it. Each night on their drive home the moon appeared fuller and fuller. If they were ever going to get Ayana back, they needed to find that sparrow today or else Harley would need another plan. Harley and Monger made it to the forest before the sun began painting the sky. Harley took a moment to send a prayer up to the falling moon and marveled at the stars winking above.

They trudged through the forest in silence for a while, doing their best to avoid the pricks of the cacti around them. Sometimes they weren’t so lucky. Harley hadn’t said anything, but Killmonger knew that this was the day. The Last day they’d be able to search for this Bast forsaken bird. If they didn’t find it, well Killmonger wasn’t quite sure he wanted to know what Harley had in mind. he had a feeling it would churn his stomach.

“Did you know Ayana’s mother well?” Harley’s voice pulled Monger out of his thoughts. It was softer than he expected from a witch, but then again, Harley was turning a lot of his preconceived notions on their head.

“Well enough.”

“Was she…a shifter?”

“I…I don’t know.” Harley’s question was cautious and Monger tried to remember more than her brown skin and his bedsheets. He couldn’t.

“So you didn’t know her well.” Monger rolled his eyes at Harley’s remark. Maybe she was right but he didn’t have to admit that. Not now at least.

“Look, I don’t know what she was, but she had power.”

“Like magic?”

“Like I don’t know what. Why do you care?”

“Because, kids take after their parents. We already know Ayana is a shifter but if her mother was a––” Harley stopped before the word witch could fall from her lips. Monger had done a good job of respecting her, he’d even seemed to thaw to her for a bit, but she didn’t want to push it. Not now at least.

“If her mother had power, then it stands to reason that Ayana has that same power. Add the magic that crackles through the town and our girl is a ticking magical time bomb.” Monger pushed down the warmth that bloomed around his heart at Harley’s indication that Ayana was ‘their girl’ and tried to process what exactly she was saying. If Ayana’s mother had turned out to be some kind of creature, then…well that could mean anything. The possibilities scared Monger the most.

“You do know that I didn’t send Ayana anywhere right?”

“I––You’re the only witch around my kid. What was I supposed to think?” Harley was happy to hear the hint of regret in Monger’s voice.

“That I love and cherish her just as much as you do and would never let anything happen to her!”

“Well I didn’t know that then!”

“Well you know it now. Don’t fucking forget it Monger.”

“I’m only letting that slide because your stupid fairytale is sitting on that goddamned cactus.”

“What?” Harley’s voice dropped to a whisper as her head whipped towards the center of the field. There on the largest barrel cactus in the forest was the Juvian Sparrow. The birds wings were black as the night, but seemed to be changing as the sun rose, red rising through its body as the sun glided into the sky. It cocked it’s head this way and that, and Harley held her breath. When it looked away, she released it. She turned to Monger and before Harley could blink, Killmonger was an elegant, golden beast.  

—l—

Earth Stream 245: October 25, 2040

10:14AM

Zuri had that feeling again. It was a tug at his gut, a reminder that there was more to come. That someone would be coming. A pinch between his eyes, that signaled him this would require more than a cursory conversation. This would need him to use his brain, encourage him to think and hypothesize. Excitement thrummed through him. He rarely had feelings like this.

Erik, Okoye and Nakia wandered into Badu’s Botany with hopes the shouldn’t have bothered to bring. Erik had warned them that the man was eccentric to say the least. The pair didn’t believe Erik, and why should they. The man was a scientist, a brilliant one at that. They had no reason to think of him otherwise. The wealth of potted plants was their first indication that what Erik said was true. The wind chimes at the door were the second. As they studied the shop, with its figurines and paper piles, the evidence only grew.

The detective was back. Energy shot through Zuri’s body as the bell ringed above the door. He knew the man was searching for someone, the girl that slept with beasts. From the looks of things, he hadn’t found her.

“Detective Stevens. a pleasure to see you again.” He nodded to Okoye and Nakia. “Ladies…”

“Ten years ago, you wrote a paper. A Study of Universal Convergence.”

“I did.”

“Have you found anything that proves your theory?

“Have you?”

“A girl is missing. If you know something, anything––”

“Dr. Badu.” Zuri still at the name. No one had called him doctor in a long time, but Nakia pressed on. “We’re looking for someone who we think…fell into another world. We need to get her back. as soon as possible.”

“Trust in the universe. The moon is her daughter, she’ll see the girl home.” Erik scoffed at the man. If he ‘trusted in the universe’ he’d still be seven years old, waiting for his father to breathe again.

“Forget it. I should have known this would be a waste of time.” Erik couldn’t believe he’d wasted precious time talking to this…ugqirha.

“Don’t worry detective. She will fall into the nest of her making soon enough.” Erik pushed out of the door so hard the chimes screamed his exit.

—l—

Earth Stream 947: October 25, 2040

12:49PM

The Isle, like plenty of other things in this world, is unlike anything Hazel has ever seen. Not technically an island, the large land mass was surrounded by water on three sides, so the name stuck. There was also the matter of the water that flowed through it. Rivers and streams parted the land like hair, slicing through the sandy brush and practically glowing blue. Hazel had only ever seen water that blue in pictures.

Two vampires, a human, a shifter, and a sleek golden jaguar tumbled out of the car and into a boat. Angel’s manager sputtered as she shut the door in his face with a placating wave.

“Rocko, I’ll be fine. If I’m not back in 3 days, call search and rescue, otherwise I don’t want to hear you on my line.” The boat sped off before we could hear his response.

“Where to Miss Haze?” Angel didn’t seem alarmed that the boat driver knew who she was. In fact, she grinned and patted him on the back. N’Jadaka watched their contact with an eagle eye.

“I need to see an old friend.” The driver nodded, and with that they were on their way.

The streams were like side streets, the rivers like highways. Hazel wondered at the houses that stood tall and covered the land mass they reseted on, making them look like they were floating structures instead of tiny islands cut to creation by the waters that ran through the Isle. N’Jadaka stared hard at the driver, wondering how he knew exactly what Angel wanted, before he shook himself out of his jealousy and turned his attention back to the situation at hand. They were pulling up to a bar, if you could call it that. There was no signage, nothing to signify that this wasn’t the shack of a murderer, but Angel hopped out with glee. She gave the driver a tip and a kiss on the cheek and gestured for the group to follow her.

The group pushed through the sorry excuse for a door, wooden slats stapled together and moving on a pair of rusted hinges. Inside it was hazy and red. Sunlight filtered through the holes in the walls, only covered by thin white sheets, and blood red couches littered the space around a small stage. More of a platform really. A duo on an electric piano and colorful soundboard crooned something in what sounded like French, and Hazel took in the scene. Vampires lounged on the couches, velvety and soft, a few humans were bleeding, but other than that, nothing nefarious was happening. Maybe she came at the right time.

“Well slap my cat and call me Lucifer! Forgive me if I’m mistaken, but you young lady, look awfully familiar.”

“Nix.” The man in question approached Angel with open arms and a grin that showed off his platinum fangs. As he got closer, Hazel could see that all of his teeth were platinum. Angel couldn’t keep the grin off of her face. Between touring and writing and producing and life, she’d missed her childhood friend. She’d missed home.

“Well if it isn’t Little Miss Hazie.” The two were a gathering of brown skin and strong arms as they hugged tightly.

Nixie.” He scrunched his nose at the nickname, pulling away from there hug as N’Jadaka tamped down the jealousy the bubbled up in his gut.

“Yeah yeah, you’re too cool for that nickname, owning your own blood club and shit.”

“Well shit, I thought for a second you were a ghost, but not with a mouth like that.” The pair erupted into laughter, and N’Jadaka let them laugh for a minute before clearing his throat. Something about Angel’s smile was different here. Her eyes closed a bit more, her nose scrunched tighter, her shoulders fell back in laughter. She looked more than relaxed. She looked happy. Happier than she had been in Metropolis.

“Right. Sorry guys.” Angel righted herself and Nix. “You got an office?” Nix shook his head.

“I’ve got a bar.”

“Close enough.” As the group approached the bar, Terra prowling close to N’Jadaka with Bug on her back, Angel and Nix spoke in animated tones. Hazel couldn’t understand a word they were saying, though she wasn’t quite sure they’d switched languages, it was more like they had fallen into a vernacular that she wasn’t quite familiar with. Something southern and black and french? Though she couldn’t even be sure France existed in this world.

“Now Haze, I’ve known you for a long time, and never once did you mention having a twin.” Nix busied himself with wiping the bartop, obsidian black flecked in gold, and pulling a few glasses down.  

“She’s not my twin, she is me.”

“Care to explain?” Before Angel could elaborate A tall stocky vampire, with milk white skin sauntered into the bar. Most of the patrons turned their backs on the guy, returning to the conversations with a fervor. A few stronger looking vampires pushed off from their place on the walls of the bar and stood tall. The man in question either didn’t notice the reaction or didn’t care as he sauntered up to the bar.

“Nix! Serving straight from the source now? Very nice touch.” Angel and N’Jadaka pushed Hazel behind them and bared their teeth at the stranger.

“Clive. These are my guests, you’d do well to treat them as such.”

“Well what about that little lamb?” The man shucked his chin to Bug, still sat on Terra’s back in her jaguar fur. “I’ve always loved veal.”

“Back off Clive. You can order something on the menu or you can go. Either one suits me.” Nix balled his fist on the granite bartop and Clive sneered a grin. He knocked on the granite, flashed his fangs at Hazel and sauntered out of the club.

Angel released a breath she didn’t know she was holding. She’d promised to protect Hazel, and she didn’t take her promises lightly. N’Jadaka could see that Angel was shaken, and took the lead no explaining things, still keeping Hazel behind him and beckoning Terra closer. Sure the human and shifter were annoying, but they’d grown on him. And he was almost rid of them, it would suck for something to happen before they completed their little ‘quest’.

“We need to find a faerie. Preferably a nice one.” Nix blew out a big breath at Angel’s request.

“Tall order kid. I’ll give you the info you want. For a price of course.” Though his words were serious his tone was teasing and Angel couldn’t fault his hustle. Keeping a blood club this nice in the Isle couldn’t be cheap.

“What do you want Nix?”

“You got any old tour merchandise?”

“Seriously?” Of all the things she expected, this was not it. She had plenty of that shit locked up in storage, it was an easy trade.

“You seem to forget just how popular you are little Haze. Vintage shit sells like crazy.” With a few dozen shirts, Nix could expand the club and improve the sound system all the while investing in a few local businesses he personally wanted to see flourish.

“I’ll have it sent to the location of your choice as soon as you give me what I want.” Angel wasn’t worried about the merch or the money, she knew Nix would use most of it for the good of the community. Under all of his tough, bar owner exterior, he was a nice vamp. She would know, she grew up with him.

“His name’s Roaen and he lives in The Sink.”

—l—

Earth Stream 328: October 25, 2040

6:19AM

Killmonger and the Juvian Sparrow danced. Monger leaping silently and landing on the tips of his paws and the sparrow, fluttering like its life depended on it. It did after all. Harley watched in awe of the pair. Each time the sparrow flew above the cacti, she could see the dark night sky under its wings, once she even thought she saw stars twinkling in the feathers. She was just about to give up, and try to find another when when the bird squawked. Monger had it between his teeth, fangs bared and pinching.

The Juvian Sparrow never made another sound, even as monger snapped its neck and set it on the gritty ground. As quickly as he had become a jaguar, Killmonger shifted back into his human form. Of course that meant he was standing naked in the morning sun, blood streaking his chin and golden fangs glinting beneath his lips. Harley pushed her focus onto the bird, ignoring the way his perfectly brown skin gleamed in the sunlight.

“Okay, so, there’s your bird.”

“Alright.” The pair stood there staring at each other. Harley waiting for Killmonger to shift, and Monger waiting for Harley to do something…magical. Then the pair spoke at the same time.

“Well aren’t you going to––”

“Can’t you just use magic to––” Harley gestured for Killmonger to finish.

“Can’t you just use magic to get the bones?”

“The spell won’t work if I use magic to procure the ingredients. I can’t upset the balance like that, not if I’m asking for something in return.”

Years ago, when she had first discovered magic and powers and spells, Harley attempted a prosperity spell. Or rather, she summoned a load of cash to use for a school field trip her parents told her they couldn’t afford. With a candle and a wish, the money appeared to her and she took it. She never blew out the candle or thanked the elements for bringing her the money, never once thought about where the money came from at all, but as she found, especially in magic, you can’t get something from nothing.

In the end the money ended up burning a hole in her pocket, literally. She buried it deep within in the earth, giving it back to the soil to do with it what it may. She didn’t go on the field trip, and she didn’t try another spell until she turned 18 and began her own grimoire.

“Everything about magic is reciprocal. I can’t upset that balance.” Monger looked dumbfounded.

“So magic has rules?” Harley waved her hand in the universal sign for ’50/50’ as she responded.

“More like follow the laws of nature and you’ll be fine.”

“Well it’s a good thing I shifted back. I have a feeling I’ll need opposable thumbs for this.” Harley rolled her eyes at the ridiculous statement but Monger didn’t miss the smile that curled on her lips. He liked it.

—l—

Earth Stream 245: October 26, 2040

2:57PM

The trio ended up at Oakies, seated at the bar and shooting the shit, just like old times. The bar was a classic jet black, polished to perfect and currently clear of any patrons. It might have been a little early for a drink, but after their visit to the witch doctor, they all needed a drink. The couple on stage wailed about dead men walking over a country guitar.

Won’t do me no good washin’ in the river. Can’t no preacher man save my soul.

They all had their drinks. None of them had changed their orders, though today, they all ordered an extra set of shots. Erik eyed the glasses slid on the table. A Pimm’s Cup for Nakia, whisky from the highest shelf for Erik, and for Okoye…To be honest Erik still had no idea what Okoye was drinking, but he stayed away from her glass either way. The one time he took a sip from her cup, he woke up the next morning with no recollection of the night before.

“So do you think he’s right?” Okoye didn’t know what to say about Zuri Badu. At the very least the man was an enigma and Okoye had been out of her depth with this case since Erik stepped foot on her campus. At this point, she was just along for the ride.

“About?”

“Letting the universe work itself out? It’s not like he said much more. The man wasn’t exactly a sparkling conversationalist.” Erik was still bitter about that part. He had hoped he would learn more about Badu’s working theory of converging universes, but the man had been just as ambiguous as before.

“That is an understatement.”

“So E, answer the question, what do you think?”

“I don’t know what to think Kia. The man speaks in riddles. Do I feel like he told us something useful? Maybe, but I’m not sober enough or drunk enough to decipher it.” With that, Erik slammed his shot back and waved for another. Zuri had plenty to say, but none of it made sense to Erik. He wasn’t nearly as poetic as he needed to be if he was going to solve this case by the full moon.

“Well I think he was telling us to prepare for her. ‘She will fall into the nest of her making’ and ‘The moon will see her home’? That’s not telling us to sit around and wait. It’s a promise. She’ll be back on the full moon, and we have to be ready for her. You have to be ready for her Erik.” Nakia had seen Erik at his worst, and this surpassed it. By a mile. Or two. She’d never seen him so broken up about a case.

“Okay. So I go back to the Golden Fang and I just wait? What about all of the people?” After three days, Erik had recommended that Jules Fay take her case to the police as well. Just to have it on file. He had no doubt that they would screw things up, and the Ortega precinct did not disappoint. They turned the alleyway into a media circus. People were always there, taking pictures right where ‘that girl disappeared’.  

“Try and get it cordoned off. Remember, we’re supposed to rid the location of any malicious beings.”

“Right.” Erik knew what he would have to do to get that alleyway cordoned off for the night of the full moon. Nakia knew he knew too. She also knew he’d drink about five more shots before acknowledging it.

“You should call the Chief.” Erik slammed back another shot. He’d already made up his mind to go visit him tomorrow.

—l—

Earth Stream 947: October 26, 2040

11:09PM

The Sink isn’t actually a sink, Hazel was relieved to find. According the Angel, the Sink was in the center of the island. Angel led the four of them out of Nix’s bar and waved her hand as a few boats whizzed by before one stopped for them. N’Jadaka handed the driver the money before Angel could even bother and she stuck out her tongue. She was the popstar and the one with a doppelgänger apparently. She could pay for a boat ride.

Angel told the driver where to go in her soucouyant tongue. To Hazel and N’Jadaka the words were a garbled birdsong, confusing but enchanting all the same. There was just something about the way the words rolled off her lips that kept their attention. Hazel would have thought that she was a siren if she didn’t know any better. Being in this world for nearly a month meant that she does know better.

This boat driver wasn’t as tactile as the other, but Hazel thinks its because N’Jadaka was staring the guy down. Still, they floated their way towards the center of the Isle, passing houses and shops and even a floating hospital. As they travelled on, the buildings grew sparse. Trees grew wider and wilder, enormous frogs bumped into the boat hard enough to rock it, dolphins puttered through the water and the world grew quiet. Verdant foliage obscured the ground, and eyes peeked through the underbrush. Not silent, Hazel could still hear the crickets chirping and the waves cresting, but everything was quiet. Calm.

The driver docked at the shore of a tiny house. It was built of stone, with a wooden door and a paneless window. A few pieces of the thatched roof scratched at the house as the quintet unloaded. Terra prowled a close perimeter and returned with a snuff. Whatever she had found, she didn’t like. Bug seemed to feel the same way as she squirmed in Hazel’s arms. Soon enough the baby was on the ground, shifting into her jaguar fur and being nipped up by Terra.

“Come on.” Angel had heard of the faeries in the Sink. She’d never met one, but there’s a first time for everything.

The group padded to the door slowly. Angel knocked, and they waited. And waited. The moon was high in the sky for a moment Hazel wondered if they all shared the same one. The door creaked open before she could think any more of it.

“Uh, woah.”

The little thatch cottage was not so little, and not nearly as quaint as the exterior alluded to. A vast room stretched before them. The room with its shiny cherry wood floors, divine golden mirrors, and creatures of all kinds, could not be real. It was at least three times as large as the cottage itself. There was just no way.

“Don’t sound so impressed Hazel, this is faery magic.” N’Jadaka whispered this to Hazel, but the point was moot. He was surrounded by beings with heightened abilities.

“You scorn the name of my people and yet you come to me with a request. Interesting introduction N’Jadaka Udaku.” Angel cringed. They already had an impossible ask, and N’Jadaka was not making things easier. Any other time, she admired his snark, but now it was killing them.

“I assume you’re Roaen.”

The man in question was draped in women. Hazel wasn’t even positive he was wearing clothes. All she could see was brown butter skin and animal print. He was lounging on a tiger fur, and the women around him all wore that same print. Roaen gave a nod to Angel’s statement, and Hazel was taken aback.

Aside from the fact that she’d never even seen a faery before, he wasn’t as small as Hazel expected. Faeries in her world had always been perceived as tiny, cute, bell like beings with adorably short tempers. This guy was…not tiny by any stretch of the imagination. In fact, he was built like a house. Young, but carrying himself with the weight of a thousand years. Not dissimilar from N’Jadaka, though Hazel was smart enough to keep that thought to herself.

“I am.”

Roaen stood, and the fur beneath him took shape, morphing into a tiger. The dress the girl was wearing did the same and she was left naked, peering up at the man with hazy eyes. Jagged grey wings unfurled from his back, the only ugly thing on the man, and he jerked his head to the side. A signal for the girl to leave.

“Is he?” Hazel nodded to Bug who was lounging on Terra’s back, but N’Jadaka shook his head. The man wasn’t a shifter, just a faery. Magic is a powerful tool. Angel stepped forward discreetly, pushing Hazel behind her.

“Dia dhuit ársa amháin.” Roaen’s brow raised at the use of his native tongue, as mangled as it was, and responded with a grin. He loved messing with the young ones.

“Well, well, well. Two vampires, a human, and a shifter walk into a bar. There’s got to be a punchline there somewhere.”

“I––” Angel stuttered for something to say. This was her turf after all. “Arsa ársa, táimid tar éis teacht ar do bheannacht.”

“I’ll give you whatever you want as long as you stop butchering my language with your soucouyant accent. Dia.” Roaen laughed, and continued before Angel could close her gaping mouth. “Y’all must be in some deep shit to need a blessing from me.”

N’Jadaka, Angel and Hazel all exchanged a look. A look that debated on telling this stranger the truth. A look that implored the others to be reasonable. A look that annoyed the faery standing before them.

“Would you like me to leave?”

“Oh no Mr. Faery––Roaen––Uh, sir.” After that, the words fell out of Hazel’s mouth like apples shaken from a tree. By the end, she was winded. “So, I need your blessing to stay sane.”

“Interesting indeed.” A pause. “I’ll do it, but you need to do something for me. Quid pro quo and all of that stuff.” Hazel nodded. “I need you to get me a stone from the bottom of the Middle Well.”

The Middle Well was dangerous. At least, that’s what Angel had always been told. The well itself was rumored to be gorgeous, tranquil, enchanting, but Angel had never met anyone who had seen it first hand. No creature ever wanted to bother with the place. It was steeped in bad energy. Even N’Jadaka knew the tales of the south. That the Middle Well was more than just a scenic view, that it was a passage. An access point for those in the afterlife. That was no place for Hazel. No place for a human at all.

“No. No way. She is not diving down there.” Angel knew the faery would ask for something, but she figured it would be money, or tour merch, not this. The Middle well has no bottom. No creature has ever made it out of that water alive, let alone returned with a stone.

“Angel, I’m sure it’s not––”

“Hazel, you don’t even know what you’re agreeing to. That well is on faery land. You don’t know what you’re risking.” The stories Angel’s mother told her as a child were more than that. They were second hand accounts, memories of friends who had dived in for fun and never returned. “It’s a suicide mission.”

“It’s true that the well was built on the land of my people, but the well itself was made by the hands of hers.” Roaen nodded to Hazel lazily. “Humans built that well, and as such, we magical creatures have a hard time pulling from that place. Her on the other hand, should be fine.” Angel and N’Jadaka knew faeries couldn’t lie, but Roaen only said that she should be fine. That is not enough of a guarantee. Not by a long shot.

“Should be––” N’Jadaka had done his best to hold his tongue, he really had, but things were spiraling.

“There has to be another way––” Angel couldn’t let this happen. She couldn’t let her alternate self die. They had to find another way out of this––

“I’ll do it.” Hazel had been silent through most of the argument, letting Angel take the reigns. She was just a human after all. Apparently, in this instance, that worked in her favor.

“Hazel you can’t––”

“Angel, do you trust yourself?”

“Of course.”

“Then trust me. I’m basically you.” Angel relented to Hazel’s weak smile and shrug, hating that her words worked against her. She’d just have to find a way to keep her alternate self alive. No pressure.

—l—

Earth Stream 328: October 26, 2040

8:18AM

“Alright, I’ll pluck it and you shuck it.” Monger would be damned if he had to do all of the work for this witch. In all honesty, he didn’t mind the hunt, the early morning rides, even the cacti, but he needed a resolution. This bird was the key to Ayana and he’d done more than his fair share.

“I don’t know how to do that!” Harley’s frustration oozed out of her words, though it wasn’t all directed towards Monger. This may be the first time she wished she knew how to debone a bird, but that didn’t make the feeling any less true. Up until now, Killmonger had done all of the work and it irked her to no end that she still needed help.

“You’re a witch, ain’t dismemberment in your blood?”

“Oh fuck off Monger.”

“You seriously don’t know?”

“No. I never had a teacher okay?” Oma and Shuri were the closest Harley had come to having any sort of mentors, and they were a 4 hour ride away.

“So how did you learn control?” Killmonger wasn’t stupid. Sure he blamed Ayana’s disappearance on Harley, but at this point even he knew that was bullshit. There were bigger things at play here and he’d seen Harley’s powers enough to know that she had a good grip on them. He’d watched her play with Ayana, pulling rabbits from behind rocks and making the sand shine as she blew it from her fingertips. Harley had control, and if she didn’t have a teacher, how did she get it?

“I had to teach myself for the most part. My siblings helped sometimes. Sort of.” Harley cringed at the memory of performing magic in front of her family. The required love that lasted until you moved out of the family house, or were kicked out. Whichever one came first.

“Well come over and I’ll teach you.”

—l—

Earth Stream 947: October 26, 2040

11:09PM

Hazel knew clicking her heels with a chorus of ‘there’s no place like home’ wouldn’t be the thing to get her back to her own life, but she didn’t expect diving for some stone would be the answer either. She supposed she shouldn’t have even tried to guess at this point. She was out of her depth, literally.

N’Jadaka made Roaen state the deal before they left. He’d mentioned to Hazel that even though Fae couldn’t lie, they still loved to omit things and play with promises. She was glad to see that N’Jadaka and Angel wouldn’t let that happen to her.

“The Middle Well was built by your kind. Or shall I say on your kind.” Roaen began his story as they trekked through the woods behind his home. The streams were small enough to hop over now and Hazel savored the crunch of the leaves as she jumped. Bug  and Terra were having a grand old time too.

“That does’t make sense.” Angel and N’Jadaka spoke in sync and Roaen rolled his eyes. He was surprised at how…dutifully they protected their human charge.

“The early humans, the ones here before vampires and shifters and phoenix’s, they had an idea about the afterlife. You see they studied the tides. The watched them give and take. They watched the waves roll out into the sun and they thought that that was the only way to Elysium. Through water, through the ocean.”

“When they found this land, laden with streams and rivers all rolling out into the ocean, they decided to craft a well. A funeral space basically. For centuries they burned the bodies of their dead, praying as the fire kissed them to ash. Then they came to the Middle Well, they sprinkled the ashes into the water and watched as the connecting streams and rivers pulled their loved ones away, away, and out to sea. Out to the sun, moon and stars.”

They made it. The Middle Well was not what Hazel expected. It didn’t look like a well at all, more like a pool. It was in the shape of a half moon, stones built up on the sides to guide the water. Four streams connected to the mouth of the well, pushing the water to ebb and flow.

“This doesn’t look deep enough to dive into.” Hazel had been swimming. Hell, she used to dive in high school and this pool was not nearly deep enough. She couldn’t exactly see the bottom of the pool, but there were only three stone steps leading into the pool. It couldn’t be deep enough.

“The last human I met here said promised it was plenty deep.”

“So you do this a lot to humans?” N’Jadaka couldn’t stand the faerie’s casual tone. If Hazel was about to dive to her death for some pebble, the guy could at least show some respect.

“This well may have been build by humans but it is on fae land. It’s deep enough.” Angel could see the tick in Roaen’s jaw. His annoyance was obvious and she wondered if her hid a monstrous face behind the pretty one they saw. For a moment, she wished she could see beyond his faery glamour. Just so she knew exactly what they were dealing with.

“Alright well, wish me luck.” Hazel had stripped down to her underwear while the vampires were studying Roaen. She padded to the stone steps and Bug did her best to follow her on four legs. She turned, pushing the cub back towards N’Jadaka and Angel. Terra came and grabbed her by the scruff. Then she sat at the top step with Bug, like they were already waiting for Hazel to return. Hazel didn’t bother looking at her promised protectors, knowing their worry wouldn’t help her now. Instead, she turned to Roaen.

“Just one stone?”

“Just one. Ádh mór.”

She waded into the pool slowly. Counting each stone step she took. After the third, the world dropped out from under her and she fell. N’Jadaka and Angel had to hold themselves back. They knew interference was against the rules. if the so much as touched that well, their whole deal could be nullified by Roaen.

Hazel drifted back to the surface of the clear water, doing her best to stay clam. She had no idea what she was doing, but she decided to tread towards the sides of the well, hoping to catch an errant stone from there. After about five minutes of scrambling with her hands, she made peace with the fact that there would be no shortcuts. Not on Faery land.

Three strokes brought her to the center of the pool. A deep, swimmers breath filled her lungs. Then, heart in her chest and eyes wide open, she dove. The water was cold, pricking at her skin as she pushed. Deeper and deeper she swam, knowing that in a while she’d be too deep to save herself. She hadn’t swam in a long time. She wasn’t nearly as strong as she used to be. Deeper and deeper still, and no stones. Not even moss, or frogs or kelp. Nothing lived down here.

Before she could turn back she heard something. A sigh, no, a scream. The sound rang through Hazel’s ears, clear as day. She swam deeper, towards the sound. Breathing was the least of her worries if someone was down there. A few strokes further and an image flashed across her eyes. A bloody chest, scaly tail, and a face like hers. Hazel pushed back, away from the image, but it was in her head. More started coming, more blood, more pain, more death. And it was all her, every different version of her as she died, crying and screaming and gurgling through their last moments.

Hazel felt paralyzed. She let the water pull her deeper as the visions flashed through her mind. She cried as she saw her death over and over and over. Hazel was trapped. Stuck in this well, a hostage to the universe’s plans for her alternate selves. Then her hand brushed something smooth. The feeling of something in this empty pool, anything was enough to shock Hazel out of her stupor. She grasped, and pulled a stone free. It came loose easily, and the visions stopped. No screaming or crying or blood.

She was free. Hazel kicked her way up, up, and up. Further and further as her vision faltered. Her heart was on overload, she wasn’t going to make it. She didn’t have enough breath in her body. She couldn’t have enough breathe in her body. It was humanly possible. Her vision blackened as she rev another push, and then she broke the surface. Sputtering, gasping, alive, Hazel made her way to the stone steps, rock in hand.

Roaen was there to pull her up, and he sat with her at the mouth of the well. He hovered his hand over her shivering body, and murmured something ancient. She followed his hand, and for a second she thought she saw claws. He continued, and she peered up at his face. It was hideous, half peeled and rotting. His blessing came at a cost to the both of them.

“There, you’re blessed.”

“That’s it?” Hazel could hardly believe it. She didn’t feel any different, but she wasn’t a faery either. Roaen nodded.

“Now, leave me. I’ll need some time to reconstruct my glamour.” Hazel nodded, noting how he never turned from her, keeping his back to everyone else. “Oh and one more thing,” He tossed the stone to Hazel. “Hold onto this. I have a feeling you might need it one day.”

—l—

Earth Stream 245: October 27, 2040

9:22AM

The Ortega precinct was just as quiet as Erik remembered. Kinsey and Roles were still at their desk through sour worms at each other, Coles was still color coding her reports, and Frig still sat in his sergeants chair taller than he should. The receptionist waved him in with a manicured nail and a bitten lip and Erik rolled his eyes. Every little thing reminding him exactly why he left the force.

He mocked a salute to Kinsey and Roles as he passed his and Okoye’s old desks, still empty. They weren’t bad cops, just goofy. Frig straightened even taller somehow nodding to Erik as he knocked on the Chief’s door. There was no nameplate glistening at the handle or glittering on the glass. Just shuttered bulletproof windows that vibrated when the Chief’s accented voice shouted ‘Enter.’

“Well if it ain’t my favorite detective. Stevens, how the hell are you boy?” Erik cringed like he always did when the chief called him ‘boy’, but exchanged pleasantries either way. After being ushered into a set before the Chief, Erik finally relaxed. This used to be his normal, bringing cases to the Chief’s office with Okoye and finding new angles, sitting before the Chief and groaning about the grind. Though it was comfortable, in the end, it wasn’t worth it, it wasn’t nearly enough for Erik or Okoye.

“Well then, what brings you by? I know you’re not here to rejoin the force.” The Chief stated this with a pained laugh, and Erik shrugged it off. He didn’t need to feel guilty for leaving.

“Chief Klaue. I need a favor.”

“What kind of favor?”

“Tomorrow night, I need you to cordon off the alley behind The Golden Fang.” Erik didn’t mention anything about full moons or alternate universes. He had a feeling The Chief would be less inclined to help if he though Erik had gone off of the deep end.

“That shitty club? Why?”

“I’m looking for someone.”

“Is that someone going to be in that club?” A breath and another question. “Stevens are you into anything illegal?”

“No Chief. This isn’t illegal.”

“Then why not go through the proper channels?” Erik rolled his eyes at the thought of getting a permit from City Hall. He’d been in his late eighties before the paperwork even went through.

“It’s for a case. A very time sensitive case.”

“A case that isn’t police business. Stevens I can’t just––” Klaue could, and Erik knew that. It’s why he was here in the first place. The Golden Fang was in his jurisdiction, and he only needed the alley blocked off for a night. He just needed it empty long enough for Hazel to…come back.

“I’ve never asked you for anything Chief. Not one damn time. Even when I was on the force. Trust me when I say I’ll never ask again, but I need you to do this. Officially.” Chief Klaue heaved a sigh. The damn boy was right. If this was the biggest thing his best detective could ask for, he’d better count his blessings.

“Fine. I hope you find who you’re looking for. And call me when you’re ready to rejoin the force Stevens. We miss you around here.”

—l—

Earth Stream 947: October 31, 2040

7:12PM

They pulled up to the Golden Fang as the sun was setting. The journey back had been…difficult to say the least. Bug started teething. Sure she had fangs as a jaguar, but her human teeth were pushing through now, and the girl was not happy. The car was filled with her pained cries as the supernatural creatures in the car stuffed their ears. Hazel did her best to placate the baby, eventually giving her her finger to naw on. It turned her cries into whimpers, and they were all grateful. The second they hit the blood club Hazel was behind the bar, filling a clean rag with ice cubes.

Finally. You’re back! I’ve been waiting ages! How did everything go?” Shuri paused. “Wait. What is wrong with her?”

“She’s teething Shuri.”

“Yikes.” She shuddered and turned to N’Jadaka. “So?”

“Well, we got the blessing.” Angel snorted at his tone. There wasn’t much ‘we’ about it, Hazel had done the heavy lifting, and she respected the human––her alternate self for that. N’Jadaka did too, though he’d be loathe to admit it.

“And just in time. Better hurry, the moon is almost up.”

The group made our way towards the back of the bar, standing at the door where Hazel first entered the Golden Fang. Bug had stopped crying, and she was chomping happily at the icy cloth in her mouth. Tear tracks dried on her face, but she looked more like she did when Hazel first found her.

“Okay, Queen Mother told me what to do, so…I’ve got this.” Shuri waved to Hazel and Bug. “I’ve got to put you two into a salt circle, so, uh…” Shuri pulled the pair into a hug, doing her best not to squeeze too tightly.

“Thanks for proving me right. Especially because I got to prove N’Jadaka wrong.” She winked and pranced back, making space for N’Jadaka and Angel. Terra barreled between them and pounced on Hazel. Tackling her and Bug into a hug. Hazel let the two play one last time as she turned to N’Jadaka and Angel.

“So, uh, thanks for not eating me the first time we met.” N’Jadaka’s mouth quirked in a smirk and he shrugged.

“You’re not really my type, but you’re a better human than I expected. Even if you are a little slow––” Angel cut off his teasing with a smack and pulled Hazel close.

“It was nice to meet you. Or well, me. You still have the stone right?” Hazel nodded reaching into her pocket to feel its smooth edges. “Good. That way, you can come back and visit.” Angel squeezed Hazel a little tighter, and stepped back, taking Terra and N’Jadaka with her.

“Okay. Moon’s almost up, We’ve got to move.”

Shuri positioned Hazel and Bug before the door. She drew a semi circle of salt around them, lighting four candles on the way. She spritzed them with moon water, and sent a prayer to Bast. Then, she turned to Hazel.

“You have your talisman right?”

“My phone? Yeah.” Hazel fished it out of her pocket and pressed the home button, still disappointed when the screen didn’t illuminate.

“Tragic.” Hazel rolled her eyes.

“Shuri.”

“Sorry, sorry. Okay, Hold your phone and think of your world. Only your world. When I open this door, I want you to step through, and let go of Bug.” Hazel’s eyes flashed to Shuri in alarm. She wasn’t just going to drop a baby.

“Trust me. She’ll make it back to her world and you’ll make it back to yours. This door opens the universe, so you have to stay focused on your world or you could end up somewhere else completely. Again.” Hazel nodded and gripped her phone. She gave Bug one last glance and a kiss on the forehead. She’d miss the little troublemaker. Then Shuri opened the doorway and it was filled with the moon.

—l—

Earth Stream 328: October 31, 2040

8:16PM

Jet at the north. Celtic salt at the south. Cypress root to the west. The bones of a Juvian Sparrow to the east. A scrying bowl full to the brim with a dark, witching potion. All connected with a chalk circle on the wooden floor of the Golden Fang. Oma suggested that she do the spell and scrying in the place she was most comfortable, and even though Monger looked about ready to blow a gasket from his place behind the bar, he allowed her to stay. He even closed out the bar for the night. She only saw the moon as the Jags stumbled out, it was full and brighter than she’d ever seen. Hopefully that was a good sign.

The spell was easy. She had all of the components. She’d spoken the words until they slipped from her lips in her sleep. She knew her magic wouldn’t fail her in this. The scrying was the hard part. She’d only done it a few times more since that first time with Oma, and the nerves licked at her calm like flames.

Surrounded by candles and crystals Harley knelt on the paneled wooden floor. The spell was done in minutes, opening up the space in the circle to…anything. Hopefully she’d be pulling Ayana through the crack she’d created and re-warding the place as soon as possible. Harley hated the idea of opening the Golden Fang up to anything. One never knew what waited in the veil between worlds.

She turned her attention to the scrying bowl, grabbing it with both hands and sitting it in her lap. This time, as she saw her reflection in the liquid, she did her best to hone in on Ayana’s energy. Monger watched as Harley stopped blinking. He’s pretty sure she stopped breathing, but she’d warned him not to interrupt her. Not for anything.

Harley started with the version of herself she’d seen wrapped up with Ayana’s aura. Pale yellow curled around fuchsia. Now that she knew what she was looking for, they weren’t hard to find. The girl, and her rockstar counterpart were both mingling with Ayana’s essence, but before Harley could coax her aura out to pull Ayana back, the baby fell. Only, she wasn’t falling to the ground. Ayana was tumbling through worlds.

Harley could see tens and hundreds and thousands of creatures like her. A mermaid in one. A succubus in another. A crane. A child. A snake. A knight. She was everything and one thing, but Killmonger appeared in them too. He was her equal, then opposite, her friend, then enemy. Everything and one thing.

Harley tried to focus. Tried to follow Ayana’s aura streaking through the universe. Tried to grab a hold of the girl she cared so deeply for, but somewhere between her queen self and shaman self, she lost her baby girl. Killmonger couldn’t watch any longer. Harley hadn’t breathed in nearly two minutes. He wanted Ayana back more than anyone could know, but he wouldn’t let Harley die searching for her.

Rounding the bar and breaking Harley’s chalk circle Monger reached a hand to her arm. Electricity crackled up to his shoulder as Monger’s fingers wrapped around Harley’s arm. Her inhale was so sharp her body rolled. Shoulders fell back, down her spine. Head lolled away from her scrying bowl, but her eyes, her eyes were still blank.

Monger slid his hand from her arm to her chin. Gentle fingers lifted her face to his. Eyes unfocused. His mouth curved around her name, just a whisper. A breath ghosting past her lips. And then, a pop.

“I told you she was a trouble maker.” Harley was lucid enough to see that Monger finally had his arms full again, and she grinned right before passing out.

—l—

Earth Stream 245: October 31, 2040

9:25PM

Hazel landed on the hard asphalt with a thump and a huff, the wind rushing out of her. She could see the moon, full and bright shining down on her from its place in the deep dark sky. She breathed in the crisp fall air, and her phone began to vibrate in her pocket. It wouldn’t stop actually, buzzing with a months worth of missed notifications. Hazel breathed out a sigh. She made it. Limbs and sanity intact. Just as she was about to cry in relief, someone cleared his throat.

“Hazel Fay?”

“Yes?”

“My name is Erik Stevens. I’m a detective. Your mother hired me to find you.”

“Oh.” A pause as she processed this, and then. “Oh shit.” Erik’s lips curled into a rueful grin.

“Can you tell me where you’ve been?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you the truth.” Hazel shook her head after responding. Hell, she could hardly believe what had happened.

“Try me.”

Here’s Killmonger’s bike inspo in case you were wondering!

Translations

ugqirha: witch doctor

—l—

Dia dhuit ársa amháin: Hello ancient one (Irish)

Arsa ársa, táimid tar éis teacht ar do bheannacht: Ancient one, we’ve come to you for a blessing (Irish)

Dia: God (Irish)

—l—

Ádh mór: Good luck (Irish)

A/N: So that’s that on that. Baby Ayana is home safe and sound! So is Hazel!

 Low-key why do I write about bars so much I don’t even go to bars????? And I never really have????? Anyways…..here we are! The end. Didya like it? Did y’all have fun on the journey? This was as much a writing exercise as it was a passion project for me. I wanted to see if I could (1) even write a mystery (2) incorporate magic in a vaguely realistic way (3) ONLY write four parts and (4) write everything ahead of time and release it weekly like a TV show, while still keeping people interested. I feel like I low-key did that lolllllllllllll

That being said I can’t wait to revisit this and turn it into some type of script because I def want to expand on these worlds and characters even more. Especially Detective Erik, even though he’s the most human, there’s something more I think he deserves that I couldn’t quite get my finger on just yet. 

I have an inkling of an idea for a future take, but that won’t happen for a while I think. Writing this was my break from writing my book, and even with life stuff not going perfectly, I’m finally feeling good about diving back into my book and my characters! I’m so close to being done so wish me luck! 

My faerie Roaen is Irish, so you see Angel speaking Irish in that one scene because I have a light obsession with Celtic mythology and Ireland in general. I love that place. Everything is so damn green. 

Finally, I want to thank absolutely EVERYONE for reading and liking and reblogging and sharing this story. It really means the world to me especially as a fairly new writer. (This is only my second fic lol) You guys lift my spirit every time you read and I truly am blessed to have y’all reading my story. 

The Mystery of the Golden Fang Mood Board

A Map Made in Heaven

Masterlist

Taglist: @princessstevens @muse-of-mbaku @k-michaelis@queenamaniii@thatrandomfangirl98@dreadedphilosphy@killmongurl @thelovelyliterary@elaindeereads @thedom223 @muse-of-mbaku@bidibidibombaclaat @panthergoddessbast @writingmarvellousimagines @someareblindtoitsbeauty @jozigrrl@iamrheaspeaks @purple-apricots @thadelightfulone@janelledarling @killmongersgurl

[upontheshelfreviews]

As a lifelong Disney fan I can’t understate how much of an impact Mickey Mouse has had on me. In childhood, he was an icon and friend – instantly recognizable, a source of joy and entertainment, a hero and a role model. I know this is making me sound like one of those cheesy sponsors reading off a cue card, but when you’re talking about a mouse, expect plenty of cheese to be involved.

In the spirit of Mickey celebrating his 90th birthday, I’d like to share with you my 20 favorite shorts he starred in. Why 20? Because I couldn’t narrow it down to ten and I like to go nine steps beyond as opposed to one.

There were only two rules I set while making this list:

Mickey is the main focus, or at the very least he must be given as much to do as the other characters he shares the cartoon with. There’s a lot of great shorts out there that has Mickey’s name in the title – Mickey’s Parrot, Mickey’s Circus, Mickey’s Birthday, Mickey and the Seal, Mickey’s Christmas Carol, etc. – or has his face in the intro that advertises it as his adventure, but upon watching you find they’re really about Donald, Goofy or Pluto or literally anyone else but him.

Shorts only, no segments from full-length films or direct-to-video works. This means no Mickey and the Beanstalk from Fun and Fancy Free or various bits from Mickey’s Once/Twice Upon A Christmas, but sadly no Sorcerer’s Apprentice from Fantasia. I thought of excluding any short that ran over the usual length of five to seven minutes to about twenty, but that made my job even harder.

Now before we get to the countdown, here are a few Honorable Mentions:

Mickey, Donald and Goofy in The Three Musketeers – If I were including full-length films on the list, this would be in the top five, bar none.

The Sorcerer’s Apprentice from Fantasia – It would easily take the number one spot if it didn’t overlap with the #2 rule.

Plane Crazy – The mouse’s first appearance on the silver screen, though he wouldn’t make as quite a splash until his sound debut in Steamboat Willie a few years later

Orphan’s Benefit – One of my favorites as a kid. It made me laugh something fierce and still does, though a large part of it has to do with Donald and Goofy’s segments, hence why it’s only an honorable mention. Also, did you know that the color one we’re mostly familiar with is actually a remake of an earlier black and white version?

Mickey’s Delayed Date – Pluto and Mickey tussle for attention in this outing.

Haunted House – Spooky and atmospheric. Classic Disney nightmare fuel.

The Gorilla Mystery – Mickey plays Minnie’s white knight yet again as he goes to-to-toe with a dangerous gorilla.

Two-Gun Mickey – An American Tail: Mickey Goes West.

Mickey’s Surprise Party – After Minnie’s dog spoils the cookies she was making for Mickey, he saves the day with some shockingly transparent corporate sponsorship. At least I take comfort in the fact that Mickey’s favorite cookies are the same as mine.

Hansel and Gretel – Mickey and Minnie stumble upon a treacherous witch to the ominous strains of Danse Macabre.

Mickey’s Cabin – Mickey outwits Pete and his dimwitted cousin with a little reverse psychology when they hold him hostage in his winter cabin. Hilarity ensues.

Croissant – Mickey’s first short in the modern style proved you can’t keep a mouse on a mission down.

Yodelberg – Continuing with the previous short, it’s modern Mickey at its most fast-paced and stylish fun.

Shanghaied – It’s up to Mickey to save the day and Minnie again, this time from Pete and his dastardly crew of pirates.

Mickey’s Christmas Carol – Mickey’s first cartoon in 30 years has him slightly out of the spotlight, but still got him back in the public eye for good.

20. Mickey’s Trailer

This gets the lowest spot because the first half mainly focuses on jokes surrounding Donald and Goofy in their cool little mechanical trailer. But when it reaches the second half? That’s when things really kick into high gear. Goofy obliviously unhitches the trailer as they’re traveling through a perilous mountain pass and it’s up to Mickey to keep his vacation from reaching an untimely end. It’s amazingly suspenseful, with plenty of close calls from oncoming vehicles, trains and cliff sides. They still manage to sneak in a few decent moments of slapstick, but not at the cost of any of the tension. My only wish is that we could have seen Mickey and Donald’s response to Goofy’s cheerful “Well, I brought ya down safe and sound, a-hyuck!” at the very end. No doubt it would have been hilariously karmic.

19. Mickey’s Mechanical House

Coming from the Mickey’s Mouse Works/House of Mouse era of cartoons, we get a whimsical story in Seuss-esque rhyme, narrated by John Cleese no less. Sick of the inconveniences of his old abode, Mickey moves into a sleek totally automated house. He quickly learns, however, that easy modern conveniences aren’t what make a good home. Unlike the other cartoons made in this time, the art style goes for a 50’s retro look that pays homage to the likes of UPA. I especially appreciate the cameo from the iconic Mars robot from the famous Disneyland episode Mars and Beyond. That’s how you know this short was made by real old-school Disney fans. The story is charming, the gags are clever, and it earns this spot on the countdown.

18. Giantland/Gulliver Mickey

Yes, I know I’m cheating here due to this being a tie, but I found these two shorts to be similar enough that I felt they were both worthy of the same place on the list. Each one begins with Mickey telling a story to his…younger counterparts? Nieces and nephews? Godchildren? They all refer to him as “Uncle Mickey” and they all look like him so maybe they’re really…no, best not to think of the implications.

Anyway, Mickey makes himself the hero of each tale, firstly in the role of Jack in Jack and the Beanstalk (no doubt somewhat inspiring his future gigantic adventures in The Brave Little Tailor and Fun and Fancy Free), then of him being the giant washed up on the shores of Lilliput. There’s some good action all around, and plenty of creativity in showing the giant’s world, Mickey’s storytelling and how the Lilliputians attempt to subdue their captive.

17. Magician Mickey

Mickey’s putting on a magic show, but he’s constantly heckled by a disbelieving Donald. Little does the duck realize he’s messing with the Sorcerer’s Apprentice himself, and Mickey uses all his mystic powers to troll back at him. Even though it’s arguably Donald’s short as much as it is Mickey’s, he does provide the main source of the conflict, and Mickey does not hold back when providing some good old magical vengeance. He remains the perfect showman throughout, and the tricks he plays to get back at Donald are inventive and hilarious. I admit, I still crack up at the running gag where Donald attempts to go in one of his unintelligible tirades and spits out an entire deck of cards. Just goes to show you don’t mess with the mouse, especially when he’s in magician mode.

16. Steamboat Willie

Ah, the one that started it all. Well, technically it was Plane Crazy and The Galloping Gaucho, but Steamboat Willie was what really thrust Mickey into the limelight. It may be simplistic by today’s standards, but this short is nothing…short of iconic. It establishes everything you need to know about the character of Mickey Mouse – inventive, friendly, helpful, but not without a strong mischievous streak. Being one of the first cartoons to have fully synchronized sound certainly helps. It not only pushed the popularity of “talkies” but introduced the world to what would become one of the most recognizable characters of all time. How could I not include it on the list? I already wrote an entire article on its significance, so if you want to know more, feel free to go read it.

15. The Mad Doctor

When people talk about the darkest moments in Disney animation, there’s a reason why this short is often brought up. The Mad Doctor goes for straight-up horror, and pulls no punches. Mickey must work his way through a creepy castle to save his beloved dog Pluto before he becomes the next victim of the titular doctor’s dangerous experiments. There’s lots of shadows, spooky living skeletons, and booby traps galore that threaten Mickey along the way. It’s perfect fare for Halloween.

Without giving away the ending, it’s the kind I’d normally call a bit of a cop out, but I don’t see how they could have worked their way around it. This short was deemed so scary upon release that it was banned not only in the UK, but in Nazi Germany, which really says something. It didn’t frighten me that much when I was a kid, but there’s a pervading sense of dread that makes it unlike any other Mickey Mouse cartoon ever made. Its impact on the canon was strong enough that the Mad Doctor was made one of the main antagonists of the Epic Mickey video game. And getting to take him out after all these years is one of the most satisfying game moments you’ll ever experience.

14. Around the World in 80 Days

Now for something a bit lighter. Some of the best shorts made for Mickey’s Mouse Works and House of Mouse were the “Mouse Tales”, two-part adaptations of classic novels with Mickey and the gang filling in the roles. This is a simplified but still fun take on Jules Verne’s famous globetrotting adventure. Instead of a wager between high society gentlemen and a robbery caper mixup however, Mickey must circumnavigate the globe in order to claim an inheritance and save his orphanage. Goofy and a rescued native princess-turned-love interest Minnie (there’s no way around some of the more dated aspects of this story, is there?) help him along the way, but they also have to deal with a meddling Scrooge McDuck, who’d do anything to get his feathers on the fortune. They manage to squeeze in some great jokes, usually involving Mickey’s deadpan reactions to Goofy’s cluelessness. It’s a decent retelling that hits all the beats and will probably get kids interested in checking out the original story.

13. Ye Olden Days

Nothing like a good old-fashioned medieval romance to warm your heart. Humble minstrel Mickey attempts to rescue fair damsel Minnie when she refuses to marry foppish Prince Dippy Dawg – that’s Goofy’s early moniker to those not fluent in early Disney – and winds up engaging in a joust for her hand. Mickey and Minnie may not be the most fascinating couple in film history, but their earnest devotion to each other shows why their relationship has stood the test of time.

When I was rewatching this to see if it deserved a spot on this list, I was particularly impressed by how spirited Minnie was – she does not take her arranged marriage lying down, slapping the self-absorbed prince in the face while declaring “Never!” and fighting her captors every step of the way as she’s dragged to the tower as punishment. Plus, it’s her intervening on Mickey’s behalf that saves him from the guillotine and allows him to engage in trial by combat. Mickey, ever the underdog, uses his size and cleverness to his advantage, outdoing the prince in all his regalia with nothing but a spear, a suit of armor fashioned from a potbelly stove, and an intrepid donkey. I really don’t have anything to say other than this short’s simplicity and sweetness never fails to win me over.

12. The Pointer

An expertly animated adventure for Mickey and his loyal canine, even if the idea of the Mouse going hunting wouldn’t fly today. I just love Mickey and Pluto’s interactions; they remind me so much of me and my dog and the time we spent together (though let it go on record that I never have or most likely will engage in hunting for sport). This isn’t a case of the pet being smarter than the master like in future shorts, either. Those always aggravated me because of how they really dumbed down Mickey. Both are on equal footing here, and both get into equal amounts of trouble.

The moment where Mickey tries to talk his way out of an encounter with an angry bear is equal parts tense and humorous. It’s also one of the rare times I can recall Mickey attempting to use his own popularity to escape from a jam (“Well I’m, uh, Mickey Mouse! You know, Mickey Mouse? I hope you’ve heard of me…I hope.”) According to Andreas Deja, animator Frank Thomas incorporated a bit of Walt’s own actions while recording the lines for this scene, giving it a superb bit of what Thomas would call “the illusion of life”.

11. Lonesome Ghosts

Here we have another Mickey-Donald-Goofy venture with shenanigans surrounding the last two, but there’s enough of Mickey in there to make it count. Now tell me if this sounds familiar: a trio of oddballs, one smart if in way over his head, one irascible and sarcastic, and one delightfully naive, go into business capturing ghosts. And yes, at one point one of them says “I ain’t afraid of no ghosts”. It’s a shame Disney wasn’t able to capitalize on this fifty years later apart from syncing this short to the Ghostbusters theme in the DTV Halloween special. Lonesome Ghosts is a spooky jaunt where half the fun comes from the various ways the titular quartet of specters tease our hapless heroes. How the protagonists manage to send them packing kind of confuses me, but it still makes for a good chuckle. Steeped in atmosphere and loaded with laughs, Lonesome Ghosts is a ghoulish good time.

10. Mickey’s Good Deed

It’s Christmas Eve, and Mickey and Pluto are out in the cold with nothing but a bass fiddle that earns them barely enough to eat. A bratty rich half-pint sets his sights on Pluto and goes Veruca Salt on his father, leading to him offering Mickey a fair bit of dough in exchange for the dog. Mickey refuses, until he spies a poor widow and her many children even worse off than he is. This leads to him making a heartwrenching sacrifice to ensure they have a merry Christmas. It’s a short that runs the gamut of emotions. You feel for Mickey every second as he either loses everything he owns or willingly gives it up for a greater good, and there’s plenty of joy to be had when he gets his reward in the end (as well as when that terrible child is given his due punishment). I love watching this every Christmastime, and it exemplifies the giving spirit of the season.

9. Runaway Brain

You wanna know where that infamous image of a demonic Mickey came from? Well here ya go. Fast-paced, frightening and hilarious, Runaway Brain is a wild ride from start to finish. In some ways it feels more akin to a Looney Tunes short than a Disney one. The comic and story beats come right after another, yet leave room for sight gags and references a plenty. There’s even a brief shot that visibly homages The Exorcist. IN A DISNEY SHORT.

Borrowing from The Mad Doctor’s playbook, this time it’s Mickey who’s in a mad scientist’s sights after taking an offer for “a mindless day’s work” at face value, just so he could earn some vacation cash for Minnie. Said mad scientist, Dr. Frankenollie (love the nod there), voiced by Sideshow Bob himself Kelsey Grammar, switches Mickey’s brain with that of his King Kong/Frankenstein-esque creation Julius, who bears more than a passing resemblance to Pete. When the doctor is zapped into ashes by his own experiment – onscreen, mind you – Mickey, now trapped in Julius’ body, must find a way to get back to normal and stop Julius, stuck in Mickey’s form but no less monstrous, from pursuing Minnie. As I said before, the jokes come at you fast and hard. The climax in particular is especially rollicking, with some amazing lighting and coloring choices that pump up the action. As always, Mickey saves the day in the most entertaining – and in this case, bizarre – way possible.

8. The Band Concert

Mickey makes his technicolor debut in one of the first shorts that pits him against a troublesome Donald. All our stalwart conductor wants to do is perform a bit of William Tell for some music lovers in the park, but he’s consistently interrupted by Donald wanting to get in on the action with Turkey In The Straw and an improbable supply of easily breakable flutes. Still, you’ve got to admire both of them for their determination. I’d say nothing short of a cyclone could stop them, but that’s exactly what happens; the climax has them playing through the gale even as they’re hurled through the air! Considering the music they’re performing is appropriately stormy sounding, one has to wonder if they picked up their instruments from Hyrule. The Band Concert is a testament to Mickey’s unflappable perseverance and affinity for music.

7. The Little Whirlwind

Lured to Minnie’s by the promise of cake, Mickey agrees to give her yard a good cleanup in exchange for some dessert. Unfortunately, a playful sentient cyclone has other plans. I’ve never been bothered by Mickey’s voice, but this short shows how he works just as well silently. Much of the action is largely in mime with no dialogue. The slapstick is fun all around. I always did feel a bit bad that Mickey got the short end of the stick in this cartoon; after being tormented by the hellion hurricane, he’s pursued by a giant momma tornado who assumes her offspring was bullied for no reason, and when Minnie checks on his progress he’s blamed for the disaster area that was formerly her garden. I don’t know what the hell she was doing in the kitchen to not hear the two cyclones roaring through her yard but I hope it was worth it. At least Mickey ends up getting the cake – though not in a way he was certainly expecting.

6. Mr. Mouse Takes a Trip

Once more we witness Mickey’s loyalty to his equally devoted canine companion. A simple train trip to Pomona goes off the rails when Mickey must shield Pluto from dog-hating conductor Pete and both find themselves on the run from him. There’s disguises and mishaps galore, and it’s a constant back and forth to see who’s one step ahead of the other. Interesting fact: this short is also the source of the only known footage of Walt Disney recording his lines as Mickey.

5. Symphony Hour

A spiritual sequel to The Band Concert, Mickey once again plays conductor for a classical orchestra made up of his friends. Unfortunately someone thought it was a good idea to leave all the instruments in Goofy’s hands before their big debut, and they’re quickly destroyed. Now poor Mickey has to keep everything together as the concert falls to pieces and their sponsor Pete fumes from his viewing box.

This short… it’s hysterical. There’s no other word for it. Everything from the animation to the music – which sounds like a precursor to Spike Jones – cracks me up. Mickey is pushed to the limits of his endurance as his show crumbles around him. Not helping matters is the attitude of the performers. Sure, Goofy, Horace Horsecollar and the like soldier on admirably, but Donald threatens to up and leave several times. Yet Mickey isn’t afraid to stoop to any level to ensure the show, no matter how terrible, will indeed go on. And the worse it gets for them, the better it gets for us.

4. Thru the Mirror

After falling asleep while reading Alice Through the Looking Glass, Mickey dreams of entering his bedroom mirror and exploring the bizzarro version of his world on the other side. Living furniture, card battles and jazzy dance sequences ensue. Out of all the Mickey shorts on this list, this is probably the best animated. The scenes stick out in your mind long after the cartoon has ended. The size-changing walnuts, the catchy tap dance starting with a game of jump rope with a telephone cord that evolves into a Busby Berkeley homage with playing cards, and the escape from said cards while traversing the dangers of a literal living room? It’s golden age Disney at its finest. There’s not much in the way of story, but that’s not the point of this short. It’s just great animation fueled by years of practice and boundless imagination.

3. Get a Horse!

I remember hearing way back when this short was announced that it was supposedly one from Walt’s heyday which was lost to the ages and recently unearthed. Little could we have realized that it was merely a smokescreen – instead of an old cartoon, we were getting the first new theatrical Mickey Mouse short since Runaway Brain, one that paid tribute to the classic Mickey cartoons of old.

Since I watched Frozen more than once during its theatrical run, I had the privilege of experiencing Get A Horse as it should be: in a big dark movie theater with eye-popping 3D. It gives the perfect illusion that this crazy cartoon with characters jumping in and out and running around the theater really is happening right in front of you. Mickey and friends play around with the screen and the dimensions contained within and with-out in a way not seen since Chuck Jones’ masterpiece Duck Amuck. And having seen many, MANY classic Disney shorts before (if this list hadn’t already indicated), I could even tell where many of the sound bites used for the characters’ dialogue were lifted from. I simply don’t get it when people dismiss this short for “mocking” old school Disney when in reality it does anything but. I think this short is the epitome of what Disney is doing now with their animation, blending the best of the old with the technology and promise of the new. Also, Oswald cameo for the win!

2. The Prince and the Pauper

Talk about nostalgia. I watched this short with the same frequency as my favorite Disney movies on VHS. In fact, due to having no sense of time when I was younger, I thought this twenty minute short was about the same length as those films; it certainly flies by at the same speed. Mark Twain’s tale of royal identity switching has seen its fair share of adaptations, but this one will always be my favorite. We’ve got riveting action and phenomenal voice acting (Wayne Allwine, you were the best Mickey outside of Walt and Brett Iwan can’t hold a candle to you).

It’s also one of the most dramatic shorts in the Disney canon. Pete is at his most menacing outside of Mickey’s Christmas Carol. Scenes like where Mickey attends to the king in his final moments and the prince learns of his father’s passing carry so much weight to them. They’re framed cinematically and let you take in the gravitas. Still, that’s not to say there isn’t any comedy to be found. The Prince and the Pauper has plenty of moments that still make me laugh twenty-eight years later. It’s a short that has everything. Easily one of Mickey’s finest moments.

1. The Brave Little Tailor

If I were to point to one short that summed up everything I love about Mickey Mouse, all you need to know about him, and why he’s so great, The Brave Little Tailor would be it.

Due to a simple misunderstanding, Mickey is thrust into the role of reluctant hero, one who must face down a killer giant no less. But if most of what the previously mentioned shorts have shown, Mickey’s nothing more or less than the perfect underdog. And when he gets into action, he’s like a cartoon blend of Chaplin, Keaton and Fairbanks – not a coincidence as the former two were big influences on early Mickey. Scared though he is, he rarely panics. Instead he relies on his greatest strengths to save the day – his quick thinking, nimbleness from his diminutive stature, and his loyal, caring heart. There’s a reason why I chose this particular thumbnail for this entry. No matter how many times I see this enamored incarnation of Minnie shower her champion with kisses, making him stumble around dizzily and cheerfully cry “Whoopee! I’ll cut ‘im down to my size!” I always, always go “aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaawwwwwww”. It’s just too adorable for words. When you’ve got someone who loves you like Minnie does, you feel like you can take on the world.

I could go on about how the scene where he’s telling the story of how he killed seven with one blow (that’s flies, by the way, not giants) has been studied by animation students and enthusiasts to the point where Junction Point Studios aspired to recreate that level of expression and fluidity when creating Epic Mickey, or how Mickey defeats the giant has been homaged in other shorts as well as the airport fight from Captain America:Civil War, or just that wonderful storybook golden age Disney feel it has from start to finish, but I won’t. By all means, seek out the short and see it all for yourself.

No matter how many times the corporate side of Disney has airbrushed Mickey’s foibles to present him as the bland, perfect company mascot, Mickey’s bravery, kindness, and penchant for attracting trouble has never been fully scrubbed away. Different voice actors, animators, story writers and financial visionaries have come and gone throughout the years, and each has presented their own unique take on the character, but there’s no mistaking the world’s most famous mouse, the one who started it all.

Happy Birthday, Mickey. Here’s to 90 more.

Thanks for reading! What are your favorite Mickey Mouse shorts? Share them in the comments and be sure to follow and check out my Patreon if you want to read more!

My Top 20 Favorite Mickey Mouse Shorts As a lifelong Disney fan I can't understate how much of an impact Mickey Mouse has had on me.

[the-tenth-arcanum]

oh I KNEW it had to be a ruse

watching the musketeers ep 1x10 and why did everyone turn against d'artagnan when it turned out he slept with milady. porthos and aramis go from "who is this woman" to "you slept with athos's wife??" in the space of two seconds, bro no one even knew athos had a wife?? what was that

[stubobnumbers]

Turner Classic Movies (This afternoon through next Friday)

November 11th (Starting 2:15 PM ET): Where Eagles Dare (1968) The Dirty Dozen (1967) The Best Years Of Our Lives (1946) The Longest Day (1962)

November 12th: Dr. Jekyll And Sister Hyde (1971), Prehistoric Women (1967), The Prisoner Of Zenda (1937), In The Money (1958), 42nd Street (1933), The Invisible Man (1933), Foreign Correspondent (1940), Some Came Running (1958), The Snake Pit (1948), and Blackboard Jungle (1955).

"The Invisible Man" is awesome. "Foreign Correspondent" is a pretty good early Hitchcock film.

November 13th: Tension (1950), Get Shorty (1995), Crashing Hollywood (1938), Mr. Lucky (1943), Angel On My Shoulder (1946), The White Cliffs Of Dover (1944), Calamity Jane (1953), The Fortune Cookie (1966), Matinee (1993), Flower Drum Song (1961), and Guess Who's Coming To Dinner (1967).

November 14th: Out Yonder (1919), La Bete Humaine (1938), The River (1951), A Midsummer Night's Dream (1935), Twenty Million Sweethearts (1934), It Happened Tomorrow (1944), Dames (1934), The Tall Target (1951), Murder, My Sweet (1944), The Bad and the Beautiful (1952), Touch Of Evil (1958), and The Player (1992).

"Touch Of Evil" is a quality film.

November 15th: Pillow Talk (1959), Who's That Girl? (1987), Boys' Night Out (1962), The Umbrellas of Cherbourg (1964), A Hard Day's Night (1964), Beauty and the Beast (1946), Steel Against the Sky (1941), All the Brothers Were Valiant (1953), Chances (1931), East of the River (1940), Somewhere I'll Find You (1942), Ashes and Diamonds (1958), and The Gospel According to St. Matthew (1964).

"Pillow Talk" is an amusing romantic comedy.

November 16th: Jules and Jim (1962), My Journey Through French Cinema (2016)(Documentary), Anne of Green Gables (1934), Little Women (1933), Pride and Prejudice (1940), Great Expectations (1946), Kings Row (1942), The Magnificent Ambersons (1942), Wuthering Heights (1939), Queen Christina (1933), and The Scarlet Empress (1934).

November 17th: Nicholas and Alexandra (1971), The Three Musketeers (1948), Marie Antoinette (1938), Mr. Blandings Builds His Dream House (1948), Every Girl Should Be Married (1948), Ice Station Zebra (1968), Something of Value (1957), Giant (1956), Lord Jim (1965), and The Last Of Sheila (1973).

That version of 'Musketeers' stars Vincent Price as one of the villains.

November 18th: The Verdict (1982), The Mackintosh Man (1973), Inside Out (1976), The Sea Gull (1968), The Viking (1929), Ariel (1989), Arctic Fury (1949), Winter Light (1962), The Thing from Another World (1951), The Snow Devils (1965), Snow Trail (1947), Christmas in Connecticut (1945), and The Bishop's Wife (1947).

Friday's theme is cold, snow, and The Arctic. Ive never seen "The Snow Devils", but aliens trying to freeze Earth as a form of terraforming? That's gotta be worth a watch! "The Thing From Another World" is awesome. Sure, I'll watch it for a 37th time.