#like the school symbols on the wall and the books and stuff

[gertritude-art]

A fun way imo to develop characters is to look at them and ask, "what does this imply?" This unfortunately only works if you already have a character concept in mind, but it's always been useful for me when I need to create some interiority for a character who feels a little flat.

As previously stated, literally all you're doing is looking at a character and performing a rudimentary analysis of them based on what you've already developed. A good example of this is my character Mordred, who early on in his development was conceived of as a sickly looking teenager wearing a full suit and bowtie. This is because I thought there was a lot of potential in this image. "What kind of teenager goes to school everyday wearing a full suit and bowtie?" Probably a kid who takes himself very seriously and has some interest in looking "polished" -- perhaps he even views himself above his peers for how he dresses. And, how might this visual extend to other aspects of him? Is he always someone who goes against the grain? Does he actually have an interest in men's wear, or is this a symbolic image for how he stands against his peers? I bet he has strong opinions on society. Did he buy the suit himself, or did his mom buy it, because one or the other also implies some stuff about the nature of their relationship, if his mother is supportive of his oddness or not, etc. etc. etc. A lot of stuff that you can find out, just from looking at one small aspect of a character! The same kind of process can spiral from anything - a character's actions, a character's thoughts, their beliefs, a line they say, a face they make, a hobby they have... all can be a good starting point for developing them further and figuring out more about them.

In a similar vein, I know that people recommend filling out character charts and stuff, but usually I find it more useful to think of a character in terms of a "scenario" or a "description" than in terms of their traits. "This character is smart" vs. "This characters complains to the teacher when the test has a question that isn't in the book" ; "This person is stubborn" vs. "This is the kind of person who'd rather starve than order food if they said they weren't hungry." Figuring out a character through something like this gives me a specific image of how they might act in a story as opposed to more broadly-described traits. Being as I tend to think up characters with story ideas and scenarios, it's much more helpful for me! "Ah, but how do you do this, Gert?" Easy: you stare at a wall for multiple hours until you have a revelation about a character. This is surely what everyone is capable of [nodding sagely]

[goddessofvalyria]

THE NERD BOY | Michael Gavey x fem!oc

Summary: Mabel is a rich pretty American girl who moves to Oxford to study. One day, the nerd Michael Gavey notices her in the library pining for mathematics. The boy offers his help and soon a strange understanding is born between the two…

TW: 18+, MINORS DNI, She/Her pronouns, the fem!oc is named Mabel with black eyes and hair, oral (m receiving), SMUT, sexual tension, sex, sex, sex, Michael being insecure.

English is not my first language, be kind <3

This is my Masterlist

Words: 4243

Mabel Reyes was the kind of girl who turned heads everywhere she went. She had that effortless beauty, the kind that made people whisper and stare in admiration. Her long black hair always seemed to catch the light just right, and her brown eyes sparkled with a confidence that came from knowing she was the queen bee of any social circle she entered. Back in California, she had ruled her high school like queen, with her impeccable grades and a cheerleading record that was the stuff of legend. She was the girl everyone wanted to be or be with, and she wore that title with pride.

But Oxford was different. Mabel had left behind the sun-kissed beaches of California for the misty mornings and historic halls of the University of Oxford. It was a place where her reputation had preceded her, whispers of the beautiful American girl with rich parents had quickly spread through the ancient stone walls. By the end of her first week, everyone knew her name. The daughters and sons of Britain's elite were drawn to her like moths to a flame, particularly a group led by the charismatic Felix Catton. Felix and his friends were Oxford's version of royalty, and Mabel fit in with them perfectly.

They spent their weekends in London, sipping cocktails in exclusive clubs and being photographed by paparazzi, their every move chronicled by society pages. Mabel dazzled them with stories of her glamorous life, tales of sailing in the Caribbean, and surfing in Australia. She spoke of America with a fondness that made it sound like a paradise, and she hinted at the life waiting for her after graduation—a life of luxury, managing her family's fashion empire back in California. 

But beneath the surface, Mabel was struggling. Her academic record had always been spotless, but maths had never been her strong suit. Now, in the hallowed halls of Oxford, the pressure was mounting. The looming exams were like a dark cloud over her, especially the thought of failing math class. It was the one subject she couldn't charm her way through, and it terrified her. 

One late afternoon, the library was nearly deserted, and Mabel was slumped over a pile of textbooks, her usually flawless appearance slightly disheveled. She had been staring at the same page of equations for what felt like hours, the numbers and symbols blurring together. She was used to things coming easily to her likes literature and history, but math was like a foreign language she couldn't decode.

That's when she noticed someone standing nearby, a figure she hadn't expected to see in her orbit. Michael Gavey was the polar opposite of everything Mabel embodied. Where she was glamorous, he was unassuming; where she was surrounded by friends, he was totally alone. But Michael was a math genius, known throughout the university for his brilliance and to be the most loser boy ever. He was the kind of person who preferred the company of books to people, someone who lived in his own world of numbers and theories.

He approached her hesitantly, as if unsure whether he should intrude on her space. "You look like you could use some help" he said quietly, his voice soft but clear. 

Mabel looked up, surprised. For a moment, she considered brushing him off, but the desperation in her chest won out. "I really don’t get this" she admitted, her voice tinged with frustration. "Math has never been my thing."

Michael nodded, understanding her struggle more than she knew. He pulled up a chair and sat down beside her, his presence calming in a way she hadn't expected. "Let me show you" he offered, and for the next hour, he patiently explained the concepts that had been eluding her.

As they worked together, Mabel found herself relaxing, her usual defenses lowering as she realized that Michael wasn’t there to judge her. He was just there to help.

As the weeks passed, Mabel Reyes found herself surprisingly drawn to the company of Michael Gavey. What had started as a purely practical arrangement—using Michael's brilliance in math to help her pass—had slowly transformed into something more. With each study session, she began to appreciate his quiet intelligence, his dry sense of humor, and the way he never treated her like the celebrity she was used to being. Michael saw her as Mabel, not the glamorous American heiress or the popular girl everyone envied, but just Mabel.

Word of their unlikely partnership spread through Oxford like wildfire. It was the kind of story that people couldn’t resist: the nerdy, awkward boy and the beautiful, popular girl, straight out of a rom-com. People gossiped about them, whispered as they passed by in the halls, and even made bets on whether something more would happen between them. But Michael, in his usual fashion, seemed completely unfazed by the attention. He never cared what others thought, and he made that clear during one of their study sessions.

It was a chilly afternoon, and they were tucked away in a quiet corner of the library, the same place where Michael had first offered his help. Mabel was struggling with a particularly difficult equation, her frustration growing as she scribbled out yet another wrong answer. Sensing her tension, Michael calmly walked her through the problem step by step, his voice patient and steady.

After they finished, Mabel leaned back in her chair and sighed. "I heard there's going to be a big Christmas party soon. Felix and the others are all excited about it," she mentioned casually, glancing at Michael to gauge his reaction.

Michael didn’t look up from the book he was paging through. "I was NFI: not fucking invited" he replied, his tone neutral but with a hint of indifference.

Mabel frowned. "Why not? There will be all the college!"

Michael shook his head, a small, almost bitter smile on his lips. "Michael Gavey doesn’t exist in the eyes of others. And honestly, I don’t care about their stupid lives. They’re all wrapped up in their own little bubbles. I’m just not part of that world, and I’m fine with it."

His words struck a chord with Mabel. For so long, she had been the center of attention, the one everyone wanted to be around. But with Michael, she was reminded that not everyone was drawn to the same superficial allure that had defined her life so far. She looked at him, really looked at him, and noticed the faint blush creeping up his neck as he kept his eyes on the book. It was then that she realized something she hadn’t noticed before: Michael had developed a crush on her.

At first, she had used his feelings to her advantage, making sure he would continue to tutor her. But now, things were different. She had come to value his friendship and his company, and she didn’t want to hurt him. He was the only person who saw her for who she truly was, not just a pretty face with a wealthy background. And that mattered to her more than she wanted to admit.

The Christmas party was only a few days away, and as the date approached, Mabel found herself feeling more conflicted. Normally, she would have been excited about dressing up, being the center of attention, and partying with her friends. But this year, something felt off. She couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe, just maybe, the party wasn’t where she wanted to be.

That evening, as she sat in front of her vanity mirror, carefully applying her makeup and fixing her hair, she couldn’t help but think about Michael. She pictured him, alone in his room or maybe at the library, completely uninterested in the glitz and glamour that surrounded her life. Part of her wanted to be at the party, to enjoy herself and live up to the expectations everyone had for her. But another part of her wondered what it would be like to spend the evening differently, away from the spotlight and with someone who truly understood her.

As she finished getting ready, she stared at her reflection, feeling a tug in her heart. For the first time in a long time, Mabel wasn’t sure what she wanted. The Christmas party was just hours away, but whether she would actually attend was a question she couldn’t yet answer.

Mabel stared at her reflection in the mirror, taking in every detail. Her silver dress clung to her figure perfectly, shimmering with every movement. The high boots added a touch of boldness to her elegant look, and her hair was styled to perfection, not a strand out of place. Her makeup was flawless, highlighting her already striking features. She was the epitome of beauty, the kind of girl who could stop traffic with just a glance.

But as she gazed at herself, a strange feeling washed over her. This was the image everyone expected of her—the glamorous, perfect Mabel Reyes. Yet tonight, it felt like a mask she no longer wanted to wear.

She took a deep breath, stepping away from the mirror and grabbing her coat. The party was waiting, and she knew she’d be the center of attention as soon as she arrived. But as she walked through the corridors of the old Oxford building, her heels clicking against the stone floors, doubts began to creep in. Each step felt heavier, as if something was pulling her back.

Halfway to the party, Mabel stopped. She could hear the faint sounds of music and laughter in the distance, but instead of feeling drawn to it, she felt a growing desire to be somewhere else. With someone else.

Without giving herself time to overthink, she turned around and headed back in the opposite direction. Her heart raced as she made her way to Michael's room, a decision forming in her mind with every step.

Michael was in his room, completely absorbed in solving a complex equation. Numbers and symbols danced across the pages of his notebook, the familiar comfort of mathematics grounding him in his solitude. The Christmas party was the furthest thing from his mind; he had never been one for social events, especially those where he felt like an outsider. 

But then, there was a knock at his door. It was unexpected—no one ever knocked on his door, especially not during party hours. He hesitated for a moment, wondering if it was a mistake. But the knock came again, more insistent this time.

He got up and opened the door, and there she was: Mabel Reyes, the most beautiful girl in all of Oxford, standing in front of him. The sight of her took his breath away. The silver dress, the high boots, the impeccable hair—all of it made her look like she had just stepped out of a dream. But there was something different in her eyes, a softness that he hadn’t seen before.

“Mabel?” Michael stammered, utterly confused. “What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be at the party?”

Instead of answering, Mabel took a step closer, her gaze locked on his. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest, a mix of nerves and excitement swirling inside her. Michael, with his slightly tousled blond hair, glasses slipping down his nose, and that familiar sweater vest, looked up at her with wide eyes, clearly baffled by her presence.

Without a word, Mabel reached out, grabbing him by the front of his sweater. In one swift motion, she pulled him towards her and kissed him. The kiss was soft yet firm, a collision of two worlds that had seemed so far apart until now. Michael froze for a moment, completely taken by surprise, before he slowly started to kiss her back, his hands hesitantly finding their way to her waist.

As she stepped into his room, the door closing behind them, Mabel felt a wave of relief. She had no idea what this meant or where it would lead, but right now, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was the connection she felt with Michael, something genuine and untainted by the expectations of others.

They pulled apart, both a little breathless, and Michael stared at her, still in shock. “Mabel, what—why did you do that?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Mabel smiled, a real, unguarded smile. “Because I wanted to” she said simply, brushing a strand of hair away from his forehead. “I didn’t want to be at the party. I wanted to be here, with you.”

Michael blinked, as if trying to process her words. “But...why me? You could be anywhere right now, with anyone.”

“Exactly” Mabel replied, her voice soft but certain. “But I’m here. You’ve been the only person who sees me for who I am, not just what I look like or where I come from. You’ve been real with me, Michael, and I needed that.”

The weight of her words hung in the air, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. Then, slowly, a smile began to spread across Michael’s face, one that lit up his usually serious expression. He couldn’t quite believe what was happening, but he didn’t want it to end.

Mabel stepped closer again, resting her head against his chest as he wrapped his arms around her. It felt right, in a way she hadn’t expected. And as they stood there, holding each other in the quiet of his room, the world outside seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of them in their own little universe.

Michael stood there, his heart racing as he processed what had just happened. The girl he had admired from afar, the one he never imagined would even notice him, had just kissed him. And now, she was standing in his room, looking at him with a smile that made him feel both exhilarated and terrified.

“That…that was my first kiss" he confessed shy, his voice trembling slightly. He had never felt so vulnerable in his life, but there was something about Mabel that made him want to be honest.

Mabel's expression softened as she took in his words. She had suspected as much, but hearing it from him made her realize just how different their worlds were. Yet here they were, together in this moment. “Well, I’m glad I could be your first,” she said with a gentle smile.

She reached down and began to unlace her high boots, sliding them off one by one. Then, without hesitation, she climbed onto his bed and patted the space next to her. “Come here” she invited, her tone playful yet sincere.

Michael hesitated, nerves tying his stomach in knots. This was all so new to him, and he wasn’t sure what to do next. But he couldn’t resist the pull he felt towards her. Slowly, he walked over and sat down beside her, his hands fidgeting in his lap. He was tense, his mind racing with a thousand thoughts, none of which made any sense.

“What now?” he asked nervously, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye.

Mabel looked around his room, taking in the shelves filled with books, the stacks of papers covered in equations, and the general chaos that was the domain of a true academic. It was exactly what she had expected—a space that reflected Michael’s brilliant but solitary mind. She turned back to him, her smile widening as she realized just how innocent he was.

“I’m guessing that if that was your first kiss...” she began, her voice teasing, “you’ve never had a girlfriend either?”

Michael shook his head, his blush deepening as he met her gaze. “No, never” he admitted, feeling a mix of embarrassment and nervousness. He had always been focused on his studies, never even considering the possibility of a relationship, let alone one with someone like Mabel.

Mabel’s smile turned mischievous as she stood up in front of him, looking down at him with a twinkle in her eye. “Mmh, Gavey” she murmured, her voice soft but full of intent. She reached for the straps of her silver dress, and with a slow, deliberate motion, she let it slide off her shoulders, the fabric pooling at her feet.

Michael’s breath caught in his throat, his eyes widening as he took in the sight of her standing there in front of him, completely vulnerable and utterly breathtaking. His face turned a deep shade of red, and he quickly averted his eyes, not sure where to look or what to do.

Mabel, seeing his discomfort, stepped closer and gently lifted his chin, forcing him to meet her gaze. “It’s okay, Michael,” she whispered, her voice soothing. “You don’t have to be nervous.”

But he was nervous, more than he had ever been in his life. He had no idea how to navigate this situation, and the fear of doing something wrong was almost paralyzing. Yet, the warmth of her presence, the softness in her voice, made him want to try, to take a step into this unknown territory with her.

Mabel leaned in and kissed him again, this time slower, deeper, her hands resting on his shoulders. Michael closed his eyes and tried to focus on the feeling of her lips on his, letting go of his fears, if only for a moment. When they pulled apart, she guided him to stand up, her hands trailing down his arms.

She could see how tense he was, but she also saw the trust in his eyes, the way he was willing to let her lead. And in that moment, Mabel realized that this wasn’t just about physical attraction or desire; it was about connecting with someone on a deeper level, someone who saw her for who she truly was.

Mabel stood in front of Michael, now wearing only a lace thong and no bra, her boobs were big and round. Her confidence was unshakable, while Michael was visibly flustered, unsure of where to look or what to do next. His glasses fogged up slightly, and he fumbled with his hands, trying to figure out where to place them. The reality of the situation was overwhelming, and he could feel his heart racing in his chest.

Noticing his discomfort, Mabel stepped closer and gently reached up, removing his glasses. She set them aside on the nearby desk, her touch soft and reassuring. “You don’t need these right now” she said with a smile, her voice low and soothing.

Michael blinked, trying to adjust to the sudden blur of the room without his glasses, but Mabel was the only thing he could focus on. Her closeness, her warmth—it was all consuming. He swallowed hard, still feeling awkward and unsure, but Mabel’s presence was calming.

She could see how nervous he was, and she knew she needed to ease his anxiety. “It’s okay, Michael,” she whispered, her hands resting gently on his shoulders. “You don’t have to worry about anything. I’ll guide you.”

Mabel’s words were like a lifeline, something for him to hold onto in the midst of his swirling thoughts. He nodded slightly, trusting her to lead him through this unfamiliar territory.

With that, Mabel leaned in, closing the gap between them, and began kissing him softly. Her lips moved against his with a tenderness that was both comforting and exhilarating. Michael was stiff at first, unsure of how to respond, but Mabel was patient. She took her time, her hands moving to the back of his neck, pulling him closer, urging him to relax.

Gradually, Michael began to respond, his lips mirroring hers as he let go of some of his tension. Mabel’s hands wandered down his back, feeling the slight tremble in his muscles as she deepened the kiss. She pressed her body against his, feeling the heat between them intensify.

Michael’s mind was spinning, the sensation of Mabel’s skin against his, her scent, the softness of her lips—it was all overwhelming, yet he found himself getting lost in the moment, letting her guide him as she had promised. 

As their kisses grew more passionate, Mabel could feel Michael beginning to relax, his awkwardness melting away under her touch. She knew this was all new to him, and she wanted to make it a moment he would never forget, a memory they would both cherish.

Mabel pulled back slightly, her lips just inches from his, and whispered, “Just follow my lead, Michael.” Her eyes searched his for any sign of hesitation, but what she saw was trust, and something more—desire.

With a reassuring smile, she guided his hands to her waist, encouraging him to explore, to take the next step. Michael hesitated for only a moment before his hands moved cautiously over her skin, his touch gentle, almost reverent.

Mabel kissed him again, more urgently this time, letting him know that it was okay to let go, to embrace what was happening between them. And slowly, Michael began to do just that, surrendering to the moment, to her, as the rest of the world faded away.

Mabel took off his sweater and shirt, stopping to admire his bare chest. "Do you go to the gym Gavey?" she said with a smirk, noting his defined chest and toned arms. "When... when no one sees me" he revealed shyly.

Stripped of his clothes and wearing only black boxers, he felt uncomfortable. "I've never had sex" he declared. "I... I've never touched... a... girl" he continued embarrassed. Mabel, sitting on his hips could feel the hardness of his masculinity. "Fuck Gavey" she whispered.

"I'd like that" he continued embarrassed. "With you" he added, shyly encircling her hips with his hands. "If you like" he looked up at her. "Mmh yes, Gavey" Mabel whispered. She rose from his hips. "Look at me" she ordered, slowly slipping off her lace panties.

"You can keep them" she whispered, naked in front of him Michael felt paralyzed. he couldn't take his eyes off her. Mabel climbed back onto the bed, on top of him. "I can do something to make you feel better" she whispered kissing him, slowly moving her kisses down. she felt michael tremble, she grabbed his hand to give him confidence. Then she pulled down his boxers, revealing his big fat cock. She smiled at Michael before taking him between her lips, sucking him and feeling him give under her touch. The nerdy boy started to pant, that girl was demonic.

Mabel got even more excited, sucking and licking him, she felt herself soaking wet between the things. she didn't make him come, she stood up licking her lips, leaving Michael hard and erect. "Why---" he moaned.

"My pretty and nerdy boy" she began looking at him. "Do you want to fuck me, Michael Gavey?" Mabel asked. Michael felt himself blushing, he looked at his erection. "I... I would like that" he whispered. "Look" Mabel whispered, bringing two fingers between her legs and showing them to the little nerd. "I'm soaking wet and horny because of you"

Michael felt himself faint, his breathing becoming heavy. "Do you have a condom?" he asked. "Fuck, no, sorry I-" Michael began.

"Don't worry, I'm on the pill" Mabel replied, lifting her hips. "Say goodbye to the little virgin nerd Michael Gavey" Mabel whispered, letting Michael's big cock invade her.

"Oh fuck Michael" she cried as she started to move, she put her hands on his chest riding him, michael brought his hands around her hips helping her move. She was so hot, so wet, tight... god, she was driving him crazy. Mabel was riding him so good, so easy.

Michael reached up to her breasts, touching her sore nipples. Mabel found herself moaning his name, riding him so fucking good that Michael felt the need to come. "Look at you," she whispered, cupping his face with one hand. "You're so cute, Gavey..." she teased him again, and soon Michael hardened and came inside her.

Mabel closed her eyes, clenching around his cock, coming on top of him. She collapsed on top of him, shaking and sweating, her makeup running.

Michael hugged her. "I know you like me," she whispered against his ear. "You have a girlfriend now, Michael Gavey."

Michael felt his heart explode with joy.

He had a girlfriend.

He was loved.

"If you want to," she whispered, still lying on his chest. "I... I'd like that, pretty girl," Michael whispered. Mabel smiled, sitting up.

"Ah" she groaned in pain. "My legs hurt." Michael looked at her. "You fucked me so good, my little nerdy boy." Michael sat up, gently took the blanket from the bed and handed it to her. "Sleep with me," he offered. "Of course I'll sleep with you," Mabel whispered, still naked, slipping under the sheets.

Michael let her have the side of the bed next to the wall, she rested her head on his shoulder. "I like you Michael, I really like you," Mabel whispered.

"Two weeks after you started tutoring me, I broke up with my boyfriend," she declared. "I was with him because my parents made me."

Michael felt a tightness in his chest. "With you, I felt free to be who I wanted to be and you accepted me." Michael turned onto his side, caressing her face and warming her with his body.

"My little nerdy boy," Mabel whispered, kissing him so intensely that it made his insides tremble.

Finally, Michael Gavey was happy and proud to be the little nerd boy.

[dronebiscuitbat]

"Rage" - a Tera Doorman Character Study

Hi! It's 2am and here I am dumping some Tera lore on your lap. Is it sad? Yes. Does it flesh out the character more? Hell Yes. Is it pleasant to read? No. This is very much not fun- Tera is dealing with a lot here, it's heavy. You have been warned.

Tera was strong, she was fast, she could outfly a Sky Snatcher and go toe to toe with her Aunt V in a sparring match if she so chose. She could take out the biggest predators on the planet without breaking a synthetic sweat.

So why the fuck was her core trying to beat out of her chest when she was face to face with some nobody who smacked her in the back of the head as she was getting stuff out of her locker.

“What? You gonna bite me freak?” The drone was faceless- unimportant, but the words cracked like a whip regardless.

“Fuck off!” She snarled back, hand balling into a fist as her internal temperature skyrocketed, her teeth bared, tail coiled like a snake about to strike.

She knew the person didn't actually believe she'd bite them- or even hurt them. If they did they would leave her the hell alone. No, they knew she couldn't touch them;wouldn't allow herself to.

“Naw… look how angry you are, come on! Punch me! You know you wanna!” They egged her on, the grip on her own fist tighted to the point her own tiny claws were slicing into silicone flesh, her own oil pooling into her hands and down her fingers.

The rage built higher, the solver symbol beginning to dance wildly in place of one of her eyelights, but she couldn't, she'd kill them, she didn't want to kill them, but they needed to shut up!

“Leave me alone!” Why didn't they get that it wasn't a threat. But a warning? A desperate plea to get away before she exploded?

“Coward! You talk so much shit for someone‐”

It snapped.

Her fist was suddenly three meat hooks, slashing forward without any sort of control; the kid barely ducked out of the way in time as her claws sunk so deep into a locker she could feel the contents inside.

Her tail lashed out without warning nor care when her initial attack missed- striking without input from it's host and barely missing another drone that had crowded around her.

Her breath came out in pants, core pounding like she was facing down the most terrifying thing imaginable.

The faceless drone and the crowd they'd drawn in scattered in fear, screaming like this was somehow unexpected. Like they hadn't been rattling the cage for the better part of Tera's lifetime.

She just stood there for a moment, catching her breath, body trembling as she tried to regain control, instead of pulling her hand out of the locker, she leaned against it, the other, non-clawed hand coming to rest on the part of it that didn't have a massive gash in it.

She sighed, before screaming and punching the shit out of it with her free hand until it was unrecognizable and her fist was banged up and covered in a thin veneer of her own oil.

This anger was directed at herself.

She yanked her hand out of the locker, ripping the door off and slinging it into the wall behind her with a gigantic bang, sending the contents flying out; paper, books, hopefully nothing of personal value…

She didn't look back at the mess she'd made, throwing open the front doors of the school and immediately flying off away from town, breath shaky and body trembling like a volcano in an earthquake.

The second she was a safe distance, both hands turned to claws, an ‘><’ covered her visor and she attacked the nearest tree, swiping at it over and over and over again, tears somehow materializing even through the X on her visor.

“FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!!” She cursed and howled and made unearthly cries as the base of the tree was mangled beyond even a shred of recognition. It was only when several of her claws broke off into the ancient tree that she hissed in pain and stopped, out of breath.

She fell backwards, sitting down. Looking at her own mangled hands, she almost smiled at the fact her claws had come off- until they slowly began to regenerate, nanites smoothing the broken edges and repairing them back to deadly sharp.

Her smile fell, and she fell backwards to lay on her back, breathing finally steadying out, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, feeling the blue grass below her, the breeze flowing through her hair and the smell of rain and moist earth filled her olfactory receptors.

After anger, came regret.

She put her sore hands over her visor now that they were back to normal and kept them there, continuing her forced deep breaths until they transformed into something else entirely.

A sob wrenched itself out of her throat, ugly and loud and quite the opposite of the strength she was known for, her gut unraveling into gasps between heavy- frame rattling sobs.

She'd done it again.

She'd lost control again.

It didn't matter how much she tried to stop it, to suppress the feeling of rage that seemed to follow her everywhere, it was always there- never to go away. A constant terrible worm in the back of her mind that suggested the most terrible things.

Punch him.

Bite her.

Kill them.

Eat the core. Eat it, you're so hung-

She grunted, feeling the burn of the solver symbol in her eye once more, she blinked, trying so hard to block those thoughts out.

She didn't want to hurt anyone.

She didn't!

But the rage still followed- a ticking time bomb.

She sat up, flexing her fingers through the grass, the smell of rain grew closer- and a rumble of thunder cracked through the air. She had to get home soon, lest she wanted to rust over.

She didn't move.

Would that really be so bad? She couldn't hurt anyone if her joints were locked up with corrosion. If she wasn't near anyone- returning to the soil in the only way an artificial being can.

She still didn't move when she could hear the rain approaching, seeing the sky darken as she looked up through the canopy.

She sighed. Her mom would find her, or even worse- Bishop would, and it would mess him up, mess her whole family up. Mess them up even more then she already was.

Kiara flashed through her thoughts.

Kiara still needed her, she was going through hell at home, she didn't need this dumped on her as well. Tera wanted to be there when she needed her- couldn't to that if she was rusting into nothing.

She stood up, expression deadpan.

And she flew home. Landing on the balcony just in time, rain pelting down a moment after like she'd brought it with her.

Her hand hovered over the doorknob, a breath was taken. And a mask of pure indifference fell over her features. It didn't bother her, she was fine, everything was fine.

She opened the door.

“Hey. I'm home.”

[lampmanliveblogs]

We cut to Luz grabbing her Good Witch Azura figurine, and while I did see a few seconds further, I had to go back and pause here because I noticed something.

What’s that on your arm? It’s red like a wound, but that can’t be it, this is the peaceful future. Tattoo?

Luz is packing. I spy with my little eye in this box… at least three books, with the top one being the first The Good Witch Azura, Eda’s old jacket that Luz inherited, the Grom queen crown from Enchanting Grom Fright, the tamagotchi-looking thing Luz and Amity used to communicate, and a scroll of some kind. It might be something from a previous episode, but I can’t place it.

Lots of stuff in this one shot. We’ve got a cute little L+A heart carved into the desk.

On the wall we have a letter saying ACCEPTED! It doesn’t say accepted to where, but the symbol does look like a a Titan’s skull, so that document probably originates from the Demon Realm. Right next to it, we have a note talking about a dorm room and move-in date, meaning Luz is headed off to college or university. When accounting for the backwards way americans write their dates, I can decipher that said move-in date is the 21:st of August. If this takes place four years in the future like I think it then that means this takes place in 2026 and the 21:st of August is a Friday. In case I overshot it, and this actually takes place in 2025, then the 21/08 is a Thursday. This is the kind of riveting analysis you will only find here at Lampman Liveblogs.

Right next to the dorm room note we have a shopping list. Listed are a new laptop, bedsheets, a laundry bin, and an umbrella. All are crossed off, so everything’s take care off. Good to know Luz is on top of things.

On the cork board*, we have a photograph labeled GRADUATION! from Luz’ graduation. I spot Vee there with her. Depending on if they somehow managed to convince the authorities that Vee is actually a real person and a citizen who did not appear from nowhere, then she might’ve graduated at the same time.

(*WHAT DO YOU MEAN ”corkboard” IS NOT A SINGLE WORD!!?!?!!?)

Next to the graduation photograph, we have some kind of diploma. It is just barely visible, but I can spot the word ”scholarship,” so it’s safe to say Luz managed to get her grades up. Also, I’m terrible at reading cursive, but does that signature look like it says ”Dana Terrace” to you? Cute.

We pan up to find more stuff! Turns out Luz and Vee did graduate at the same time, how lovely. My second brother and first sister graduated on the same day as well, which was convenient because that meant we only had to have one party for the both of them. Next up is my second sister, but she hasn’t even started high school yet.

There’s a flag for the Gravesfield Ghouls, which I assume to be some sort of local sports team. Unless the rumors about Gravesfielf being haunted turned out to be true, and this is actually some kind of union flag for the undead population of Gravesfield.

There appears to be some kind of essay or perhaps a short story consisting of several papers which impressed the teacher. I spot a ticket to a comic convention of some kind and a ticket to a movie adaptation of The Good Witch Azura.

We also get a better look at the scholarship, which turns out to be in writing, meaning Luz has been flexing those creative brain muscles of hers. Man, I wish that was me.

Hey, guess what. This is the two-hundredth screenshot! Wowsers! Not as dramatic as the 100:th, but I feel this is appropriate for the 200:th. A look back at happy memories.

Also, we got an even better shot of the scholarship, and I am now convinced that the signature does read Dana Terrace.

We’ve got a couple of photographs I recognize from before. There’s the one of Eda, Luz, and King from Enchanting Grom Fright, there’s the group picture the Emerald Entrails took during Any Sport in a Storm, and there’s Luz and Amity watching a falling star on The Owl House’s roof. I’m pretty sure that one isn’t from ay episode, but I think I’ve seen the picture before… maybe in Willow’s scrapbook in Thanks to Them?

(Future Lampman here: it is from Thanks to Them, but it was used in the little Lumity movie montage Luz made for Camila.)

There’s a bunch of new ones though. In the top left we have… I think I’ve seen that character before, was she the employe at the cafe Vee visited in Yesterday’s Lie? The one that had the sentient rats in the alley? It looks like she came to feed the birds,, but Luz and Amity brought Hooty along to the Human Realm. Funnily enough, Amity looks entertained while Luz looks worried.

(Future Lampman here: It might be the same employee from Robin’s Roast, as she looks nigh-identical, aside from one small detail: her hair color. In Yesterday’s Lie, she’s blonde, but she looks like a brunette in this photo. Though I suppose she could have dyed it.)

It appears that Vee, Luz, and Camila managed to make peace with the giraffes and even got to take a selfie with two of them. Very brave of them.

(hmmm… now I kinda wanna include a scene in the Vee fic I’m working on where she goes to ask the giraffe about the strange things happening in Gravesfield… probably won’t include it, but it would be funny.)

We’ve got Eda introducing Camila to her favorite alcoholic beverage. My headcanon that witches actually have a pretty low alcohol tolerance, and thus appleblood is relatively weak by human standards makes this image even funnier.

There’s a picture of Eda, Hooty, and King playing baseball. Based on the blue skies, this took place in the Human Realm, which is interesting.

I saved the best for last, we’ve got a picture from the another Grom. Look at Hunter. Look at him! Dear heavens boy, did Darius really let you dress like that??? I mean, Willow seems charmed, so no harm done I suppose. And are those glasses I spot, Augustus? Welcome to the club buddy. And of course, let’s not forget my snake daughter Vee. She’s so cute!

[ourdemons]

Wowie it's been a hot minute So I drew these a LONG while ago but these are Grimmers parents (First [Kuritanta] and second [Vivianna]) and Israels dad (The last one [Oliver]) If you have any questions about lore and stuff I'm open to them :> I'll just say right now that the villain to my little story is Pixel Here's a little bit of info (I do talk about abuse and death just a little warning):

My original plan for Grimmers dad, His name is Kuritanta which means death in some language that I forgot :D, anyway my og plan was for Grims dad to be evil. Basically on the side of Pixel but I changed Kuri to be more caring but distant because of his own experiences with his own father and even mother. Kuri was treated with toxic masculinity and was kept away from the lower class or any contact with other demons. He was not a cold hearted kid. Kuri was curious and really smart having to teach himself to read and write. To keep him away from others walls were built up in the garden (Back yard) and in the front yard to, again, keep him away from the lower class or any other communication with others. Soon this will be broken when Kuri, in his late teens, will be able to finally go to school. There he learns other magic that will add on to his abilities that a grim reaper is normally born with. A small while there he soon becomes friends with Vivianna and Oliver. Both Vivi and Oliver are lower middle class. As he is there he learns how Angels are seen as the evil ones when in his books say the opposite. Along with this he also learns about how Vivi and Oliver live. Kuri sees their poor living styles and doesn't think its fair how they are treated. This starts his determination to want to fix things. Soon Kuri develops feelings for Vivi and starts to date her. Once his parents find out they get angry and his father tries to hurt Vivi. Kuri quickly gets in the way to protect her and gets his little shield symbol on his forehead (I'll talk about this later in a different post) Okie I'll talk about Oliver now: I don't have much on him because I just didn't think of him much :P So Oliver and Kuri are bffs. Once Kuri's parents die and he becomes the leader Oliver gets put in a better house along with other demons who were labeled lower class/ lower middle class. In school Oliver decides to learn about healing magic and becomes a doctor. He does have a reason he became a doctor. Like Kuri, Oliver falls in love and gets married when he's an adult but soon after his son, Israel, is born the mom starts to get ill and weak. It was found out that this sickness that was developing in her could not be fixed with the demons healing magic. This made Oliver work hard to try to find some way to cure his lover or even allow her to live a little longer but his trials are unsuccessful and she soon dies, not making even 3 months after the birth of Israel. Oliver is broken and being a single father with his new born son. When seeing Israel this reminds Oliver that he has to be strong for him and inside Oliver's mind he still has a piece of his partner that was gifted to him.

If you read through this you are a god and I hope you enjoyed :> Again if you have any questions I'm open to answering :D

[vivithefolle]

I think the most glaring inconsistent between the “smarts” of "hermione 1" and "hermione 2" is that she doesnt work WITH Harry and Ron as a team anymore. All those outrageous things like "punishing" Rita and Marietta and with her parents, even the time traveling, she does it off screen and alone. She’s SUCH a meta power breaking all the 4th walls because Rowling didn’t know how to write a trio anymore and cant let Hermione lowered herself to work with the actual teenage boy characters. (1)

(2). I can forgive her “momentary smarts” moments because I can see how actually being with friends emboldened her. I loved Ron for yelling at her for her slowness – as of book 2 I can see her taking that to heart and try not to be robotic. Before book 3, all her “independent rule breaking” was with them, to help them and when she was THERE with them.

(3) When she set Snape on fire or did the potions, she WAS alone yes, but Ron was watching her, and the Potion thing has logical development bc she had went into the Restricted Section for Harry in Book 1, and most important thing is she failed or was petrified. NOTHING like that anymore since book 3 because even Rowling knew those things Hermione did was too big for anyone.

On "Hermione 1" and "Hermione 2"

I think in the end it really just comes down to Rowling using Hermione as a "solve everything" trump card.

She said it herself, that Hermione explaining stuff makes sense because you just assume she's read it in a book. Ok, yeah...

But doesn't it also make sense for Ron to know things because he's wizard-raised and so would know stuff without need for books?

I mean look how perfectly it happened in COS!

Then Ron pushed Harry into an armchair and said, “You’re a Parselmouth. Why didn’t you tell us?” [...] “So?” said Harry. “I bet loads of people here can do it.” “Oh, no they can’t,” said Ron. “It’s not a very common gift. Harry, this is bad.” “What’s bad?” said Harry, starting to feel quite angry. “What’s wrong with everyone? Listen, if I hadn’t told that snake not to attack Justin —” “Oh, that’s what you said to it?” “What d’you mean? You were there — you heard me —” “I heard you speaking Parseltongue,” said Ron. “Snake language. You could have been saying anything — no wonder Justin panicked, you sounded like you were egging the snake on or something — it was creepy, you know —” Harry gaped at him. “I spoke a different language? But — I didn’t realize — how can I speak a language without knowing I can speak it?” Ron shook his head. Both he and Hermione were looking as though someone had died. Harry couldn’t see what was so terrible. - Chamber of Secrets

Ok, so why Hermione would look so stricken I dunno, maybe anxious, but I'll give it a pass because Harry Don't Know Feelings let's go with that. So Ron somewhat explains "this is bad" (but he does describe Parseltongue as "a gift", so, yknow, he wouldn't cut off someone's tongue if they spoke Parseltongue, I see you there you people who think Slytherins are "oppressed"), because in popular opinion this is bad. He explains to Harry why that looked bad, why people reacted the way they did, and what is Parseltongue.

“It matters,” said Hermione, speaking at last in a hushed voice, “because being able to talk to snakes was what Salazar Slytherin was famous for. That’s why the symbol of Slytherin House is a serpent.” Harry’s mouth fell open. “Exactly,” said Ron. “And now the whole school’s going to think you’re his great-great-greatgreat-grandson or something —” “But I’m not,” said Harry, with a panic he couldn’t quite explain. “You’ll find that hard to prove,” said Hermione. “He lived about a thousand years ago; for all we know, you could be.” - Chamber of Secrets

And all those are credible informations to garner out of a textbook! Especially from Hogwarts, A History which would probably give a bit of detail about the founders and their Houses.

And then compare and contrast with Deathly Hallows...

‘And as for this book,’ said Hermione, ‘The Tales of Beedle the Bard… I’ve never even heard of them!’ ‘You’ve never heard of The Tales of Beedle the Bard?’ said Ron incredulously. ‘You’re kidding, right?’ ‘No, I’m not!’ said Hermione in surprise. ‘Do you know them, then?’ ‘Well, of course I do!’ Harry looked up, diverted. The circumstance of Ron having read a book that Hermione had not was unprecedented. Ron, however, looked bemused by their surprise. - Deathly Hallows

Ho ho ho ho ho ha ha ha ha ho ho Ron read a book??? Shock! Bewilderment! Unprecedent!! Imagine Ron being literate!! Ho ho ho ho ho!!!

... yeah, but...

‘A book?’ said Harry, as he took the rectangular parcel. ‘Bit of a departure from tradition, isn’t it?’ ‘This isn’t your average book,’ said Ron. ‘It’s pure gold: Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches. [...]’ - Deathly Hallows

Hm. I wonder if Hermione has read that book? Who am I kidding, of course she hasn't, otherwise she'd have FUCKING REALIZED SHE NEEDED TO BE MORE PROACTIVE IN PURSUING RON INSTEAD OF PLAYING TSUNDERE AND LAUNCHING CANARIES AT HIM.

Ahem, heh, yeah. That's, the state of the writing in Deathly Hallows. Years of being told how awesome Hermione is for reading books and regurgitating what she read (aka a thing tons of kids do in their youth because kids are curious little buggers and love sharing their discoveries with others) really took their toll.

[lilies-and-chaos]

Watched this video and I have some Thoughts because for a very long time I've wondered if I'm autistic.

I feel like I have to qualify that claim, to explain myself, because despite watching a video breaking down and analyzing self-diagnosis, it doesn't feel valid to say.

When I was a baby, I didn't respond to my name. I didn't make facial expressions correctly as a young child. I had anger issues that I couldn't control (my younger siblings often looked like they had been scratched by an angry cat. We did not have pets.) and severe anxiety (I frequently had panic attacks, at times almost nightly, even going to the hospital once because I thought I was dying). I was tormented by horrible intrusive thoughts: at 8 years old, I was convinced that I would, one day, kill myself. My mom told me I would go to Hell. We were not religious. I didn't have many friends growing up. The friends I did have were often labeled as troublemakers, but I now realize they were (often) poor, (usually) unsupported, and (likely) neurodivergent. Usually, I would sit and read during recess instead of playing with the other kids. I was a great student and read voraciously, but if I was asked to make an inference about what a character was feeling I could not tell you. I didn't make eye contact until my 5th grade teacher told me and my mom that in middle school, I had to look at the teacher when they were talking. Somehow my mom hadn't noticed my complete lack of eye contact until then. Not that it hadn't been an issue before: teachers would call on me to ask what they had just said, thinking I wasn't paying attention. I was always paying attention. Until I was 13 or 14, I didn't understand symbolism in books or films: I watched La La Land and thought the musical sections were diegetic, that this was set in an alternate LA where people got out of their cars to sing. In 8th grade, I worried that I was a psychopath because I didn't feel as affected about stuff as other people. Between 14 and 16 my upper arms were so sensitive that I'd cry when they were lightly brushed. I've never been able to stomach the feeling of hand rails or rope moving against my skin. I've run my knuckles against the walls while I walk for as long as I can remember. At 18, 19, 20 years old I have cried about my plans changing. I have refused to eat because it wasn't the food I was planning. I rarely feel connected to the people I interact with. It's hard for me to identify my emotions past a general "good" or "bad" feeling. I have been told my voice is "exactly like my sister's," but the one telling difference is my voice is much flatter. I become obsessed with certain topics to the point where I won't talk except about that one topic and I'll forget to eat and sleep and use the bathroom.

Oh, and my RAADS-R score, when I take the exam with my boyfriend and my family helping me answer questions as accurately as possible, is between a 127 and a 148. I've taken it several times over the span of 2 years.

Not all of these experiences are symptoms of autism, which I know. But I included some to show how my parents handle mental health problems. I have anxiety but was not taken to a therapist until I was old enough to realize something was wrong, just told to stop overthinking. My therapist needed to tell my mom that I needed to be put on antidepressants so I wouldn't kill myself before therapy started working because she didn't want me taking medicine. My mom has told me that she suspected I was autistic when I was a kid, but didn't get me tested because I was doing well in school. Never mind that I wasn't doing well in many other aspects.

I've long thought that self diagnosis is not valid. This is despite the fact that every time I've sought and received mental health help, I've been correct about my self-diagnosis. Depression, Anxiety, OCD. Is Autism next?

But watching this video helped me remember that formal diagnoses are not always possible; that diagnoses are putting the human condition in a small box; that psychologists are as fallible and human as I am; that I know myself better than anyone else does. Why should I limit the tools and resources I use because I haven't had a doctor officially say that I'm autistic? If these tools help me function in my day-to-day life, what is truly the difference between me and the hypothetical autistic me?

It doesn't matter too much now. If I am autistic, I am high-functioning (although I am aware that term is not supported anymore). I have painstakingly taught myself the social rules and conventions I need to follow in order to fit in. I can small talk and joke and (apparently poorly) use sarcasm and usually even detect it. Not much would change if I was formally diagnosed. But man. I would love to know.

Ofc I will not say "I have autism" to people but those are my thoughts

[seeingteacupsindragons]

Ooh an ask game! I love those things lol!

1, 11, 14, 23, 24 (I'm sorry if that's a lot)

1. Do you listen to music when you write?

Almost never. It's distracting. If I do manage to get into the writing groove with it on, I never noticed it anyway, so...purpose?

11. Books and/or authors who influenced you the most?

So let's go back to what I really liked in middle school, shall we, as that was some of the most formative writing years for me personally.

The Fearless books

The Night Room (to be fair, I still love this one)

10 Things to Do Before I Die (ditto)

The Pendragon Adventures (ahhhh, the nights I spent up late reading and reading this and wondering about the plot twists)

Like, so many Star Wars books aimed at middle schoolers

Roger Zelazny short fiction. So much.

This is a pretty heavy mix of stuff, but here's some things I know from them that impacted my writing:

The very, very close narration style

The short sentences, paragraphs, and chapters

The incredible vagueness that's meant to unfold as you read and understand it better after a reread or two or many

Trusting readers to figure things out maybe a little too much (I'm working on dialing this back--things like Zelazny and The Night Room were so captivating to me because they didn't fully make sense to me at first, and I often just end up being confusing)

Quippy tangents

Dealing with heavy stuff and off the wall concepts

As of late, I've also been really strongly trying to incorporate some of my more recent loves with things like really trying to emulate the plotting of Miyoshi and Takeuchi and the visual layout of things to adapt to my own writing, and really committing to some of the relationship work and symbolism that makes Jeweler Richard feel so rich. Committing to be strange and vague with what feelings mean. To commit to the Queer, not just the LGBTQIAP+

I think Rob Thurman's writing was what convinced me maybe I could actually write a book with queer characters in it that wasn't like. "Schlock" I think was the word I used most about it back then, because I mostly saw queer characters in really awful BL anime back then or as jokes.

14. How do you deal with self-doubts?

Whine on Twitter and maybe Tumblr and Discord, make sure I took my meds, go to bed, wake up and go back to writing. Eat some ice cream and cry about how I suck at my friends.

(Being my friend is difficult)

23. Favorite author?

Don't have one. I have a number of authors I admire for different things and different craft elements I want to emulate. There's no one specific author I think is best at those things, who I want to emulate most, or whose works I most enjoy. There's just a lot of things I like and want to learn and grow to be more like in various directions.

24. Favorite genre to write and read?

Fantasy and sci-fi, for sure. Always have been.

And after that, probably romance and YA. I write YA fantasy and sci-fi most often in novel form, especially lately, although I've also written plenty of adult ones, and a lot of short fiction in both YA and adult.

Yes, I'm aro, but I like a compelling, well-written romance. I like people being special to each other, and that's a really common way they're special to each other.

But I gotta be in the mood, because sometimes all romance tastes rotten.

[azumasoroshi]

wait ok im thinking im thinking

we have the cute au where geto's reading classic jp lit and gojo's like ughhhghhg ive read enough of this pretentious old man shit at the clan house :((( suguru why do you read this stuff you're so boring but he reads it for suguru's sake anyway

but ALSO. they're adults in this image and the implication of them both reading the same book despite this being after the breakup has me on my hands and knees cuz like. you could go the OTHER direction

where gojo is like lowkey highkey spying on post-defection geto through his walls and tries to read the books he reads (either for himself or miminana) to feel closer to him and like. try to understand him better even in the most mundane ridiculous ways

(gojo with his copy of kokoro: oh natsume soseki we're really in it now)

or like he pays mei mei to stalk geto's purchase history so he'll buy all the same items and brands and calligraphy sets and like. anything geto does he'll try to do too (but it's not enough)

he'll even get the same toys/gifts miminana receieve for megumi/tsumiki and megumi's like wtf why would i want 6 different phone cases and gojo's like lol idk arts and crafts

and then one day he sees geto purchase some like. shounen or digimon manga or something and he's like oh that's weird. miminana never read this and geto never read this stuff at jujutech either

but then he sees megumi reading it one day and he's like oh shit megumi where did you get that and megumi's like. it was on YOUR bookshelf?? it's been there even before we moved in

and gojo's like oh my god...is geto doing the same thing as me. is geto also getting stuff to remind himself of me because he misses me??? and gojo's like super conflicted because he's trying to not let himself go into delulu land but also this is pretty damning evidence right??? right??????

so the next time he spies on geto he sees geto reading it alone with a sad expression on his face and he's like oh it's fucking totally because of me and he impulsively climbs through the window and geto's like oh my god are you here to kill me and gojo's like. uh. um. no? do you wanna read manga with me

he ends up getting really tired because he would always get tired whenever geto read him stuff in his stupid soothing ass asmr voice back in high school but he's like noooo if i fall asleep you're gonna be gone when i wake up

and geto's like. hm. will i be gone? and gojo's like ugghhghhh suguruuuu dont play games with me

gojo does end up falling asleep and it's up to reader interpretation whether geto comes back or not (which. it would be weird if he didn't because it's HIS house but also the angsty symbolism parallels...)

I’m not the same person I was thirty minutes ago

stsg hc that suguru told satoru that he should read more because hes a dummy. satoru is a little salty while hes reading one of suguru’s favorite book (the books they have look similar. satoru’s looks freshly bought while suguru’s looks like hes owned it for awhile)

[stegrossaurus]

The Red Book

The Red Book

by Carla

I remember the night the Morgans died. My parents had been aggressive and on-edge for months; many adults had been. Everyone knew the Morgans were witches and that the livestock deaths and farming accidents were their fault. Then one night, they simply lost it; screaming and howling in fury before running out the door to join the other adults and older children in the mob. They couldn’t look my brothers and me in the eye when they came home the next morning. 

I creep up to the Morgans’ house in the fading moonlight, a little worried that what I'm looking for is already gone. I had to wait a few nights before coming. I didn’t want to risk any witch hunters seeing me. But they’re all gone, just like the Morgans.

The rest of the villagers must have been very determined. The front door is torn off its hinges and there are still pieces of the Morgan family on the floor and walls. All of the smears and flyblown lumps don’t seem to add up to four complete people, so the rest of their bodies must have been taken to the church or the city a few miles away. I hold my nose and search the rooms. 

I’m a little surprised to find what I’m looking for almost immediately after entering the master bedroom. A thick, black book with a Baphomet goat on the leather cover rests on the nightstand. Clearly, the mob was more interested in justice than protocol; I’m certain books like this are meant to be confiscated. 

I flip through the pages, but even in the poor lighting it’s clear that magic is more complicated than it looks. I can’t make heads or tails of most of these diagrams and formulas. It’s so full of spells and rituals and lore that I stuff the book in my pack anyway before I search the other rooms. It’ll probably come in handy, but I need something I can understand. Their oldest daughter (Lottie or Lucy or something) was my age, so if she has her own spellbook, it will probably be simpler and easier to understand.

I find her book, a smaller volume with a wolf’s head imprinted on the red leather cover, next to ripped up poppets and sticky, shattered glass. I can tell immediately that my guess was right: the diagrams and instructions are simpler and many ingredients have a list of potential substitutions attached. I take it and every other bit of magic I can find.

Before I go, I take one last look at the scene. All the red chunks and brown splotches were once people, until other people found out what they were doing. And I’m planning on doing that exact same thing.

“The Morgans were stupid,” I reminded myself. “I won’t get caught.”

Once I’m home, I start reading more thoroughly and I can tell I made a smart choice taking the red book. The spells are a little simple; opening locked doors, putting people to sleep, and other small things. But they’re also easy and don’t require many ingredients. Smearing crushed up flies into a symbol is enough to keep my brother asleep for about an hour. 

The black book is more like an encyclopedia. There’s more about spell theory, the mechanics of magic, and supernatural beasts than any actual spells. That symbol I used for the sleep spell, for example, is meant to bind the microbes in the flies’ exoskeletons to dark matter so it can affect the hypothalamus.

The self-teaching is hard and not just because of the material. Between school and chores on the farm, there is little enough time to learn anything, let alone something that will get me killed if it’s discovered. But when I finally cast my first transmutation spell and watch the old, rusty axehead dissolve into a few gold nuggets, I know the risk is worth it. I just need to be smarter than the Morgans.

The Barclays’ farm is close by and about as poor as we are; they’ll do nicely.

Over the next few weeks, the Barclays crops shoot up, their machines perform perfectly, and Mrs. Barclay’s cough disappears. I think I can even find a spell to give Noah Barclay sight in his right eye again. Meanwhile, every family around them, including mine, is suffering a bit of bad luck. Farming accidents and illnesses just like before with the Morgans.

Lottie (or Lucy, whatever) must have been a prodigy because her additions and notes enhanced the spells massively. A spell meant to make the Carmichaels’ sheep rabid instead made them cannibalistic. A potion to make Kimmy Barclay’s biggest bully wet herself in class made her lose every bit of moisture in her body from every orifice. She looked like a withered piece of wood when she finally died. I meant to make my family’s tractor malfunction but instead, every piece of metal in the barn disintegrated. 

The black book has all of the information on beasts, so that’s what I consult when I want to try summoning and conjuring. There are harpies that can blight an entire field of crops, were-beings that can sniff out magic and hunt down anything with a spell attached to it, even horned and tusked demons that can drive an onlooker mad. I decide on the harpies and a river hag. They’re easy enough to summon, devastating in a farming town, and they’ll leave on their own when they’re done.

So many horrible things all pointing to the Barclays. People are scared, but I need them to be angry. I’ve been turning metal and dirt on their property into gold and gems for a while now and when they’re dead like the Morgans, I can go over there and collect. But I need to get everyone riled up for that to happen. 

There’s a recipe for a sour jar in the black book. It’s supposed to make couples fight and split up, but with the red book’s substitutions, I know I can make my neighbors a bit more hostile. 

I spend the next few days sneaking into my neighbors’ houses to get hair and nail clippings. The recipe calls for cat and dog hair, but wolves and cougars are more violent, so I pay a visit to the taxidermist and snip a few hairs while he isn’t looking. I mix the hairs, clippings, and wolf fur into a paste made from every spicy and bitter herb I can find, adding aconite and ergut to make it stronger. I prepare another paste and mix the cougar fur and trimmings from the Barclays. I mix it with water from a forest stream and leave it to stew under the full moon.

By the end of the week, I’m watching the Barclays’ house from my window, the sour jar hot and bubbling in my hand. My parents are screaming at each other downstairs. Soon my parents and many other adults in town will storm to the Barclay house. When my brothers downstairs start screaming and I hear the door opening, I know it’s only a matter of time. I’m going to be rich!

But why are my brothers running across the lawn and not my parents? And why has the screaming turned to choking and rasping?

I get ready to go down the stairs to check when something lurches to the foot of the stairs. Something hairy, large, and wearing my father’s clothes.

I don’t think. I just run back to my room and slam the door before those creatures can get in. I start tearing through the red and black books, looking for an answer. When they start slamming and scratching at the door, I grab the red book and sour jar, open the window, and jump. The bushes cushion my fall and terror dulls the pain. I pump my legs away from the house. Howling follows me.

What did I do? What do I do now? What went wrong? They weren’t supposed to transform and they certainly weren’t supposed to chase me. But they did and they are and they’re not alone.

There’s howling from the Carmichaels’ farm up the road and from the Florences’ on the other side. The only direction not populated by howling is the Barclays’; the four figures coming from there are hissing and roaring instead. A family of cougars in a pack of wolves and they’re all focused on me. I’m surrounded.

I stop running; there’s no point. They’re not running anymore, either; there’s no need. I smash the sour jar on a rock. They stop for a second, then resume loping forward on all fours. I flip frantically through the book, looking for anything that can help. 

Nothing. No cures or even answers. Nothing I can find in time, anyway. 

They’re close enough that I can see drool dripping from the mother’s fangs. 

“Mama, wait,” I beg as she gets closer. She stops and so does Father. “You remember me, right? It’s me, Carla.” 

They start sniffing me, all of them, and I hold my breath. There’s a glimmer of recognition in my parents’ eyes. They remember! I’m going to be alright!

When Jeremy and Susan Oak wake up, the first thing they notice is that they’re not in their house. And neither are the neighbors next to them. They’re near the road in between their farm and the Barclays’. Their clothes are ripped and there’s blood and meat on their faces and hands. Nearby, there’s a smashed jar of fetid, sticky slime and a red book.

It’s happened again.

The rage, the pain, the lost time, and then waking up bloody in a strange place with an oddly full stomach. 

Neighbors and spouses comforted each other, animosity and blame forgotten. It was witches, they told themselves. Witches had cast dark spells on them and God had punished them through the good people in this town, just like with the Morgans. 

Clearly, that was it.

The Oaks limped home, sore and scared. Was this truly God’s plan? Or was it more magic? And how would they face their children again? Especially Carla.

She was so sweet they didn’t know how they’d stomach facing her.

[wizardo-yo]

Late afternoon classes with Professor Falmea

Where are you sitting?

[dehautdesert]

Agreed with everything and I would also like to add that sometimes... your high school literature teacher is just shitty. I see so many people online share stories about how their teacher interpreted a piece of art and very often if I'm a fan myself it's really obvious that this interpretation was pulled out of the teacher's arse or misunderstands the OG work severely (see all the people claiming that Romeo and Juliet is about teenagers being stupid). But because of the social dynamics of high school and especially the coercion aspect of it you often HAVE to agree with the teacher's opinion or at least talk as if you do, or get labeled stupid or disruptive or have your grade docked otherwise.

Also sometimes not liking certain types of symbolism is a question of taste. Like I hate hate hate the sort of symbolism that has a preestablished "code", like Victorian flower language: pomegranates are symbols of fertility and storms are symbols of emotional turmoil, etc. because to me personally they make the work feel really artificial and unenjoyable. My taste runs towards hyperrealistic plots and narratives that hew closely to specific characters' POVs, so this sense of artificiality caused by too many abstract or symbolical elements really kills my enthusiasm for the work. I can recognize that Bertolt Brecht, for example, was a really good writer, and I can analyze it for hours if you want me to, but I'll never enjoy it because his work has no elements that I enjoy. OTOH I really like idiosyncratic symbolism, as in a certain thing has a certain personal meaning to this character specifically and they react a certain when when it shows up. And I really like annoyingly in-depth analysis of so many other aspects of literary works (I mean come on if we're mutuals you know this and also I'm sorry about the walls of text), so it's not that I was railing against any sort of literary analysis when I shared that joke (because I shared it as well), it's that I was railing against being forced to do a specific type of literary analysis that made the book less enjoyable and meaningful to me just because my teacher liked it. If I can articulate the specific types of symbolism that I dislike and why, I feel that I am probably media literate enough, and perhaps even more so than the random other person who thinks symbolism is a 1:1 cypher (poppies are for grief and sunflowers are for friendship!) and puts no thought behind it (and I've seen people like this - I've seen dark academia girlies ask stuff like "guys what do oranges mean in a book?" and then complain about low media literacy). But to my teacher it wouldn't have mattered that I preferred doing an in-depth psychological character analysis and that my natural MO was reading with this in mind - I also had to know the symbolism behind the colour of Anna Karenina's dress because that was what she was gonna ask me about. People hate being forced to consume art a certain way, and sometimes people who like art hate it more because having a preestablished way in which you MUST interpret something otherwise consequences keeps you from forming a personal relationship with it or enjoying it. I feel like I am more open to various types of analysis, even ones that aren't really my usual MO, now at 29 because I've already had my fill of the things I DO like and enjoyed the hell out of interpreting them the way I personally like interpreting things and now I'm ready to expand my horizons. Whereas in high school I had to dedicate a significant chunk of my time to doing the assigned reading and not being able to form a personal relationship to works that formed a significant percentage of what I was reading over the year was just painful. I feel like it's really important to... follow your own taste and seek out more of what you feel like analyzing, because if you do that enough you'll arrive at everything eventually and otherwise it just becomes a slog.

Basically what that joke was saying to me is, "You know, sometimes I don't really think the symbolism that my teacher is talking about is there, or I'm not interested in this specific type of symbolism, and I wish I was allowed to articulate that."

Quite frankly I think people should get off their high horse about literature because if you can comprehend that, for example, I can enjoy country but not enjoy metal in general, no matter how technically impressive a specific song is, you can comprehend the same thing about literature, you're just being intentionally snobbish and, as OP said, ableist AF. It's not that important, honest.

haha yeah remember like way way back maybe 14 years ago or so when there were users on this website who made those "sometimes the curtains are just blue" jokes & caused all media literacy to die forever more haha yeah haha, hi! hi, i was one of those! i killed all literacy, whoopsie!!!! i guess i just simply never ever learned about symbolism or understood any sort of point of anything in media ever again. i know lol i can't understand color or anything ever it just whizzes right over my head to this very day!!!

so, here's some thoughts to share from my perspective. in my case personally, i liked reading back then. i even liked some books that were assigned reading in school & participated with enthusiasm about them in class. there are some people who didn't like reading in general, and almost every time that's actually because they struggle to read. it is something that is incredibly difficult for them to do & not just general laziness or being ignorant forever on purpose. when you hear "i don't like reading" or "i haven't read a book in years" you might not want to gun it to "idiot" because actually, haha, that word's origin also applied to some people that others thought were not smart or worthy of respect because of a certain disability & having greater difficulty than most people to do something they find basic. instead i would recommend thinking "I wonder why that is," because that total lack of sympathy actually just discourages everyone.

anyway, some assigned reading books did not appeal to me, which made me not want to read them but there was this whole "i have to" aspect to it that made me really like the whole thing less somehow. now, to address any commentary: i can absolutely respect if a book is historically imprortant & one of the best ever written, much like all things. music, films, and art are just the same. i do not deny it. however, knowing that cannot make me enjoy something that i just personally do not. conversely, i can recognize & acknowledge when something is terrible & it sucks, but that won't stop me from enjoying it if i do.

something else very important that i think a lot of people have not considered for quite some time: sharing a joke on the internet does not actually mean that you just go to class and say "fuck you. they're just blue." the thing about school is that they give you the choice of figuring some shit out even if you do not want to at all or failing. lots of people mad about this really forget that in school you do school & on the internet you might share a joke. perhaps it is a joke that is very illiterate, even. you like the joke because you maybe really don't want to talk about symbolism in some book you don't want to read in the building you aren't allowed to leave where you spend hours & hours day after day for years being told you have to do a stack of things that you really do not want to by several adults & at least 1/3 of the town's teenaged population is trapped in this same building as you & this all happens at a stage of life where your brain & libido & emotions are cranking up to "nuclear reaction explosion" & down to "should i kill myself?" levels rapidly back & forth all day for a few years & your parents happen to legally own you & your home life is really a custom mix of making life worse generally— for me personally, there was a villain that i knew in that life chapter who was doing cool things like attempted murder so maybe that had some influence on my permanent illiteracy idk... so the joke really just takes the sting out of that whole carousel of shittiness you're experiencing, because you really would like to just not have to think about shit that you don't want to for just a moment, y'know, like just a little. on behalf of all of us, our deepest apologies about the whole destroying all understanding of media forever. not intentional.

now, incredibly, i actually analyzed & thought about many pieces of media at length & with enthusiasm quite often after my brain had settled down from maximum overdrive & i got to own myself & i wasn't in high school & things of such nature. however, i had slowly been declining in my ability to read which had started in high school, but i don't think that was because of a joke i reblogged. i just leveled up in disability on many fronts & reading became, to my dismay, so challenging that i don't read books anymore. i would sure like to. i like short story collections because my brain & my eyes don't fizzle out quite as much if it's little bursts of story instead of a slow burning candle. i also do the best with graphic novels which are an incredible aid for me. the text being broken up & spread out, the illustration accompaniment because when that "can you picture an apple" meme went around, i became aware that i don't make pictures in my head! it did explain why through all my years of reading in hindsight i simply could not picture things in books the way other people did. as a child, i'd read a book & a friend would ask me how i imagine someone/something looked like & unless there was also a film or illustrations, i just didn't! i didn't know what lots of stuff looked like. i wasn't sure how anyone was doing that.

i think that's all i have to say on this topic. i can say i have become friends with some other people over the years who also shared this joke online & they have managed to also have a grasp of media literacy despite a joke they liked in high school. i personally feel like maybe we shouldn't assume that something you thought was funny as a teenager necessarily continued to be representative of the rest of your life. i would also like to offer the idea that media illiteracy has been a problem for a very, very, very long time, & i'm sure this is an issue with quite a lot of factors & might require a pretty complex plan to improve over time that i don't have a lot of faith will happen any time soon. it would require things like "more support" & "teaching children in different ways because no one learns anything the same way" & already I'm hitting lol nah we aren't doing that x2.

[queen-haq]

Fic: Alive - Part 13

Summary: Aidan traced the thin chain around his neck, rubbing the infinity pendant between his fingers. No longer a symbol of their everlasting love, it was something he touched in anger when he thought of Sage. It was the only thing of hers that still remained with him after eight years, the last possession which still connected them together. When he 4did find Sage again, and he would no matter how long it took, he planned to destroy the pendant - and her.

Taking place across two timelines, Alive tells the story of Aidan and Sage, high school sweethearts driven apart by who they are and where they come from. Once enemies then lovers, their relationship runs full circle when they meet again in the present, now prepared to destroy each other.

My Masterlist (contains links to previous parts)

Rating: NSFW

The car ride was thick with tension, the air filled with such uneasiness Sage wanted to scream. She kept stealing glances at Aidan but he didn't seem to notice, his focus fully concentrated on the road ahead. At least his hand was on hers, their fingers intertwined together, and occasionally when he tightened his grip on her, she was comforted by the thought that he wasn't completely out of her reach – despite the wall of silence he'd put up.

She had confessed to falling in love with him, and although not expecting him to say it back right away – ok, fine, a part of her really hoped he would – she also didn't think he would shut down the way he had. Her outburst seemed to have caused him to withdraw into himself, first telling her he needed to be alone – leaving her sitting in his car at the airport parking lot for almost half an hour – and then declaring he was taking her home. No acknowledgement of her feelings, and definitely no discussion about it.

This cold facet of his was not something she was familiar with. Hell, even when they hated each other Aidan had been hot-blooded and fierce with his cutting remarks designed to bait and provoke a reaction in her, but this... she didn't know how to deal with this and she didn't like it. Unfortunately she was also too much of a coward to do anything about it and so she remained silent along with him.

When he pulled into a hotel parking lot, she was caught off-guard. "Thought you were taking me back."

"I'm tired. We'll head out in the morning."

She walked beside him as he carried her stuff, watched him while he booked them a room using a fake ID – all the while seething with frustration. Once they were alone in their room, she finally snapped. "What the fuck, Aidan? I tell you I'm in love with you and you act like I just gave you the time or something."

Walking away, he sat down on one corner of the bed and proceeded to take his shoes off. "No, you said you think you're falling in love with me. That's not the same thing."

"You're really gonna bitch about semantics?"

"I don't know what you want me to say."

"How about something? Anything? Instead of acting like an asshole?"

"Fine! You want the fucking truth? I wish you hadn't said it. I wish you'd kept that shit to yourself!"

His words hurt more than she'd expected. "Why? Because you don't feel the same?"

Silence ensued while he simply sat there. She didn't know what to do when he was acting this distant. This wasn't like him, not at all. If anything, he was always the one pushing her to open up more, and now that she had – he just seemed like an entirely different person. Something wasn't right. Unsure of what to do, she sat down next to him and reached out to touch his arm. Instantly he stiffened, his body rigid with tension. "Aidan, look at me." He didn't, his gaze still cast downward. "Look at me."

"No."

Reminding herself to be patient, she stood up, moved to kneel down in front of him and cupped his face gently. "What is it? What's wrong?" Now that he was forced to meet her gaze, it was like a dam within him burst.

"I'm a fucking mess, Sage."

The sudden onslaught of anguish in his voice broke her heart. "No, you're not."

Leaning forward, he rested his forehead against hers. "You should be with someone better, not a fuck-up like me."

"Oh, and you think you have the right to decide that for me?"

"That's not what I meant."

"I hope not, otherwise you just implied I'm too stupid to make my own choices."

His eyebrows furrowed in irritation. "I'm really not in the mood for another fight. Can we talk about this tomorrow?"

"No!" she fired back. "You don't get to say something that idiotic and then pull the 'I'm tired' card."

"Fuck!" Frustrated, he fell back on the bed and stared up at the ceiling for a long while, quiet but restless, the hum of his soft breaths the only sound in the room. She contemplated prodding him to speak but knew that would only make things worse. Instead she lay down beside him, waiting, watching, worrying. After what seemed like forever, he finally spoke.

"You know what's the worst thing about being part of my family?"

Her stomach churned with anxiety. Remembering the scars on his body, she placed her hand on his chest – a gesture meant to comfort him as much as herself. "The pain?”

He flinched. “It's not what he does. It's what he says. That if I wasn't who I was, if I wasn't such a fuck-up, if I was a good kid, if I was like Theo, then he wouldn't have to discipline me."

"Stop!" She covered her hand over his mouth. The thought of Aidan believing that crap simultaneously infuriated her and filled her with dread, and she had no idea how to deal with any of it. Sitting astride his hips, she directed him to lock eyes with her. "Your dad is the monster, he's the fuck-up. Not you, never you. Nothing you do or ever did, nothing about who you are justifies how he hurts you. Do you get that? Tell me you get that. Please."

He kissed her palm before moving her hand to speak. "Why are you crying?"

"Because I'm pissed at you! I can't believe you think that about yourself. How could you?"

"Because I've been told that my whole life. My dad, my mom. Even she thinks if I didn't push his buttons, if I just acted like a goody two-shoes when he was around he wouldn't-"

"Your mom's a fucking idiot!" Sage spat out, and instantly regretted her venomous tone upon seeing the flash of anger on his face. When it came to his mom, Aidan was very protective – which was something she didn’t understand considering the woman did nothing to stop the abuse her husband doled out at Aidan. "Sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

"No, you shouldn't have." Reaching up to caress the length of her arms, his hands affectionately rubbed her sleeves. The heat of his touch cut right through the fabric and onto her skin, leaving her tingling all over. Aidan, however, didn't seem to notice as he was lost in his thoughts, distant once again.

"Hey, talk to me," she urged, running her fingers through his hair.

"Cat said I'm hard-wired to be fucked up."

"Dumbass Barbie come up with that all on her own?"

Focusing his attention back on her, a small smile played across his lips. "I love it when you get creative with your insults."

"Does that mean you like me for my brain?"

His eyes twinkled with mischief. "That, your tits, and your exceptional oral skills."

She smacked his chest. "Yeah well, I only like you for your looks."

"Who can blame you? I’m pretty hot."

"And about as sexy as a Ken doll."

"He is pretty fucking sexy."

"Shut up."

"I get so hot when you boss me around."

There seemed to be a shift in his temperament now that he was flirting with her, but she knew him well enough to realise this was simply a way to distract her from discussing his self-esteem issues. Unfortunately for him, she wasn't about to fall for it. When he tried to undo the button of her shirt, she snapped his hand away. "No, I want to talk."

"Then by all means, talk. Don't let me stop you." His gaze wandered over her chest while his fingers busied themselves unbuttoning her shirt again. "If you're naked, I'll pay more attention."

"Liar."

He grinned, and butterflies fluttered in her stomach at the sight of his smile. Sometimes she forgot how strikingly beautiful he was, which seemed strange considering Aidan was supposed to be one of the hottest guys in school, but the fact was she just wasn't attracted to him when he'd treated her like shit. And now, well, everything was different that she'd gotten to know the person underneath the layer of jackassery and fallen in love with him – yet his good looks still caught her by surprise.

As he removed her shirt and threw it to the floor, she became acutely aware of his hard body underneath her. When he ran his thumbs over her nipples, a sharp jolt of electricity surged through her and she trembled. "Aidan?" she murmured, granting him her most flirtatious smile.

He sat up, encircling her in his arms. "Yeah, babe?" He unhooked her bra, skimming his lips along her shoulders.

Fisting his hair, she forced him to look at her. "Do you like it when I suck you off?"

Swallowing an audible breath, he stilled for a minute. "The answer to that question," he replied, his voice hoarse with desire, "is always yes."

"Want me to do it now?"

Aidan cocked his eyebrow. "Yeah."

She gave him a chaste kiss, nibbling his lower lip, before pulling back to look at him. "I will. I'll do whatever you want, but promise me something."

The greens in his eyes darkened, revealing his anger. "Now who's manipulating who?"

"I don't ever want to hear you call yourself a screw-up, or spout any of that bullshit your father says to you. Because none of it's true. None of it. And if there's a part of you that buys into his shit, just remember that I love you." She kissed his left cheek, then the right cheek, before locking eyes with him again. "I love you exactly the way you are."

The tension in him was palpable. His eyes brimmed with an inexplicable darkness that worried her. She waited with bated breath, hoping he would reassure her he loved her too – but then reminded herself that that wasn't important. What really mattered was that he believed he was worth loving.

And then, suddenly, he was no longer frozen but caught in a flurry of movement as his hand fisted the back of her hair, pulling her close, latching his mouth onto hers and kissing her with a fierceness that was both terrifying and thrilling.

While he removed her bra she struggled to do the same with his shirt but eventually gave up because there wasn't any part of her could focus with his tongue assaulting her senses. His fingers traced and marked her skin, digging into her, rough at times and tender during others, playing and taunting, until Sage, breathless and frustrated, finally pulled away. Eyes locked with his, their breath ragged, she reached below to stroke him over his pants before unzipping him to pull out his cock.

The sight of him caused her to catch her breath.

Four nights ago she had given Aidan a handjob for the first time, initially intimidated and then enamored by his naked body. He may not have been the only guy she'd fooled around with, but what she shared with Aidan was so much more intimate than stolen moments with her crushes from before.

Three nights ago was the first time Sage had sucked him off.

Sometimes she wondered if he wanted her to do things differently and was too worried about her feelings to tell her, yet when they were together and she was the sole focus of his attention all of her insecurities seemed to vanish. Every part of her trembled under his gaze, secure in the knowledge he wanted her exactly how she was – inexperienced, imperfect and all.

Instinctively she slipped her fingers inside his mouth. His eyebrow quirked up as he regarded her with surprise and then awe, and the uncertainty she felt about using him to lubricate her hand disappeared. When she wrapped her fingers around his already slick cock, caressing him, he held her stare for only a minute before closing his eyes. Leaning into her for support, he groaned with pleasure against her neck, teeth scraping her skin, fingers bruising her while she pumped him slow and then fast, fast and then slow, working him in a rhythm that followed no pattern.

As she tried to untangle herself from his arms in an effort to kiss her way down his body, he lifted her in one swift motion, rolled over, and pinned her underneath him. Caught under the spell of his penetrating stare, her heart pounded erratically in her chest. "Don't you want me to-"

"Shut up," he ordered, an affectionate smile fleeting across his face as he lowered himself and dropped a kiss on her temple. His lips grazed across her eyelids, tracing along the curve of her nose, her lips, her neck. His mouth closed over her left nipple first, sucking on the puckered nub until she was a quivering bundle of nerves writhing underneath him, and the pleasure intensified even more when he followed suit with the other nipple. Her fingers threaded through his hair, clutching onto him for dear life. It was chaotic and intense, this maddening rush to possess and be possessed by him, and the more he laid claim to her the more she wanted to succumb.

A small bit of sanity returned once he sat back on his heels, positioned between her legs with his hands atop her bent knees, but it quickly diminished once she noted the potent hunger in his gaze. What was it about the way he looked at her that always left her feeling flustered, panicked, wild and out of control – as if she was about to jump off a cliff? And yet, despite the frenzy of all those volatile emotions he evoked, she also knew with complete certainty he'd be jumping right along with her.

Cupping her ass, he raised her hips to ease her jeans and panties down her legs. The cool breeze humming from the air conditioner struck her naked body but it was only heat she felt, heat emanating from the smoldering darkness in his eyes and the warmth of his breath as he nibbled the insides of her thighs. White-hot desire coursed through every nerve and crevice in her body but it all paled in comparison to the sudden shock of ecstasy that swept over her when his mouth found the most sensitive part of her. His tongue lavished her, his lips teasing her clit in such a way she almost jumped up in response, and he moved a hand to her stomach to hold her down.

He fucked her with his mouth and fingers and the pleasure built inside her, hurling her senses towards the ultimate explosion. Her fingers dug into the mattress to alleviate the pressure but it didn't work and so she covered her hand over his and their fingers laced together in a tight grip. Although the force with which he clung to her was painful, it also forged a connection between them in the whirlwind of madness they were both drowning in.

She was his. He was hers. Nothing else mattered as long as they were together.

Her moans escalated to full pitch screams and when orgasm finally struck, it knocked her breathless. Ripples of pleasure flooded over her and she gave into the thrills, surrendering to it completely.

It was the act of him squeezing her hand that eventually brought her back to reality. She opened her eyes and found him studying her, a hesitant expression marking his face.

"Sage, you want me to stop?"

There was a fierce need in his voice but there was also concern. He looked torn, not wanting to push even though he was dying to sleep with her. "Do you have a condom?"

His eyes glazed over with joy, and his face broke into a wicked grin. 'Yeah, of course."

She smirked. "You were that sure you were getting laid tonight?"

"Tonight? No, maybe not tonight." He took a condom out from the back pocket of his trousers. "But I knew it was going to happen, sooner or later. Especially since you can't keep your hands off me."

"Ah, ever so humble."

"Modesty’s for losers."

"Arrogance will get you nowhere, Aidan."

"Not true. It'll get me inside you."

She chuckled. "I should just tell you to go fuck yourself."

"I'd rather fuck you. Way more fun that way."

As he removed the last of his clothes, exposing all the scars that marred his body, her heart ached at the sight of them. How long would the marks be there? Would they ever go away? And then she was struck with the horrible thought of all the new wounds that would inevitably come next. 

"Babe, you still with me?"

Turning her attention back on him, she ran her hand down his chest. "Always."

He greeted her with a sexy lopsided smile before ripping the condom package open.

Panic unfurled in her stomach as she watched Aidan slip on the condom. Although tender and beautiful in his intensity he was also entirely too hard in his current state, and knowing what was about to come next filled her with anxiety. How the hell was he supposed to fit inside her? He was too big. The mechanics didn't make any sense. And she knew – just knew – it was going to hurt like hell. Feeling flustered, her heart started palpitating, so much so she wondered if it could explode out of her chest.

"You okay?" His hand gently tucked a loose strand of her hair behind her ear.

"Yeah."

"Still want to do this?"

Aidan had asked her before if she felt safe with him. At the time her answer had been no but now – she didn't know. Her arms enclosed him, clinging to him, kissing him, and subsequently the fear began to drown in the hurried frenzy of passion that swelled over her. Except he didn't seem to feel any of the urgency she did, not even when her hands swept down his back to cup his ass. Instead his fingers lingered on her skin, delicate and light as feather, while her excitement intensified to the point where she began to unravel from within. Heat coursed through her body, she tingled with excitement. Soon, his all-too-soft caresses were simply not enough. Reacting instinctively, she curved her legs around his waist and arched up against him.

He groaned, the guttural moan drenching in raw sexual energy, before rising above to study her. His gaze cast a spell over her and she lay utterly transfixed under him. Seconds, minutes, hours, she had no idea how much time transpired while she held his stare, lost within the dark desire in his eyes. Her hands ran between his shoulder blades, tracing the scars on his skin, when he bucked his hips to slip inside her.

The sensation of being penetrated was unlike anything she'd experienced before and she gasped, partly due to the discomfort but mostly because of this newly forged intimate bond between them.

Aidan whispered sweet nothings in her ear, cajoling her out of her frozen state, and the soft murmur of his words made her blush from head to toe. Slowly the physical awkwardness gave way to something different. It wasn't pleasure – it hurt too much to be that – but simple exhilaration at the realisation she did feel safe with him. Finally she could accept that her feelings were real, genuine, and this all-consuming fire between them wasn't born out of loneliness but something more meaningful. They were connected forever; it was an undeniable fact, and she didn't have to be afraid of what that meant anymore.

He lowered himself onto her, his weight pressed against her, their skin slick with sweat, arms and legs folded together so she didn't know where he ended and she began. As her body shifted and adjusted to take him in deeper with each thrust, she felt increasingly frantic, and clutched at his back to alleviate the heightened sensation. Gripping him, she kissed the side of his face.

"Hold on."

He rolled over in one swift motion and she found herself on top, straddling him. His hands curved around her waist, lifting her hips in slow strokes, and her eyes widened with surprise at the keen thrills of pleasure that ran through her.

"Like that?"

Her response was a soft moan as her head lolled back, breath coming out in short spurts. She was the one in control now, setting the rhythm, grinding her waist in circles around his cock.

"Sage!" he growled.

Body taut with anticipation, she was edging towards that ultimate rush when he grasped her tightly to maneuver her underneath him once again. Her eyes flew open, taking in the smouldering passion that burned in his gaze. His hands laced through her hair, tugging at her strands, and an expression of pure ecstasy crossed his face.

"Fuck!" He came hard inside her, his body shuddering at the intensity of it.

She held him for the next little while, caressing him lovingly while he buried his face in her shoulder.

When he spoke next, his voice was hoarse, breathless, and filled with disappointment. "Sorry."

She tried to get him to look at her but he refused to budge, his face still resting in the crevice of her neck. "Aidan, it's okay."

He didn't acknowledge her words, instead nipping her neck as his fingers found her way to her clit, thumb brushing against the tightened nub, teasing it, stroking it. Within seconds her body convulsed, trembling, tightening around him as pleasure flooded over her.

*****

Later that night she was awakened by the sound of Aidan closing the bathroom door. He climbed into bed beside her, she turned around to face him. Light streamed in through the window, casting shadows that danced across his skin. Marvelling at his incandescent glow, she wondered how it was possible he could look so volatile yet serene at the same time. Then again, he was a study in contradictions. It was one of the things she loved about him.

Giving her a small smile, he pulled her close. His fingers played with her hair, hers drew lazy circles on his skin. The air hummed with comfortable silence between them.

"I wanted everything to be perfect for you."

She smiled into his chest. "It was."

"Come on. I couldn't even wait long enough for you to come," he said, sounding angry.

A soft blush spread across her cheeks. She still wasn't used to discussing sex with the same frankness he did, but she forced the shyness aside. "It doesn't matter."

"Yeah, right."

Remembering that Aidan measured his self-worth in how great he was at sex, she reached up to cup his face. He reluctantly met her gaze, the shame in his eyes breaking her heart. "My first time was with a guy I love. How many girls can say that?"

"Love isn't all it's cracked up to be."

She pulled away, taken aback by the bitterness in his voice. There seemed to be nothing she could say to make him feel better, and was quickly reaching the point where she was too exhausted to try.

"I'm sorry," he sighed, balancing his head on her pillow. "I know I'm being an ass."

"Yeah, you are."

"I told you, I wanted things to be perfect."

"If they were, I wouldn't be here with you right now. I'd still be in Chicago and you'd probably be with Cat."

"Don't bring her into this. She has nothing to do with us."

"Except she's my sister and you slept with her," Sage pointed out, leveling him with a keen gaze. "Don't you think that bothers me? That I really fucking hate it? But it happened, and there's nothing I can do about it." Turning her back on him, she faced the wall. "You keep telling me to accept things the way they are now. I'm trying, It's not easy, but I am trying. Question is, are you?"

Resting his chin on her shoulders, he laced his fingers through hers. "She doesn't matter, not anymore, and it's not like I'm ever going to have sex with her again."

"Because she dumped you?" Sage muttered.

He tucked his fingers under her chin and directed her to meet his eyes. "Because you're the only one I want. You. That's it. I'm done with hot girls."

"Gee, thanks."

"If I promise to stop acting like an ass, you swear to let it go and forget about Cat?"

"There's no way in hell you'll be able to keep that promise. You're a born jackass."

He smirked, pressing a soft kiss against her lips. "True. Okay, how about this? I promise never to fuck her again."

"You mean that?"

"Yeah. Absolutely."

"Even if we break up at some point?"

His body stiffened. A dark expression covered his face, reminding her how nervous she felt when the angry intensity in him took over. "We're never breaking up."

There wasn't a hint of doubt in his words, his voice filled with complete confidence.

Before she could respond his mouth latched onto hers, kissing her with an urgency that left her incoherent and totally, completely caught in the spell he weaved.

*****

Now...

Picking up his pants from the floor, Aidan started dressing himself before taking a seat on one corner of the bed. As he put on a pair of socks, a sultry voice interrupted from behind.

"Leaving already?"

Looking over his shoulder, his appreciative gaze roved over Cat's very naked, very sexy body. Straight, blond hair reached just above her shoulders, her tanned skin complimenting those striking blue eyes. She was fucking gorgeous and fully aware of it.

He smirked. "Don't want your boyfriend to come home early and find me here."

Crawling into bed behind him, she rested her chin on his shoulders, her fingers undoing the very same buttons he'd just fastened. Her tongue traced the curve of his ear seductively. "Wouldn't it be so much fun if he did?"

"You just want two guys to fight over you."

"Well, duh. Who doesn't?"

"I don't like kicking a guy when he's already down. And seeing as I just fucked his girlfriend-"

"Always the gentleman, I see."

He stood up to search for his shoes, pausing momentarily to admire Cat's small, perky breasts as she lay down on the bed in front of him. One thing he really admired about Cat was her absolute confidence in herself. Most women in his experience, especially the more beautiful ones, needed constant assurance about their looks. Cat, on the other hand, didn't need or care for other's opinions, the only one that mattered was her own.

"I was thinking-"

"That can't be good." Flashing an incorrigible smile, he fished out his shoes from underneath the bed where it must have landed earlier when they were ripping each other's clothes off.

"Of moving back to Cali," she continued, ignoring him.

"And leaving poor Bob behind?"

"It's Robert, not Bob, and yeah. I'm getting tired of him. The other day he was talking about getting married."

"To you? He's obviously nuts."

"Hey!" she protested, picking up on his mocking tone. "Anyway, marriage isn't my thing, you know that. So I'm thinking of cutting him loose."

"You can dump the guy and still live here. You don't have to move back."

"I'm tired of New York," she sighed. "Maybe I can crash at your place for a few months."

He stilled, giving her an incredulous glance. "Because you're hard up for cash?"

"No, asshole. I just thought it might be fun."

Walking over to the dresser, he sprayed some mousse onto his hand and ran his fingers through his wet hair, attempting to rein it under control. Studying his reflection in the mirror, he regretted not shaving the scruff on his face when he showered earlier. Unfortunately he had a meeting with his agent in less than an hour and, considering that was the purpose of him coming to New York, it would be foolish of him to be late.

"Are you ignoring me?" Cat asked from behind, irritation evident in her tone.

He turned around. "Look, you and I both know that's a stupid idea."

"You can still sleep with other people," she huffed. "I plan to."

He smiled at her matter-of-fact tone. Always practical when it came to sex, Cat wasn't one to be tied down by emotions. Another thing he admired about her. "Let me think about it?"

Glaring at him, she sat up. "Are you kidding me?"

"What?" he snapped back. "I like my own space."

"No, you're worried if I stay with you I won't let you mope around like you do now. That is, when you're not fucking everything that moves."

"That's rich coming from you."

"Fuck off! At least I'm not a pathetic loser who's still hung up on a high school relationship."

Furious rush of rage flooded over him but he refused to lose control in front of Cat. He knew damn well she would file that away in her memory and use it to taunt him in the future. "I'm not going to talk about this with you."

"She dumped you. Get over it!"

"Says the girl begging to move in with her high school boyfriend."

In one swift motion Cat picked up the lamp on the nightstand and threw it at him. He swerved out of the way just in time and the lamp struck the table instead, breaking into pieces upon contact.

"You really think she's pining over you? Oh, please. She's moved on to bigger and better things, unlike you who's still chasing after her like a bitch in heat."

Although the thought of Sage being happy without him made Aidan want to retch, it also helped fuel his need for revenge, to destroy everything she held dear. Hell, her moving on was a good thing, he assured himself, because then the satisfaction of breaking her apart would be even greater. And when the hold she had over him was finally severed, he would be free again. Normal. No longer consumed by Sage. Lost in thought, he didn't notice when Cat picked up a pillow and flung it at him.

"Hey Einstein, did you ever wonder why you still haven't found her?" Cat taunted, a cruel sneer twisting her face into a hateful scorn.

Naked or not, she was the farthest thing from sexy at this very moment.

"I mean, even you can't be that dumb. You must realise there's a reason your private dicks haven't turned up anything useful."

His eyes narrowed on her face, his stomach twisting into coils. "What are you babbling about, Cat?"

She gave him a smug grin. "Dad's been paying them off. I really thought you'd figure that out by now. Guess I gave you too much credit."

At first it felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. He was angry, then confused, and angry again, his emotions scurrying all over the place as her words registered in his brain. And then, just as suddenly, a cold, controlled calm settled over him. Everything fell into place, it all made sense again. Cat was right. He really should have figured out sooner why the private detectives he'd hired had never been able to get anything concrete on Sage, but in his quest for revenge logic had taken second place to his emotions.

"What? Nothing to say?"

She was waiting for him to explode, but he couldn't care less. "Thanks, Cat. I'll see you around." Within seconds he was out of the apartment and heading towards his hotel, the meeting with his agent no longer a priority. Truthfully, he had far more important things to do, like going back to California and interrogating Thomas about Sage.

@bustlingcrowdsxorxsilentsleepers​, @idaofinfinity​ - tagging :)

[heartbreaktrio]

So!! Recently I’ve been in a kinda pony kick, especially with making a story around my ponysona cause I am cringe but I am free. 

I’m the yellow horse the other @the-lost-disc-collective​‘s ponysona!!! Lore under and references under the cut

I won't explain Tommy's Ponysona's character too much because well, it's Tommy's ! But I will talk about how they relate to mine and that their name is Cleftnote, Celfty/Cleffy for Short and they're a zombpony :] ! So, Let's start of with my Pony! Finch Call aka "Calamity" They / (sometimes He)

Finch Call is an adult pony without a Cutiemark. Due to mental health issues, they dropped out of school as a teenager and "never got around to" finding their cutiemark. They currently live with their parents Downstage House and Jaye Bird in ponyvile. They mostly spend time alone, either by the pond outside of town or in Twilight's Library (this was before she became princess twilight), reading mysterious Books and taboo and black magic. They picked up the hobby of looking into that kind of stuff due to a slight hyperfixation they have on flying. They wish they where a Pegasus like their mother, and thought there was maybe a spell that could transform them into a an actual Pegasus, however... since they aren't a Unicorn and "earth ponies can't perform magic", they knew it was nothing but a pipe dream. At least the Books are interesting. It's also where they got their other name! They saw "Calamity" in a book once and thought it was interesting and sounded cool, so took it up as a kind of Monitcor, something they would like their friends to call them.. if they had any. Also probably for gender reasons. So, you can often find them reading weird books, and even trying to cite incantations, but nothing ever happens since they're just a earth pony. Until one day, it did. (They also have a somewhat uncanny ability to sense the fourth Wall, not break it like Pinkie or Discord, just when things are off. Either something is inconstant in the background or the Art, slight knowledge of the future, and so fourth. It isn’t crazy powerful and it’s nothing BIG, just a ever so slight sense that comes around every now and then.  Explanation is they literally constantly hang around, touch, and say taboo dark magic things all the time so a little bit rubbed off on em djhdfjk) Now! The Parents /neu Jay Bird He / Him

 Jaye Bird is a slightly sarcastic and somewhat charming Unicorn colt who is very logical and grounded. He wants to take care of his family and friends and will kill himself to do it. His talent is “Fixing things with magic”, however most people assume he’s some kind of mechanic or builder, a physical fixer due to how his cutiemark represents this with a Wrench. His talent is more so focused on his logical nature and focus on fixing problems of any kind with his intellect, knowledge, and magic ability.  Downstage House She / Her

Downstage is a Pegasus Mare with a talent for Acting, however she’s also found other ways to use it outside of just performing on stage. She has a good eye on people and can read them well, as well as good at general public speaking and dealing with Crowds.  Her cutmark also represents her personality to a good extent, so symbolism fans this is for you /silly

[hylianengineer]

To Kill A Mockingbird by Harper Lee. In hindsight, it's definitely got its issues, but this is the book that made me fall in love with classic literature in 7th grade. The symbolism holy shit. The layers. I don't know if I'd recommend it to others anymore - certainly not as a book about racism when there's so many others that are better and actually written by people of color. It is well-written and a solid book about coming of age, but again, many other books do that well and perhaps better.

A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens. I read this in high school. It taught me that 150 year-old books can still be fucking hilarious and I'm still not over that discovery. It also continually blew my mind with imagery and metaphors, like holy shit, you can do THAT with words?! To me this book kind of symbolizes falling in love with literature again, a point in my life where I was starting to have energy and motivation to read stuff like this outside of school.

Braiding Sweetgrass by Robin Wall Kimmerer. This is a modern classic in environmental studies, and I cannot imagine who I would be without it, as an environmental scientist or as a person. This is a book about hope, about completely altering the ways we interact with the world, to view non-human life as neighbors and friends, even kin, instead something lesser than us. If you've ever thought that maybe humans are just irredeemably bad at peaceful coexistence, I am begging you to read just one chapter of this book, because it will prove to you that you're wrong. We haven't always been this way, we still aren't universally this way, and it doesn't have to keep being the norm. This book also taught me that being able to imagine a better future is a key step to building one. This is not a niche book for environmentalists, although Kimmerer is a botany professor - this is a book for everyone.

A Sand County Almanac by Aldo Leopold- this is a foundational text in ecology and environmental ethics, and it's still just as relevant today as when it was written - in nineteen fucking forty-nine! Leopold just gets what it's like to care about the natural world in a way people around you don't, and his perspectives on it turned my world upside down in the best possible way.

The Spirit Catches You and You Fall Down. This is one of those books that makes me feel like my brain has been turned inside out and the way I see the world is never gonna be the same. It's a case study in medical anthropology, but reads like a novel, and I am warning you right now it will break your heart. It's about the ways people in different cultures perceive 'illness,' what happens when very different cultures meet in the context of healthcare, how we can try to understand and accommodate each others' differences, and, tragically, what happens when those attempts fail.

White Lies About The Inuit. This is just a really good book that I would encourage all non-Inuit people to read, because it will teach you all the dumb stereotypes you didn't know lived in your brain, then deconstruct where they came from, why they're wrong, and what you ought to know instead. If you've ever heard someone say 'the Inuit have 50 words for snow', wondered why the term Es*mo is controversial, or just really wanted to see some dead anthropologists get shamed for being racist pieces of shit, this is the book for you. As an anthropology student, it's a really excellent lesson in questioning our predecessors, even the most respected ones.

Happy Monday! Bookish question of the week: what is one book that changed you, how so, and would you recommend it to others?

Please use this opportunity to engage with community members

[bubblegumbeech]

Passing Through

Dannymay Day 5: Doorway

“Don’t go in there,” his mother warned. Her voice shook. “Never go through that door.”

Danny had no intention of ignoring his mother, especially since the night she’d given him that warning was seared so thoroughly in his mind he didn’t think even as an adult he’d ever forget it.

It had been dark, but not any darker than any other night with Danny’s myriad nightlights and glowing stars stuck everywhere he could reach and then some. The night had long since settled, and Danny was supposed to be sleeping and was instead, like any young child, not doing that.

In fact, he’d been staring out his window, arm balanced on the sill and face pressed up against the glass so he could see the night sky in all her glory. It was one of the only times he felt truly comfortable, alone and with his parents and sister asleep. He often imagined himself sailing amongst those stars. Or flying high enough to reach out and cradle one to his chest. 

Jazz always told him that was impossible, that each star was as far away from each other as they were from earth, if not further. He told her she could eat dirt, and she got a hurt look in her eyes that made him feel bad, but he didn’t apologize because she was being mean first. 

He’d been preoccupied, that’s why he didn’t notice it at first. 

When the soft pink touch of the sun started obscuring the night’s stars, Danny realized he’d been up all night and he was probably going to fall asleep in class again. He turned around to quickly dive into bed to at least feign having slept so his parents didn’t scold him and feel like they had to check in on him at night the way they threatened to last time. 

He hadn’t expected the door. 

It was small, very small compared to a normal door. It was just large enough that Danny could crawl through on all fours, and he knew there was no way his dad would ever be able to get through. At least not more than an arm. Maybe his head if he tried to dive through it.

The door was closed, a soft, purple light on the other side painting the carpet beneath where it stood, balanced, in the middle of the room. Acting as if it was placed in the wall like any good door, but missing the wall itself entirely. 

Danny walked closer, his mind off bed times and getting ready for school entirely. Now he was thinking of adventures and stories Jazz used to read him before he could read himself. Stories of exploration and hidden worlds. His hand brushed against the polished brass handle, and a jolt of electricity flowed through him, causing every hair in his body to stand on end. 

He probably should have let go then, released the handle and backed up, frightened. But instead Danny’s grip tightened and he twisted the nob, pulling it slowly open, his heart beating in rapt anticipation. It was barely open a sliver, the tiniest bit of purple light spilling out onto the frame, when his mother ran into the room and slammed it closed. 

She was wearing a hazmat suit, as if she’d just come from the lab downstairs, with thick rubber gloves and ominous red goggles that reflected a twisted version of Danny’s face back at him as she pulled him into a tight, unforgiving hug. 

“Thank goodness you’re safe,” she said, her words heavy with exertion. Had she run up here? How did she know there was a door? 

Danny looked over his mother’s shoulder to take another look, but the door had vanished at some point when his eyes were no longer locked upon it. That was when she gave him her warning. The one he had no intention of ignoring.

The one he was disregarding now, for no reason other than he was sick of it. He was tired of the nights, laying awake and seeing a door that promised so much and had yet to be given the opportunity to deliver. 

His mother would skin him alive if she knew, but she’d probably never find out. Honestly, if Tucker’s theories were true and it was some monster trying to trick him into its lair Coraline-style, it’d probably take at least a week for her to even realize he was gone. His dad probably wouldn’t notice at all. 

Jazz…

Danny shook his head. If anything, Jazz would be the one to forgive him for being dumb. She understood what it was like to have this burning curiosity, this need to know. 

The door didn’t always appear. Most nights it did, but only when Danny was distracted by something, usually the stars outside his window, sometimes a particularly fun video game or a good book. It only ever appeared right on the cusp of night and morning, before the sun rose fully but after the stars hid away. And it always waited for him to look away before it disappeared. 

He didn’t plan on looking away tonight. 

The first night after his mother’s warning, he’d stayed up all night, terrified, waiting for the door to appear. It never did. In fact, the next month, he spent every second awake expecting it to appear and being almost disappointed when it didn’t. 

It appeared again, in much the same way it had the first time, while Danny was star gazing. 

That’s why, now, knowing the rules (or rather what few rules he could tell from this side of the door), Danny was determined to follow through. None of his questions would be answered just waiting for the door to appear or not appear, nor would they be answered by spending time staring at it and studying it from the outside. 

He needed to go through.

The brass knob was cold against his palm, and it turned easily. The click of the mechanism was loud in the night’s quiet. He held his breath. He opened the door.

There was no resistance when it swung open. Almost the opposite, in fact, like it had been waiting for an excuse. The soft purple light that had teased the edges of the door was much closer to a deep, swirling purple that looked almost like mist and obscured the path forward. 

But Danny wasn’t scared. 

He was curious. 

He stepped through, and heard the door close softly behind him. Just like in a horror movie really, and exactly like the stories his mother told him, warning him of monsters and things from the other side. 

It didn’t matter anymore, if he’d made the right choice. He’d made his choice and there was only one path to take. Danny walked into the mists and kept walking.

No more than an hour could have passed, but it felt like much longer. Time seemed to stretch along with the endless path, and Danny hadn’t come any closer to the answers he wanted. 

He sighed. “Hello? Is anyone here?” he tried calling out, to no avail. 

This was turning out to be a waste of a trip. With all the cryptic warnings, he’d hoped it wouldn’t be boring at the very least, yet here he was. The only difference between this and one of Sam’s ‘nature hikes’ was that Danny couldn’t see anything through the damned purple mist.

Or could he?

Danny squinted his eyes, catching something moving just to his left. It was very much hidden, the deep purple of its cloak camouflaged perfectly against the swirling purples all around him. He took a step closer, off the path, and felt the air still around him.

A voice, haunting and deep, startled him. 

“A quick learner,” it said. 

Danny felt his mouth go dry. There was actually someone here, someone that might not be human. Someone that could summon a door into a kids room for half a decade waiting for them to open it. 

Someone who might have answers.

Danny stepped closer, and the mist seemed to gather, catching on itself and folding into a physical shape. The hooded figure. Danny forced himself not to blink. It felt like anything was possible, that if he looked away, he’d miss too much to make sense of it later. 

The hooded figure turned to him and beckoned with one gloved hand, the other holding a twisting, intricate staff covered in shapes and symbols Danny couldn’t quite make out. Danny didn’t step any closer.

It was clear this man wasn’t human, or at the very least hadn’t been for some time. The only thing Danny could see hidden under the cloak was an old clock. But even then, Danny couldn’t tell whether it was something he was wearing on his chest or if it simply was his chest and there was nothing else.

“You’re still cautious, even now when you’ve already made your decision?” the figure asked. “Did you not seek an answer to your curiosity?”

Danny frowned. This whatever-it-was knew more than he was comfortable with. Had he been watching from the other side? How? Is that why the door only appeared when it did? Why couldn’t he just open the door and step out if his goal was to spirit Danny away like in the stories? 

There were just so many questions, and Danny still didn’t have any answers. 

“Do you actually have any answers or are you just going to eat me?” he asked, growing irritated. It had been a long night, made longer by his fruitless walk, and it was starting to affect his temper.

Instead of answering, the figure lowered his arm, tilting his head to the side. “If you thought I was going to eat you, why did you come through the door? You’ve been very good at ignoring it so far.” 

“Yeah see,” Danny said, throwing up his hands, “that kind of stuff only makes you sound more creepy and suspicious, you know! If your goal is child eating you should set up, idk a candy house or something. Pretend to be a grandma, I hear that works wonders provided you stay out of your own oven.”

The figure laughed. It sounded, off, not like a noise Danny recognized, but more like a collage of sounds: a ticking clock chiming with heavy clanking clockwork all wrapped in canary song and it vibrated all the way through Danny from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. It filled the air around them much like the mist once did and Danny felt glee himself, caught up as he was.

He looked up desperately at the figure, trying to keep ahold of himself and how he truly felt, lost in the sudden sea of emotion. The figure’s cloak was bunched up, as if he was doubled over in laughter, his gloves clutching at his staff and the entire collection shaking with slight tremors.

The hood turned towards him, empty, and Danny’s panic spiked. The laughter stopped, and the figure stood once more, pulling the hood further down and hiding the nothingness underneath.

“I apologize,” he said, sincere. “It’s been some time since I’ve felt in such good humor, and you took me off guard. I hope you didn’t get too swept away?”

Danny, who was still definitely feeling the effects of the other’s laughter, shook his head no. “I’m alright. I just- what are you?”

“I am like Clockwork,” he answered readily. “Though the question you should be asking, Daniel, is what are you? That is a much more interesting answer.”

Disagreeing vehemently, Danny shook his head. Like Clockwork? Was that his name? Why he had a clock, er, was a clock? How did that work? What was he? Simply what his name implied? Something more? There were a billion and a half questions he wanted answers to that were more interesting than that. 

Then again, there had to be a reason he said it, right? “Okay Clockwork, I’ll bite. What am I?”

He could swear the thing smiled. “You are halfway there.”