#now I really want some Welsh Cakes :(

[jamdoughnutmagician]

you know you’re a hardcore fan when you’re using the Portuguese name for the tarts!

What are Welsh cakes?

Just to give them their official title! 😅

Welsh cakes or picau ar y maen are flat little, almost scone-like cakes with sultanas and raisins and spiced with things like cinnamon and nutmeg! They're delicious and a cornerstone in Welsh culture!

[humbledragon669]

Lockdown Episode Write Up P1 – tableaus

Introduction

So, first things first, just in case you haven’t seen it, or want to see it again, you can watch this little bonus episode here. It takes place between seasons one and two and consists of a series of static “tableaus” with a voiceover of a telephone conversation between Crowley and Aziraphale. In truth, I think its purpose was largely to serve as a public service announcement for people to contribute to the “Stay At Home” campaign that the UK government had enacted as part of its Covid-19 prevention/reduction efforts, though I’m sure it was also a bit of fun to make for the anniversary of the book, and probably gave Michael, David, and some editing crew something to do for about an hour or so. The script never mentions Covid-19 directly, but I think we can assume (given the timeline between the seasons) that the time setting is 2020, May 2020 to be exact.

Despite the fact that it’s less than 4 minutes long (including opening and closing credits), there’s actually quite a lot to say about this sweet little thing (I’m going to call it a minisode from this point on – yes, I know that word has particular connotations for season 2, but we’re not there yet, so minisode it is). I don’t think there’s much linking the dialogue with the images (apart from the cake sequence), so I’ve broken this write-up down into tableaus and dialogue, because there are just as many Easter eggs (maybe more) to be had from the tableaus as there are from the script. Some of the later tableaus are reiterations of earlier images, so I’ve bundled them together where I can for brevity. I have also only commented on the items in the tableaus that can be clearly seen and aren’t out of focus.

This part of the write-up will address just the tableaus, with the dialogue addressed in a separate write-up. As a final bit of uniquity, I’ve placed tableau #12 at the end of the write-up as it’s a wider shot of a lot of the objects we see in other images, so anything left not yet addressed can be done there. Right, housekeeping done, let’s get stuck in shall we?

Tableaus

Tableaus #1and #18

Contents:

A plate of sushi, complete with chopsticks

Multiple piles of books (unfortunately I can’t discern what any of them are).

A drawing of Aziraphale.

What looks like the edge of a map – this will be covered in a later selection of tableaus.

Nothing too cryptic in this compilation of objects – it’s fairly obvious from them and the effects on Crowley’s voice that we (the audience) are in Aziraphale’s bookshop. The sushi and the books are pretty obvious connections to the angel, but I don’t think we’ve known him to be an artist (and a pretty good one at that) before now. The one thing I will say about the use of a plate of sushi in this first tableau is that it makes for a nice parallel to the opening of season 1 – the first time we see Aziraphale in the present day, it’s in a sushi restaurant.

Tableaus #2 and #17

Contents:

A G.K. Chesterton book.

A drawing of Crowley.

A plate of Welsh cakes (links into the cake sequence).

An old map of Oxfordshire – this will be covered in a later selection of tableaus.

A magnifying glass, presumably for looking at the map with.

Alright, now we’re getting into some neat little Easter egg territory. I’m fairly sure there is a reference in the book somewhere to Chesterton being one of Crowley’s favourite authors, but I’m not sure where. It is singled out in the dedication in the front of the book though, so it must be in there somewhere. And then there’s the drawing. It’s very difficult to tell, but in tableau #2 it looks like it might be the other half of the drawing we saw of Aziraphale. Which would mean that drawing is of the two of them together. Drawn by Aziraphale. In a very romanticised way. As much as I really want to believe that, we can see in tableau #17 that this isn’t the case. It’s a nice mental suggestion though.

Tableau #3

Contents:

More books.

A steaming mug (presumably of cocoa).

The objects here are pretty innocuous. The mug is the same one that we see Aziraphale using in season 1 when he sits down to look at Agnes Nutter’s book (and we see it used again in season 2, but we’re not there yet).

Tableaus #4 and #11

Contents:

A bottle of Courvoisier (cognac).

More books.

A glass, presumably containing Courvoisier.

I can’t quite work out what the text on the spine of the uppermost book is – all I can make out is ???WEN ?????YSON – so if anybody has worked this one out I’m all ears (I did Google for all of about two minutes). As far as the Courvoisier is concerned, I have assumed that’s what Aziraphale and Crowley are drinking at the end of episode one, although it comes from a decanter and there’s no bottle in sight (and in fact the Script Book stipulates that they’re drinking whiskey at this point), so an assumption is all it is. I can’t think of any other times that our hero pair drink hard spirits together in season one, but I’m happy to be corrected.

Tableau #5

Contents:

A stack of books, including:

Homer’s Iliad, Vol. II.

Something by G.K. Chesterton published by The Bodley Head, possibly Orthodoxy.

Forbidden Rites: A Necromancer’s Manual of the Fifteenth Century, by Richard Kieckhefer.

Collected Verse, by Hilaire Belloc.

The Club of Queer Trades, by G.K. Chesterton.

A framed picture. The image in the frame is part of this work, described as a woodcutting of witches and devils dancing in a circle from 1720.

Alright, let’s take a look at those books. First up, Homer’s Iliad, specifically Vol. II in this instance. Honestly, I tried to do a bit of research about what this book might contain, but I got bored within reading the first paragraph of the summary, and I have never read the classic poem in its entirety. Don’t get me wrong, I love to read (I mentally inhale books if given the chance), but I have always struggled with classical literature. If anyone can sum up what this volume is about in three sentences (instead of the three long paragraphs I found), I’d very grateful. For now, let’s just say it’s about the Trojan war, specifically the setting of the scene for that coming war. Maybe that’s a subtle reference to the events to come in season 2, but it feels like a stretch.

 There are two Chesterton books in the pile. Given that Chesterton is supposedly Crowley’s favoured author, I find it interesting that Aziraphale has so many of the author’s works lingering around within reach. Has he pulled these out of his collection to gift/lend to Crowley? Or is he reading them purely because he knows that Crowley likes the author? Has he placed them there to make the demon feel at home when he’s at the bookshop? Whatever the reason, there’s perhaps something to be said about the choice of these particular books. The first, Othodoxy, is a companion book to Chesterton’s earlier work, Heretics, which was a collection of essays refuting non-religious beliefs and defending Christianity. Chesterton described Orthodoxy as an account of his personal journey to embracing Christianity and its values, including the concept that biblical paradoxes are actually essential for satisfying the human need for conflict. Bit of a mouthful all of that, isn’t it? Pretty sure it ties it rather nicely to the ideas put forward in both seasons that Heaven and Hell must both exist in order for free will to be effective. I think. I don’t think I’m wording that very well, but you probably get the message. On the other hand, The Club of Queer Trades is a much lighter book of short stories, each one detailing a case taken on by a private detective agency that involves someone who has an unusual occupation. These occupations include a raconteur (someone who tells anecdotes in an amusing way), a vicar, a professor who insists on dancing, and a Lady who refuses to be rescued. Seems like there are quite a few similarities between those descriptions and a certain angel to me…

I find the next book, Forbidden Rites: A Necromancer’s Manual of the Fifteenth Century, to be an interesting one for Aziraphale to have on hand. This is said to be a collection of medieval magic, along with a commentary. It perhaps fits in with Aziraphale’s penchant for books of prophecy, but its contents seem a bit too practical for that.

The final book that I was able to identify in this pile is written by a gentleman I admit I had never heard of before – Hilaire Beloc. I found it difficult to identify what the contents of Collected Verse might be, but the author himself is referred to as one of the Big Four of Edwardian Letters, alongside H.G. Wells, George Bernard Shaw, and… G.K. Chesterton. So perhaps that’s the reason for this book’s inclusion.

Moving on to that picture. Being of Pagan background, that image is one that I have seen many times in my life. The full image shows a circle of four women and four demon-like creatures dancing together, apparently created in 1720. It was doubtless used as propaganda to justify and document the witch hunts that took place during this time in history. This feels like an especially odd object for Aziraphale to have, particularly as it’s framed. He of all people would know that the events depicted in the image were nonsense, and none of the figures in it are recognisable as anyone in particular, so why has he singled it out for such reverence?

I’m sure there’s probably a lot more analysis that could be done on these items and how they tie in to the Good Omens storyline and sub-text, but this was only meant to be a quick write up of a minisode that’s less than 4 minutes long, so if anyone wants to take up the mantle on that one, you’re more than welcome.

 Tableau #6

Contents:

A preserved butterfly in a bell jar, held in place with what looks like a clockwork mechanism.

I don’t think I have much to say about this object except… huh? My initial thought about it is that this thing is ODD. I know people do preserve butterflies in jars, but I’ve never seen one with a cog literally threaded through the wings. I actually spoke to a friend of mine about who’s a qualified etymologist (she studies bugs) and she’d never seen one either. She did manage to tell me that the butterfly in question is called an “autumn leaf” or “leafwing”, which originates in Asia. None of which really helps me understand what this thing is doing here. What is its purpose? Why does Aziraphale have it? IT’S JUST SO WEIRD. Any ideas about this one welcome, because I can’t get my head around it.

Tableau #7

Contents:

A copy of Orthodoxy, open at a page of an essay entitled “The Ethics of Elfland”.

So firstly this would seem to confirm my supposition of the G.K. Chesterton book published by The Bodley Head. I will confess, I haven’t read the whole essay pictured, but you can do so here if you so choose. No, I skipped ahead to the end to see if I can get a feel for what the subject of this particular essay was. In doing so I found the following quotes:

Thus ends, in unavoidable inadequacy, the attempt to utter the unutterable things. …magic must have a meaning… …the proper form of thanks to it is some form of humility and restraint: we should thank God for beer and Burgundy by not drinking too much of them.

The first of those you can just about make out in the tableau, and I’m not surprised that this particular piece of prose has been selected by the editor – the is the very definition of something being “ineffable”, is it not? That which cannot be uttered? The quote about magic seems to me a very obvious link to Aziraphale’s penchant for magic, and that last quote about exercising restraint around good food and drink?

It’s the very antithesis of Aziraphale, so it’s interesting to apply this philosophy to his relationship with God (and Heaven in general).

Tableaus #8, #14, and #15

Contents:

An old map of Oxfordshire.

A magnifying class (presumably for looking at the map).

A plate of cakes (links into the cake sequence).

A newer looking (probably OS) map of Lower Tadfield, annotated with spiralling lines centred on the village.

An open book.

I can’t quite make out what the book is in tableau #15. No matter, the presence of the maps is plenty interesting enough. I think it’s likely that the older map is the one we see in the back room of the book shop:

The newer map is one that I feel like we’ve seen in the show at some point, but I can’t find it. I have a sneaking suspicion that it belonged to Anathema, and that the lines plotted on it are ley lines that have readjusted themselves in light of Adam’s emerging power. If that is the case, I’d quite like to know how and why Aziraphale has Anathema’s map. More importantly, I’d like to know if the presence of these maps in the bookshop is because the angel is still keeping an eye on the ex-Antichrist. Perhaps he’s just looking over his research for nostalgia. Maybe he just hasn’t tidied up properly for a while. Personally, I think there’s probably a reason he still has them – might be something for season 3? Guess we’ll just have to wait and see.

Quick side note: the map explicitly states Lower Tadfield, but Adam’s home is never referred to in this way in the show, only the book.

Tableau #9

Contents:

A piece of paper with Crowley’s full name written on it in cursive script.

A wax seal stamp with what looks like some sealing wax, smouldering.

Now this is a curious one! When I first saw it, I thought it was supposed to be Crowley’s signature, but it’s pretty obvious that this must be Aziraphale’s hand when we compare it with the demon’s request for holy water:

So the next thing I wondered was what Aziraphale was doing “faking” Crowley’s signature. I don’t think that’s right either though, which leaves me with two other possibilities. Firstly, that the paper we see is an envelope, which has been addressed with Crowley’s name. This would fit with the use of the sealing wax, but I can’t explain why Aziraphale would be writing a letter to Crowley, or why he would be sealing in this antiquated way. I know the angel is a little behind the times, but he knows how to pick up the telephone, so I don’t think he’d be writing letters, particularly given he would have to leave the bookshop to post it, and in case you’ve forgotten, this minisode is supposed to be encouraging us to STAY AT HOME. And let’s not forget the addition of the title “Esq.” at the end of Crowley’s name. It’s a pretty outdated term now, and would certainly look out of place if used, even if it was on a letter.

The second possibility is that this is the writing from the drawing of Crowley, providing a description of the subject. This feels more appropriate than the letter explanation, although it does mean that the wax and accompanying stamp become somewhat meaningless. This explanation might also go some way to explaining the title that Aziraphale has given to Crowley, and actually fits quite nicely with the romanticised style applied to the portrait.

Tableau #10

Contents:

An armillary sphere.

I didn’t know what this was, other than something to do with astrology/astronomy, so I had to Google. Turns out they were historically used to predict/calculate and map celestial movements. Taking this into account, this seems like a strange thing for Aziraphale to have, though it would feel right at home in Crowley’s apartment. But. I did a bit more digging, and it turns out that the image of an armillary sphere has been used in classical paintings of saints to represent the presence of Heaven.

Mind. Blown.

Tableau #13

Contents:

Satanism and Witchcraft, by Jules Michelet.

Magic: An Occult Primer, by David Conway.

As with Forbidden Rites, both of these books seem like very strange books for Aziraphale to have at hand. The first of these two books, published in 1862 (!), is widely regarded as being one of the earliest known publications sympathetic to the history of witchcraft, although nowadays it is considered to be largely inaccurate in its facts. The second is a practical guide and introduction to magic rituals. Whilst I can see how Aziraphale’s interest might extend to the former as far as research goes, perhaps into Agnes Nutter’s history, I cannot imagine why he would have need of a guide for how to conduct Pagan rituals. Answers on a postcard.

Cakes

There is a sequence of cake images that falls between tableaus 13 and 14. These tie directly into the dialogue at this point in the minisode, so I’m going to cover them in the part of this write up given over to the dialogue.

Tableau #16

Contents:

A flickering flame.

I don’t think there’s much to say about this particular tableau. I have assumed that this is a candle burning, but it is rather difficult to make out. You’d expect to see the shape of a candle underneath the flame if that was the case, and the burning wick looks distinctly unlike one you would see on a candle, but I have nothing else to draw on for this so “candle” is what I’m going with.

Tableau #12

As a reminder, I’m only looking at the things in this tableau that I haven’t covered elsewhere in this write up.

Contents:

Piles of books, which include:

Several more G.K. Chesterton titles.

A copy of Pilgrim’s Progress.

The Lore of the Land, by Jennifer Beatrice Westwood.

Unfortunately, I can’t make out the titles of the majority of the books in this image. The book on the right of the tableau, The Lore of the Land, is a charming sounding little thing about the legends found in all the different counties of England. Whilst I can’t see an immediate link to the Good Omens storyline, I quite like the idea that Aziraphale and/or Crowley are responsible for the vast majority of the entries in that book! On the other hand, Pilgrim’s Progress has a much clearer connection to the themes and ideas of the show, detailing one man’s life journey through life and his relationship with his faith. What we don’t get any indication of is whether Aziraphale would have this on hand because of his ability to relate to it, or whether it’s simply because it’s considered to be one of the most significant works of theological fiction in all history.

I already covered the creepy mechanical butterfly in a previous tableau, but there is something extra in this image that we can now make out – there’s a plaque on the bottom of the jar. I can’t make all of the writing out, but I think part of it says it’s a science award. Where from and what for I can’t read, and I can’t see what the mechanism is powering or anything in the base of the jar. Still seems like a weird thing for Aziraphale to have if you ask me!

Pre-credits message

What a perfect way to end this little treat. Not just a tip of the hat to the ending of season one, but a message of hope for everyone watching in what was a very dark time in recent history. I’ve no doubt that there was a lot of comfort had from these four minutes of film when it was released, and not just because the fans for this show are deeply invested in its development. This single line seems to convey so much of what couldn’t be said in words (or images), and I’m not about to try here, so I’m going to wrap this part up and move on to the dialogue in the next one. As always, comments, questions, discussion: always welcome 😊

[plantcrazy]

Can I skip to Next Week now?

This week.

So, first I get sick and have been feeling like a sleep-deprived zombie (and I'm still sick, but improving), which means I've lost 4 days to work on my next assessment for my course. This is annoying on its own, given I normally take 2-3 days off to do my own thing (aka. Lost Children stuff) after submitting the last assessment.

And then my Tumblr feed gets Twitterified, into this overcrowded-claustrophobic nightmare!

BUT OH! This isn't the cherry on the cake.

THIS. CUTE. BUNNY. HERE

Do you see this guy?

This is Luca. He's my 7-month-old Rex & Nz White bunny and HE! He bit through my drawing tablet cable T - T

I love you little rascal, but now I can't do digital art till I get a new cable T_T

It's only THURSDAY. Ha, ha, I-I Can't! Please. Someone please let me skip to next week, lol. I don't want to know what else is lined up for the rest of my week.

In other news, Lost Children Ch.5 is 75% of the way there. I managed to hash out 90% of the dialogue on Monday before my sinus took my brain offline. So, should have that done first or second week of September.

And I'll leave you with a small extract from some current chapters in WIP or done out of order, or both >:)

Minor spoilers? Nothing crazy, but it might make you crazy with curiosity 🙃

WIP - Ch.5

“Why the interest Stickmin?” Rupert frowned, “Last I checked you were just in this for your pardon. Which, last I checked: You got.” Henry shrugged quickly. “Illegal be curious?” “Should be.” “B-but it isn’t,” Dave smiled shyly at Rupert, in some attempt to get him to drop his well placed dis-trust. “And um… I’d like to know too. You know, since um… I er, well I know I’ll sleep better knowing they’re locked up t-tight.” “Not yet Dave,” Rupert said, “But they will be soon if I’ve got anything to do with it.” “Me help too.” “We’re fin-“ “Hey don’t we have that BIG raid next week with the British guys?” Charles asked, “Henry could totally tag along! I’m sure there’s stuff he could help with.”

Done - Ch. 11

“It,” B-12 heard the third scientist hiss approaching them. “Stand aside Welsh. If they want to see all 4 elements, we will demonstrate all 4 elements.” “Dr. Thomas th-“ “Stand aside Welsh.” Dr. Thomas ordered. The younger scientist faulted for a moment. He nodded in defeat stepping away from the 4 test subjects. B-12 felt all eyes on him. He saw the fear in B-42 next to him and in front the look of revenge in Dr. Thomas eyes and stale features. Guess his wrath wouldn’t be coming in training after all… He took an involuntary step back. Dr. Thomas took a step forward. The second scientist approached the third, “Tom, I’ve got a lighter you really don’t need to-“ Dr. Thomas ignored the second scientist. “Stand aside brother.” He repeated.

[saphushia]

Tag 9 People you want to get to know better

tagged by @dustskys weee hello here we go

Three Ships || incredibly loaded question to ask a multifandom blog aubsdfjgk. lets see... i'll see if i can't pick some more interesting ones i don't post about as much

Ace/Law (one piece) -- i think they would have a very interesting (read: funny as shit) dynamic. also i think it adds a lot of depth to the question of 'why did law turn up to the paramount war' (maybe luffy wasn't the brother he was intending to save...)

Tango/Zed/Impulse (hermitcraft) -- they are simply. very cute!! i think they should all get together and have girls night where they paint eachother's nails and record eachothers readings on the geiger counter (zed always wins) and work on The Mechanism

Goggles/Rider (coroika splatoon) -- you have no idea how much i've been resisting the urge to reread the octo expansion arc of coroika for these idiots because if i read it i will be so so distracted from all my current projects

Last song || The Air Traffic Control Tower by Gabby Start (and now as i continue to write this, Deja Vu by Fox Stevenson has come on (and now Autotheist by Baby Bugs because i'm slow))

Last Movie || uhmmmm... wendell and wild, i think? been a while since watched anything. oh actually i recently caught most of a neocranium stream/watch party of emesis blue, does that count?

Currently Reading || haven't read in a lil bit but i really need to go and finish book 2 of the one piece spin off novel Ace's Story, i got too distracted working on the comic lmao. honestly i should go and continue reading the log horizon light novels i started ages back as well

Currently Watching || just finished watching Jerma's edited long drive vid, tho series wise i'm still workin on catching up on one piece lmao. been watching rtgame vods of telltale wallace and grommit as well lately

Currently Consuming || just finished the welsh cakes i cooked using dough my bf sent me <3

Currently Craving || more welsh cakes. i will not be happy until my physical mass consists at least 30% of welsh cake

tagging... uhhhh @fluffyartbl0g, @snooziest-phantom, @setacin... ok i know that's only 3 but i wanna go draw now aihsdflgk. close enough

[slowroadtosantiago]

Day 22 - Carrion to Calzadilla de la Cueza

It was going to be a short day, between 9 and 10 miles so the idea was that we’d not wake at any time and just make our way slowly.

However the internal clocks were strong and we were awake and pottering not long after half 6. The cafe across the way was open so we had breakfast there, toast or tostada as they call it here, with a decent cup of coffee. They also made up some tortilla baguettes for us for the road.

We set off from the town bang on 8, crossing the river and an interesting monastery which had been turned into a nice hotel.

The path followed a country road for a couple of miles. We then followed what was an old tramway.

There were trees on this section so we had some shade. But it was very straight, very flat, and very long!

About halfway along there was a cabin where we stopped for the best fresh orange juice and a slice of the cabin owner’s mum’s cake, which was delicious. Our American Camino family gradually appeared (Joe and Charles are now on the same leg).

We didn’t hang around long but carried on the path learning line 3 of the Welsh national anthem and I listened to a bit of music.

The countryside reminded us both of the Fens, very flat with far reaching views.

After another few miles we got to a picnic place with a shelter under which people had been writing graffiti, including some French people who seemed to be very keen on their cheese, praising reblochon and tartiflette!

The last section passed by some fields of wheat that almost seemed silvery blue in colour, or perhaps it was us hallucinating as we’d had enough by then.

The town suddenly appeared in a dip and we sighed with relief.

Our hostel is a small place but is also a shop and a restaurant. It reminded us both a bit of Fawlty Towers as everything was more than a little chaotic with a young women and her mother running the place. It didn’t help that a pile of pilgrims descended on them wanting some lunch or to book in.

After eating our packed lunch in the courtyard with Alex (one of the Texans), we chilled and had showers.

We spent the rest of the afternoon booking up accommodation for the rest of our trip. The last 100k from Sarria is very popular so we were anxious to make sure we could find somewhere to stay. I think we’re just about sorted now bar a couple of places.

Our Pilgrim meal tonight was really nice. We had a huge plate of salad to start, then Jane had a fish dish and I had chicken Cañarían-style done in the oven with lemon. Both of us had ice cream for pud.

We’re now sorting ourselves out for tomorrow. It’s a 13-miler to Sahagun and it’s due to be warm, so we’ll send on our bags and get an early start.

Oh, and I forgot to mention that we are now ever so slightly closer to Santiago now than St Jean. The numbers on our app show we’ve been 383.9kms with 383.1kms to go!

[serena-darrin]

I learned how to cook mostly from my grandmother, a little from my mother before she passed. My grandmother was a depression era cook. While some of her cooking was, ahem, questionable, (very much the bad British 'cook it into mush' stereotype, mixed with lots of questionable casseroles and a smattering of 'what is this -thing- in jello?') the skill set of "how to cook without a recipe because this is the only food you to work with, make it work as at least tolerable food" has been an utterly invaluable skill that got me through some rough times in life - most recently being "we have very limited money and don't want to go to the grocery store in the height of a global pandemic so we're raiding the very back of the cupboards and seeing what food this creates." However, my grandmother did make -amazing- homemade pastry that I have yet to replicate, despite having her (annotated) cookbooks. While I rarely make one of those meals directly, there's so many useful notes about ingredient substitutions, tweaks to feed a crowd, meals that are easily transportable (for bringing to a pot-luck or party), and so much more. Also, some of the things that she notes as super expensive or uncommon are so easy to find now (hello, avocados), and I sometimes, wonder what she'd make of it! That said, the only family recipe I actually have, written down with measurements, and will make semi-consistently, is her recipe for Welsh Cakes. It makes 5 dozen. Quartering the recipe is a bit more manageable, but I only have the little cast-iron frypan in my apartment so cooking them all is still A Process, because I can only fit four of them in the pan at once. I still make them sometimes when I have the spoons (or can draft my roommate to help!), they're nostalgic, but they also travel really well to parties!

[oumaheroes]

hii its bougie <3 if you're still taking hc requests, i was wondering if you'd have thoughts on something that's been on my mind for a while. i was interested in the nuance to english culture due to regional differences. eg.,dinner being called "tea" in the north of england, rugby being more popular in the south, the difference in how scones with jam and cream are enjoyed in Devon and Cornwall?? or how certain english accents are perceived as... "less attractive" i guess (the black country accents are unpopular apparently?) -- you'd probably know more about these particularities than me ;u;

i was wondering how these cultural differences might map onto hws England's character, and how they might influence his attitudes and behaviours. because there's such a clearly defined stereotype of the english that i think shape people's expectations of what the english are like, i usually think that Arthur usually consciously acts according to what counts as positive interpretations of himself. however, i love nuanced and somewhat subversive interpretations of his character, and am very curious if you might have any ideas on how these kind of internal regional differences might shape him.

--------------------

Bougieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee <3

I’m not gonna lie this sent me down a RABBIT HOLE of thoughts, so hang on tight cos we're gonna get messy.

Accents:

Let’s start with my personal favourite, so excuse me whilst I geek out for a second. I’ve gone into this area already in this headcanon, but I personally see England being a very proud little dragon regarding English accents, those both native and non-native to the British Isles. Focusing just on accents within England for this post, the way Arthur himself sees them, (regarding class and general preference), comes a lot down to how I see him feeling about language and the unification of England in general.

England is a tiny country. It’s really teeny, compared to some, and yet holds an incredible number of regional accents and dialects (from digging about the internet for a good source, I keep finding numbers ranging from 37 to 43). There are a number of reasons for this, but the one that I love the most is that accents are influenced by the previous/ influential other languages spoken in a given area. Accents on the East of England are more influenced by Viking invaders, both phonologically and via the dialectal words used, and accents/ dialects in the West are more influenced by Welsh, for example.

Accents and dialects tell the history of a place, all who ever came there and influenced it to some degree. The map of English accents is a patchwork quilt of old cultures and people now lost to time, but their ways of speaking have been preserved in the modern tongue. The old English kingdoms might now be mere counties- Kent, Essex, Sussex, East Anglia, etc- they may not have their own influence or language these days as they used to, but their old ways have been imprinted on their people of today whether they know it or not and they carry pieces of the past in their words and how they speak them. Older speakers of the Northern English dialects liek the Yorkshire dialect still use ‘thou/thee’ where this has fallen out in other areas, the Midlands and parts of the South-East still keep the ‘-n’ ending for possessive pronouns (‘yourn’ instead of ‘yours’, ‘ourn’ instead of ‘ours’), and there’s even some linguistic research into how Brittonic, the ancestor of Modern Welsh, influenced English structure and phonology (for references, see notes at the end).

Back to England the person (to contain myself slightly), his regional accents are a story of himself, his history being kept alive in all of its variety every day. He doesn’t hold a classist view of a ‘good’ or ‘bad’ accent because he knows why they’re all there- what languages and people influenced them and how these events affected him- the older generations now lost and forgotten being kept alive in the smallest of phonemes.

Every dialect, every accent, and every language tells the story of a people, from the smallest phonological marker right up to a language as a whole and England takes comfort and pride in his dialects and accents’ longevity and variety. He is as much of the North as he is the South, as much of the East as the West and a patchwork man born of patchwork cultures it makes no sense for him to favour one particular accent over another.

That being said, he is aware that there is a common cultural stance on accents as well as an opinion regarding ‘ugly’ ones, ‘common’ ones, and ‘classy’ ones, but he himself doesn’t partake in these ideas. I like to think that a nation takes on the speech of the people and the area they’re in, matching the person they speak to or the area they visit to relate to their people. So, for me a Chav Arthur exists as much as a Brummie one does, or a Scouser, or a Geordie, or a Cockney. They’re all English, and thus they’re all a part of him.

Class

I have to include this one, if only to touch on it lightly regarding accents and dialects. Class does influence which words you speak, arguably just as much as which accent (this is known as a sociolect). Although I said that England adopts the accent of whatever area he’s in, or whomever he’s talking to if they’re English, the class people are will also affect which words he choses to use.

Here’s a short example from here:

'It is pudding for the upper class. Dessert is sometimes used by upper middles, but afters and sweets very clearly put you below stairs.'

Have some more!

Upper class: Spectacles, Lavatory or loo, Die, Napkin, Sofa

Middle class: Glasses, Toilet , Pass on, Serviette, Settee or couch

(Working class is a mix but harder to find sources for).

This is where England treads a fine line. It could be that he again adopts more of a class lexicon regarding who he is speaking to, matching his people word for word. However, England is not unaware of the affects of class, regardless of how he himself feels, and also although class snobbery and divide frustrate him, he cannot deny using this understanding to benefit himself, which also conforms to how his own people behave. (I myself have, many times, diluted and filtered my speech to be seen as ‘better’).

Want to be seen as more reliable and powerful? Want to be taken more seriously? RP and Estuary English (a lot more so these days), hold undeniable sway and England is not above adopting a manner of speaking to come across ‘better’ or more polite, or a more ‘common’ accent to fit in with the working classes. I think of England as leaning more towards a working-class mindset- he’s very hands on, very up for and used to manual labour and this particular English class has always made up the bulk of his population. It makes no sense for a nation, who represents all of their people, to have a snide view or a preference for a particular group and England as a person I see is someone who does not enjoy the foppery and false airs of aristocracy.

That being said, England is an intelligent man. He knows how to work a room and use a crowd to his advantage, knows what must be done and what he needs to do to achieve a goal and if this entails courting the upper classes for a time then he will do so. He’s adepts at switching himself like a chameleon, blending his behaviours, accent, and dialect to match who he’s talking to to achieve a goal or to fit in with someone’s perception of him, or to gain influence or prestige. He also doesn’t hate his upper classes- they are of him too, and the middle and working class have their own prejudices and ideas against the others. But he doesn’t adopt a stereotypical distain of lower classes because to him, it really doesn’t make much sense.

Abroad, this need to cultivate a particular perception defiantly comes under greater pressure. RP and Estuary English are more well know, more heard and taught, and more recognisably ‘British’, and so these are what he uses when speaking English to other nations or foreigners, either wanting to uphold an image of himself (more so in the Victorian/ Edwardian period than nowadays) or just for the ease of being understood.

Regional Differences

Okay, this one is a lot more fun. Does England put in his milk first or last when making tea? Does he put jam first, or clotted cream when having a scone? Does he have chips with gravy, or curry sauce? Does he have dinner at 6, or 9? To marmite, or not to marmite.

Ah, that is the question, and England does not know the answer. Does he do what he does because that’s what he likes, or because that’s what his people do? He didn’t grow up with these habits, after all, they’re all relatively recent in his lifetime, and so these habits are defiantly things he cultures for a particular audience.

I’m not really sure if the above preferences are class based, (well, milk first when making tea is argued to be, but I can't find any sources I'd consider entirely credible. I put the ones I did find in the notes below, in case any one's interested), so it’s hard to get a sense of which one to use. Overall, it doesn’t matter which you do and neither is right or wrong, but the English feel strongly about them, one way or another, and often Arthur the man isn’t sure at all which one he himself actually thinks is better.

Food in another sense though is something he can be surer of. A Cornish pastie not from Cornwall is not worth eating, nor is a Bakewell tart outside of Bakewell. England can be very particular about this sort of thing and enjoys maintaining and supporting the ‘original’ flavour or recipe of a thing where he can, considering this to be the ‘best’. Sally Lunn Buns from Bath, Gypsy tarts from Kent, Eccles Cakes from Eccles.

England wants to preserve his food and culture and has what could be considered a snobbish view on the ‘best’ way of creating or eating his national foods. Some things he is more lenient with: he will eat cheddar cheese, whether or not it is from Cheddar, same from Cumberland sausages not from Cumbria. But he certainly has a preference and he is not afraid to voice this when asked for his opinion.

Okay, we're done

Phew! This had me digging out my old linguistic student brain. To anyone who has made it this far down, gosh golly miss molly thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed the ride, and especially @prickyy who was kind enough to want to hear my opinions about all of this <3

----------------------------------------

Notes:

Brittonic influence on English:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Brittonicisms_in_English

https://scholar.google.co.uk/scholar_url?url=http://journals.mountaintopuniversity.edu.ng/English%2520Language/Celtic%2520Influences%2520in%2520English%2520A%2520Re-evaluation.pdf&hl=en&sa=X&ei=2ohDYdq3BoWImwHn6oWQAg&scisig=AAGBfm29zTF0FBCpd1KqDiAbjM-0X7nfoA&oi=scholarr (PDF)

https://scholar.google.co.uk/scholar_url?url=http://www.oppi.uef.fi/wanda/unicont/abstracts/14ICEHL_MF.pdf&hl=en&sa=X&ei=2ohDYdq3BoWImwHn6oWQAg&scisig=AAGBfm3UvOXbJEb0b51J73eBnTJvgGaQOA&oi=scholarr (PDF)

Sociolects and class distinction within language in English:

https://languageawarenessbyrosalie.weebly.com/social-dialects.html

https://www.grin.com/document/313937

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/U_and_non-U_English

Milk in tea first and the potential class reason:

https://www.theteaclub.com/blog/milk-in-tea/

https://qmhistoryoftea.wordpress.com/2017/05/11/milk-in-first-a-miffy-question/

[yourlocalbrawler]

She, by dodie || Teagan and Patricia

Timing: Current Parties: @teaganmyrick @yourlocalbrawler Contains: Emotional Abuse allusions Summary: At Patricia's house, her and Teagan have a "friend" date, during which they dance, bake, and fall to pieces.

The drive to Patricia’s house wasn’t a familiar one, but not a path Teagan hadn’t traversed before. The two were mere strangers the last time she had been over. Paying for time in the private gym just to faint after getting to know the wolf a little. A very real and beautiful relationship blossomed from the seeds planted of that day, and the nix was grateful for that. She wasn’t sure what Fate had in store for the two, but she was looking forward to it so much that she wasn’t trying to plan anything. All her focus was on the experience as a whole.

Knocking on the door, she announced her arrival, shifting her weight from her heels to her toes several times in excitement. Teagan held the container of Welsh cakes she had prepared, hoping Patricia enjoyed the childhood treat she adored. There were two whole batches left over from when she made them for Sloane, and she had already eaten one of them. Somehow, she had managed to save the other for that very night. And really, that was easy considering she knew she’d get to partake in them with her friend.

The majority of the day so far had been spent preparing everything for Teagan’s arrival. Things were different now that Patricia had time to prepare for guests. The locks on the mysterious hallway closet were double checked, Daisy was calmed down with a long run outside, and a bouquet had been carefully placed in a vase, waiting to be gifted. The knock from the door pulled Patricia from her thoughts, drawing in her attention. She was glad that it was a knock and not the doorbell signifying Teagan’s arrival, otherwise Daisy would have charged the door with her raw speed and weight.

Patricia wasn’t quite sure what her and Teagan were, or what they’d be, but that didn’t matter right now. All she knew was that she liked being friends with her, and she wanted that feeling to go both ways. She quickly moved to the door and opened it, gesturing for Teagan to come inside. “Welcome to my humble home, again. This time, it’s temporarily free of dog hair.” Slowly, Patricia backed up, leading her guest towards the kitchen, where the vase laid. Contrary to those she slept with and never spoke to again, she had a tendency to go a bit far when it came to giving gifts to those she called friends. “I got you these, since we’re at the flower stage of our… unlabeled anomalous thing.” She joked, leaning her elbow atop the kitchen counter. “I did some research, and all of these flowers are good for lakes and their ecosystems or whatever. It’s got blueflag iris, some swamp milkweed, some cardinal flowers, and some other little ones that the person at the flower shop would also be good for lakes.”

As the lock clicked and the door opened, Teagan’s excitement grew. But it reached its true peak at the sight of the most precious sight she’d ever seen. She squealed, rushing past Patricia to get to Daisy quickly. “I forgot you had a dog! Holy moly, they’re huge! What’s their name?!” The container of Welsh cakes was forgotten, having been put to the side as she practically slid into her. How she loved dogs, and it was even better that she was a behemoth. Her hands rushed through the mound of fur, searching for the spot, but Patricia quickly took her attention away at the mention of lakes.

“Hm?” Teagan’s smile washed away, an expression of pure awe and adoration painting on her face instead. She was taken aback by the gesture, by the fact that a non-nix would put so much effort into such a gift. Warmth spread over her skin, and she leaned into it, letting her scales flush over her. “They’re for…my lake?” She had seen fauna similar in her beautiful lake, helping with the ecosystem and with its prosperity. It was the kind of gift that had layers to it. The ones of which she wasn’t sure she was ready to peel away. Diving was easy for Teagan, but she didn’t think she was ready for those waters just yet. Or if she ever would be. “I’m sure the water and everyone there will love them.” Standing up, she picked up the cakes and placed them next to the vase. “I brought you these. Memories from back home. Made the butter and jam too. I hope you like them.”

Patricia watched as Daisy almost tackled Teagan. She was glad the two were getting along, and that Teagan hadn’t gotten toppled over. When she walked away towards the flower vase, Daisy curled up into a ball on the floor, panting heavily with excitement. “Her name’s Daisy, and yes she’s absolutely massive. Aren’t ya girl?” She crouched down for a moment, vigorously scratching behind the large dog’s ears and getting a very positive response in return, before looking over her shoulder at her guest. She was extremely happy to hear that Teagan liked the gift, in a way she too did not yet want to decipher, but for now she was content to let that feeling simply exist. “Yeah, for the lake and all of its inhabitants.” At the sight of cakes, Patricia quickly approached to grab one, giving it a try without hesitation. “Holy shit this is fantastic. You have to teach me how to make these.”

It wasn’t long before the small Welsh cake that Patricia had decided to try was completely gone, with not a single crumb left in its place. “You spoil me too much, Teags… never stop.” She joked, playfully nudging Teagan with her elbow. It was nice to have people in her life that she could have fun with, people who she didn’t have to show as much restraint around, and Teagan had proved herself to be one of those people. “I was thinking we could bake a white chocolate cake, unless you have a different recipe in mind?” She briefly left the kitchen to put a record on her record player, to serve as background music for the time being. Upon returning, she began retrieving dishes from cabinets, lining them up from smallest to largest next to her sink. It was clear that she was both very experienced and very excited, though it was mostly just a guilty pleasure hobby.

Teagan wriggled her fingers together anxiously as she waited for feedback on her cakes. She knew they were good, of course they were. Her mother had honed the recipe she had written on the weathered card she held closely to her heart. The handwriting and scribbles long worn and faded, but still legible enough for Teagan to decipher. By now she had the recipe memorized, but it wasn’t something she’d get rid of. Like the cakes themself, the memories were too precious to part from. “I’d love to teach you. It’s an old recipe from my mum. I’ll write it down for you.” Etch it onto something similar, passing on a piece of her mother as she had done so all those years ago. “Nonsense. I only give what I can.” She nudged back, following closely behind to watch as Patricia gathered everything they needed for the delicious cake. Everything her friend had made had been absolutely delicious, and she couldn’t wait to see what the outcome would be from baking together, knowing both their skills were above average.

“So, what’s first, chef? I’m quite good at frosting. If you have vanilla, powdered sugar, milk, and some butter, I can make us a proper buttercream frosting. Gonna overwhelm your tastebuds off with how good it is.” Teagan couldn’t help but giggle and bounce excitedly at the prospect of all the sugar she was going to consume. Finding herself behind Patricia, she wrapped her arms around her waist and gave her a good squeeze before searching for a few items for her own side of the baking process. “Maybe as it cools, we can have our own little fun, eh?” It was mostly a tease, but she wouldn’t be surprised or upset if they did get intimate. Having a friend to do so with was fun. Even better that she felt as comfortable and safe as she did with Marina and now even her friend Scarlett. Something was a little different, she had gathered that much, but she didn’t think it was anything to delve into. Not when she was having fun and wanted to live as fully as possible.

“If you’re good at it, who am I to stop you from making some killer frosting.” Patricia was caught off guard by the sudden hold, a surprise that lingered for a bit after Teagan had already passed along to gather what she needed. She leaned over and pressed a few buttons on the oven to get it preheated, before starting to combine the dry ingredients. “It’s like you can read my mind. That’s a fucking fantastic idea.” She chuckled warmly, a light smirk painting her face as she flicked a bit of flour over at Teagan. The company was pleasant, extremely so, and she had fully expected more than just baking between the two, but it was still nice to know they shared a similar mindset.

Patricia eventually started melting some white chocolate for the batter, pouring it into the large bowl where all ingredients were being mixed into one another. For a moment, she glanced over at Teagan, watching as she made a great buttercream frosting, but she wasn’t paying any attention to the quality whatsoever. Her attention was stolen by the way she was moving, and the expression of focus and happiness being worn. Seconds later, upon returning her attention to what she was doing, Patricia noticed that she’d dropped the spatula into the batter, prompting a few whispered abscinities. “Uh… how’s it going over there?” She called out behind her, hoping to keep Teagan from taking notice of her mistake. She was more than a little embarrassed as she tried to carefully take the spatula over to the sink to wash it off, before she was stopped in her tracks.

“It’s great! Think this is ready to be stowed away ‘til we need it.” Teagan placed it in the fridge to set and headed to Patricia. Brows furrowed upon hearing her distress, and she quickly set to work to alleviate what tension lay in her shoulders. Fingers smoothed Patricia’s shir, and it took being on the tips of her toes to do so. When it looked like something in her settled, Teagan maneuvered herself around to find the source of her friend’s vexation. “Oh I hate when that happens.” Without missing a beat, she carefully grabbed the spatula and removed what batter she could back into the bowl. It was quick work to get most of it off, only leaving a smidge on her fingers.

“All better.” At each word, Teagan booped Patricia’s nose and lips, leaving residual batter on her face. Her smile grew, satisfied with her work. “And that’s for that flour earlier.” She couldn’t help but giggle at the gesture, smoothly taking to moving Patricia’s hand back over the spatula, and helping her stir for a few beats. When it looked like she was back into her groove, Teagan stepped away and leaned onto the kitchen counter. She was eager to get the cake into the oven, but she was content just existing there. The music was perfect enough to dance to, Daisy panted as she watched from afar, and Patricia looked radiant in her element. She soaked it all in and sighed contentedly. “You really know how to set the mood. Is this how you swoon all the ladies?”

A small huff escaped Patricia’s scrunched nose at the sensation of batter on her face, which she swiftly wiped off with the help of a nearby paper towel. “Fair enough, I can’t even be upset at that one.” She was glad that Teagan had helped, otherwise she’d waste good batter in the sink during her panicked rinsing. Once everything was back in order, just the way she liked it, Patricia got back to work. She carefully mixed the batter, being careful not to over-mix or make another mistake. It wasn’t long before the batter was slowly poured into two cake tins and slid into the oven as if both were done in a single fluid motion. “Well, you certainly aren’t most ladies-” It was clear that the mind and the mouth were very much disconnected right now, and thus, a swift backpedal ensued. “-Sorry, that came out wrong. I mean most are just one night stands, but you’re one of my friends, so you aren’t like ‘most ladies’, you know?”

With a gentle smile and an exit from the kitchen, Patricia hoped that another good distraction would help. After gently pressing a kiss to Teagan’s cheek, she whistled loudly, prompting Daisy to make her way over to try to stand up, resting two paws on Teagan’s shoulders to stay standing. At this height, the dog was almost as tall as her, but not quite. “Damn, she stole my move.” Patricia joked with a quiet, amused chuckle while watching her most treasured pet cover Teagan’s face with dog slobber. “She’ll get down if you scratch her behind the ears. That’s her favorite spot.”

It took some effort, but Teagan managed to keep her scales from cascading over her face. She liked how it sounded—being different from the many women Patricia had fun with. For what reason, she couldn’t decipher, but a new distraction soon filled her mind. Daisy was giant and nearly toppled the nix over with her little stunt. She didn’t mind, even letting herself be taken to the ground in that bundle of fur. It was all in good fun and the pup’s excitement bled into her own, prompting a bellyful laugh. “Big dog with a big personality. I love it.” Every word bounced between bits of laughter, growing stifled when the canine planted her wet kisses to Teagan’s face. More laughter ensued, and before she could be covered in saliva, she smoothed her fingers behind Daisy’s ear. That quickly incapacitated the slobber beast and had her kicking her leg in satisfaction.

“Ah, there we are. Much calmer, aren’t we?” She cooed, eyes softening and legs crossing to get into a comfortable position as Daisy panted happily. Teagan was happy herself, that feeling growing with each day. Grew with each instant she spent with people she held dear to her heart. For many days after she returned, it was difficult to not reprimand herself for not being so free sooner. To grant herself the grace to fulfill every need she constantly withheld from herself as punishment. But that, along with her death, was long behind her. And the path she was permitted could not be polluted with the poison of shame if she were to properly water the seeds of her new chance. Root them and allow them to prosper into a giant, powerful oak.

“What shall we do now while we wait? I can show you a dance or two. This music is just slow enough for a duet combination.”

Daisy relented immediately, almost plopping onto the ground as the back of her ear was scratched, sending her into a happy, docile state. Patricia couldn’t help but grin at the sight, glad that her most cherished canine companion was getting along well

with Teagan. She herself heartily laughed as she watched the dog’s tail wag quickly, almost knocking over a nearby wooden chair. “A dance? What a lady you are.” With a playful wink Patricia crossed the room to her record player, flipping the record over and starting it again on the other side, so they wouldn’t be interrupted by a skipping needle. Though she had great footwork when knocking the wind out of people in The Ring, she couldn’t actually dance to save her life. “I have two left feet, so you’ll have to lead, darling.”

Patricia’s hand reached out towards Teagan, palm facing towards the floor as she waited for Teagan to take it and show her how it was done. She planned to one day repay the offer by taking her to a fight at The Ring or teaching her how to fight. Part of her felt worried that the vulnerable gesture would blow up in her face somehow, that she’d make a fool out of herself or hurt Teagan, but those fears dissolved quickly at the sensation of Teagan’s hand grasping her own, letting her know the gesture wasn’t for nothing. "Lead the way, gorgeous."

“Two…left feet?” Teagan recalled the times she’d seen Patricia’s body and never once saw an abnormality. Then it hit her. “Oh! I suppose you mean that facetiously. A…common phrase about your supposed inability to dance?” Her brows wriggled together with worry that she didn’t understand. Words were much more literal for her, the human phrases too lax in context and too close to being lies. “If I were to say that, I would be sick on your floor almost immediately, I’m afraid.” Nervously, she chuckled and parted from Daisy to take the offered hand. Her warmth settled Teagan’s nerves and she smiled a little more genuinely as she looked up at Patricia.

The difference in height wasn’t so bad, but really, it helped when you weren’t the one being towered if you were the lead. Teagan assessed and guided one hand to her waist, and the other into her own. She navigated everything so Patricia could look like she was leading, but she’d be the one pulling the strings. “All right,” She began, slipping her hand to the small of Patricia’s back. “Hear that beat? It’s slow, so we’ll be going slow. Just follow my nudges,” Pressing her hand against her friend’s back, she pulled the two closer together, starting them off with a small sway. “You’re already doing great. Step along with me and just feel my movements. Imagine I’m one of your opponents in the ring. Only, you don’t want to hurt me.”

“Yeah, I’ve always sucked at dancing, so when I dance it’s like I have 2 left feet.” With a warm chuckle, Patricia followed her lead, following the beat as best she could. At the start, her movements were calculated, almost mechanical, as she took the time to follow and watch what Teagan was doing. It wasn’t like she could take her eyes off of her anyways, the hard part was mostly staying moving and paying attention. “I think I’m getting it, it’s like circling an opponent, but much more… flowy.” Over time, it became slightly easier to just move with the music, allowing her movements to become more fluid with practice. The swaying became easier and easier, Patricia pulling Teagan closer once she got the handle of the simple pattern of movement.

There was a glow in Patricia’s eyes as smiled down at Teagan, falling into the rhythm with her. It wasn’t much, but it felt good to apply what she knew to something that wasn’t violent. Violence was great and all, but she was in the process of discovering the things that were better than the constant fighting. “You’re a brilliant teacher, Teags.” There it was again, that weird feeling that rose to her chest, like it was trying to explode out. It felt oddly pleasant, but it didn’t warrant investigation. Patricia wasn’t willing to risk the fun she was having. “So, what got you into dancing? How’d you know it was something you wanted to do?” She asked softly as they continued to dance, not yet noticing that Daisy had been trotting around them so she could feel included.

“Yes, much flowier. Fighting is a dance on its own.” The music motivated both of their feet, brought them closer together, and filled the room with a soft energy. It made the nix’s heart swell the way Patricia moved so in sync and took to the dancing so easily. “And looky there. No two left feet in sight. You’re doing great.” Teagan noticed the way the wolf was enjoying herself, the delight on her face for doing something so pleasant and tender. She hoped Patricia could do more stuff like that the way she deserved. They could keep having those moments, she had no qualms about that, but she really wanted her to experience it outside of her too. She was special, and special people were supposed to find others just like them. Until then, Teagan was happy to be that. A placeholder.

“I’m not such a great teacher. You’re already self-aware and have experience with a tango. Ya just needed someone to show you another way to apply those skills.” At the question, Teagan laid her head on Patricia’s chest and listened closely to the notes while she pondered, coming up with her muse. “Truth is, I don’t remember what got me into it. I’ve been doing it for so long. Since I was a wee one. Mum liked dancing.” She sighed, tears welling in her eyes as she squeezed Patricia closer. “I think I just wanted to keep it all going. Do something for mum while doing something for me, but I felt so guilty leaving my family for university…” She trailed off for a few beats, catching Daisy trotting around along with them. A much needed reprieve before going back to her thought. “No one’s ever seen a performance. Couldn’t bring myself to force them to sit among humans. It was so…lonely. Doesn’t feel that way so much now.”

“Exactly, and you taught me to apply them. You should take the compliment, you deserve it after all.” Patricia felt a pleasant tightness in her chest as Teagan’s head laid against it. She didn’t know what to do or how to react, so she just remained silent as her dancing partner pondered an answer. “I think your mom would’ve loved to see you dance. You’re great at it.” As she was squeezed tighter, she held Teagan tighter in return, looking down at her while they gently swayed. “You shouldn’t need to feel guilty, you’re allowed to do your own stuff. I mean… you’re an animator, a dancer, and you’re still managing to protect your lake. You’ve got a lot of plates spinning and it all looks so… effortless. I think they’d be proud to see you now, Teags.”

Teagan looked so sad and guilty, and Patricia could understand, but in a way she also envied her. She’d been able to do what Patricia never had the heart to do, to leave and make her own path for herself. Then, an idea came to mind, as hairbrained and somewhat unrealistic as it was. “What if you did a private performance? Just your family there, and maybe some friends and your favorite friend with benefits,” She playfully winked, hoping to lighten the mood a bit with a warm grin. “-and her dog. But yeah, you could do a small performance privately, I can cater for it with snacks, and then you could show them your awesome lake and your house that’s also a boat and show them how cool you are.” Sure, she was living somewhat vicariously, but in her mind she saw absolutely no flaws in her plan.

For so long, the world felt like a punishment. A barrage of attacks that were nearly impossible to be deflected. After dying though, Teagan discovered it was more of a responsibility. Not one to be taken lightly and not one easily managed. Every person had the task of applying their one chance at life on making their mark, but what happens when you get a second? Teagan had been wondering that as of late, and as she danced with Patricia, it seemed so simple. She saw the connection between the dots and sharpened the blur slowly into focus, and saw it all. With her first chance, she curled like a question mark, debating on actions too far in the future, not taking the time to settle for the present.

No longer though. She wasn’t staying still like a statue; she was dancing. Making music with her feet and bringing another into the melody. Dismissing apathy and rejecting the anxiety of the future; Teagan was living for herself and for the moment. In doing so, she was finally doing her loved ones a service by giving the life they gave her in return. Which is what made Patricia’s words strike her heart so powerfully.

“You’re too kind, Patty.” She teased with a smile, pulling her head from Patricia’s chest and looking up at her. “I’ll have to think about it. Getting us nixies in one place would be hell for you. We’re all mischievous and silly. There are 9 of us too. So, good luck with that.” Teagan locked eyes with her friend’s, and she felt her stomach sink, prompting her eyes to flicker to Patricia’s lips. BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! The kitchen timer went off and the nix jumped, swallowing thickly. “Ah—I suppose that’s our cue.”

“I’m not worried about 9 nixies in one place, especially if they’re all at least a little bit like you. You’re not that hard to deal with.” Patricia couldn’t understand why, but she wanted to help Teagan with this important thing, if it were to happen. She was also excited to be able to bake for more people that wouldn’t know about her reputation in town. It’d be like a small fresh start with Teagan’s family.

As the two shared a moment that was beginning to melt into another, Patricia opened her mouth to speak. “I-” She was suddenly cut off by the sound of the timer blaring in the kitchen nearby. She reluctantly stepped away, quickly rushing to slip an oven mitt on before removing the cake tins from the oven. With a gently metal clink they were placed on the stovetop, the scent of white chocolate filling the home almost immediately. “There we go, now all we need to do is let it cool. I wonder what we’ll do in the meantime…” She leaned against the counter, shooting a suggestive glance towards her friend. Maybe an intimate distraction would make the butterflies go away.

Then, suddenly, Patricia’s phone began ringing, pulling her from her thoughts and back into the moment. She visibly paused upon seeing who was calling, answering the call after a moment of pause. “Hey, dad. I’m kinda busy right now. Can you call back tomorrow?” A gruff voice spoke on the other end, though it was very hard to make out from across the room. Patricia was clearly frustrated, and hiding something. “No, you can’t come by to watch my fight this week, I’m very busy and don’t have time for any. I’m with a friend right now, so I’ll call you back tomorrow. If I don’t you can just drop by unannounced like you always do. Talk to you later, bye.” She hung up the phone, sliding it back into her pocket, more eager than ever for a distraction of some kind. “Sorry about that, Teags. My dad called. Now, where were we?”

Teagan waited patiently as Patricia spoke to her father, head tilting as she listened on and off. Her mind wandered, thinking of what that was like; to be speaking to a parent on the phone. To hear the love on the other end of the phone and how the soul spoke with simple taps to the phone. Connecting phone lines like the strings that made up a heart. That very thing sank in Teagan’s chest, knowing she wouldn’t ever hear that ring or receive that text. For the most part, she was fine with that, had grown used to that void. But as she stood there in the vulnerability she hadn’t realized was growing, that sorrow sank in.

When her and Patricia’s eyes met, it was like they both knew they needed something else to think about. The past was the past, and she had the present to live for. It was a gift she was given, and she wasn’t going to waste her second chance.

Teagan nodded, closing the distance a little too eagerly and rushing to meet Patricia’s lips with hers. “We were right here.” She muttered in between breaths, feeling herself be lifted and her legs wrapped around her friend. “Let’s just do this for a while.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice.” Patricia remained standing, wrapping her arms around Teagan while they shared a passionate, eager kiss. She slowly made her way upstairs to her bedroom, before tossing the light nix onto the bed and closing the door hastily behind her.

After a couple of hours had passed, the two laid next to one another, enjoying one another’s company in the nice, cool room, under Patricia’s soft comforter. That might’ve been the final blow, the straw that broke the camel’s back, leaving an elephant lingering in the room between them. She looked over at Teagan, an almost observant expression on her face as she tried to read what her friend was thinking. This wasn’t their first intimate moment, but this time definitely felt different than the others. “That was… nice. Yeah?” A silent breeze passed through, sharp and pointed, drawing attention to the awkwardness that lingered over them like a heavy smog.

Humming happily, Teagan traced patterns on Patricia’s skin, fluttering her eyes up as she registered the weight of her friend’s eyes. “Hm?” It took a moment, but the nix managed to refocus.  “That was nice. Always is.” She whispered against skin, enjoying her newfound high and tangling their legs together to bask in the warmth. Her mind was abuzz, too enraptured in the feeling to delve further into what Patricia’s voice really evoked. A part of Teagan could see there was more to be said, but decoding those messages meant decoding a number of other things she wasn’t ready to. And maybe she never would be. What they had going was strong and delightful. There was no sense in ruining it, she thought. “That cake must be cool by now, eh?” She mused aloud, pausing for a moment as she kissed Patricia’s chest. “Think it can wait until later? I like it right here…if that’s okay.”

Patricia’s hand rose to run her fingers slowly through Teagan’s hair, a warm grin resting on her lips. “Right, as it always is.” She scooched closer, relinquishing her concerns to sink into the moment. Whatever was going on could wait until another day. For now, she’d enjoy the rest of the night with her friend. “Of course that’s okay… I was actually going to ask if you wanted to stay the night, maybe?” She continued playing with her hair, her lidded eyes gazing down at her, hoping her offer would be accepted. If it was, the cake would certainly have to wait, because there was no way in hell that Patricia was getting up. “If not it’s completely fine, I don’t want you to feel like you have to just because I asked.”

“My dear,” A pleasant smile traced over her lips, and she kissed Patricia softly, giving herself a brief moment. “You tuckered me out enough to sleep for a few days.” Letting out a breathy chuckle, Teagan wrapped her arms a little tighter around her…friend. She was nothing more than that. That’s what she told herself, at least. There was no way Patricia could ever see her such a way anyway. There was no way she was meant to stay with any singular person. She was a breath of life, not a stationary weight to bring people down. Because that’s what she believed she would do.

For as much as she finally decided to live, she still lived in fear of being the exact wrong thing for others. To avoid such a situation, Teagan opted to keep herself moving, never letting the connections' tethers tangle and tighten uncomfortably.  She would keep what they were doing together strictly carnal so that she could never disappoint Patricia’s heart. “It’s been a lovely evening,” A bittersweet sigh escaped her, her body sinking further despite her senses stinging. She couldn’t help it while Patricia raked through her hair. “We can just fall asleep here.”

The moment was soft, but there was a lingering pain that the nix didn’t want to acknowledge. Doing so would accept loneliness she still managed to feel. But she was determined to put a wall between herself and that damning admission. She wouldn’t let it seep into her skin like the water she dipped into everyday. Teagan didn’t think she was alone anymore anyway. She connected with so many people physically and emotionally that she could never be alone again. Desperately, she held onto that tight enough to relax herself. “I suppose this is goodnight?” Her voice drifted off, almost unable to keep herself awake, but she was determined to continue, not wanting to miss a thing.

In their safe, warm cocoon, Patricia closed her eyes, leaning fully into Teagan’s contact. It would be difficult to fall asleep with how hard her heart was still pounding in her chest. It felt like fear, or something close to it, locked behind a heavy door that she didn’t dare peer behind. She knew that once she did, Pandora's box would be open, and she’d have to deal with whatever sprang forth. If there was one thing she always avoided, it was dealing with her problems. “I’m tuckered out too, guess we did a number on each other.” She joked quietly, a small grin resting on her lips.

Patricia’s life always had a purpose that wasn’t her own. To fight, to flirt, to survive, all of them were necessities placed upon her, and some fit her better than others. Very rarely did she encounter something she hadn’t been trained for. Teagan was slowly becoming that something, but Patricia knew that she didn’t deserve to be the victim of her trial and error. She was certain, with every cell in her being, that the girl in her arms deserved better than herself, as flawed and imperfect as she was.. Things would be better now if the box remained shut, if only for a while longer, before it would splinter apart. “Agreed, very lovely.”

For only a brief moment, Patricia opened her eyes to look down at the tired nix, her unfettered grin widening for a moment, until she closed her eyes and tried to force herself to sleep. The smile faded as her thoughts faded back into view, reminding her of what couldn’t be, of the contents hiding within Pandora's box. With a knot forming in her throat, she cleared her throat to try and rid herself of the obstruction, before speaking a whisper into Teagan’s ear. “Goodnight, Teags. Sleep well.” And so, the two eventually fell asleep, one after the other, resting in a peaceful silence, despite the torrential thoughts that had plagued them in their previous state of consciousness.

[ghostfacekickasshero]

FINALLY

after 3 months of dedicating my time to Homestuck, I finally finished it.

and I’ll say it’s worth it

i’ll spoiler it, just in case you’re not finished with homestuck yet

At first I was confused when the trolls would appear, but I wanted to read the entire thing, since I don’t like missing out on stuff.

The first Act was entertaining enough for me to keep reading it, like with John trying to get his b-day gift, his posters, his dad. Not to mention captchaloguing. The captcha thing was confusing, but eventually, you get used to the term.

Act 2 got more interesting, with new characters introduced, new outfits John wore, John being commanded to do stuff, and I wanted to see the protags win the game of Skaia. And I was foolish enough to think the plot wouldn’t spiral and spiral until the last page was placed precariously.

I think I started to laugh at some jokes in Act 3 - Midnight Crew Intermission. The Betty Crocker joke was reaaaally funny since I learned John hated that cake, and Midnight Crew was just really fun to watch. I think John descended down at the end of this Act, and Jade might have been introduced too. Anyway moving onto Act 4.

Act 4 was interesting because the lands each player was on was assigned specifically to said person. At this, point, I had no idea what the goal was, but I kept reading anyway. I think this was where the trolls became more involved, like they were hinted here and there in Acts 1-3 I think, but now we sorta see them text to John, Rose, Dave, Jade, mostly we see John’s interactions I think. Oh and I can’t forget the moment GC (Terezi) sent John to the death entrance before Dave from the future saved him. THAT was fucking something 💀💀Oh and I can’t forget about how PM and AR helped distribute John’s present

(I forgot where exactly in the Webcomic Wayward Vagabond had the goofy moments when he drank so much soda and drew on the walls. And how Peregrine Mendicant was dealing with ships and stuff, and when Aimless Renegade tried to shoot WV and maybe PM, but it happened.)

And then we have ACT 5, or ACT 5 Part 1. This was literally the troll’s session handed over to us to enjoy. (This probably was the Act that might have been a fan favorite and the one people skipped too—) I never expected 12 trolls to be present before, but I definitely did learn about their love interactions, interactions all together, and blood rankings. Now that I’m thinking about it, I liked the Nepeta and Equius moments. I like how Equius is stereotypical and un-stereotypical at the same time, it was interesting to know there were handicapped trolls like Tavros and Terezi (maybe Vriska if you count the arm) There was even a kissing joke (that I mentioned eariler) that made me shaking my arms until they turned into funny bones. THAT was the best part

oh and I learned the trolls were the creators of John’s universe

Act 5 Part 2 was where things went chaotic. Gamzee apparently became a murderous troll because Dave sent a clown video I think? Jade’s dream self was dead at this point and she started becoming more active in the game. I think everyone got upgrades (Rose with magic, Dave with time and a Welsh sword) oh and the four human players died. In order to become God Tier, which was intriguing. I know John was trying to find his dad by letting WV take the drive, which was adorable! ^_^. And John’s dad was in love with Rose’s mom which was quite adorable, but dad and Rose’s mom died. They died from Dog Jack, who is basically Jack with a ring that affects his form due depending on what or who is prototyped. Prototyping Becquerel was a mistake because he was a powerful being. and that caused WV and AR to die in the future (after the session) died. He also killed Dave’s bro, WQ, the king character, some others I may forget. (Idk when the author the ACTUAL AUTHOR dies 💀💀) PM became a dog and she fought Dog Jack for a long time.

idk what was going to happen after this, but I saw a Doc had Act 6 tucked away. And I never expected Act 6 to be John and his friends but paradox forms of their elders. Jane, Jake, Dirk, and Roxy. They all had their unique vibe compared to the og cast. Jane focused more on pranking and got in trouble with her dad more. She was also connected to the Crocker Corp. Jake was a silly goofball who loved adventures, any movie, and blue alien girls. He also had a skull helmet to respond to his friends with. Dirk was as cool as Dave; but he made robots. Rap robots, autoresponders, a teleportation device. And Cal was his first and best friend. Roxy was freaking drunk all the time, but she loved wizards, a thing Rose hated. Dirk and Roxy were basically from the future where their ancestors (Dave and Rose: thought off clown mayors who were part of an evil fish woman, but civilization was destroyed. There was also GCat who was a strange occurrence. And there was UU and uu messaging the players. I know I laughed a lot in this Act. From Gamzee selling blood, to Jake kissing Dirk’s decapitated head, to a whole lot other things.

Uhhh what else do I have to say (man there’s so many things that happen in Homestuck It just keeps happening. I’ll have to skip some parts. I never expected cherubs to be a thing. I never expected that cherubs looked like skull people either. I know Jane and Jade became part of the evil fish lady is is basically a grown up version of Meenah who is one of the older trolls who created Karkat, Sollux’s, ect. universe. People got involved in the fight and died. John, at some point got goofy ahh time travel powers, so he had to go to his denizen to get that helped out. Roxy had to go to her to learn more about her voidy powers. Terezi also asks John to fix stuff in her session that she thought would make a better timeline, a not doomed timeline. So he does, and John and Roxy go to the universe where things went better (almost forgot about the Intermissions in each Act Act, those were a little sad to watch) but not in the timeline J and R are in. People just talk a lot about stuff before Vriska puts them in groups to fight different foes, Lord English, Dog Jack, Robot Jack, Lord English Jack, Batter Witch. V also sends Karkat and Kanaya to go off to Echidna who is a denizen.

I think, more conversation happens, Jane meets Nannasprite who is the adult dead version of Jane. Oh and Sprite^2 becomes a thing. Dave and Dirk are (thankfully) chill with each other. Then the fights happen, the fights with all the foes I mentioned. Some people die (when i mean some people, i mean some of the main cast who died and got healed by Jane and Nannasprite and the ghost trolls who double died from Lord English and did not get healed.) At this point, I loved the art, and it got even MORE detailed after I watched the 15 minute video that i’m trying to summarize here.

But It turns out, the enemies are all defeated. The power of exceptional art shows the main characters happy with each other, all happy back on the lilypad. But one villain is still there.

Lord English

I believe he gets captured by Vriska with the secret weapon that was used to defeat him. I also have a theory that Calliborn and Doc might be the same person, who knows the last part might be pretty interpretable *shrugs*

I never expected watching an anime frog develop into an anime universe in the anime video I watched. Big props to whoever animated the last part in Act 7.

After reviewing this, I can see why people would want more of Homestuck, because I heard the ending got mixed reviews for some reason. Oh well. At least the Homestuck Epilogues exist

oh boy this was long. But i’ll say this, thank you Andrew Hussie for making Homestuck. Thank you for dedicating your time in making each page count while dealing with a rabid fanbase at the time. I’ll promise to give your other comics a go. (i really do hope i do haha)

[anarmorofwords]

Random heronchild things i hope find you well;

• James holding Matthew’s shaking hands through bad episodes, rubbing circles into knuckles. They don’t say anything. They just take in the other is there.

• When Matthew finally goes dry, so does James, until the day he passes.

• Modern AU; James would 100% take morning classes for uni as much as he can and Matthew is just a afternoon classes person, he leaves Matthew a text every morning that he loves him and reminds him to eat for taking any medication and drink water >:] and he loves him 💖

• More modern AU stuff, James is the boyfriend who will help Matthew take aesthetic Instagram photos even if they get banned from the craft store for life.

• James reading out-loud while Matthew lays his head in his lap with Oscar on Math’s stomach.

• James during the first year of their friendship when trying to find the best birthday present for Matthew and dragging Tessa all around London trying to find a gift. Lucie would later joke that James treated this like “his best friend audition reel.”

• James is actually the strict dog dad who won’t let Oscar sleep on the bed but Matthew does, James doesn’t exactly like waking up to dog face but the things we do for love.

• James isn’t aloud in the kitchen after he and Christopher (“baking is just like chemistry,” he says temping fate) tried to make a birthday cake for Matthew for once and burnt it so bad Thomas almost broke out a fire extinguisher. The smell of smoke didn’t leave the house until two weeks later.

This is long and probably really random, but I just wanted to share!!! Have a good day!

anon I love you so much atm

*blows you a kiss*

seriously, this is the best thing to wake up to, I'm smiling like an idiot.

James supporting Matthew through recovery makes me so damn emotional, and I need it on ChoT. I know it'll be platonic, but that's absolutely fine.

Leaving notes before classes?!? Hold up I'm gonna cry.

Okay I'm particularly soft for helping with Instagram photos because I know the struggle, and James dutifully helping take the photos no matter how ridiculous Matthew's ideas are is making me feel things. Just imagine them in the middle of a park or a pretty street, James is taking a picture ( they don't do anything half-assed, so he's like, climbing a tree or laying on the ground or sth. Matthew finds it adorable how focused he is), and at some point he goes "You realize people are staring at you?", "Oh I'm pretty sure they're staring at my photographer. He's really hot you know" and James rolls his eyes but Matthew just goes "C'mere. Let them stare." and they put the phone on a mini tripod they have and take a picture kissing.

James reading to Matthew when he lays in his lap >>>>>> Math will tease him about the hints of Welsh accent he picked up from Will, but he's secretly super into it

Anything concerning these two and Oscar makes me so soft I'm melting. Yes please.

OMG YES. I can imagine James was quite distraught it didn't work out, but Matthew just told him something sappy about how the intentions matter. "But they don't excuse you. You're banned from the kitchen. I'd much rather bake the cake for myself than worry about putting out fire from my boyfriend on a Saturday morning."

Thanks anon, now I'm just dying to write a modern au Heronchild. And cry. That's always a good option too, I guess.

BUT SERIOUSLY THANK YOU I LOVE THESE SO MUCH AHHH MY HERONCHILD HEART <3

I hope you have a great day/night too, anon!

[moonlightserenadeeznutz]

Remus shows Sirius around Wales.

(Part 1) for @daylily-evans

~ It was during Sirius’s sixth year that Remus asked him if he wanted to spend the holidays with him and his parents in Wales. Sirius was rather surprised by the invitation, as Remus had never brought up the subject of Sirius meeting his parents before, but it didn’t take Sirius long to enthusiastically agree to the invitation.

Sirius spent the last week or so of the school term worrying. He didn’t know much about Remus’s parents, only the facts, and he knew even less about Wales. He knew Remus was from an area that was mostly Welsh speaking, and that it was very rural. Sirius didn’t expect that he’d fit in very well. But Remus had always spoken well of his parents, especially his mother. From what Sirius had gathered, they were basically the opposite of Sirius’s own parents: happy, loving, accepting. So Sirius hoped that this would mean they’d like him.

“You don’t need to be so nervous. They’ll love you. My mam loves everyone,” comforted Remus one night. Sirius had crawled into Remus’s bed, as was his custom, and expressed his concerns about the upcoming visit to Wales. Remus stroked his hair, and wasn’t really concentrating, too focused was he on just looking at his friend, tracing Sirius’s pink lips and olive skin with his fingertip. Sirius himself couldn’t focus either. Remus’s voice and his touch were just so relaxing. He was fast asleep before you could say nos da, cariad.

~ The journey from Hogwarts back to King’s Cross felt quicker than usual, or at least it did so for Sirius. He mentioned this to Remus, who raised his eyebrows and said: “For you, perhaps.” And Sirius had to apologise- to Remus, James and Peter, who had all had the misfortune of sharing a compartment with him- for having asked question after question for approximately four hours. He was a nervous speaker. He was an everything speaker.

“Do I need to know any Welsh?” Sirius had asked. “Like, will they understand me?” Remus looked at him incredulously.

“Sirius... my father is literally English.”

“Your mum then.” Remus blinked.

“You do know that people in Wales speak English, don’t you? In fact... a lot of Welsh people don’t even speak Welsh. You’ll be fine, Padfoot.”

~ The train screeched to a halt. The four boys gathered their trunks and their pets and exited onto the platform in a haze of steam and whistles.

James was the first through the barrier, then Sirius, then Remus, and lastly Peter towing behind.

James caught sight of his family pretty quickly and rushed over, waving. His parents waved back, grinning from ear to ear. Peter too, quickly scuttled off to his grandparents who were standing by one of the benches. The two boys turned around just before leaving the station and waved their goodbyes to Sirius and Remus.

Sirius waited with Remus. He hadn’t greeted his own family for years, mainly because he never went home for the holidays, except during the Summer, and for the past three years his home had been with the Potters.

Remus turned to him a little awkwardly.

“They’re always late,” he explained. “It’s not very fair that they have to drive all the way from Wales to London.” Sirius just smiled lazily at him.

“S’alright. We’ve got all the time in the world.”

Remus’s parents turned up around ten minutes later, looking rather flustered, but cheerful nonetheless when Remus waved them over.

“Sut wyt ti, Cariad! Collais i chi gymaint!” Remus’s mother hugged him with an embarrassing passion that made Sirius silently giggle. Remus’s father, Lyall, was more stoic, and stuck to ruffling Remus’s hair in an affectionate manner.

“Hello, son,” he greeted. “The house has been awfully empty without you.” Remus smiled, the kind of smile that Sirius loved. He could tell that Remus was relaxed and happy, and he was glad that Remus’s family could provide that. Sirius didn’t know if he should introduce himself, not knowing how much they knew about him, but Remus’s mother, Hope, greeted him with just as much enthusiasm than she had with her son.

“Hello, sweetheart, you must be Sirius!” She said, in a wonderfully thick Welsh accent. “It’s so nice to finally meet you! Remus talks about you all the time!” She hugged him. She actually hugged him! It was nice, really nice. He’d never been hugged with such maternity before. He shot a look at Remus, who was blushing at Hope’s last statement, and grinned.

“Does he now? All good things I imagine.” Lyall held out his hand for Sirius to shake. Sirius took it, suppressing his grin in order to appear as respectful as possible. “Hello, sir.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Sirius. Remus tells us you’ll be staying. We’ve set up a spare bed in Remus’s room. You two don’t mind sharing, do you?” Sirius almost choked trying to contain a laugh.

“Of course not, sir. We’re certainly used to it -ahem- what with... the dorms and everything.” Lyall nodded, and picked up the two trunks.  “We’re taking the car. I’m afraid it’ll be a bit of a squeeze.”

~ The car was a bit of a squeeze, but Sirius didn’t mind. Lyall and Hope were in the front, he and Remus were in the back, and their legs were almost touching. Almost. Until Remus slid over a little to the left. Then they were pressed up against each other. His parents never noticed.

For the next four hours, Remus mainly slept. He was catching up on the sleep he’d missed on the train, while Sirius was asking all of his incessant questions. Sirius felt a pang of guilt that he’d taken away Remus’s time to catch up with his parents, but they didn’t seem to be bothered by it. They were used to their son’s almost permanent exhaustion.

As they crossed the border from England to Wales, Sirius kept his eyes fixed out of the window, eager to see the country where his friend had grown up. All of the signs were both in English and Welsh: “Welcome to Wales. Croeso i Gymru.” He liked that. He wasn’t sure why, but he did.

They went through cities first of all, lots of shops and houses and cars. But all the bustle soon filtered out into countryside. Houses became fewer and farther between and a car was spotted every ten minutes or so. Remus had woken up by then, and he pointed at various places and offered descriptions about how they fit into his life.

“That shop’s owned by Mrs. Hughes.” He pointed at a small, grey-stone building with a few chairs and tables outside, with signs in the window and a pink frilled canopy. “She’s nice. Widowed. Kids grown up. Hardly speaks a word of English, but she doesn’t need to. She’s lived here all her life. Never had any desire to leave. I think she’s been out of the country maybe... three times? And she’s sixty three! But she makes the best cakes in Wales. No competition. She used to give me these tiny little muffins when I was a kid, free of charge. She still does sometimes.”

“Over there is the little school house.” Another small, grey-stoned building, but this one had an adjoining playground, with a swing and a slide and some monkey bars. “I never went there myself but it only goes up to Year 1... that is.. five and six year olds. Then they go to the primary school down the road. Mam wanted to send me, but... well. Me being a werewolf and a wizard... dad didn’t think it would be very wise.”

More and more buildings were pointed out, more neighbours, more houses, more shops, more stories. In the space of an hour, Remus had managed to paint a vivid picture of his entire childhood, and Sirius listened to every word. He could see a six year old Remus carrying a muffin on the way back from Mrs. Hughes shop, stopping in front of the school house playground, looking in wistfully at the noisy, lively children. Walking across fields towards his own house, cutting through pathways, climbing over fences. Sirius hoped Remus had been happy back then.

————

Part 2

Welsh translation:

Nos da, cariad (nos dah, ka-ree-ad): Good night, sweetheart.

Sut wyt ti, cariad? Collais i chi gymaint (sit wit ti, ka-ree-ad? Ko-ll*-eye ee kh-ee gih-m-eye-nt): How are you, sweetheart? I missed you so much!

Croeso i Gymru (Kreh-sho ee guh-m-ree): Welcome to Wales.

*The double L sound is hard to describe: basically, form the L sound with your tongue, as in, put your tongue to the roof of your mouth, but instead of saying it, blow air through your mouth.

[dansnaturepictures]

22/06/2021-More from the cottage in Anglesey and quick call into Betws-y-Coed, Snowdonia 

A record amount of photos produced today I think so to allow for less tweets with photos tonight and due to lots of content again I’ve done three posts, the next two about the main two places we went today and this one a about bits that happened at the start and end of the day. My apologies to those on Twitter that I did obviously say exclusive photos were coming in the three blogs last night, however with such a unprecedented amount of photos and a later than normal start at processing the evening just got away from me so I had to post them this morning. Everything in the three posts from now reads in present tense of yesterday. 

It was lovely to hear the gentle and pretty call of a Goldfinch from the cottage this morning. And I heard it some more as in the bright and warm sunshine before going out today I took some peaceful moments to sit in the beautiful cottage garden and take in my surroundings. I enjoyed the tunes of Goldfinches a regular at home of course and the sweet racket of Jackdaws overhead seeing these too. I also liked seeing a Buzzard once more in the air and coming down into an adjoining field. In this tranquil part of the morning I also liked trying some different photo angles on the surroundings both the distant mountains and immediately around the cottage which I have spent so much time taking photos of as predicted upon arrival there is so much inspiration wildlife and landscape. I took the first three pictures in this photoset of landscapes. This included a macro of some elder flower in the fifth picture I took today in this photoset which looked so lovely and there is a lot of this around here as part of a strong crop of plants I enjoyed the ivy that is everywhere on a tree too and the lovely foxgloves which I took the fifth picture in this photoset of today. Farm animals adding nicely to the soundscape.

As we found ourselves in Snowdonia then for Aber Falls we went on to  Betws-y-Coed tonight for some fish and chips for tea as in 2016 when holidaying in Snowdonia we discovered a fish and chip shop who’s products we found delicious and used a few times that week away. It was a heartfelt return to this part of Snowdonia, not only for the chips the third box ticked of things I like to do on a holiday after tea and cake and ice cream but also as we drove through the national park in the most gorgeous sweet bright evening sun light on a perfect day really with everything so sunny and the sky bright blue and took in the astonishing and epic views of the mountains. We drove through specific bits we had in 2016 where I remembered taking photos. Its so typically Welsh and some of the best views in the UK for me. Snowdonia a rugged area I had wanted to explore long before we did so it was nice to reflect on how lucky I’ve been to come twice. It was so nice to get inside in a sense the views we can see from the cottage. It was lovely to see Grey Wagtail in a stream a very strong feature of the area driving through a key bird of today, see one of the many Welsh sheep entertainingly eating vegetation over a wall and also see where Swallow Falls is a place we went in 2016. We enjoyed the fish and chips at Betws-y-Coed once more and we took in yet more breathtaking river scenes today and woodland views on such a lovely evening with Jackdaws around nicely. 

This evening in the cottage as the most beautiful of evenings wound its way through as we watched the England game we saw a the brilliant full looking moon and we have the perfect vantage in the cottage to take this in with the views and it was great to get photos. I also liked seeing two moths in the cottage and the crane fly together. 

[official-weasley]

The Irreplaceable Charlie Weasley: Pt. 8, Ch. 2

PART 8: WHERE IT ALL ENDS Chapter 2 - Dragons at Hogwarts

Nova

“Come on, Eero. Work with me, please.” I was crouched behind a boulder talking to a Common Welsh Green.

“I just want you to have a friend.” I pleaded and sneaked a look at Eero. He did not look amused but was laying down which was progress.

I approached him, my wand ready and my eyes down. I was determined that this was going to be the day!

“No, no biting, Eero!” I put my hand down when he snapped his jaw at it. “We did that yesterday. Let's do something else today.” He laid back down and if he had the ability I was pretty sure he would roll his eyes at me.

“Ajax, come boy.” I whispered toward the boulder opposite to the one I was hiding behind. My Chimera showed himself slowly. He was such a good boy and he was perfectly tamed now. My co-workers thought I was mental acting like he's a little Crup but to me, he was more of a pet than a beast.

“Now, Eero.” I looked back at the Dragon and felt a relief when I saw that he was eyeing Ajax but with curiosity rather than anger or agitation. “Will you be so kind and share your personal space with Ajax?” I approached the Welsh Green, his eyes still on the Chimera. His tail was still which was a good sign and it stayed that way even when Ajax was getting closer.

“Okay, Ajax. Stop. Not too fast.” I put my hand up at him and he sat down, his tail moving from left to right in anticipation. “Eero, buddy.” I looked back at the Dragon. “Are you going to be a good boy today?” He laid his head on the ground, his eyes going from me to Ajax, and started letting out smoke through his nostrils.

“Good. Thank you.” I felt like I was working with a teenager. Almost as stubborn as the only person he listened to, the Freckled Weasley. I waved at Ajax to come even closer and I couldn't believe it when Eero let Ajax sit a few meters away from him.

“Today is a good day, boys!” I exclaimed, careful not to show too much excitement or Eero might just take it away. “So, how about a lunch date?” I looked at them both and Ajax roared in excitement. I lifted my wand and levitated 2 steaks between them. My heart was beating so fast that I could barely pull off the Levitation Charm.

I slowly placed the pieces of meat down as their eyes wandered from each other to the meal. Eero started moving his tail and his claws were scratching the earth beneath him but he didn't move.

“Steady, Eero. Steady.” I said softly. Ajax was still sitting, patiently waiting for my command.

I might have needed over a year to tame the Chimera but my work was so much easier because of it. I could now focus only on the Dragons, knowing full well I can trust Ajax not constantly keeping an eye on him.

“Now...” I stood a few meters away from them. “Share your meal, slowly.” Ajax looked at me and I nodded. He got up and carefully approached the steaks on the floor. Before he took his piece, he looked at Eero who didn't move but has raised his head now.

Ajax bit in the steak and took a few steps backward. I gazed at Eero who copied Ajax's movements, taking his steak and retreating. I felt like I was going to explode from happiness. I finally managed to befriend a Chimera with a Dragon. I couldn't wait to write my report on it and tell my team and Charlie!

“You two needed almost as long as me and Charlie!” I laughed at my own joke and sat on the ground, observing them having lunch together.

“Nova!” I stood up at once, holding my hand at Ajax, to make him stay put.

“Blackwood, where are you?” I retrieved backward, still looking at the two creatures.

“Andrei, stop shouting!” I hissed at him when I saw him running towards me.

“Blimey, you did it!” He hid behind a boulder and peaked at Ajax and Eero. I nodded proudly.

“What is it?” I came closer, one of my eyes still on the lunch date.

“I wouldn't ask this of you if it wasn't urgent...” Andrei started. He scratched the top of his head, looking rather uncomfortable. “I am already a few men short and I know this is a job for a Dragonologist but I have no one else to ask.”

“Well, spit it out, what do you need?” I was getting impatient. The look on his face was saying that something wasn't okay.

“I need you to go help Charlie, Ben, and Tim.” He finally answered.

“Go to Hogwarts?” I was puzzled. Charlie went there a week ago for the Triwizard Tournament and I knew that Andrei sent most of their team to make sure everything was going smoothly.

I didn't understand what they needed as they were supposed to be back in a few days. If I got my days straight the task with the Dragons was yesterday morning.

“Sam and Dominik got hurt. The Chinese Fireball didn't take it well when they were trying to steal her egg.” He shook his head.

“That was expected.” I rolled my eyes. They kept saying that this year's tournament was going to have more safety precautions than usual and then they make them steal a Dragon's egg from a Dragon mother. As if Dragons, in general, aren't dangerous enough.

“Are they okay?” I completely forgot he told me that Sam and Dom were hurt.

“They're going to be fine according to Charlie but he is now two men short to safely transport the Dragons back and I know this isn't what you originally do but...”

“I'll go.” I interrupted him. “No problem.” I smiled. I really didn't mind. It meant I could go to Hogwarts not sneaking in and out with an illegal baby Dragon like the last time.

“You're a lifesaver, Blackwood!” He tapped my back. “I'll set a Portkey for you in about 2 hours, would that be enough for you to get ready?”

“That sounds great.” I turned back to Ajax who was now napping and Eero was looking at him, rather annoyed as he didn't agree to a sleepover. “I'll just take Ajax back and get my stuff.”

I approached the two creatures with caution and nudged Ajax.

“Come on, sleepyhead. Your date is over.” Ajax stood up, a bit drowsy, and followed me away from Eero.

“Did you make a friend today, Ajax?” He gave out a friendly roar as we reached his habitat.

“I will be gone for a couple of days. Be a good boy and obey Rose and Jeffrey, will you?” He laid down on his usual spot and swung his tail back and forth a couple of times to let me know everything will be okay.

I rushed to my cottage to get some essentials before meeting Andrei by the gate. I didn't know what excited me more the fact that I was going to see Charlie a few days earlier, the fact that I will be helping him with Dragons, or the fact that I would have time to go around Hogwarts and stroll down memory lane.

—

I never liked using Portkeys much. They made me nauseous more than Apparation and I forgot to ask Andrei where exactly at Hogwarts I will turn up.

“Hi, love.” All of my irritation faded away when I looked up and saw Charlie's extended hand. Of course, he was going to wait for me. I pulled myself up with his help and dusted my jeans.

“Hi, Char.” I pressed my body to his in a tight embrace. I missed his scent. He didn't smell like grass and honeysuckle anymore. It was more like grass and outdoors and sometimes even of smoke if he had an incident with a Dragon at work.

“Thank you for agreeing to help. It's a mess out here.” He sighed after kissing me.

“What happened?” I still didn't know the full story.

“Victor Krum, the Durmstrang Champion I wrote you about...” I nodded as Charlie looked at me, making sure I followed. “He confused the Chinese Fireball so much that she stomped on two of her real eggs and she lost it.” Charlie shook his head. I knew he wasn't okay with this and that he sympathized with the Dragon.

“When we tried to take her back to the Forest, Sam and Dom weren't cautious enough and she almost scorched both of them.” Charlie put his hands to his temples. “And now I have a team of 3 instead of 5.” He stopped and looked at me. “That's why I asked Andrei to send you. You're man enough for 2 of them.” I laughed and kissed him.

“How long do we have before we have to leave?” I asked, hopeful to have at least a couple of hours.

“You want to feel nostalgic?” Charlie's lips curved. He grabbed my hand and rushed through the thick Forest. I gasped when the Castle came into view. I've missed it more than I would like to admit.

“We'll leave tomorrow in the middle of the night. We want to make sure the Fireball is okay. So basically you have quite some time.” He hugged me from behind and kissed my cheek, my gaze still on Hogwarts.

“What about the Dragons?” I snapped out of my daydreaming. “That's what I'm here for!” I giggled.

“The Dragons are all set. We just need you to help us get them back.” He calmed me down. “You can go visit Hagrid and Dumbledore and Snape.” He chuckled.

“Ah, yes. My favorite professor.” We both laughed. “You're not coming?” I wanted to visit every single room in the school but I wanted to do it with him.

“Can't.” He frowned. “I have to be here in case something happens.” He pressed his lips on mine. “You go have fun and I'll see you in the evening.” He winked at me.

I narrowed my eyes at him. What was he hiding this time? He had the same smug face as every time he was hiding something from me and even though I knew the expression, I could never figure out what was happening in that cute head of his.

I made my way to Hagrid's hut first. I thought starting with him would be the best and I could make an excuse that I just ate lunch in case he offers me any of his Rock cakes. According to one of Ron's letters, they were as hard as when we ate them when we were at Hogwarts.

I knew that the students had 1 more hour of lessons, meaning it was perfect to chat with Hagrid for a bit. He was as happy to see me as I was to see him. He asked me loads of questions about the Sanctuary and the Dragons. He asked about Norbert and he finally told me how he got the egg. To me, it sounded more like someone wanted to bust him rather than being nice to him.

Fang recognized me at once. He was less energetic than I remembered him. After all, he wasn't so young anymore!

Hagrid happily told me Aragog was still alive to which I tried to look as happy as he was about it. I even tried one of his cakes just for pure nostalgia and regretted it the second I felt my teeth breaking on it. He expressed his concern for Harry and I couldn't help but share it. That boy went through more in the 15 years of his life than anyone else I knew.

Hagrid and the rest of the staff believed that he didn't put his name in the Goblet and I agree. I only met him a couple of times now but I could see that the kid wasn't asking for attention.

I liked talking to Hagrid. He wanted to talk about animals and daydream about the creatures he would like to have, just like me. I told him about Ajax and he was thrilled that I got him to work with Eero.

Our talk turned from an hour one to almost three so I hurried up the Castle to catch my favorite redheads at dinner.

“Nova!” Ginny stood up at once, half of the Gryffindor Table turning their heads in my direction. I hugged her and she made enough space for me to sit down.

She was sitting with Harry, Ron, Hermione, Fred, and George and I couldn't help but be jealous. They reminded me of my lot and I was now more than sure that Ron had a crush on Hermione. On the other hand, she was harder to read, which made me think they were just like me and Charlie.

“Where's your beard?” I chuckled, looking at Fred and George. Ron was updating us constantly and the story of the twins trying to cross the Age Barrier to get their names into the Goblet was hilarious.

“You should have seen us!” Fred laughed.

“We looked ravishing with a beard!” George added.

“I reckon we even looked cooler than Bill with that earring of his.” Fred said proudly.

“I don't think you two can reach Bill's level of cool.” Ginny giggled and I joined her.

“Harry, congratulations on getting the egg. Charlie told me you did a great job!” I turned to him after Ginny and I finally stopped teasing the twins.

“Thanks.” He said, lowering his head. It was obvious he wasn't as proud of himself as we gave him credit for.

“It's okay. I believe you didn't put your name in the Goblet.” I reassured him and he looked a bit cheered up.

“Do you know about the other tasks?” Ron asked excitedly.

“No. Just know about the one with the Dragons.” I answered even though I have heard rumors about what the other two were.

“Figures!” Ron scoffed. “You and Charlie only know stuff about Dragons.” The lot laughed.

“That's not true!” Ginny defended me. “Did you forget that Nova was the best Transfiguration student of her year!” She stuck her tongue at him.

“Really?” I turned to Hermione, her eyes were beaming.

“Yes, I took Advanced Transfiguration for 6 years.” I said rather proudly. It didn't come in as handy as I hoped it would. With occasional transfigured food or rock or similar object to distract the creatures, I didn't use it much, but I can't deny that I miss it.

“I take it as well.” Hermione said matter-of-factly. “Started this year.” She sounded like she was jealous that she didn't receive her invitation in her Second Year as I did. She should've been sorted into Ravenclaw.

I remembered my private lessons with McGonagall fondly. She was strict and I always came out of that classroom feeling like I could sleep for days being so tired but I enjoyed every second of it and I always felt like 6 years weren't enough. I wished Magizoology and Transfiguration were more connected.

“I have a lesson later in the evening, you can join me if you'd like.” Hermione snapped me out of my memories.

“I would love to!” I beamed at her. I wanted to visit McGonagall anyway and participating in one of her lessons sounded like a dream at the moment.

“Nerds.” Ron playfully rolled his eyes at both of us.

“So, Ronald.” I cleared my throat. “Ginny told me that you didn't believe Harry when he told you he didn't put his name into the Fire. What was that about?” Ron's face turned pale. “How come you didn't mention THAT in your letters?” I raised an eyebrow. I was having too much fun teasing him.

The twins were holding their stomachs, laughing so hard. Harry and Ginny joined them.

“Oh, we miss having you around, Blackwood.” Fred said as they stood up, gave me a hug, and started to leave. They were followed by Hermione and Harry. While Ron lingered behind.

“I'm sorry. I know it was stupid of me.” He whispered and hugged me.

I smiled. I knew he was just a bit jealous that Harry got all the spotlight. Ron was the youngest brother in the family and with all the success of his three eldest brothers, being a Curse Breaker, a Dragonologist, and working for the Ministry, I knew Ron felt pressured to do something memorable as well.

I didn't doubt for a second that it wouldn't happen for him. Bill, Charlie, and I weren't exactly the coolest bunch while at school and we're doing just fine now.

I decided to stay behind with Ginny as the Hall was still too crowded for me to go say hello to any of my Professors. Ginny told me that Harry fancies this Ravenclaw girl named Cho. She was pretty bummed about it and I didn't know how to advise her. Charlie told me how bad he felt when I had a crush on Murphy and I couldn't bear the fact that Ginny was going through the same thing.

I also couldn't believe Harry had a crush. Which only made my assumptions that Ron fancied Hermione stronger. However, Ginny tried to hide her excitement when she told me that she thinks Cho likes Cedric Diggory instead and that that might throw Harry off. I might've just heard the rumors about the other two tasks but I knew they were having a Ball on Christmas day and I couldn't help but wish that Harry would ask Ginny.

In my opinion, it was too quick for them to get together but it was a nice opportunity for them to bond and perhaps open Harry's eyes to the fact that they would look really cute together.

I don't think Harry doesn't like Ginny. I believe it has more to do with the fact that he sees her as a sister because Ron is his best friend. And it only takes a couple of hormones to change that.

After calming Ginny down and telling her that she should wait to see what will happen this year and in the next one, I finally had the chance to say hello to Professor Sprout and Dumbledore. They greeted me with a big smile on their faces and told me that they have both read my paper on Hippogriffs and Dragons and congratulated me for it. That made me blush more than I would like to show.

On the way out of the Great Hall, I bumped into Snape.

“Blackwood.” He narrowed his eyes at me. I felt like I was about to get detention. “What are you doing here?”

“Professor Snape, nice to see you again.” I said a bit too cheerfully as his eyes narrowed some more. “I'm here to help take the Dragons back to Romania.” He didn't move. In fact, he didn't even blink.

“Wasted your talents on animals, did you.” He said, disappointed. “I hope Miss Haywood wasn't as foolish as you.”

“It's Mrs. Egwu now, but no.” I shook my head. “She's a Potions Master at Beauxbatons, sir.” If Tonks and Tulip were here they would've laughed at me for calling Snape sir.

“At least one of your lot didn't end completely incompetent.” He said without any expression on his face. I knew Penny was going to burst into tears of joy after I tell her the compliment Snape has just given her.

“Always a pleasure to talk to you, Professor.” I knew he couldn't say anything back, so I squeezed between him and the door and stormed towards the Charms Classroom. I wanted to see Flitwick before joining Hermione for Transfiguration.

“Miss Blackwood, is that you!” I turned around and wanted to jump for joy when I heard the all too familiar squeaky voice. “Or is it Mrs. Weasley now?”

“Professor Flitwick!” Perhaps I said that a tad too enthusiastically but I didn't care. I missed his lessons. “No, still a Miss.” I giggled and I couldn't help but wonder if I saw a hint of disappointment on his face.

“Here on Dragon duty, I presume?” He started walking with me.

“Only here to take them back. Two in Charlie's team were injured.” I explained.

“So you and Mr. Weasely...” He waved his finger at me.

“Still together, yes. Just not married.” His lips curved and my cheeks turned pink. It was really strange to talk to him about this even though he and McGonagall had the most embarrassing conversation with us in our Seventh Year.

“How are you, Professor?” I wanted to stir the conversation elsewhere.

“Can't complain!” He grinned. “Even though it would be better if we weren't hosting so many other students.” He sighed. I understood what he meant. The corridors seemed more crowded than I remembered.

“If you're looking for Professor McGonagall, she is just starting her Advanced Transfiguration class.” He stopped in front of her classroom.

“I was trying to find you and then was headed here, yes.” He seemed rather proud of the fact that I wanted to see him as well.

I wanted to visit all of my Professors. I was rather sad that Kettleburn already retired even though he received a Christmas card from Charlie and me every year just like Hagrid did. I didn't care much for Rakepick as I always feared her and according to Fred and George, the Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers changed every year since she left. They even said that the job was cursed, but I didn't really believe that.

I said goodbye to Flitwick and knocked. I could hear Professor McGonagall say to come in, so I opened the door.

“Nova!” McGonagall said in surprise. “I mean, Miss Blackwood.” She put her hand on her lips, embarrassed that she stepped out of the role of a teacher for a second.

“Hi, Professor. Mind if I join?” I grinned. She invited me to sit down next to Hermione. She had two other students attending her lesson.

“I doubt there is anything new I can teach you, Miss Blackwood.” I knew she felt as nostalgic as I did.

“I just want to listen to you teach.” I answered honestly. Hermione stared at us, in awe. I knew she couldn't believe McGonagall to be so relaxed and not looking as strict as always.

I was leaning on my crossed arms, listening to McGonagall speak as if I was listening to my favorite song. I still remembered everything she was teaching the three students and Hermione was writing everything down with such a force that I thought her parchment was going to ignite itself.

It was now time to do some practical work and Hermione was doing a great job. I corrected her wand movement a couple of times, as McGonagall was paying more attention to the other two students and I couldn't help but get a feeling she was doing it on purpose so that I would help Hermione.

Hermione was hesitant to take my advice at first but when she tried my method of configuring her paper into a butterfly and it worked immediately, she was more eager to listen. There was a knock on the door and we all turned around to see Ginny peek in.

“I am so sorry to disturb your lesson, Professor...” She whispered. “But I need to steal Nova from you.”

McGonagall nodded at her, the same disappointed expression on her face I was having.

“It was nice to see you again, Miss Blackwood.” She accompanied me to the door. “If you ever come again, you are more than welcome to join any of my classes.” She gave me one of those rare smiles that I only got once before; when I was saying goodbye to her in my Seventh Year.

“Ginny, what is it?” I asked her as she closed the door behind us. “Couldn't this wait?” I couldn't help but wish that I could go back in there.

“Oh, I think you won't mind me disturbing you soon enough.” I finally turned my head to her, away from the door. She had the same smug expression on her face Charlie had earlier.

“What are you up to?” I raised an eyebrow at her, crossing my arms on my chest.

“Charlie asked me to tell you to meet him at your usual spot by the Lake.” She winked at me.

“Oh.” Was all I could reply. I loved Transfiguration but nothing in this world could beat spending time with Charlie by the Lake.

“Tell me how it goes.” She giggled and ran away.

Tell her how what goes?

[scimitar-and-longsword]

Two requests if it's okay 1) a gif of the neck grab of pride Andy gives Nile after she jumps out the window. 2)Fic about Nile's first birthday as an immortal Thanks so much!!

Sorry this took so long lol. I really liked the prompt and I just wanted to get it right! We all know my brotp is Booker & Joe... Nicky & Nile are a close second....

—————–

26

There was a sliver of dull sunlight shining right across Nile’s forehead as she came to consciousness on the morning of her twenty-sixth birthday. Or at least it should have been her twenty-sixth birthday. She wasn’t quite sure on the details.

Did she even still count her birthday the same now? Was she twenty-six? Or perhaps only one? No- No. That sounded ridiculous. So maybe just the first anniversary of her twenty-fifth birthday?

Nile opened her eyes and stared up at the ceiling. It was a rather unremarkable ceiling, painted a faded a pale green. It was discolored brown from water damage in a few spots. 

She had been to this safe house once before. Two months ago after a particularly rough mission the five of them had limped in, blood soaked and exhausted. Luckily this time they had only been exhausted.

This was the first time she had been to a safe house twice. It was strange how much it felt like home after only having been there once for a week. But after seven months of new place after new place she felt a welcome familiarity with this crumbling cottage, small though it was.

She had known what bed was to be hers. No dragging of an old mattress from another room. No reshuffling of sleeping arrangements to accommodate for her. No Andy or Booker taking a couch or armchair. No Joe and Nicky sleeping on the floor because they both couldn’t fit on the couch.

Booker made a low pained noise in his sleep. And Nile’s thoughts were brought back to the present. 

Booker was in a bed perpendicular to hers, their head’s only a couple feet apart.

She glanced up at him, he appeared to still be asleep, his arm slung over his eyes.

Nile craned her neck to see Andy still asleep in the bed next to the door. Her immortality was gone but she still insisted on sleeping closest to the door. The first line of defense.

Joe and Nicky were directly across from her, huddled facing her in a bed that seemed too small for the two of them.

How old were each of them again? 953, and 950. Booker was 247...or was it 248?, And she couldn’t even guess at Andy’s age.

Would that happen to her? Her years becoming so numerous that she couldn’t remember the year she was born?

The sun had moved enough to shine irritatingly in her eyes, Nile brought her hand up to shield them. But after a minute or so, when her arm grew tired, she flipped onto her stomach. Her frustration got the better of her and she sighed loudly. 

Too loudly, apparently, as Nicky started awake and sat bolt upright in the bed across from hers. Joe too started, and sleepily said something to Nicky in Italian that Nile couldn’t quite make out. Nicky glanced around the room and made eye contact with Nile.

“Sorry.” Nile whispered.

Nicky gave her a sleepy smile and turned over to face Joe, responding to him in Italian as well, but this time she heard her name and the word for sleep.

Andy and Booker hadn’t even moved. Both of their breathing was as even as Joe’s was slowly becoming once more.

Nicky was obviously awake still, propped up on his elbow facing Joe. His other hand stroked Joe’s hip soothingly.

A minute or so passed where Nile turned the problem of her birthday over in her mind, before she gave up trying to fall back asleep. She got out of bed with a frustrated sigh, and exited the bedroom.

The rest of the cottage consisted of a bathroom and a small main room full of mismatched furniture and with what one might consider a kitchenette. 

Nile plugged in and turned on a hotplate and filled a kettle with water. She opened the pantry and was surprised to find a half used package of instant coffee. It took her a moment to realize that it was hers, left here from the previous stay in October.

She couldn’t help but smile to herself. Silly as it sounded, it was nice to find something she knew she had left behind for herself.

She glanced around the room, the little touches of each member of her new family were evident. Various swords hung on the wall above the small dining table. She was sure they were all sharp and battle ready. There was a single bookshelf that was full to bursting, with piles of books on the ground all around it.

Despite the cottage’s pathetic excuse for a kitchen there were nice pots and pans and a stand alone pantry pushed against the wall next to the small counter that currently held the slowly heating up hot plate. That would have been Ncky’s doing, Nile thought with a smile.

The water finally came to a boil and Nile made herself a cup of coffee. She looked out the window at the Welsh countryside and took a long slow sip of her coffee.

She started when she heard the door to the bedroom quietly click open behind her.

She wheeled around to see Nicky stepping into the main room, and closing the door behind him once more with another soft click.

“Good morning.” Nicky said quietly. He crossed the small room and took out a mug to poor himself some of the hot water.

“Sorry I woke you.” Nile said.

She opened the pantry and fished out a tin of tea. But when Nile turned to offer it to Nicky, he was already stirring in some of the instant coffee mix.

“It’s fine,” He said with a smile. And when he saw Nile’s look of surprise, “Sorry, do you mind if I have some of your coffee?”

“You never drink coffee.” Nile said, not really answering his question.

“I think you’ll find words like ‘never’ rather useless when talking to a 900 year old man.”

“I just mean- I’ve never seen you drink coffee. You have a cup of tea. Every morning. For seven months”

“We go through phases,” Nicky said, taking a small sip of his coffee, “Joe was particularly fond of coffee for most of the 1600’s.” 

“An entire century is a particularly long phase.”

Nicky chuckled. 

A comfortable silence fell over them for a while after that. Nicky sat at the small dining table and opened a book he had left there the night before. Nile stared out the window watching the morning fog burn off as the sun rose higher.

She thought about how much had happened in the two months since the previous time they had been to this safe house. None of them had died, thank god. But Nile had been shot twice in the leg, and Joe had taken the butt of a gun to the back of the head, knocking him out just two days ago.

Booker had had his throat cut so deep that Nile thought he was about to fade out as she held the wound together. Luckily he had pulled through, his healing repairing the damage as if nothing had happened. 

Try as she might to distract herself though, her thoughts returned to her birthday. Surely it wasn’t something that should bring her this much anguish. She was not the type of person to care about getting older, let alone now when nothing would change.

But she had seen the way immortality weighed heavily on Andy and Booker. She had even glimpsed it’s sting in Joe and Nicky’s eyes, though they were better at hiding it. At least from her.

“Did you dream of Quynh?” Nicky asked after nearly a half hour had passed.

“What?” Nile said, genuinely confused, “Oh- no. I had just been thinking and forgot I was in a room full of jumpy, trigger happy warriors. I sighed too loudly.”

“Was that what woke me?” Nicky smiled, “Perhaps I am a bit jumpy.”

Nicky returned his eyes to his book, but it really didn’t look like he was reading. In fact Nile was pretty sure she hadn’t heard him turn a single page in his book this whole time.

“It’s my birthday.” Nile said before she could overthink it.

“I know.” Nicky said simply, taking another sip of coffee, and lifting his eyes to meet hers.

“You-” Nile shook her head, a confused smile spreading over her face, “You know?”

“December 10th, 1994.” Nicky said as if that was an explanation.

Nile took a seat at the table with him.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Nile asked, and then hastily added, “I mean- I just feel kind silly for trying to hide it now.”

“I wasn’t sure that you wanted to celebrate.” Nicky said.

“It does feel strange.” Nile said.

“It always does.” Nicky said, he took a deep breath before continuing, “I’m afraid that won’t change.”

“Do you celebrate?” Nile asked, “I’ve been with you all for the better part of a year and I don’t think any of you have mentioned birthdays. Do you even remember yours?”

“October 22nd,” Nicky said, “On the Gregorian calendar at least.”

“So you remember, you just don’t celebrate.”

“Sometimes we do. Big numbers, milestones.” Nicky said, “Booker’s 249th birthday was two days ago. Next year we’ll probably do something. But generally no, we don’t celebrate as a group.”

“As a group.” Nile turned the word choice over in her head, “So that’s Nicky and Joe speak for you guys celebrate each other's birthdays without Booker and Andy.” -or me.

Nicky laughed, nodded, and took another drink of coffee.

“Wait- October 22nd? The last time we were here was on your birthday.”

“That’s true. This is one of my favorite safe houses, I imagine Andy picked it for that reason.”

“I missed your birthday. And I could have done something- gotten you a present or made you a cake.”

“I don’t need anything from you Nile.” Nicky said.

“I know you don’t need anything. But if you want to celebrate with someone I could have made an effort-”

“Do you want to celebrate today Nile?” Nicky cut her off.

Nile blinked at him for a moment. Did she?

“I’m not sure. With Andy and Booker the way that they are- it feels selfish.”

“Forget about them. Do you want to celebrate?”

“I think so?” Nile took a deep breath and tried to order her thoughts, “This will be one of the last birthday’s that my age reflects how I look. One of the last times my birthday will have meaning beyond just being a piece of trivia to remind me of how long I’ve been frozen in time. So yes, I think I do.”

“Good.” Nicky said with a small smile. He got up from the table.

Nicky disappeared into the bedroom and for a moment Nile dreaded him popping back out with everyone to surprise her. But no, that wasn’t Nicky's style. 

Instead, he returned a minute later carrying a small rectangular package.

“Happy birthday Nile.” Nicky said simply as he placed it in front of her, and took his seat once more.

“Nicky-” Nile started, but her words seemed to evaporate in her throat.

“Open it.” Nicky said, his smile was the biggest she’d seen it in months.

She took the lid off the box and found the unmistakable shape of a white jewelry box.

“When my sword, my first sword, the one I brought with me to the holy land from Genova, began to deteriorate beyond repair it was Joe who suggested I melt the steel down to keep. A memory from my previous life.”

Nile took it out and opened it slowly, in it was a delicate silver charm bracelet. On it was a single, rough looking charm.

“Joe wears a piece of it on a chain around his neck.” Nicky continued.

Nile knew exactly the charm he was talking about. A simple rectangle of metal that hung low from Joe’s neck.

“Booker has a vein of the steel in a ring that he hardly wears, Andy has an earring, though I haven't seen her wear it in decades,”  Nicky paused, “Quynh had a piece too, on an anklet. Though I suppose it’s rusted away to nothing by now.” 

Nile stared down at the bracelet, unsure what to do next. Nicky took a deep breath, She could hear the slight quiver in his breathing that he tried to suppress.

“I have more though, I’ll replace Quynh’s when we find her.” Nick said. He extended his hands out toward the box, “May I?”

Nile nodded and pushed the box toward him. He removed the bracelet and held it up for her, fastening around her wrist when she offered it.

“Don’t feel obligated to wear it every day, or even often. Joe tries not to wear his on missions if he can help it.”

Nile took a closer look at the charm, it was a square, rough and unpolished, much like Joe’s. She had never gotten a close look at Joe’s pendant so she didn’t know what if anything was etched into the metal. But as Nile turned the square of rough steel over in her hand she noticed a tiny but intricate cross indented into one of the corners.

“I don’t-” Nile started, she laughed and then a small sob escaped her throat, “Thank you.”

“You are very welcome.” Nicky said, his smile was back to the small one she was used to.

“Well now I have to get you something.” Nile laughed out another sob, followed by another, and then she was full on crying.

Nicky moved around the table to stand in front of Nile and pulled her into an awkward hug while she still sat. Her head fell into his chest and she threw her arms around his waist.

“Hey. Hey- shhhhh.” Nicky said. He placed a hand on the back of her head, the other arm wrapped around her shoulders and held her tight to him as she let the sobs rock her body for a minute.

“I’ll have other birthday’s Nile, as will you. Don’t pay it any mind. I don’t need anything. Though I imagine that’s not why you’re actually upset.”

Nile nodded against Nicky’s chest, vaguely aware that a wet spot was forming where her tears had soaked into Nicky’s shirt. He held her there for what seemed like hours, but in reality was probably less than a quarter of an hour. Until her sobs had subsided into the occasional uneven breath. 

“You haven’t missed Joe’s birthday yet.” Nicky finally said.

Nile laughed, pulled back from the hug, and wiped tears away from her cheeks.

Nicky took a step back, and placed his hands on his hips. He looked very fatherly in that moment, which made Nile’s heart ache, but it also warmed it ever so slightly.

“What about Andy?”

“I don’t know hers,” Nicky said, “But I don’t think she ever knew her birthday. She’s older than the idea of a calendar, or at least in the way we experience years and months.” 

Nicky stood in front of her for a minute longer before grabbing both of their mugs and taking them to the bathroom, where the only sink in the cottage was located.

Nile took another closer look at the charm. She suspected that the cross that was pressed into the metal had more significant meaning than just their shared faith in a higher power. She would have to ask him about it later when she was feeling less emotional.

Nicky returned but he didn’t hover, instead choosing to grab his book and move to an armchair by the front door.

When Joe got up at last he gave her a wink and pointed at the bracelet.

“It looks good.” he said, and then went to kiss Nicky good morning. 

Andy and Booker followed shortly thereafter, and the day passed mostly like any other.

That night she lay in the same bed she had started her day in, her heart much lighter. While it hadn’t been like any other birthday she had celebrated, it had been nice.

She got the distinct feeling that they were all aware it was her birthday. Even though no one else directly acknowledged it. 

Booker had gone for a run with her and sparred with her before lunch. Which wasn’t necessarily abnormal, but she did get more than one hit on him that she was pretty sure he let her land.

Andy was a tougher one to crack, but given that she had chosen this house for Nicky’s birthday and now hers, Nile felt like it wasn’t a coincidence. 

Nicky, with a little help from Joe, made a surprisingly good deep dish pizza using the fireplace for dinner.  Another thoughtful gesture that was not lost on her.

Nile looked up at the now familiar ceiling. And turned the charm around her wrist in her fingers.

She felt different. This wasn’t the first time she’d had to grapple with the consequence of her newly acquired immortality in the seven months she’d had it. But it was the first time she’d felt generally ok with it.

Up until now Nile had felt mostly like she had only lost things since she died for the first time. She had lost the world as she knew it, her life as she knew it. She had lost her family, and a home to call her own.

But for the first time she felt aware of how much she was gaining. The feeling of safety that only came with home. She genuinely felt excited to make her mark on countless safe houses all over the world. 

Family. Each of the other members of the Guard had already felt like a new family to her, but something about the simple understanding of today had made her feel loved in a way she had never experienced before. Each of their reactions to her birthday seemed to fit them all perfectly.

Things were different now, but she liked the small place she was carving out in their family.

Twenty-six years on this earth. She looked forward to what Twenty-seven would have in store for her.

((Available on AO3 as well, link on my tumblr 💜))

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Eccentricity [Chapter 11: You Don’t Come Around No More]

A/N: I apologize profusely for the long wait. Thank you all so, so, so much for your support. Every single reblog, message, comment, emotional rant, and/or screech of despair makes my day, and I couldn’t do this without you. 💜 Only THREE more chapters left!!!

Series Summary: Joe Mazzello is a nice guy with a weird family. A VERY weird family. They have a secret, and you have a choice to make. Potentially a better love story than Twilight.

Chapter Title Is A Lyric From: “More To Life Than Baseball” by Petey. 

Chapter Warnings: Language, angsttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttt.

Word Count: 7.5k. 

Other Chapters (And All My Writing) Available: HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii​​​​ @bramblesforbreakfast​​​​​​​ @maggieroseevans​​​​​ @culturefiendtrashqueen​​​​​ @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark​​​​​ @escabell​​​​​ @im-an-adult-ish​​​​​​ @queenlover05​​​​​ @someforeigntragedy​​​​​ @imtheinvisiblequeen​​​​​ @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhyee​​​​​ @deacyblues​​​​​ ​ @tensecondvacation​​​​ @brianssixpence​​​​​ @some-major-ishues​​​​ @haileymorelikestupid​​​​ @youngpastafanmug​​​​ @simonedk​

The Rain

I wish I felt empty.

I’m supposed to feel empty, right? I’m supposed to feel steeped in grey, oceanic misery; I’m supposed to dip in and out of depressive naps all day and sob delicately over creased photos and fading, wistful memories. I always envisioned heartbreak as a soft and inherently feminine sort of affliction: the hems of nightgowns and bathrobes sweeping along hardwood floors, Kleenex boxes and concave couch cushions, weepy phone calls to friends and aunts and mothers, Queen Victoria wearing black for the rest of her life after Prince Albert’s death, Mary Todd Lincoln sinking into dark and hushed obscurity. Women, hollowed out by despair, cross the history of the earth like lines of latitude.

I don’t feel empty at all. I don’t even feel sad. I feel razored by sharp, red, ceaseless anxiety. I am consumed by thoughts of what I did wrong, what I said that started the wheels of doubt spinning in his mind, if he had known how it would end from the start. I dream of white, clawed hands dragging me down through cold waves. I hear words scream to me as I toss at night in my suddenly too-spacious bed, words that now hit me like knuckles to the gut: Shhh, hey, it’s just me, don’t get up, as Joe slipped beneath the Arizonan blankets, wrapped an arm around my waist, kissed my collarbone as I tumbled back into sleep; I love you to death, as his Subaru idled in Charlie’s driveway; Baby Swan, listen to me, nothing is supposed to hurt, okay, so if anything hurts, ever, at all, you tell me and we stop, deal? as we stood in the doorway of our hotel room at the Four Seasons in Chicago. And now...and now...

And now everything fucking hurts.

It doesn’t make any sense; and yet it does. Look at him. Look at me.

The Polaroid photo from Homecoming was still taped to the top of my full-length mirror. I peeled it free like a layer of translucent, friable reptilian skin, tore it straight down the center, burned both halves over a brand new three-wicked, lemon-scented Bath And Body Works candle—a gift from Renee and Paul—and closed my eyes like a child casting a wish over her birthday cake like a spell. I wished for my memories to vanish with the photograph. I wished to get hit by a truck and wake up in the hospital with no recollection of the past two and a half months. I wanted the Lees to dissolve into distant, enigmatic mystery; I wanted to join the rest of Forks in believing that they were nothing more than bewildering and yet harmless freaks, barely worth noticing, one of those glitches of the matrix that were better off ignored like liminal seconds of déjà vu. I wished to carve out every part of myself that they had ever touched.

And Joe’s voice came rushing back from where we stood by that star-lit fountain outside the Church of Saint Lawrence, accompanied by falling raindrops and a crooked grin: I can make wishes come true.

The three tiny flames flickered in the breeze that sighed through my open window. The bright, citrusy scent of the candle reminded me of Lucy. I couldn’t fucking win. What else is new?

I turned back to the mirror. I flinched when my gaze snagged on my reflection: bloodshot-eyed, swollen-faced, utterly unbeautiful, restless like a caged animal. Look at him. Look at me.

I ripped the last memento off the mirror—Official Citation!! No More Sad Spaghetti!!—and watched the yellow square of paper catch fire, curl up around the edges, become unrecognizable, turn to ash. And I wished over and over again, like a poem, like a prayer: Let me forget, oh god please let me forget.

Charlie keeps asking if I’m okay. The answer, of course, is no; but I can’t tell him that. So I wear a serene smile like clip-on fangs, a cheap polyester cloak, crimson smudges of lipstick like trails of spilled blood down the side of my neck. Every day is Halloween for me now. I dress up as someone who isn’t haunted, who hasn’t become a ghost.

And when Charlie turns up the World Series or I’d Do Anything For Love on his geriatric, staticky kitchen radio—the same radio he’s had since my mother was the one joining him for daybreak coffee and Pop-Tarts—I choke back tears like dragonfire.

Missing In Action (Revisited)

Joe wasn’t here. Neither was Ben.

Lucy, Rami, and Scarlett were sipping cups of tea at the Lees’ usual table, their eyes downcast, their voices low and murmuring, their pristine lunches neglected. Lucy and Rami were dressed in matching charcoal grey turtleneck sweaters; Scarlett had come from Fencing Club and was wearing royal purple yoga pants and a black tank top, her duffle bag of gear on the floor by her sneakered feet. Her hair was in a long fishtail braid. Archer hadn’t mentioned her since Joe broke up with me. That either meant that it was going blissfully and he didn’t want to injure me further, or that Scarlett had ended things as well.

Since Joe broke up with me. That sounds so fucking pedestrian.

I stared at the three present Lees, almost leered, commanding them to see me, to acknowledge me, to admit that I had once meant something to them, that this hadn’t all been some transitory delusion to fill the cavernous void of losing my home, my life as I knew it in Arizona. They took no notice whatsoever.

Jess kicked me beneath the lunch table. My attention snapped back to her.

“Sorry, what?”

“You want to go shopping with me and Angela tonight?” Jessica’s hands were folded just beneath her chin, her voice gentle, her eyes large and sympathetic and watery. This was her version of being supportive. I appreciated it...in a perpetually tormented and preoccupied sort of way.

“No thanks.” I forked my cold, sauceless spaghetti listlessly. I’d forgotten to pack a lunch. I didn’t have an appetite anyway. I had deleted the GrubHub app from my iPhone and had no intention of using it ever again in my comparatively short and calamitous human life.

“You could come to temple this weekend,” Jessica pressed.

“Uh.” Mingling with a churchful of sociable, wholesome, marriage-obsessed adolescent Mormons sounded like the absolute last thing I’d want to spend my evening doing. “That’s a really generous offer, but I’ll pass.”

“Well you have to do something,” Angela said. “You can’t just sit in your bedroom alone all weekend and stare at the wall and wallow in self-pity.”

We’ll see about that. I turned to Jess. “How’s Vodka Boy from your Indigenous Peoples of the Arctic class? Did he ever reappear? What’s his name again, Elmo? Ellington? El Chapo?”

“Ellsworth.” She frowned as she slurped her patron-drink-of-Mormons Sprite. “And no, he definitely failed out or overdosed or something, because he never came back.”

“Tragic,” I noted.

“But I’m pretty sure Mike’s coming over this weekend, so we’ll see if I can get some Netflix and chill action going.”

“Jess,” Angela chastised, widening her eyes and nodding to me subtly (but not quite subtly enough). No talking about getting lucky in front of the heartbroken single loser, that look said.

“I think I can be emotionally supportive without taking a goddamn vow of chastity, Angela!” Jessica hurled back.

“I gotta go.” I stood, threw on my backpack, discarded my nearly untouched lunch.

“You’ve barely eaten anything!” Angela protested. “You’ve barely eaten for a week!”

“I’ll live.” I picked my umbrella up off the slippery tile floor—peppered with muddy shoeprints and pearlescent drops of water fallen from coats and limp, sopping locks of hair—and headed out into the pouring rain. I hated the rain. I hated it. Maybe I had forgotten that for a while, but it all came hurtling back now like a hurricane, like a hand cracking across my face. I ached for the desert, for blatant and unapologetic heat, for palm trees and cacti and naked stars in the night sky. I had been researching marine biology graduate programs in the Southwest. There were good ones at UC San Diego, UC Santa Barbara, Texas A&M, the University of Southern California, UCLA. I would miss Charlie and Archer—and maybe Jessica and Angela on occasion—and absolutely nothing else about Forks. At least, that’s what I promised myself.

This is a no-giving-a-fuck-about-Lee-boys zone, I thought morosely.

Ben was brooding at our table in Professor Belvin’s classroom. It was the first time he’d shown up to Chemistry since that day Joe met me on the beach at La Push, since the place I’d once occupied in his universe had closed like a wound. I took my seat beside Ben. The window was shut today, the downpour outside torrential. Ben recoiled, just enough for me to notice; he was wearing his oversized black hoodie and practicing his Welsh, his handwriting messy and unbalanced.

“You could have warned me,” I said.

Ben didn’t glance up from his notebook. “Would that have made it any easier?”

“No,” I realized in defeat. I guess it wouldn’t have. I pulled my own notebook, my favorite pen, and a can of Diet Coke out of my backpack.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Ben said. “You really need to know that. It had nothing to do with you. And none of us are happy with the current situation. None of us.”

None of them. That included Joe. “Interestingly, that didn’t stop him from creating it.”

Ben was thoughtful, debating his next words. “We’re probably going to be moving soon.”

“What?” I startled; my turquoise blue pen dropped out of my grasp and rolled across the table. Ben snatched it up and returned it to me. “Really?”    

“Yeah.”

“And what, just redo this whole college thing?”

Ben shrugged. “We’ll probably start our junior years over again. Gwil will say there was some horrible family tragedy and we needed a few semesters off. I could use the extra time to figure out Calc anyway. Parametric equations make me want to kill myself.”

I just stared at him. It didn’t make any sense. “But...why would the whole family leave Forks? Because of me? One pathetic, aggrieved human? Do you all pack up and relocate every time Joe fucks and dumps someone? That must be exhausting.”

“It’s better for everyone if we get some distance. Put more space between our world and yours.”

“But...” I tried to imagine never seeing any of them again: no Mercy humming merrily as she tossed handfuls of homegrown carrots to the alpacas, no Dr. Lee dabbing away my blood with an ageless sort of patience, no Scarlett or Lucy or Rami, no brief glimpses of Joe as he avoided me in the campus library. It’s exactly what I wanted; and yet it wasn’t. It so, so, so, so wasn’t. It keeps getting worse. How is that possible? My voice was flimsy and quivering, absolutely pitiful. Disgustingly pitiful. “Who will be my lab partner?”

Ben peered over at me with wide, confused green eyes. And then—gingerly, awkwardly, like holding an acquaintance’s baby for the first time—he laid his hand over mine. “I’ll miss you too.”

Professor Belvin lectured about coordinate covalent bonds. I didn’t absorb a word. I conjugated Italian verbs with my turquoise blue pen, sketched disordered whirlpools of ink, tried not to think about whether this was my last-ever Chemistry class with Ben, whether it was my last-ever weekend sharing Forks with the Lees. Those rageful, frantic thoughts were back. What did I do wrong? What didn’t I do right? Why did he have to leave?

My nomadic gaze caught on a flier on the wall next to our misted window. I had assumed it was a leaflet for some club or protest or seasonal dance that I would definitely not attend, but it wasn’t. It was a missing poster.

Have you seen this student? the flier asked in bold, businesslike black font. It was urgent, but not quite despairing; not yet, anyway. I could hear a Dean of Student Affairs cajoling some affluent, strings-of-pearls-adorned mother over the phone: Yes ma’am, you have my full attention and I can assure you that we’re very concerned, but I’m sure it’s all just a misunderstanding...he’s probably gone backpacking or sailing with some friends and forgotten to call home. You know how college students can be. Beneath a large photo of a grinning blond kid—pink polo, flushed cheeks, clever crop job to nix a can of Natty Light clutched in one fist—was a name: Ellsworth Jonathan Griffin.

Ellsworth, I thought, my stomach plummeting. The guy from Jessica’s Indigenous Peoples of the Arctic class. He hadn’t failed out. He was missing. Missing like a 20/20 episode or a true crime podcast, missing like the pregnant stillness before a murder is confessed in some glaringly florescent-lit interrogation room, before a distended and bloodless corpse washes up on shore.

I turned to Ben. He noticed me eventually, crinkled his brow, shrugged in that way that seemed so petulant if you didn’t know him well enough to not be offended.

I pointed to the flier and raised my eyebrows. Ben twisted around in his chair to look. Then he sighed, scribbled a sentence in the corner of a piece of notebook paper, tore it free, and slid it across the table.

Ben’s note read, in atrocious penmanship: Are you seriously asking me if I ate that guy?

Maybe, I wrote back after a moment’s hesitation. Maybe that wasn’t exactly what I was asking; maybe I just wondered if he knew anything about it.

In either case, Ben’s reply was swift and resounding, and underlined three times: No.

Sorry, I wrote, abruptly remorseful. I am a jerk. And I added a frowny face for good measure. Ben chuckled when he saw it, shook his head, gave me a drawn little smirk. His words tiptoed around in my skull, leaving searing imprints like footprints in the sand. I’ll miss you too.

I have to forget about them. I drummed my turquoise blue pen against my notebook as Professor Belvin drew families of molecules on the whiteboard with squealing dry erase markers. I have to find a way to make myself forget.

Jessica was waiting for me in the hallway after class. It was part of her convince-Baby-Swan-not-to-jump-off-a-cliff initiative. “Hey.”

“Okay,” I told her with steely resolve. “I’m ready for you to set me up with one of those guys from your church or temple or whatever. I’m ready to be a nice wholesome wife, pop out like six kids, learn how to scrapbook, give up caffeine and horror movies, do the whole white picket fence thing. Sign me up.”

Jessica blinked at me. There were flecks of fallen mascara on her cheekbones like ashes. “What?”

“You’re a Mormon, right?”

“Girl, I’m not a Mormon,” Jessica said, puzzled. “I’m a witch.”

Lucille

I found Joe where he usually was these days: sprawled on the sofa, engulfed in the same blue Snuggie he’d been wearing for thirty-six uninterrupted hours, gazing catatonically at the big-screen tv. A 90 Day Fiancé marathon was on. Some rodentish guy named Colt was apologizing to his gorgeous, aspiring-green-card-holding Brazilian love interest for calling the cops on her during their last screaming match. He was also apologizing for the fact that they lived in a two-bedroom apartment with his mother. I didn’t need clairvoyance to see where their future was headed.

“Hey,” Ben said when he spotted me. He was sitting next to Joe and occasionally tried to shove pieces of popcorn into his mouth, which Joe accepted passively like coins plinked into a gumball machine. Ben had been his shadow for the past week; he was perhaps the best equipped of us to understand this degree of melancholy, of hopelessness.  

“Ciao.” And then, to Joe: “How are you?”

“Terrible,” he replied, not tearing his eyes from the tv.

“I figured.” I squeezed between them on the couch, curled up next to Joe, rested my chin on his shoulder. He ignored me completely. I could hear Mercy tapping at her laptop keyboard out in the dining room; she was browsing through Zillow listings in Portland, Buffalo, Pittsburgh, Cleveland. Dear god, please don’t let us end up in fucking Cleveland. “Guess what.”

Joe stared at the tv for a long time before he answered. “What.”

“I had a vision of you. Just now, as I was doing laundry. Crystal clear and very scenic too, I might add.”

“Fascinating,” Joe said flatly.

“What happened in this vision?” Ben asked, far more invested, which I was thankful for.

“It was pretty far away, maybe a year from now. I saw you in the desert at night, under a full moon. There were cacti everywhere. The shadow of the Milky Way was threaded through the sky, and the stars were very bright. I could make out the constellations Pegasus and Cassiopeia. You were filling up a tiny glass bottle with dirt.”

“That’s remarkably helpful,” Joe said.

“It is, a little bit,” I insisted. “It means you get through this. That you have a future. I get nervous when I go too long without a vision of someone in the family. But now I know you’re going to be okay.”

The reflections of the feuding 90 Day Fiancé couples danced in his glassy eyes. “Being alive doesn’t mean you’re okay.”

“That’s dark,” Ben said. “Even I think that’s too dark.” He pushed a handful of popcorn into Joe’s mouth. “Are you gonna hunt at some point or what?”

“No.”

“You’re just gonna sit on this couch and waste away?”

“Yeah.”

“You want me to bring you anything? Grizzly bear? Brown bear? Fuck it, I’ll get you a polar bear if that’s what you want. There’s probably some on the black market. Rami would know.”

“He what?” Mercy called from the kitchen. Her typing had stopped.

“Nothing, Mom!” I shot back.

“I don’t want anything,” Joe said. That was a lie, of course. We all knew what he wanted. Rami couldn’t stand to be around him; the thoughts were relentless, smothering.

I linked my arms around Joe’s neck, laid my head against his chest, sighed deeply and mournfully. “I’m sorry,” I told him. “I know that doesn’t fix anything. But I’m so, so sorry. And I’ll help however I can. We all will.”

And I had accepted that Joe wasn’t going to respond at all when he finally whispered: “I just wish I could forget.”

Cato

My rolling suitcase snagged on the cobblestone driveway. The tiny spinning wheels bashed against concrete as I scaled the front steps. As the taxi pulled away, I dug around in my suit pocket for my keys, found them, unlocked the enormous front door, stepped inside the palace as my suitcase trolled along the marble floor.

“Cato’s back!” Charity announced as she breezed down the nearest staircase, beaming and embracing me. She was a lovely, innately warm woman from Pointe-Noire, Congo; she still wore the silver cross necklace her mother had once given her around her neck. “Did you have a nice flight? Wait, let me check.” She pressed the fingertips of her right hand to my cheek. I felt the memories rush up like blood to a flushed face: the bite of sipped champagne against my tongue, the thin semi-transparent newspaper pages gliding between my fingers, the husky voice of the bearded, bearish naval officer who sat in the seat beside me, the misted silhouette of Vladivostok as it rose up out of the Pacific Ocean. “Uneventful, but pleasant enough. You flew commercial?”

“The jets were otherwise occupied, apparently.” Charity could see things with the predictability and precision that Lucy so often lacked, but only the past. I pushed her hand away. “Was that really necessary?”

“You’re not mad,” Charity declared, confident, impish, helping me shed my suit jacket and draping it over her arm. “You’re never mad.”

She was very nearly correct. “Where are the rest of the kids?”

“In the kitchen. Go say hello, they’ve missed you dreadfully.”

“I know the feeling.” I kicked off my Berlutis, ran a palm over the wiry fur of the Irish Wolfhounds that appeared to greet me before they resumed padding watchfully around the palace, and went to the kitchen, my black socks slipping a bit on the marble floors.

I could hear their voices before I reached the door: laughter, teasing, complaints, requests. The scents of pancakes and cold butter and maple syrup were thick in the air. Charity was one of our four newest recruits, and they all still had that energetic lightness of being human, a youthful enthusiasm, a relative normalness. I spent quite a lot of time with them. It was my job—to help with the transition, to keep them happy, to facilitate the welding of their individual parts into the beastly machine that was the Draghi—but oftentimes it felt more like a reprieve. Some would stay close to me as they matured, others would grow in different directions, like ambitious vines climbing the skeleton of a garden trellis. I usually missed them when they ‘grew up,’ so to speak...although there were exceptions. I had never liked Liesl. I had always liked Ben. I opened the door.

“Ah, you are home!” Ksenia cried from where she stood over the stove, a spatula in her right hand, bouncing excitedly in place on her small bare feet.

“Hey!” Max and Austin called together. They were both sitting with their shoes propped up on the unglamorous kitchen table. There was a massive formal dining room that could accommodate up to twenty-five guests, but we rarely used it.

“Good morning,” I said, aware that I was smiling for the first time in days.

Max groaned as he scrolled through his Google search results on a burner phone. “What the fuck. My name is one of the top five dog names again. I think I’m gonna have to change it.”

I ruffled his long blond hair, stealing a piece of bacon from his plate. Max had grown up a trust fund kid in Perth, Australia. His mother was old money; his father was a professional surfer. “Your name is fine.”

“Really, Kato Kaelin? Is it really? How am I supposed to intimidate people when I have a fucking dog name?”

“So make them call you Maximilian,” offered Ksenia in a heavy Ukrainian accent. She’d only been with us for eight months, but her English was coming along swimmingly. She flipped a massive A-shaped pancake on the sizzling griddle. That one was for Austin.

“Seriously?” Max said. “That is just way too many syllables. They’ll be halfway down the block by the time I’m done introducing myself. ‘Hey, come back mate, I haven’t killed ya yet.’”

“At least you aren’t stuck with a basic-white-boy-circa-1992 name for all of eternity,” said Austin Tyler McInerny, originally of Sheboygan, Wisconsin. He was chomping on a multicolored Fruit Roll-Up, which swung from his mouth like a lizard’s tongue. He’d been working at an ailing skatepark when Larkin found him. He still enjoyed showing off his kickflips, and kept insisting that he was going to teach me how to ollie. I didn’t have the faintest idea what an ollie was.

“Do you want a pancake, Cato?” Ksenia asked, passing Austin his plate and wiping her hands on her pink apron. Her black hair was tied in a high ponytail with a matching rose-colored ribbon. She looked so young. She was so young, actually. Nineteen. And she would be forever.

“No, thank you dear. I’m alright.”

“I like Alaric,” Max decided. “First king of the Visigoths. Alaric is a name fit for a vampire. Creepy, yet dignified. Or maybe Silas. Or Draco.”

Austin shook his head as he swirled a river of viscous maple syrup over his A-shaped pancake. “Definitely not Draco.”

“Why not?”

“Well, the Harry Potter connection is unfortunate. People will hear Draco and think of that obnoxious white-haired kid from the evil snake-people house or whatever.”

“Oh, right,” Max sighed. “Like I said. Alaric would work.”

“So many A-shaped pancakes!” Ksenia poured a K on the griddle for herself.

“It’s good for you,” Austin replied, pointing at her with his fork. “We’re practicing English.”

“Alaric Luther,” Max mused, scrolling through his phone. I didn’t think he’d find that on any list of trendy dog names. “Alaric Lothaire...Alaric Lucian...”

“I like your name, Max,” Larkin said from the doorway. None of us had heard him arrive. He was leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed, wearing a deep maroon suit and a ring on every finger, grinning hugely. He was exactly as I remembered him: stunning, captivating, terrifying. The kitchen fell quiet. I could smell Ksenia’s pancake beginning to burn.

At last Max chuckled nervously, pushing soggy pancake hunks around on his plate with his fork, averting his gaze. “Guess I’ll keep it then.”

“I thought I heard you come in,” Larkin told me.

“It’s always a pleasure to be home.”

He nodded out towards the hallway. “Come. Regale me with the stories of your travels.” Then his eyes flicked down to my socks, and he grimaced—slightly, briefly—before turning away. “And find your shoes.”

I followed him through the hallway, the living room, the grand front foyer with the crystal chandelier, into the elevator. Larkin did not speak, but he hummed as we ascended: House Of The Rising Sun.

It hadn’t always been like this. It was difficult for me to pick out the details of what had changed—the tone of his voice, the proportion of wonder and gratitude I associated with him versus fear, the way this palace (or the one in Reykjavik, or Juneau, or Ivalo, or Murmansk, or any of the others) felt when I stepped inside it—but I knew something had. It had begun before Ben left. It was much worse now. Older vampires, in my fairly learned opinion, are something like the stars. They mellow as they age, temper their character flaws, grow wise and patient like Nikolai or Honora or Gwilym Lee; or they rage until they burn away every last atom of humanity, until they destroy themselves and take entire solar systems down with them. Increasingly, I harbored fears that Larkin was a vampire of the latter variety. And we were all his planets.

In his study, Larkin dropped into the chair behind his desk, brought a hand to his forehead, surveyed a disarrayed flurry of papers: letters, notices, deeds and titles, meticulously managed accounts of finances and disciplinary actions. Larkin had a laptop and burner phone, of course, as we all did; but he liked to work in paper as much as possible. That’s how he’d done things for centuries, since long before the name of the inventor of the internet (or harnessed electricity, for that matter) was a whisper on his parents’ lips. The sky outside was clouded and seeping soft rain.

“Things have been busy?” I ventured.

He frowned, gesturing to the cluttered desk. “I’m in purgatory.”

“I’m terribly sorry to hear that. Can I help?”

“The Lancaster coven says they’ll need an extension for their dues. That’s the second year in a row, now it’s not just an exception, it’s a precedent. If you let one coven bend the rules, others will follow. So something will have to be done. Then there’s Stockholm. Anders’ coven has eaten a few too many locals—including the mayor’s favorite niece—and now the city is launching an investigation. Fucking idiots. They’ll probably all have to relocate. There’s some new territory dispute in Lima between Alejandro’s coven and a group of strangers that just came out of the Andes. We’ll have to make their acquaintance, of course. And as if all that weren’t enough, Rigel accidentally fed on a heroin addict and he’s currently detoxing in a cell in the basement. Would you check on him for me? I’m sure your presence will be a...” He waved his hand distractedly, almost dismissively, searching for the words. “A comfort to him.”

“Of course.”

“How are the Lees?”

“Fine. Typical. Gwil’s putting in a lot of hours at the hospital. Rami’s planning to get another law degree. Ben is, uh, adjusting. Slowly, very slowly. He’s not particularly content. But he hasn’t murdered anyone that I’m aware of.”

“How nice.” Now his eyes darted up to catch mine: focused, luminous, unreadable. “Nothing new at all?”

And instantly, I wanted to tell him everything. I forgot why I had ever planned to blunt the girl’s existence, to conceal her talent entirely; I felt her name rising in my throat. And then I remembered again. I’m doing this for Gwil, for Ben.

I pretended to ponder Larkin’s question, as if it was so difficult to remember, as if there was nothing left to sift through but a trunkful of mundane details from the trip like a grandfather’s tattered correspondence and tarnished war relics. That was something an average family might have squirreled away in their attic, I assumed; I’d never met my own grandfather, and he sure as hell wouldn’t have had anything to leave me if I had. “Joe’s got some new girlfriend, but I don’t think it’s serious. I doubt she’ll be around long. You know how Joe is. Scarlett’s seeing someone too, actually. A Quileute kid.”

“Poor boy.” And Larkin grinned like a shark beneath burning eyes. “He’s in for a lifetime of disappointment. Who will ever be able to hold a candle to those memories?”

Larkin had a moderate preoccupation with Scarlett’s beauty, her...tenacity. Her lack of talent was a great disappointment to him, a somehow more egregious fault than Joe or Gwil or Mercy’s. What a shame, Larkin often said. And I believed I knew what came after in his mind, although never aloud: What a partner she could have been.

He was still grinning at me. His expression was hollow, vacuous. A shiver clawed down my spine. He was waiting for something. No, he was searching. I stared back, and I willed for that intangible, contagious harmony I carried around like a wedding ring to hit him like carbon monoxide or bromine: undetected and yet inexorable, knocking him off his path of inquisition.

What does he suspect? What does he already know?

“Anyway,” Larkin continued abruptly, turning his attention back to his paperwork. “I’m glad there’s nothing to worry about in Forks. Liesl will be back in the next few days, Rigel will be ready to work again, I’ll come up with a plan to handle all this and my mood will improve tremendously.”

And where has Liesl been? I almost asked; and then I didn’t. It was a good sign that she was coming home. I had looked for her once while I was in Forks. When I made up my mind to find someone—when that switch flipped in my skull or in the tangle of nerves of my solar plexus or wherever it lived—it wasn’t like poking around on Google Earth: zooming in here, scrolling over there. A goldish trail lit up on the floor, a ‘Yellow Brick Road’ Honora and I sometimes joked, and I followed it. And I had no way of knowing how far that trail might lead. A route heading dead east from the palace might stop in the next town over or continue across the Pacific Ocean; my search might last one day or a hundred. In Forks—as I perched in a soaring western hemlock tree in the forest outside the Lee residence on a cool October evening—Liesl’s trail had led north. North to Vancouver, to Victoria, to Dawson, to Alaska? Who the fuck knew. I was just relieved it hadn’t led to the tree next to mine.

“Well, as always, I’m happy to assist however I can,” I told Larkin. “Just let me know and I’ll be on the next flight out of Vladivostok.”

“I appreciate that, Cato.” He smiled, paternally this time. And then he spun his chair around to peer out the window into the episodic flares of lightning that illuminated great dark clouds like neurons in a celestial brain. I hate thunderstorms. They remind me of South Carolina. “But I think you’ve earned a rest.”

After checking in on Rigel—irritable, frenetic, pacing, and yet predictably pacified somewhat by my visit—I trotted up the main staircase to the second floor of the palace. I found her in our bedroom: sitting at her easel, a paintbrush held in one graceful hand, an image like a photograph on the canvas. I promptly pried off my Berlutis for the second time today and tossed them into the closet.

“Ciao, amore,” I said.

“Ciao!” Honora replied, beaming. Her curly brunette hair was pinned up and away from her face; wayward tendrils spiraled down to brush her bare shoulder blades, the back of her neck. “Just give me five minutes...I have to finish the shadow of this tree...”

There weren’t many in the Draghi who survived the transition from Nikolai’s leadership to Larkin’s, but Honora had. She was gentle to a fault, a hopeless warrior, turned into an immortal on her forty-fourth birthday when Rome was still an empire; and she was without any talents whatsoever, except for one which was useless in combat. Her paintings, drawings, and sculptures adorned every palace the Draghi owned. Each year, Larkin would ask her to paint all of us together, incorporating any new faces, erasing the memories of those who had proven themselves unworthy. One such portrait, I knew, hung in Gwilym Lee’s home office.

I went to the woman I called my wife, laid my palms on her shoulders, leaned down to kiss the top of her head. “Take your time, love.”

“Everything’s alright?” Honora asked, looking hopefully up at me with large, wide-set jade eyes. No, not just hopefully. Trustingly.

“Everything’s alright,” I agreed, not knowing if I believed it.

Shadows And Spells

“He just...just...disappeared?!” Jessica sputtered, scandalized, gaping at me as she held a Styrofoam cup of spiked apple cider in her clasped hands.

We were on a quilt near the outskirts of the sea of beach towels and blankets that circled the bonfire. Women—wearing flowing dresses or robes or tunics or not very much at all—flounced around the flames banging tambourines and reciting chants that I didn’t know the words to. Some carried torches, beacons of heat and light in the darkness. Jessica was wearing a short black shirt, fishnet tights, and a black crop-top turtleneck sweater; I had opted for a bohemian blue dress patterned with stars, an old thrift shop find and the closest thing I owned to Wiccan festivities apparel. I had a cup of hot apple cider as well, enhanced with a generous splash of Captain Morgan, but hadn’t quite conjured up the rebelliousness to drink it yet.

I suddenly recalled Mercy bringing me an endless supply of virgin autumnal sangrias as Joe and I swam in the hot tub on the Lees’ back porch. As soon as you turn twenty-one, you can have the real thing. I frowned, shuddered, took a bitter and burning sip.

“Yeah,” I replied. “He told his roommate he was going to a frat party or something and never showed up and never made it back home either. The parents are blaming the university, the university is insisting he must be off with a girlfriend or on some hipster soul-searching nature adventure or whatever, it’s a mess.”

“Jesus,” she murmured. “What does your dad say?”

“He’s been helping the state police with the investigation. There’s really no evidence of anything. No witnesses, no footprints, no surveillance footage, no handy anonymous tips...”

“No body,” Jessica finished.

“That’s morbid.” I downed the rest of my cider. Was the world already beginning to list like a ship on choppy waves, or was that just my imagination? I guess it would be possible. I’d barely eaten all day.

“You were thinking it.”

“Well, one’s mind does tend to wander towards homicide under such circumstances.”

“It is the season of the dead.” She grinned wickedly, then took my empty cup. “He’s probably fine. I bet he wants to drop out to become a weed farmer and hasn’t worked up the guts to tell his parents yet. You want another?”

“Sure.”

“Cool. I’ll be right back.” Jess rose to balance on black boots with five-inch heels and staggered off to the foldable table piled high with cans and bottles and snacks. I was getting the impression that her Wiccanism was more of a novelty than a spiritual commitment.

The season of the dead. Now that’s VERY morbid.

There were some guys laughing, smoking home-rolled cigarettes, and toasting glasses of red wine on a nearby mandala blanket, bespectacled intellectual types who were probably getting PhDs in Anthropology or Medieval Studies at the University of Washington. One of them—curly-haired, pale-eyed, wearing a sweater vest and a cautious smile—raised his wine glass in my direction. I waved back without much enthusiasm.

“He’s cute, right?” Jessica asked, plopping back down onto our quilt and shoving a full cup of spiked cider into my grasp. She motioned for me to drink. I did. “That’s Sebastian, but he likes to be called Bash. He’s twenty-three and speaks fluent German.”

“Charming.”

“He’s very...uh...gifted. I’m not saying I know from personal experience, but I’ve heard it from a very reliable source. And his parents own a beach house in Monterey. You could go skinny-dipping.”  

“In the ocean?” The world was definitely wobbling now. I was warm all over, numbed, fuzzy; it was becoming difficult to picture Joe’s face, to hear his voice. This was good. I kept drinking. “No thanks. Too many sharks. They have great whites down there.”

Jess tossed her long, loose hair and sighed impatiently. “I’m just saying that the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else. So you should pursue that.”

“I’ll totally consider it.” I lied. I would not consider it.

She smiled, sympathetically, fondly. “I can’t believe you thought I was a Mormon.”

“I can’t believe I’m out in the Washington wilderness commemorating the Gaelic festival of Samhain, but here we all are.”

Jess glanced over my shoulder. “Oh my god. He’s coming over here.”

“Ugh.” I craned my neck to see. Sebastian—whoops, my mistake, Bash—was approaching. “Please distract him. I don’t want to talk to anyone. Also I’m pretty sure I’m getting drunk and I don’t want to do anything humiliating, like sob uncontrollably about how much I miss my ex-boyfriend.”

“Don’t worry. I gotchu, Baby Swan.”

“Hey Jess,” Bash said, but he was looking at me. He pitched his cigarette off into the trees. What the fuck, who does that?

“Only you can prevent forest fires,” I told him in a woozy, mock-Smokey Bear voice.

“What?” he asked, baffled.

“Ignore her, she’s drunk,” Jess said quickly. “So what’s up? Come on, sit with me. Keep me toasty. Teach me some German...”

As they chatted and giggled and snuggled closer together—I’m starting to think that Jessica might have been her own reliable source—I studied the forest, watching to make sure the cigarette didn’t begin to smolder in the damp brush. The voices and crackling of the bonfire and sharp ringing of the tambourines faded into one muted, uniform drone. The trees reeled in the haze of the spiked cider; the cool wind moaned through them. And then, for only a second: a glimpse of something impossibly quick, something silvery and reedy and sunless.

What was that?

I blinked. It was gone. I blinked again, staring penetratingly. The swarming heat from the cider evaporated from my skin, my blood. There were goosebumps rising all over me.

What the hell was that?

I remembered how Calawah University students sometimes reacted to Ben: flinching, withdrawing, autonomically fearing him on some primal, evolutionary level. They knew he was a predator. They knew they were prey. It was chillingly similar to what I was feeling now.

I have to get out of here. I have to go home.

I shot to my feet. Oh, wrong move, that was too quick. I swayed, and Jessica reached up to steady me. “Are you—?!”

“I’m fine,” I said. “I gotta go home now.”

“What?! We just got here! Look, chill out, let me get you some vegan samosas or something—”

“No, seriously, I have to go.”

“Okay, okay,” Jessica conceded. “I’ll finish my drink and we’ll call an Uber, alright?”

“Really?” Bash asked, crestfallen.

“I’ll call an Uber,” I told Jess. “You stay, I’ll go.” Maybe she shouldn’t stay, I thought foggily, irrationally. Maybe it’s not safe.

“I can’t let you go alone. I got you drunk and now you’re a mess and if you end up murdered it would be my fault. There are unsolved mysteries going around, you know.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Girl, there’s no way I’m gonna—”

“I’ll call you as soon as I get in the Uber and I’ll stay on until I’m physically inside my house, okay?”

Jessica considered this. Bash leaned in to nibble her ear. I could smell the red wine and nicotine and animalistic lust sweating out of his pores. And unexpectedly, agonizingly: a biting flare, a muscle memory, Joe’s fingertips skimming down the small of my back and his scent like winter nights saturating the capillary beds of my lungs. Stop, stop, stop. “Okay,” Jess agreed at last.

“Awesome.” I was already opening the Uber app on my iPhone.

My driver was a Pacific Northwestern version of Santa Claus: wild grey beard, red flannel, L.L.Bean boots, rambling about his upcoming trip to hunt caribou in British Columbia. I honored my promise to Jessica and kept her on speakerphone for the duration of the twenty-minute drive. I rested my whirling head against the seat, let my eyes dip closed, watched the intermittent streetlights appear and disappear through my eyelids. I let myself into Charlie’s house when I arrived, wished Jessica goodnight (and reminded her not to get pregnant), and meandered clumsily into the kitchen for a glass of water and a cookie dough Pop-Tart to ward off a possible hangover. Charlie was snoring quietly on the living room couch. I watched him for a while, smiling and achingly grateful, before heading upstairs to my bedroom.

My window was wide open; that’s the first thing I noticed. I didn’t remember leaving it that way. I was always neglecting to lock the window, sure—I kept forgetting that there was no one to leave it unlocked for anymore—but I hadn’t left it open when I went to meet Jessica this evening. Icy night air flooded in. The stars were bright and furious in an uncommonly clear sky.

“You trying to give me pneumonia, old man?” I muttered, thinking of Charlie. I tossed my iPhone down onto my bed and crossed the room to close the window. And as it creaked and collided with the sill, I heard my closet door open behind me.

Someone’s here. Someone’s in this room with me.

I turned, very slowly; it felt like it took a lifetime. She was standing in the doorway of my closet, sinuous and white-haired, wearing black leather pants and stiletto heels and a long-sleeved lace blouse the color of blood, the color of her eyes. And she was harrowingly beautiful; not like Lucy or Mercy, not like Scarlett. She was beautiful like a prehistoric jawbone, like a serrated crescent moon, like a blade.

The owl. The goddamn albino owl.

I recognized her immediately. I heard Joe’s words as he introduced each vampire in the immense painting hanging in Dr. Lee’s upstairs office to me, though I desperately didn’t want to: She’s literally Satan, only blonder.

Her name tumbled from my trembling lips. “Liesl.”

“Wonderful, we can skip the introductions.” Her voice was like windchimes, cutting and brisk, with a hint of an Austrian accent like a shadow. Now she was at my bedside and picking up my phone, scrolling through it with lightning-quick and dexterous thumbs. “Hm. No texts from any of the Lees in the past week. So we don’t have to worry about them dropping by, I suppose. Joe got bored with you already, huh?”

“Evidently.” My own voice was brittle, anemic, weak; just like my ineffectual human body.

“That’s quick, even for him. How sad.” She sighed, tucking my iPhone into her red Chanel purse. “There’s a private jet waiting at the Forks Airport. Pack a bag. You have five minutes.”

“Please don’t hurt my dad,” I whispered, scalding tears brimming in my eyes.

“Of course not,” Liesl replied with a savage, saccharine smile. “Not yet, anyway.”

[brainweird-moth]

I don't have emojis right now but "cooking" "taking care of children" and "luck" for conqueror and puzzle 👀

OHOHOHO good ones!!!

puzzle

cooking - decent; can't cook huge variety, but very good at what DO know! mainly focus on soups and desserts such as totally-not-just-welsh-cake cakes :D

children - excellent! also, basically mom friend. she want make sure everyone have good food, sleep well, and feel loved! it's been some time since sunny forest get new child, but she adventure enough that basically babysit in every realm.

luck - wild luck. hates krills, been seen number of times, but somehow make away just in time that avoid severe injury - even when guide someone else around. also a few cases of "how did krill NOT see?"

and conquerer under cut because of harmony talk (so, cult warning)

conquerer

cooking - too important for kitchen duty in harmony... so not really able cook, no.

children - please... don't let her. she was good by harmony standards, being "teach them our truth" but that, well... you know. she have no idea how interact with kids in normal way without help - she know best how feed them fear, cruelty, and false beliefs. of course wouldn't now, but also not know what do instead.

luck - luck, or just cheat? in harmony and eden she tend cheat - maybe seem lucky if not realise she have pattern, but... yeah. pretty average luck.