#probably the one with the most far fetched horse symbolism but i actually put a lot of thought in it 🐎

[cryptixotic]

𝙸 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚑𝚘𝚙𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚎𝚜𝚗’𝚝 𝚋𝚕𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏.

Snippet snippet . Getting closer to the end, one more to go !

[stereksecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, zjofierose!

For @zjofierose. Happy holidays! Hope you like the story!  

Read On AO3

*****

Painted Roses and Howling Wolves

Derek presses the cloth firmly on the rose painted upon his skin.

“There,” his sister Cora says with a final swipe of her brush through her cup of water. “That should disguise it well enough.”

Derek lifts the cloth, studying the stark lines of the rose. “What if someone turns up with a rose too?” he asks.

It is unlikely that someone could have this same mark considering Cora has drawn it herself, but Derek knows of a few nobles who had been taken in by manufactured marks.

Cora pats at his shoulder. “All you have to do is drip your drink on either their mark or your own to prove that it is false.” She goes on tip toes to press a kiss to his cheek. “Perhaps you should shave?” She rubs at her mouth where his beard scratched her.

Self consciously, he strokes it. Mother had finally agreed that he could grow his beard after yet another noblewoman had mistaken him for his decade-younger brother. “I’ll oil it,” he says. “Will that do?”

“It shall have to. Is there anything else you wish from me before I get ready?”

Derek inspects the rose again, half-expecting it to already be smudged or faded, but Cora is an artist in her own right even if she has to sell her paintings under Derek’s name. It’s still perfect. “No,” he concedes, and then he is alone in his room.

He crosses to the window, throws open the curtains, and stares out at the fresh snow that fell last night. Paths have already been shoveled, and Derek watches as people scurry to and fro.

He wishes he could go out riding today, but he doesn’t want to damage any of the horses by taking them into a drift too large to get out of.

Also, whenever his family hosts a ball, his mother loans out the horses to the nearby nobles.

Derek checks the rose again, a certain paranoia that it’s worn away. He can’t shake the feeling that even though there is no way it’s coming off with anything but some water and a cloth, he’ll be found out and exposed as trying to trap someone else who might have the rose.

It happens whether he hides his mark or not.

It’s probably because more nobles have marks that match or are easily mistaken for each other. Derek’s mark, a howling wolf, is the only one of its kind so far. Most of the balls since Derek was of marrying age have been trying to find his mark-mate. Of course, a lot of the balls have doubled as a status symbol for his family, but Derek can’t help but feel out of place among all the perfumed bodies wrapped in the newest of fashions.

He doesn’t enjoy the idle chattering of useless information, far preferring to discuss weighty matters unbecoming a lord of his position, son of the Baron and Baroness Hale. Some might think he wishes he were above his stature, but then, Derek knows, he’d have far more political events disguised as balls to attend.

He sighs, lamenting, and drapes himself over a chair. He has hours before the ball officially begins, and he is already dreading it.

At least his sister Cora and brother Daniel will be there. If Daniel’s betrothed isn’t present, and she may not be since her father’s lands are farther than should be risked in wintertime, then Derek won’t have to suffer the night alone.

If only he could find someone who would stay with him and chase away the rumours that follow him. Derek knows he could be happy with someone who doesn’t share his mark, but that acquiesce isn’t allowed in the nobility. Either he must find his mark-mate or suffer the whispers that he is broken and unlovable or worse, violent and dangerous, as the rumours have turned to lately.

Derek sighs. Perhaps he can convince his mother to allow him to travel to the village. Surely there is some errand that must be in want of being completed, and with all the servants busy preparing for the ball tonight, none of them should be spared.

A solid plan. Derek rolls down his sleeve and hurries to find his mother.

~ * ~

Stiles leaps back with a yell.

Scott, digging around in one of the cupboard, jerks, banging his head on his way out. “What?” he demands. “What’s wrong?”

Stiles shakes his head, throwing a towel over the bowl, hoping that breaking the connection in such a way will clear the water of any vision.

Scott eyes him oddly. “What did you do?” he asks.

“Why do you suppose I did something?” Stiles asks as innocently as he can—that is, not innocently at all. “Why must I have done something for you to accuse me?”

Scott doesn’t answer, instead pulling the towel from the bowl. He looks into the—thankfully—clear surface. He covers it again loosely and goes back to the cupboard, pulling out the coarse flour Stiles’ father had ground for them just last fortnight.

Stiles breathes a sigh of relief. How could he describe what he saw? A wedding! And not just any wedding, but his own! He’d been standing in a grand hall, facing his groom, a man whose face Stiles still doesn’t know despite looking for him nearly every day for a year.

He’d been startled when the man had spoken his given name, repeating the vows of the priest. Stiles is not Christian despite living in a Christian land. He and his father are travelers, lost after the death of Stiles’ mother and the death of his home country.

He doesn’t know if he even wants to be married by a priest. Wouldn’t that go against his religion? He and his father haven’t kept with it, too fearful of declaring their heritage too loudly. Many people do not look favorably upon those of a different faith.

So all Stiles knows is that his groom is of Christian faith. He can’t deny that he is disappointed in that fact.

Scott looks up from where he is measuring flour. He points an accusing finger at Stiles. “Were you looking at your future again?”

“What?” Stiles splutters. “No. Whatever gave you that idea?”

“You only yell like that when you discover a new fact about yourself.” He dusts his hands off, using the towel from the bowl to wipe them clean. “Aren’t you not supposed to use magic like that?”

Stiles shakes his head. “There’s no true rule. As long as I don’t expose myself without cause, there is no danger.”

“Exposure without cause,” Scott repeats. “And what, pray tell, constitutes exposure without cause?”

Stiles shrugs. “I don’t truly know,” he admits.

“Stiles!”

“What! It’s not like the magic itself came up with that inane rule.”

“No, that was the Queen.” Scott crosses himself as if speaking of that vile woman would summon her to their little house.

When she doesn’t appear to have them arrested for wanton use of magic or speaking her name, Stiles raises an eyebrow. Scott mutters to himself and gets busy again with mixing his dough. He sells the extra loaves to other peasants such as themselves.

This parcel of land is rather well off, the Baron and Baroness bequeathing much of their wealth to keep their people hale and healthy.

Perhaps they do it to make up for all the balls they throw in the Queen’s honor and their middle child, Lord Derek. He is due to be married off if the Baroness can find a suitor for the poor man.

Stiles has rarely had cause to see any of the Hales aside from the annual autumnal festival where they celebrate another splendid harvest, but he cannot get Derek from his mind. He has never been close enough to make out his features, but Derek stands well, strong and broad-shouldered. Stiles often takes a little time with himself after seeing Derek standing stiffly at his father’s side, discussing matters despite being the second son and not in line to take over ruling.

“Why are you making bread so late?” Stiles asks.

Scott sighs, put out. “The ball is tonight, and the Baron and Baroness requested a meal. However, their house is understaffed at this moment. The recent storm kept many of the servants from returning in time, and those that are there are busy with preparations, so I was asked to make a few loaves for them.”

“Makes sense,” Stiles agrees. “Want any help?”

~ * ~

Derek traipses through the fresh snow, maybe a little too enthusiastically. He likes snow better than people. It settles something in him to find a patch of undisturbed area and just study it until it feels like when he breathes in he’s a part of it.

The village surrounding his family’s home is sprawling, space between houses taken up by trodden paths and patches of suspicious water.

Derek is trying to advocate for indoor plumbing, as they are starting to have in the larger towns and cities, but people are afraid of change, especially change suggested by a man who cannot even do something as simple as find his mark-mate.

Derek scowls down at his arm, at the covered mark. If he had not been born with such a distinct mark, he’s certain he could have been married a dozen times over, whether he wanted it or not.

Instead, he is tromping all over the village, looking for the baker who is not the baker on the first street, to collect some of the loaves promised to his mother for the ball tonight.

He was supposed to take a left after the barber, but Derek had seen no barber. Just a butcher. Lost, Derek turns one way and then another. The streets have not been officially named and when he stops a gentleman for directions, he gets a grunt and a finger pointing at a building nearly three houses to his right.

Derek thanks the man, drawing close the servant’s cloak he borrowed, and marching up to the door. He knocks three times and waits.

When the baker who is not the actual baker answers the door, he frowns at him.

Derek is unused to being frowned at. Most who see him recognise him as the Baron’s son and immediately start trying to ingratiate themselves to him.

This man, with his dark eyes and reddened lips narrows his eyes at him. “State your business,” he says.

“Derek,” Derek replies, “from the Baron’s house. Here to fetch some loaves for the ball that is to commence this evening.”

“Oh.” The man steps back, allowing Derek to squeeze by. Their hands brush as the man reaches for his cloak while Derek moves to remove it himself.

Something like lightning passes between them, and he freezes, staring down at their hands. The man has already pulled away, a muttered apology falling from his lips. His voice is roughened, syllables not quite right in the sense that they aren’t as distinctly English as Derek was expecting.

The man must be a foreigner. He speaks well though, so Derek would hazard a wager that he is not a new foreigner.

“Stiles,” the man offers.

“Derek,” Derek says again.

There is a clatter from the baker’s bench.

“Derek?” the real baker squeaks.

Derek nods.

The baker bows quickly, hissing at Stiles to do the same. Derek holds up his hands. “There is no need for that,” he says, aware that he is grimacing. Were he any other noble, he would fair demand it of his people, but Derek is the second son of the Baron and wishes no part in the almost un-Godly worship the people heap upon the nobility.

“Um, the loaves are almost ready. Well, most of them.”

The baker points at the nine loaves lined up on the edge of the table. Derek pretends to inspect them. They’re bread. It’s pretty hard to mess up bread.

Derek knows his mother sent him for twelve loaves, but really, how much food are they planning on serving? Derek knows it’s almost always a full meal. He is usually the only one too nervous and unsure to eat. Nine loaves honestly is probably enough, but just in case, he had better wait for the other three.

“I have time,” he says, and the baker and Stiles exchange a look of dismay. It stings in the same way the whispers that float around Derek do, and self-consciously, he rubs at his mark. “I can wait outside?” he offers. It’s freezing, but Derek would rather spend his time marching around the streets than here where his presence is wholly unwanted.

“No, no,” the baker hurries to assure him, but Stiles interrupts with a quiet, firm, “Scott.”

Derek inclines his head, wraps his cloak a little more firmly around himself and bids both men a good day. He’ll return when the sun drops lower than the rooftops. That should be plenty of time for the remaining loaves to be baked and cooled enough to carry.

Then, he takes his leave.

The door barely shuts before Stiles and Scott burst into conversation, and Derek feels the same tug of pain on his heart.

His family are the only ones who tolerate him.

Perhaps the rumours are right and Derek is unlovable.

He shudders in the wind and then starts walking, keeping the street to his right so that he can find his way back.

~ * ~

“Why did you kick him out?” Scott demands as soon as the door closes. Stiles violently hushes him, certain that Derek is still listening at the door.

“Did you not see his clothing under his cloak?” Stiles snaps. “He is a noble. Why did you not tell me the nobles here gathered their own stock?”

“How was I to know?” Scott retorts. “Normally they send their servants. I guess Hale Manor is short-staffed now.”

“It is nearly Christmas,” Stiles agrees. He knows very little of how the Christians actually celebrate their designated birth of Christ, but he does enjoy some of the traditions like traveling home to see family or having feasts, if able.

He and Scott always go out to his father’s home and help with harvesting ice for summer. Then they sit around the stove and drink spiced cider.

“Besides,” Scott continues, “Derek isn’t a noble you have to worry about.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, he’s different. You saw how uncomfortable he got when I recognised him, right?” Stiles nods. “Well, that’s just how he is. It’s just accepted as fact that the Royals were appointed by God, but Derek questions that divine right. He would much rather be elsewhere than at Hale Manor, but even a lord with very little chance to ascend to the throne, he’s expected to perform the same duties as his elder brother and father.”

“And what else of him?”Stiles asks, thinking of the spark that ignited when their hands brushed. He wonders what it means and why Derek’s countenance is markedly familiar even though Stiles is positive he has never seen him this close before today.

“These balls the Hales throw every month? They’re to find Derek a suitor.”

“He is unmatched?” Stiles finds that difficult. Many nobility, even lower ranking ones like Baron Hale, have their children betrothed before they are even out of swaddling. Of course, they don’t marry until each child has grown, but he still finds it surprising to hear that Derek is unattached.

Scott shrugs. He checks on the three loves still baking and decides they are done. He pulls them and sets them on his table to cool. “Most nobles find the match to their marks easily. Derek apparently has the mark of violence upon him, and none of the other nobles wish to marry into that.”

Stiles purses his lips, wondering at that. He thinks of his own mark, a faint outline of a howling wolf. He knows that wolves have been driven from this land long ago, considered far too dangerous to be around people and livestock. He keeps his mark hidden because he does not wish to have the same reputation of a wolf. Perhaps Derek has the same predicament?

There is a gentle rap upon the door, and Scott hurries to open it.

Standing on the step is Derek. Despite his thick cloak, he is shivering quite obviously, and Stiles feels a pit in his stomach open. Without ever having met Derek, he likely treated him exactly as the other nobles around Derek did.

He waits for Scott to invite Derek in, and even then, Derek just collects the loaves, leaves a bit of coin on the table for the food, and turns to go.

“Wait,” Stiles calls.

Derek pauses, looking back over his shoulder with a puzzled expression.

���Have you anyone to go to the ball with?”

“No,” Derek says. “If I had, I do not think there would be a ball.” He looks contemplative before turning back and setting the loaves down. “If you would go with me, I would make it worth your while.”

“And how is that?” Stiles asks. He cuts a glance to the coins. There is enough there for Scott to buy more provisions so that he can make more bread.

Derek follows his eyes. “I have a bit of coin that you may have if you accompany me for this one evening.” Derek rubs at his arm where, presumably, his mark is. Stiles’ fingers twitch, wishing to follow the action. Derek looks resigned when he says, “I only wish for one evening of pleasantness. You may be expected to dance, but please do not leave my side.”

Stiles agrees readily, despite the fact that he has no truly nice clothing and will surely be as out of place as a spring bloom in the dead of winter.

Derek smiles then, and Stiles feels taken. His heart beats wildly to be the recipient of that smile. “Come with me now and I shall find you something to wear,” Derek says, as if he knows Stiles’ very thoughts.

“Can you spare me, Scott?” Stiles asks. Scott doesn’t hesitate, grabbing the loaves and all but throwing them into Derek’s arms and shoving both of them towards the door.

“Have a wonderful time at the ball,” he says, shutting the door behind them.

Stiles barely had time to grab his cloak, and he wraps it tightly around himself. Derek smiles again, small and private.

“Thank you, Stiles. I do appreciate you so for taking time to do this.”

“You are paying me,” Stiles says, but he keeps his voice low, aware that neither he nor Derek need further damage to their reputations. He clears his throat, falling in step with Derek as they make their way through the slush on the streets. “Will your parents be angry at you for brining a male suitor to the ball?”

“They should be so happy that I will have someone that I think they shan’t bother you about what is beneath your trousers. Besides, they have been expecting that perhaps I would settle with a man instead of a woman.”

Stiles chokes on a breath. “Have you been with a man before?” Stiles himself has not, but he finds that he is not opposed to the idea. He only wishes that if he and Derek do end up spending the night engaged in an altogether private dance that he was not being paid for his adventures tonight. It sours the thought considerably.

Derek shrugs. “No,” he admits quietly. “But, when I imagine something like that, I rarely see myself with a woman.”

Stiles blushes. He has dreamed sometimes of his spouse, and as Derek said, it is almost never a woman. Stiles was seeking answers and that is why he has been performing his future-spying spells.

He cuts a quick glance to Derek, wondering his thoughts on magic use. There are people that claim any who use magic are evil, destined to destroy and damage, much as the wolves driven from the land were reputed. In Stiles’ homeland, magic was celebrated, thought of as an extension of one’s self. Here, he is as likely to be put to death for looking in a bowl of water as he is for burning down a Church.

Christians are confusing.

Derek adjusts his hold on the loaves, and extends a hand to Stiles. “I feel you have something very important to tell me,” he says, and Stiles wonders again if Derek has a secret line to his thoughts. “I shall not push you, and whatever you reveal to me will be kept with utmost confidence.”

Stiles lets Derek take his hand, feeling that same spark from earlier. Unbidden, the words rise up in his throat, and it takes great effort to force them back down. He will tell Derek about the magic, maybe, when they are not surrounded by people who may take Stiles’ words badly.

For now, though, he takes the comfort offered by Derek, and follows him to Hale Manor.

~ * ~

Derek drops the loaves in the kitchen and then drags Stiles up to his room where he digs through his wardrobe until he finds a waistcoat, trousers in the same colour, and a shirt that looks as if it will fit Stiles.

Derek brings in Boyd, a fantastic tailor, who makes Derek’s ill-fitting clothing look wonderful on Stiles’ lean and lanky body. There is breadth to those shoulders and the colour of the coat and trousers bring out the flecks of gold in Stiles’ eyes.

Derek averts his eyes when Stiles’ mark is revealed, wishing to offer him the same privacy Derek himself has rarely had with his own mark.

Boyd makes a surprised noise but the covers it with a cough, explaining that he swallowed wrong.

When Boyd is done, Stiles looks amazing. And it is time for Derek to also get ready. The ball shall begin in an hour, and he hasn’t even washed away his traipsing through the snow yet. He helps Stiles disrobe, averting his eyes once again so that he won’t accidentally look at stiles’ mark despite his curiosity. He knows it must be something as bad as his own if Boyd broke composure, and he doesn’t want Stiles to feel uncomfortable here. He is his guest even if Derek is giving him money to attend.

It is worth it to Derek to not have to spend the evening alone, subjected to the rumours excitedly passed about when he moves from one cluster of guests to another.

He reminds Stiles that they are not to be separated when they return from the bathing room and get dressed again. Derek chooses a waistcoat in green, to bring out his eyes, as Cora is so fond of saying. He pairs it with dark trousers and a white shirt. Stiles remains dashing, and Derek ties Stiles’ tie, aware that what is usually perfunctory at best when performed by a servant is made doubly intimate by the fact that whenever he gets too close to Stiles’ skin, there’s a crackle of electricity that makes him think of static shocks, when two things with too much charge interact.

He finds that, aside from the fact that the shocks are getting a little more painful with each discharge, he doesn’t mind it.

Stiles, on the other hand, seems more and more uncomfortable. By the time Derek is done, he is shaking.

“Are you all right?” Derek pours a glass of water for Stiles. He accepts it, sinking onto a chair to sip at it.

“No,” he finally says when the glass is half empty. He looks absolutely miserable. “Derek, I am magic.”

Magic? Derek presses on his mark. Isn’t everyone a little magic? He knows some people are afraid of what they don’t know, and magic falls into that category.

“And?” he prompts, certain that there must be more.

“And that’s it,” Stiles says, spreading his hands. He’s holding something else back, but Derek isn’t in the habit of forcing people to divulge secrets. He knows what it’s like to hide things.

“Well. It’s almost time that we go down to the ballroom. Do you feel well enough to accompany me?”

Stiles nods tightly. Derek sets aside the glass and offers his arm. Stiles accepts with a smile.

It isn’t until they’re already in the ballroom, glasses of punch in hand as Derek takes Stiles around the room, introducing him to his brothers and sisters that he realises he never told his parents that he was bringing someone. He hopes there aren’t many suitors to turn down.

“Derek,” his mother says disapprovingly when they stop to pay their respects to the Baron and Baroness.

“This is Stiles,” Derek says, in an undertone, aware that there are people staring at Stiles, trying to place him in their noble world. “He agreed to accompany me tonight.”

Mother hides her puzzlement well, accepting Stiles’ bow as proper greeting. She gives Derek a look that tells him he will have to explain later, but she allows them to continue circulating. Stiles appears overwhelmed and nervous, so Derek takes him to a corner and settles him next to Cora and Isadora, his other younger sister, who are discussing the best methods of shipping paintings throughout Europe.

His sisters immediately draw Stiles into the discussion especially when Isadora recognizes Stiles’ accent as coming from an area of Europe currently under mass migration, although, judging from Stiles’ mastery of their language, he has spent the past several years here.

Derek is content to stand over them, fetching drinks and a few bites to eat as required, but almost as soon as he steps away, his mother draws him towards the center of the floor to meet with a few suitors. Obediently, Derek draws up his sleeves and shows off the rose Cora painted so many hours ago.

His mother becomes enraged although she hides it well, while none of the suitors have a match to either Derek’s false or true mark.

The evening wears on thusly.

~ * ~

Stiles looks up when a young man joins them. He was expecting Derek to return with a drink, as Stiles’ first glass is long empty, but Derek appears to be busy with his mother.

The life of a noble.

“I’m Daniel,” the man says, shoving his hand in Stiles’ space for a quick shake.

“Stiles,” Stiles returns. He is perhaps shorter than he means to be, but Daniel looks delighted.

“So you are who Derek dragged here. There’s rumours that you are a noble from another country.”

“I’m afraid not.” Stiles smiles.“Just a simple peasant who immigrated a number of years ago.”

“Stiles was telling us of his life in Galicia.”

“Isn’t there some unrest there?” Daniel’s brow creases. It reminds Stiles of Derek, and he glances about the room, but he cannot see the man anywhere.

“There is,” Stiles confirms. If they talk much longer on this topic, the Hales will discover that he is not Christian, and Stiles hasn’t known any of them long enough to ascertain whether he will be safe if that information is divulged.

Their conversation doesn’t get a chance to resume because somewhat loudly, a lord and lady at the table next to them make exclamations of disgust.

“I don’t see why we keep trying,” the lady says, harshly. “They know that something is wrong with that boy.”

“Why they seem to think we don’t know it is beyond me,” the lord agrees.

Curious, Stiles leans a little closer, wondering who they are disparaging.

He gets an answer soon enough when he sees Derek walking towards them stiffly, holding Stiles’ drink in his tightly clenched fist while his mother and another lady, closer in age to Derek than his mother, walk with him.

“If you would just allow your mark to be seen,” Derek’s mother says, not softly enough to remain unheard.

“A mark like Derek’s can only mean violence,” the younger lady says, not quite as quietly. The Baroness shoots her an angry glare. The lady seems unaffected, continuing, “Just because wolves were driven out of England a few hundred years ago, it does not mean that we don’t remember their destruction and havoc. We only have to listen to stories from other countries to remember just how vicious wolves really are.”

Derek reaches them, hands Stiles the drink, which Stiles immediately sets down, and turns on his heel. His face is red, mouth in a thin line. He appears close to tears, but Stiles isn’t sure why he thinks that. No one else, aside from Derek’s family, appears bothered by the swelling of voices clamouring around Derek as he makes his way to the grand staircase.

Without quite meaning to, Stiles finds himself on his feet, throwing wide his arms and drawing on the magic he can feel running through his body. He uses it to throw his voice, amplifying it until it drowns out the noisy crowd.

“How dare you!” he shouts. “How dare you claim that someone is violent and dangerous when you know nothing of them?” He rolls up his sleeves, showing off his own howling wolf. “I know danger; I’ve seen men do dastardly things. You hate your Baron’s son because he bears this mark?” Stiles slaps his arm and his wolf leaps from his skin, settling down onto its haunches in front of Stiles. The wolf is nothing more than an apparition, barely tangible enough to see. Still, people recoil at the sight of it.

On the steps, Stiles sees Derek pause. He turns slowly, staring at the wolf. Consciously or not, he rolls up his own sleeve. Stiles is most disappointed to see that Derek has a rose, not a wolf, on his arm. Then Cora pushes past him, the discarded drink in hand. She uses a handkerchief procured from somewhere, dips it in the drink, and scrubs harshly at Derek’s rose.

The ink wipes away, leaving the image of a howling wolf there.

Derek touches it and then jerks back when a wolf bursts forth from his arm. Derek’s wolf doesn’t sit at his feet. No, it marches right up to Stiles’ wolf, touches noses and then settles there, both of them just waiting.

And still the nobles sit silent.

Derek moves to Stiles’ side, laying his arm atop Stiles’ so that their marks are pressed together. The wolves touch noses again and fade away to nothing.

“How wonderful!” Derek’s mother exclaims. “You have finally found your match.” She takes them both by the arm and leads them to the grand staircase. “I wish to announce the engagement of my son Derek, son of James, Baron of Beaconshire and his betrothed, Stiles of Beaconshire.”

The Hale children break into loud cheers and clapping, and grudgingly the nobles join in. Neither the lady nor lord who had spoken so disparagingly of Derek do anything.

The Baroness leans close to Stiles. “I would thank you not to do magic among our company again. I can convince everyone that it was simply part of the mark-mating, but I cannot protect you if word gets out that there is a sorcerer in our midst.”

Stiles is lucky, he knows, that the Baroness is ready to fight for him already when she doesn’t know him and was displeased with Derek bringing him in the first place. He can understand and respect her wishes to not perform more magic.

He won’t stop, of course. He’s spent much of his life learning what he has. He won’t put it away, and he hopes that bearing the same mark as Derek means that Derek will understand that magic is literally in Stiles’ blood.

They cannot be together if it turns out that Derek agrees with the persecution of magic users.

Derek takes Stiles’ hand, twines their fingers together. “Would you dance with me?” he asks softly. In the request, Stiles hears just how upset Derek still is but also how soothed he is to have found his mark-mate. Stiles looks around the room, at the unfamiliar faces all staring woodenly back at him. He would rather not, but he also does not want to reject Derek so quickly.

Perhaps one dance won’t be so difficult.

In answer, Stiles tightens his grip on Derek’s hand and leads him down the stairs and onto the cleared area. “You should know,” he whispers as they take their positions, “I am neither known for my grace nor my prowess in dancing.”

“That is quite all right,” Derek returns easily. “I am known as a brute despite the fact that I have never once lost my temper.”

Stiles smiles.

~ * ~

One dance turns into many, and by the time dinner is called, Derek is thoroughly enamored with Stiles. Not that he wasn’t before, but there is something genuine now when before Stiles was hiding a part of himself.

Derek would guess that it was the magic, but he also suspects that Stiles may not share the same faith as most of England.

He is proven correct when Stiles questions the food, and based on Derek’s answers, only eats the bread that his friend made.

Once done with that, and because Derek has disregarded his parents’ attempt at finding him a suitor, the ball drags. Neither Stiles nor Derek is much in the mood for dancing anymore, too busy conversing on the finer points of suppression of peoples. Derek thinks war is brewing, and Stiles knows it, from the way he speaks.

“I will still pay you,” Derek says at the end of the night when he and Stiles are in a carriage being ferried to the village. Daniel and Cora both begged to accompany them as chaperones, and Mother granted it.

He has the bag of coins Stiles more than earned sitting in his lap. Stiles has barely glanced at it all night, flushing whenever his eyes fall to Derek’s lap.

“I shouldn’t,” he says demurely.

They dance around it for another few minutes before Daniel, always impatient, bursts out, “For land’s sakes, Stiles, just take the damn thing. Call it a dowry for becoming a part of the family.”

Stiles blushes harder but he doesn’t give the coins back when Derek hands them to him.

“It doesn’t make you any less,” Derek says quietly. “If anything, it’s more. It’s an apology for how things turned out.”

“I haven’t minded,” Stiles says. “But are you certain you wish to still pay me?”

“I am. After all, what kind of a husband would I be if I did not give you a purse to do with as you please?”

He smiles, to take the bite of the words out. Stiles nods solemnly.

“And am I to be just a husband, or will I continue as I have?”

Stiles is an apprentice at the apothecary. It is the perfect cover for his magic, Derek thinks. If Mother hadn’t declared the wolves to have been a part of exposure of the mark-mate, Derek thinks Stiles could have hid behind the potions of the apothecary.

“You shall do whatever it is you desire,” Derek says. “And if you need more money to do it, let me know and I will procure it for you.”

They reach the door of Stiles’ friend and before Stiles steps out of the carriage, Derek gently lays his hands upon his face, tilting it ever so slightly until he can slot their mouths together.

The same electricity from their first touch sparks over his lips, and when he pulls back, he feels as though they are swollen and reddened, announcing to all that he has just kissed his mark-mate.

Stiles looks at him, fondness softening his face. “Good night, my lord,” he says and slips from the carriage.

Derek looks to his brother and sister, who are both busy pretending to have a conversation, but Cora is talking of a painting and Daniel is speaking of the holly bushes that will need to be trimmed in a few days.

Derek settles back in his seat with a smile. He strokes a finger down his arm, tracing the lines of his mark. From outside the carriage, they hear Stiles slam into the door of his friend’s bakery, a bitten off curse following.

Then Derek’s own mark tingles, the feelings of fingers tracing his mark though he stopped when they heard Stiles.

He smiles to himself, glad for the connection. It makes him happy that Stiles has accepted his mark. It makes it easier to accept his own.

And later, they discover just how sensitive and strong their bond is each with their hands on their marks and a different, matching appendage.

~ End ~

[legolaslovely]

Return to Nampara

A/N: Don’t even ask me where this came from! Sometimes, I really have trouble writing characters I really admire and Ross and Demelza are some of those characters. But I was reading about Ross and Caroline’s relationship in The Black Moon and had an idea, what if Ross had a sister? I tried to be as canonically(?) correct with this, but you’re just gonna have to roll with me haha! Also practicing writing in third person without the (Y/N) symbol in the way. Anyway, Hope you enjoy!

Pairing: Ross + sister Rebecca, some Ross x Demelza

Word Count: 3,010

Warnings: spoilers for book 1/season 1? other than that none? fluff!

Summary: Takes place three months after Demelza and Ross’s wedding, Ross’s sister Rebecca, who he hasn’t seen since he went to war, attends a family funeral with Ross.

Ross stood tall and still in the library, one hand resting on the chair in front of him and the other holding a letter he’d just opened.

“What’s got you grinnin’ so?” Demelza asked.

He looked to her standing in the doorway. Her long, unruly hair was pulled back with the ribbon he’d brought her from his last visit to Truro. “When did this letter come?”

She put her hand on her hip, recalling. “Soon after you left for Leisure,” she said.

He shook the paper gently, then folded it back up and slid it in his coat pocket. “My sister is coming,” he said, unsuccessful in hiding his grin.

Demelza’s brows shot up. “I didn’t know you had one.”

He hummed. “She’s lived in London with family friends for a long while. She couldn’t stand dealing with our father alone.” He chuckled.

“She left you?”

He rounded the desk and stepped to her, pulling her in from the doorway. His hands rested on her hips. “I left her first, my dear. To fight the Americans.”

“She’s coming here?” Demelza asked. She tried to ignore the nerves growing in her stomach and her trembling fingers.

“She’s coming to my uncle’s funeral, and with any luck, yes, she’s coming here.” He took in her white face. “You will like her- you’re very similar.”

Demelza hummed. Oh yes, Ross’s adored, important, educated and no doubt beautiful sister is just like her. She let him kiss her cheek and tried to ignore her dread at having another Poldark in the house.

***

The morning of the funeral, Ross reached the edge of Truro to meet his sister a quarter hour before the carriage was due to arrive. He dismounted Darkie and waved away Jud and his complaints. “Don’t go too far.” He tied the reins to a tall post and leaned against it, fighting the excitement he felt at the prospect of seeing his beloved sister after years of being apart.

He heard pounding hooves and the rattling of the old bridles and reins and turned his head to watch the carriage pull in front of him. His sister was the only one to get off at Truro. She stepped out and ran to Ross, jumping into his embrace as she did when she was a child. “Ross!”

“Rebecca,” he laughed, setting her feet on the ground and kissing her cheek. Over her shoulder, he watched Jud take her bag from the coachmen before they set off for their next destination. His face fell. She hadn’t brought enough to stay very long.

She stood before him and eyed him. “Look at you!” A delicate finger ran over the scar on his cheek. “My brother’s still so handsome after all that time in America, hm?”

He hummed and rolled his eyes, but took a moment to appreciate her. Her hair had grown long and curled around the small of her back and she’d grown into her angular face just as he had. “And my baby sister is not a baby anymore.”

“No, she is not! I’m a lady now, don’t you know,” she sang, curtsying in jest.

He couldn’t help but laugh at her.

She hugged him again, wrapping her arms tightly around him. “I hate that I’ve brought you so out of the way of Trenwith to fetch me, but I am also glad of it. Could you imagine this reunion at the funeral? I wouldn’t be able to restrain my excitement if I didn’t see you first.”

“And will you be this happy to see the rest of our family?”

“Don’t tease, Ross. You know I love them all, but no one holds a candle to you.”

He hummed with a bright smile on his face. It was not easy to make Ross blush, but if anyone could do it, it was his sister. He turned to Jud and told him to take Rebecca’s bag back to Nampara. “If any item goes missing, do not doubt you will be flogged to within an inch of your life.” He didn’t hold back his threats for Rebecca’s sake, she too knew Jud’s habits very well.

“No, Ross, I’ll be staying at Trenwith,” she said.

His jaw set. “You will not, you will stay with me at Nampara.”

She smirked at his possessive expression. “I cannot impose-”

“You will not be imposing. It is not up for discussion, Nampara is your home.”

“It is your home and your new wife’s home. You don’t need a strange family member encroaching on your bliss after only three months of marriage. I’ve already spoken with Francis-”

“I refuse to leave you in the care of Francis. Jud, bring her things to Nampara. Rebecca, get on the horse.” He offered a hand.

She giggled. Admittedly, she’d missed being fussed over by her big brother. “Yes, Captain Poldark.” She mounted Darkie without his assistance and slid her feet out of the stirrup for Ross to use and settle behind her. “And when will I hear about this lovely wife of yours? I was disappointed when I did not receive quite the in depth letter Verity did.”

Ross grumbled, setting off to a trot toward Trenwith. “I should have known she’d tell you of it.”

“Well, I’m offended, Ross.” Her voice lilted lightly but he knew she was sincerely hurt.

“I will tell you the details on our ride back to Nampara. You’ll meet her before Verity does, if it’s any consolation.”

“Do you think me that childish?”

“Yes.”

She smacked his hands that rest in front of her, but laughed with him.

It didn’t take long for them to arrive at the gates of Trenwith. “We look much too happy together for the morning of our uncle’s funeral,” Rebecca said softly.

Ross squeezed her arm. “Uncle Charles would have wanted us to celebrate your return.” He directed Darkie in front of the pond and dismounted. He took Rebecca’s waist, though he knew she’d slide off the saddle gracefully without his help. He watched her swallow her sadness and nostalgia, kissed her head, and led her through the doors of Trenwith.

The entire affair dragged on, but through all of it, Ross was hardly ever parted from his sister. He held a drawn smile as she was reunited with Francis, and listened to her gush over how nice Trenwith looked under his care, despite the circumstances. The pond shone in the morning light, it must take much time and care. Were those new curtains in the sitting room? They were lovely. And the new turkey carpet in the dining room was also just lovely. Ross smirked to himself, knowing that whenever Rebecca used the word ‘lovely’ she never actually meant it.

Rebecca was on his arm as they walked to the church. She was sat between him and Francis during the mass and was surprisingly strong during the funeral. Her low, smooth voice perfectly singing the hymns brought him back to his childhood when they sat in this order, in this church almost every Sunday. Then his mother died and they didn’t return except once every year for Christmas.

He gave her his handkerchief when her fingers started to tremble in his. His thumb ran over her knuckles and listening to her sniff almost brought emotion to his own eyes. Not of Charles’ death, but of sorrowful reminiscence of a time when his family was happy and there was no unrest between them. He wondered if times such as those could ever return.

They returned to Trenwith and Ross allowed Rebecca to escape him for the first time that day. She rushed upstairs to say hello to Elizabeth out of nothing but propriety, and to visit with Verity. After Ross, Verity was who she was most excited to see. He stood at the window watching the light shine over the pond and waited for her, chuckling to himself when he heard her and Verity’s squeals.

After a few refreshments and goodbyes, they were trotting off to Nampara with Darkie. With every mile put between them and Trenwith, Rebecca’s smile grew a little more. She prattled on about how she’d missed the cliffs and the salt air gathering on the windows. In London, only frost grew on the windows and she detested it. “Now, please, Ross. Tell me about Demelza.”

He had forgotten his earlier promise to her and her question caught him off guard. “Well… she grew up in Illugan. Not far from here, you remember?”

She waved him away with a scoff. “Oh, I know all that. Tell me about her. What is she like?”

He was glad she was facing the other way as his throat worked, thinking of what to say. What could he tell her? “She is nervous to meet you,” he decided on. He felt a fool, like a boy telling his kid sister of his first crush.

“Nervous to meet me? Why? What did you tell her of me?”

“Nothing,” he said.

“You’ve told her nothing of me? Do I not exist?”

He groaned. “Rebecca.”

“So you won’t tell me what she’s like, I will find out for myself when I meet her. But I can see she makes you happy.”

He slowed Darkie to a walk as they came upon Nampara land. A smile tugged at his lips at the thought of seeing Demelza again after such a long and trying day. She had probably been hustling around the house for hours, making pies and scrubbing the floor raw, worried sick over what Rebecca would think of her housekeeping skills. He breathed out a laugh. “Yes. She makes me happy.”

***

Demelza dropped her broom and whipped off her apron at the sound of Ross’s voice. He asked Jud to take Darkie around and as usual, Jud did as he was asked with a cursing grumble. Then she heard a woman’s voice.

“You’re too good for allowing him to stay, Ross.” Her voice was low and strong like his. Demelza peeked at her through the window, but Rebecca’s back was turned to the house. Against the backdrop of her black dress, Demelza could just see the veil of thick, dark hair curling tightly down to her waist.

“Jud was a friend of Father’s,” Ross said.

Rebecca hummed. “Many of Father’s friends are better thrown out,” she said lowly. Then she turned to get a look at the house in the low evening light. She stepped out of Demelza’s view but she heard her say, “Oh, my, Ross! The work you’ve done! It looks wonderful—better than it ever was! Father would be proud.”

Pride consumed Demelza’s own chest. She was glad someone was taking notice of her husband’s hard, unending work. Then she heard Ross whisper his sister’s name. She guessed Rebecca’s emotions had swelled.

“It must be difficult coming back after all this time,” he said.

Rebecca laughed thickly. “It’s my own fault. I lost my temper with Father one too many times and ran off to London, never to see him again.” Her voice broke. “A perfect daughter, I am.”

His soft protests could be heard through the door. “Nonsense. Father was unbearable at the end. No one blames you for getting an education in London, growing in the culture there. You’ve single handedly bettered our name with your travels.”

“Don’t tease, Ross.” Her voice was muffled. Perhaps by Ross’s arms or chest as he hugged her, Demelza thought. She shoved away her absurd twinge of jealousy.

Rebecca huffed and laughed. “Now that I’ve made a fool of myself-”

“Nonsense.”

“Please, please, may I meet your wife now?”

Demelza didn’t wait for Ross’s answer. She bolted out of the room and into his office so she would have a moment to gather herself. She looked in the glass in the corner, pulling on her sleeves and brushing a loose lock of hair behind her ear. Should she pinch her cheeks? No. Ross would know if she had and tease her mercilessly later. Then she heard him call her.

She flew down the stairs and froze at the bottom when she caught sight of Rebecca. She was an image of Ross. Her dark hair and stunning black dress only accentuated her porcelain skin that Demelza guessed was as easily browned in the sun as her brother’s. The sharp, angular features of the Poldarks made her face look delicate and handsomely thin. She stood almost as tall as him and her corset brought the eye to slim curves that Demelza could only wish for.

Then her hands were in Rebecca’s and she forced a smile to her face.

“You must be Demelza. I can’t tell you what a pleasure it is to meet you. I have heard so much about you.” Rebecca glanced to Ross. “Of course, not from Ross directly. There are not many women in this world who can render him speechless, you know.”

Both women looked to him, one in jest, and one in question. His mouth fell agape. “I believe the only two who can are standing before me.”

Rebecca squeezed her hands. “Forgive me, Demelza. I live to tease him.”

“You and me both. Would-would you like some tea? You must be tired from your journey. And I have biscuit-cakes and raspberry tarts. Ross said they’re your favorite.” Demelza flew around the kitchen, putting plates full of warm treats on the table.

Rebecca sat with a wide smile. “You’ve gone to much too much trouble! Oh my, Demelza! Look at all these treats. You are too kind, really.”

Demelza cheeks were enflamed at her praise. “It’s no trouble, I enjoy baking these. They’re Ross’s favorite as well.” She lifted the cooled kettle from the table and set it on the fire again. She didn’t know when they’d come and had boiled water four times before they arrived. She smirked as Ross sat at the head of the table and reached across Rebecca, elbowing her purposefully as he took a tart from the plate. He stuffed the entire thing in his mouth.

“And you call me childish,” Rebecca said.

Now that the kettle was gone, Rebecca saw the hand knitted trivet left on the table. She fingered it gently without moving it from its place. “This is beautiful. Is this from Truro?” she asked.

“Demelza made it,” Ross said.

“Did you? It’s gorgeous. May I look at it?” Her sharp, brown eyes flew up to Demelza’s.

She nodded, thrown by Rebecca asking her permission. She watched as her guest lifted her work and ran her delicate, gentle fingers over the stitching.

“The cabling is marvelous. I’ve tried for weeks and still can’t get it right. I admire you, I really do.” She set it back down on the table and smoothed it with her hands.

Demelza could tell she was sincere and not just trying to make a nice impression on her. Like Ross, Rebecca’s brows were knitted together and her eyes focused. Her lips barely moved as she spoke.

“I can teach you, if you’d like,” Demelza said.

“I would be in your debt.”

The sun had set and the candles had burned down, and Demelza and Rebecca were still chatting happily. Demelza drank in stories of Ross as a child and Rebecca was happy to hear about his present life after the war. They spoke of housing duties and general womanhood, but Ross refused to leave either of them. He was content in their presence, watching both of them become comfortable with each other. Each transformed before his eyes—his sister into an exciting young woman and Demelza into a confident mistress of the house.

Rebecca huffed from her laughing and sighed. “Well, I have stolen both your attentions for long enough. I am retiring for the night and will see you in the morning. Thank you for a perfect feast, Demelza.” She squeezed her hand, kissed her brother goodnight and went off to the small bedroom in the back of the house where her bag waited for her.

Demelza stood, gathering the empty plates, but Ross took them from her and pulled her to sit in his lap. “How was your day?”

She smirked, knowing his aim. “Tirin’. Judas, Ross, I was so nervous I scoured this house from bottom to top.”

He chuckled, pulling the loose ribbon from her hair and watching it fall. He twirled a curl in his fingers. “I had a feeling you would. Everything was perfect but you didn’t have to do it.”

“How was I to know your sister would be so-wonderful? She’s just like you.”

“Her temper is worse than mine,” he said.

“Impossible.”

He kissed her, swallowing her giggle. He drew back, taking in her eyes, her rosy cheeks, and her soft, comfortable smile. She ran her fingers through his curls.

“Was the funeral well?”

He nodded. “It was what he would have wanted. It was long and all about him,” he said with a smirk. “It dragged on and on and all I could think of was getting home to you.” His hands slid down her waist and under her bottom as he kissed just below her ear.

“You didn’t tell me she was so beautiful.”

“Who?” he asked against her skin.

“Rebecca.”

He drew away with a deep chuckle. “I haven’t seen her since she was a child. It’s uncanny seeing her grown, but she’s always acted the same sweet away.” He returned to her neck. “Now will you stop thinking about my sister and kiss me?”

She pushed his smug face away. “A beautiful woman had your adoration and attentions all day. How am I not to think of that?”

“You’ve had my adoration and attentions all day, my dear. And you always will have them.”

She ran her fingers over his cheeks and kissed him deeply. She released him and allowed her bottom lip to slide over his before taking it in her mouth again. She held onto him as he stood and carried her to their bedroom, kicking the door closed with his foot.

Taglist and those who may enjoy! @emrfangirl @misslongcep @raindancer2004 @ladybugg1235 @xxbyimm @burningcoffeetimetravel @fizzyxcustard @fire-flv @nerdbirdsworld @dashesofink @c-s-stars @teagarages​

[unfortunate-stranger-losers]

Six Baudelaires AU, Part One {AO3} {Read from the Beginning}

Chapter Sixteen → in which Solitude leads a Jailbreak

“No!” Sunny shouted.

“Sunny’s right, the Incredibly Deadly Viper isn’t poisonous!” Violet said.

“It’s one of the friendliest snake species in the world.” Lilac added.

“Now, children,” Poe said, “It’s called the Incredibly Deadly Viper.”

“It’s a misnomer.” Klaus said.

“Gesundheit.” Poe said. “Children, why don’t you go get your suitcases, and we’ll discuss how to get you into town.”

“We’re not-” Nick began.

“Actually,” Violet said over him, elbowing him in the ribs, “That sounds good. Everyone, come with me.”

Carefully, the siblings stood up, and the boys picked up the infants, and they walked outside the kitchen and up the stairs.

“Alright, Vi, what’s up?” Nick asked, as Violet once again tied back her hair.

“The Incredibly Deadly Viper clearly couldn’t have killed Monty.” Violet said. ���Olaf made a horrible mistake in picking him to blame.”

“Technically, Lucafont blamed him.” Nick said.

“Okay, that was clearly one of his troupe members.” Klaus said. “The- I’m not quite sure what their gender is.”

“Was it?” Nick asked. “I don’t remember what anyone looks like, honestly.”

“What about us?” Klaus said.

“Naw,” Nick shrugged, as they reached the top of the stairs, “If you guys left me alone for a few hours I’d forget who you are.”

“Okay,” Violet said, “We need to find the Incredibly Deadly Viper and prove it’s not poisonous. Sunny, you’re its best friend, can you do that?”

“No, no,” Lilac said, “We’re not sending Sunny anywhere alone.”

“Helpy!” Solitude said, as she shoved Babbitt into her pocket. “I can assist her!”

“No, no,” Lilac said, “We need a better plan; Stephano’s shown he’s fine with murdering people, he might kill the snake before we can prove anything.”

Sunny gasped, tears springing to her eyes at the thought of losing her Uncle and best friend so close to each other.

“You’re scaring Sunny!” Klaus said.

“She should be scared!” Nick said. “If Olaf gets us out of the country-”

“We need to find a murder weapon.” Violet said. “I bet it’ll be in Stephano’s suitcase. Lilac, think we can break into the car and suitcase?”

“Absolutely.” Lilac said. “Used to break into Mom’s car whenever you guys left your stuffed animals or toys in there.”

“Wait, really?” Klaus stared at her.

“Why didn’t you just ask Mom to open the car?” Nick asked.

“Not as fun.” Lilac shrugged.

“Klaus, Nick,” Violet said, “I need you to read up on Uncle Monty’s notes. Find evidence that the Incredibly Deadly Viper isn’t deadly. Soli, stick with them, you probably remember where Monty kept his journals.”

“Ye!” Solitude nodded.

“We’ll take Sunny.” Lilac said. “She can help us and not bother you.”

Klaus nodded, passing the baby over to Lilac. “We’ll go as fast as we can.”

“If they try to take you away,” Lilac said, “Cause a distraction til we get back.”

“What kind of distraction?” Nick asked.

“You’ve all read a million books,” Violet said, “Surely one of them had something about causing a distraction.”

“I read about the Trojan Horse.” Klaus said.

“Then build a Trojan Horse.” Violet said. “Go nuts, stay safe, don’t die.”

“Same to you.” Nick said, and the groups split off.

“Alright,” Klaus said, as they ran towards the Reptile Room, “We need to find Uncle Monty’s notes on the Incredibly Deadly Viper.”

“It was in one of his journals,” Nick said, “But I can’t remember which one.”

“Iee!” Solitude said, which meant, “I do!”

“Okay,” Klaus nodded, as they reached the bottom of the stairs, “We just…”

The boys stalled, turning to look at the wide open door of the Reptile Room. Soli leaned against Nick’s shoulder, and, very quietly, he said, “We… should go in.”

“Yeah.”

“The body’s not in there.”

“Yeah.”

“And nothing can actually hurt us.”

“Except Olaf. And he’s not there.”

“Yeah.”

Still, they stood in place, glancing at each other. Finally, Klaus said, “Lilac and Violet need us to do this.”

“Yeah.”

Klaus reached out to grab Nick’s free hand, and Nick squeezed his palm slightly as they walked into the Reptile Room.

Once they got in, Nick said, “Shit, Klaus, the reptiles need fed.”

“Not a big worry right now.”

“They need food, Klaus! It’s not their fault that- that all this is happening.”

“We’ll feed them after we find Monty’s notes.”

Nick sighed. “I mean…” He glanced at Soli, who also looked distressed. “Yeah. Yeah, we’ll find Monty’s notes, and then everything will be okay.”

Klaus ran to the shelves, scanning. “Where are his journals?”

Solitude pointed towards the right, and Nick walked over to the far shelves, kneeling down to find the bound journals, kept closer to the floor so they were easier to grab. “They all look the same.” he said.

Solitude crawled out of his arms, looking over the journals carefully. As Babbitt hopped out of her pocket and across the floor, she said, “Recente,” which, in this case, meant, “It was in the newest one, so it should be on one of the ends.”

“I’ll take one end, Klaus’ll take the other.” Nick said. “Klaus, come here. Take one of these two- Klaus?”

Nick and Solitude looked towards Klaus, who had stopped behind Monty’s desk. He was looking up at a picture on the wall, one of Monty in the jungle that they’d never looked at closely.

“Klaus, hey.” Nick picked up the journals and walked over to his brother. “Take one.”  

“Look at the picture.”

“Yeah, I know, it’s Uncle Monty-”

“Look what he’s holding.”

Nick looked up at the picture. “Some kind of telescope? I don’t-”

Klaus reached into his pocket, pulling out the mysterious cylinder, and he held it up. “Look. Doesn’t this look like the bottom half?”

Nick glanced between the cylinder and the picture, slowly realizing that it did. “Holy fuck.”

“And if the top half was the half that crumbled at the house-”

“Holy fuck.”

“It’s a spyglass, Nick!”

“Half a spyglass.”

“What the hell does that mean? Why did Mother and Father have a spyglass with the Eye on it?”

“It looks like Monty’s does, too.” Nick said, looking at the picture again. “It makes up the hedges, too.”

“It’s everywhere.”

“Actually,” Nick narrowed his eyes, “That’s a weird-ass looking eye, isn’t it? Like some kind of symbol.”

“What do you think it means?”

“I-” Nick stopped suddenly, listening carefully. As Klaus paused, he realized that he could hear the same thing; distantly, Mr Poe was coughing, and Stephano was speaking, and those noises were getting louder.

“Shit, they’re coming in here.” Nick said. He paused, and then threw the journals into Klaus’s hands before pushing him to the ground.

“Hey! What the-”

“Stay behind the desk.” Nick said. He then vaulted himself over said desk and ran over to the cage of the two-headed cobra. “Soli, stay- Soli?” He looked towards the shelves, to see that she had vanished. “Goddamnit.”

“Language, Nicholas.” Poe said, and Nick jumped, turning to stare at the adults who’d just entered. Nurse Lucafont and Stephano were both giving him suspicious glares, while Poe simply looked a bit bemused. “Where are your siblings?”

“Upstairs, packing stuff up.” Nick said. “I came in here to feed the reptiles. We forgot this morning.”

“I should’ve thought you’d never want to see a reptile again.” Poe said.

“Well, we don’t want to neglect our chores.” Nick then turned to glare at Olaf. “Wouldn’t you agree, Stephano, that children ought to do all of the chores assigned to them?”

Stephano returned his glare. “Well…”

“Well, Nick, that was a very nice thought,” Poe said, “But we really should be going. Now, I know you all wanted to see the doctor’s car, but really, we don’t believe there’s any way for us to get into town unless the six of you travel with Stephano-”

Nick glanced out the windows of the Reptile Room, towards the cars parked outside, and he froze a second when he saw Lilac and Violet out there, standing by Stephano’s car. We need more time…

He turned, and saw, to his horror, that Stephano was also looking out the window.

Fuck, fuck, fuck…

“Can’t we make sure the Reptiles are alright?” Nick shouted. “Or take some with us into town? I think I’d like to take the Mamba du Mal.”

“I’m not sure that would be a good idea.” Stephano said.

“And why not?” Nick asked, trying not to glance at the desk, to make sure Klaus was still behind it, reading as fast as he could. “It’s a perfectly harmless snake. In fact-” he heard a click, and he turned, smiling widely, “Solitude’s fetching it right now!”

The adults turned and stared in shock as Solitude, having managed to hoist herself on top of a sidetable, flipped open the lock on a cage, and a large, orange snake slithered out, off the table and onto the floor. Solitude let out a loud laugh, and Nick laughed, too, as Stephano and Nurse Lucafont leapt back. Poe jumped, too, and he said, “Solitude! You shouldn’t have let it out, we’ll have to put it back!”

“Free!” Solitude cheered, and as they watched, she ran to another cage, flipping open the lock so she could grab and throw a large, three-eyed toad. “Free!”

“Put that back this instant!” Stephano yelled.

“Be free!” Soli shouted.

“Look,” Nick said, smiling as the snake slithered closer, “The Mamba wants to say hello.”

“We need to get away from that creature!” Stephano shouted. “It’s one of the most deadly snakes in the animal kingdom!”

“Can’t be more deadly than that.” Nick said, pointing to a cage that Solitude had jumped towards.

“Solitude! Leave that closed!” Poe shouted, but the toddler didn’t listen.

“Snake!” Solitude shouted as she opened the cage. “Free! Free Snake!”

“Free the snakes!” Nick cheered.

Stephano shouted, “She’s unleashing poisonous animals!”

“You mean that frog?” Nick asked. “No, it’s harmless.”

“The Mamba du Mal has the deadliest and most fast-acting venom in the world, you imbecile!” Stephano shouted. “We have to leave before it attempts to bite us!”

“Uh, boss?” Nurse Lucafont began.

“Really? How would you know that?” Nick said.

“I’ve read Doctor Montgomery’s books, I know what snakes are here, and the Mamba du Mal is poisonous!”

“Well, it is,” Nick said, “But I thought you knew nothing about snakes.”

“Yes,” Poe said, suddenly realizing, “You said you didn’t know anything.”

Stephano paused a moment, as Nick smirked and Soli continued to laugh. “Well- well, I was being modest.”

“You weren’t being modest,” Nick said, “You were lying. And my siblings and I…” he paused, glancing towards the window. Lilac and Violet were still at Stephano’s car, but something had just hit him.

Where’d they put Sunny?

It was at that moment that they heard a screech from the foyer.

“Alright,” Lilac said, as the boys and Soli headed for the stairs, “We need a lockpick. Now, the easiest lockpicks to make are out of bobby pins, paperclips-”

“Or we could just have Sunny bite us a lockpick.” Violet said.

“I don’t think she can do that.”

“Come on, Li, have faith in her.”

Lilac sighed. “I have some pins in my room.”

“Alright, fine.”

They ran to Lilac’s room, where she tied back her hair and dug through her desk of items, pulling out two bobby pins. “We’ll only need these. Sunny, pull this bobby pin into a long piece, and get the rubber knobs off.”

“Roger.” Sunny said. “I got it.”

“Violet,” Lilac said, “Bend one end of this back in on itself, make a loop, and then bend it into a right angle.”

Violet stared at her. “What?”

Lilac sighed, and then did it herself, grabbing some pliers off of her desk in order to make the bending easier. Once she and Sunny were done, Lilac said, “Now we just have to get out of the house without being seen.”

“We could climb out the window.” Violet suggested.

“Does your shoulder still hurt?”

“Not that much-”  

“Not risking it. We’ll just go out the front and hope they don’t catch up.” Lilac said, hiking up her skirt and starting to tie it back; she remembered, briefly, how her Mother had taught her how best to tie back long dresses and skirts if she planned to run in them. “Hold Sunny, let’s move out.”

The girls ran, then, through the hall and down the stairs. Lilac quickly opened the front door, hoping that nobody heard the creak as she did, and they ran to the cars.

“We don’t have much time.” Lilac said, lifting the trunk of Stephano’s car and grabbing the suitcase, pulling out her bobby pins and getting to work. “Violet, give me some help.”

“What do you need?”

Lilac stuck the angled pin into the bottom, turning it slightly, before saying, “Hold this still. Not a lot of pressure, but keep it here.”

Violet nodded, placing Sunny onto the grass and grabbing the pin. Lilac grabbed the second one, sliding it into the top of the lock and jiggling it a little. After a minute, she pushed a little, waiting for a click.

“Is that it?” Violet asked.

“Nope.”

“Ugh, this is taking forever!”

“Would you rather break open the lock with a flamethrower?”

“Yes! Was that an option?”

“Violet!”

Sunny groaned, flopping onto her back in the grass. As her sisters argued and picked the lock, not noticing what she was doing, she sat up again, intrigued by a noise from the bushes. Then, still unnoticed, she started to crawl off.

“Got it!” Lilac finally said, flipping open the suitcase. She threw aside some shirts, and then held up an empty syringe. Violet pulled out a glass vial and some small, folded papers, and Lilac also held up a laminated card and a makeup kit. The sisters put the items all in a row on the floor of the trunk, along with the clothes and an empty wine bottle.

“Alright,” Violet said, tying back her own hair. “How do we fit these together?”

Lilac bit her lip. “Wait. Haven’t you seen this vial before?”

Violet’s eyes lit up. “Yes! And if that went into the syringe-”

“This card is Uncle Monty’s.”

“The makeup- you were right!”

“We’ve got it.” Lilac said. “Hurry, gather all this up, so we can-”

That’s about when they, themselves, heard the scream from the foyer.

“Goodness, golly, good God, Mary and Joseph, Zeus and Hera, Nathaniel Hawthorne!”

Poe had started panicking after running into the foyer, as Stephano, Nurse Lucafont, Nick and Soli raced up behind him. After a moment, Nick placed Solitude on the ground, and the two of them started to laugh.

Sunny was sitting in the middle of the foyer, and wrapped around her was the large, black snake that had been missing all day.

“Ink!” Soli shouted.

“It’s the Incredibly Deadly Viper!” Nick translated.

“Don’t touch her!” Poe shouted. “Grab her! Move closer! Run away! Don’t move! Kill the snake! Leave it alone! Give it some food! Lure it away! Don’t let it bite her!”

Sunny and the Incredibly Deadly Viper watched Poe with some amusement, and then, slowly, the Viper leaned forwards and gently bit Sunny on the nose.

“It’s bitten her!” Poe shouted. “It bit her! It bited her! Calm down! Get moving! Call an ambulance! Call the police! Call a scientist! Call my wife! This is terrible, this is awful, this is gastle, this is phantasmagorical-”

“This,” Nick said, “Is fine.”

“The Incredibly Deadly Viper just bit her!” Poe said.

“The Incredibly Deadly Viper,” came Klaus’s proud voice, and Nick moved aside so his brother could push past him, reading directly from Monty’s journal, “Wouldn’t hurt a fly. I know this because I tried to feed it flies this morning. It is friendly and kind, playful and smart, and a wonderful addition to the family.” He held up the journal and said, “Those were Dr Montgomery Montgomery’s notes from April 24th. The Incredibly Deadly Viper could not have killed Uncle Monty.”

“But he was killed from a snakebite!” Poe said.

“Yes,” Nick turned to Stephano, smirking, “Would you like to tell us more about venomous snakes, Stephano?”

Olaf glared, but before he could even respond, Lilac walked in the front door, carrying a heavy suitcase in her arms. “Well, we could tell you a bit about venom.”

“You are so fucked!” Violet shouted excitedly, running in after her.

“Language.” both Lilac and Poe said.

“What is this?” Stephano asked, narrowing his eyes.

“Surely you’d recognize your own suitcase.” Lilac said, walking past him and into the Reptile Room.

As Klaus picked up Sunny, everyone hurried to follow her as she slammed the suitcase onto Monty’s desk, and as she did, she said, “Nick, why is the Androgynous Cobra outside of its cage?”

“Distraction. Soli, put the cobra back.” Nick said.

Solitude groaned, but ran after the non-venomous snake that happened to bear a slight resemblance to the Mamba du Mal, so long as you weren’t looking too closely.

Lilac flipped open Stephano’s suitcase, and Violet raced up beside her, and the two girls laid out items onto the table.

“That suitcase,” Stephano protested, “Is private property, which you are not allowed to touch. Besides, wasn’t it locked?”

“It was.” Violet said.

“We picked the lock.” Lilac said proudly.

“Nice girls shouldn’t know how to do that sort of thing.” Poe said.

“My sisters are nice girls,” Klaus said, “And they know how to do all sorts of things.”

“We’ll discuss that later.” Poe said. “In the meantime, continue.”

“When Uncle Monty died,” Lilac said, “We were immediately suspicious.”

“No, we weren’t.” Nick said. “If we were suspicious, it’d mean we weren’t sure, but we were sure that Stephano killed him.”

“Dr Montgomery died from a snakebite.” Lucafont insisted. “Even if it didn’t come from the Incredibly Deadly Viper.”

“Uncle Monty,” Violet said, “Was killed by snake venom, but not by a snake.”

“This vial,” Lilac held up the vial from the suitcase, “Is labeled ‘Venom du Mal,’ and it’s from Uncle Monty’s cabinet of venom samples. If you look, you’ll see it is missing from its place- isn’t that right, Klaus?”

Klaus, who was closest to the cabinet, turned and looked, before nodding. “Gone.”

“Stephano took this syringe,” Violet said, “And injected the venom into Uncle Monty. Then he poked an extra hole to imitate a snakebite. Friends and enemies, this is our murder weapon.”

“But I loved Dr Montgomery Montgomery,” Stephano said, “I would have had nothing to gain from his death.”

“Yes, you would!” Violet said. “Because you’re Count Olaf, and once Monty was dead, you could steal his ticket to Peru-” she held up folded papers- “Using his ID to pretend you were him-” she held up a laminated card- “And hiding us in Peru until Lilac turned eighteen and gained access to our fortune.”

“He is Count Olaf.” Lilac insisted, holding up a makeup case, “And he used this makeup to cover up his tattoo!”

“That is absurd!” Stephano said.

Finally, though, Mr Poe said, “Well, we’ll see about that. Who has a cloth?”

“You always have a handkerchief with you.” Nick reminded him.

“Oh, that’s right.” Poe turned to Stephano. “Your left ankle, please.”

“You’ve been coughing into that all day!” Stephano protested. “It has germs!”

“If you are who the children think you are,” Poe said, “Germs are the least of your problems.”

Very slowly, and grumpily, Stephano pulled up his left pant leg. Poe knelt down and rubbed at it for a few moments, and then, the faint outline of an eye began to appear.

“See?” Violet smirked. “You’re fucked.”

“Violet, please.” Lilac said, though she also smiled.

Count Olaf, then, gave a sinister smile. “Bravo, children.” he said, dropping his ridiculous fake voice, “Yes, I killed Monty. And his idiot assistant Gustav, I drowned him in a pond. But what are you going to do about it?”

“Why, you’ll go to jail!” Poe said. “Nurse Lucafont, please keep an eye on Olaf while I alert the authorities!”

Nurse Lucafont did not move, and slowly, the children realized a flaw in their plan.

“That is not a real Nurse.” Klaus said. “That is one of Olaf’s henchpeople!”

“And they will not be helping you do anything.” Olaf said, and his hand hovered over his pocket, where the children suspected his knife still remained, “In fact, I believe I’ll be taking the children now.”

The children looked to each other, each realizing that they had forgotten the minor detail of needing to detain Olaf after proving it was him.

“We,” Nick said, “Are not good at thinking ahead.”

But as they looked at each other, Violet realized something. “Wait.” she said. “Nick, where’s Soli?”

Nick paused, glancing around the floor, having expected her to be next to him. He felt a flash of panic, one that died as soon as he heard, “Free!”

They turned, to see Solitude, once again, unlock a cage, and two snakes burst out onto the ground. And as they kept looking around the room, they saw that, while they were talking, she had gone around opening all of the cages she could reach.

“Free!” Solitude shrieked, running across the floor as reptiles swarmed across the floor, hissing and snarling. “Be free, snakes!”

“Oh my…” Lilac said, as Violet slowly hoisted herself onto Monty’s desk.

Solitude raced to stand beside Nick, and the reptiles started to move around the room. Olaf stepped back, looking very concerned as they all turned towards him. The broken-hearted crocodile crawled from its corner, and the Virginian Wolfsnake hissed, and the Inky Newt left black footprints across the floor as it crept across.

And then, from the table, the screeching iguana leapt onto Olaf. Solitude let out a gleeful laugh as Olaf started running, Nurse Lucafont following closely.

“Snake! Froggy! Croc!” Solitude cheered. “Kill!”

“I feel like I should be scared of how excited Solitude is about this.” Lilac said. “But, honestly, I’m just glad Olaf’s not-”

“He’s getting away!” Nick shouted, picking up Soli and running after the villain.

“Crud, you’re right.” Lilac muttered.

The children ran to the front of the house, only to see Nurse Lucafont’s car pulling out of the driveway.

“No!” Klaus shouted.

“No!” Sunny also shouted.

“Son of a bitch!” Nick yelled.

“Language!” Poe said, coming up behind them.

“We have to go after them!” Lilac said, running out, as Violet slid to a stop behind her.

“This is a job for the police.” Poe said. “I will go call them, and they’ll set up a roadblock.”

He ran back inside the house, and as soon as he was gone, Violet said, “Olaf wasn’t in that car. He just ran into the labyrinth, I saw him.”

“Well, then,” Nick said, adjusting his hold on Solitude, “He’s not getting away.”

“And what will you do when you catch him?” Lilac asked. “He has a knife!”

“Like I said,” Nick said, starting to run, “We are not good at thinking ahead!”

“Nick, you idiot!” Lilac shouted, racing after him, and soon all the children were running into the hedges.

Lilac followed Nick and Solitude down a left path, and after a split second hesitation, Violet, Klaus and Sunny ran down the right. The groups went as fast as they dared, struggling to think about what they would do if they actually found Olaf. Lilac and Violet considered what potential inventions they could make out of the few items they had around them. Nick and Klaus scoured their memories for any books they’d read on self-defense- not many, because neither of them were really fighters. Solitude wondered if she could somehow summon some of the reptiles she’d set free, or if any of them were following them, and Sunny just assumed that their plan was to, as Nick had suggested, simply all jump on Olaf and hit him until he gave up.

They all met up at the center of the maze, and as both groups turned around the bend, they were just in time to see a trapdoor swing shut.

“Fuck!” Nick shouted, running forwards, dropping Solitude onto the ground and grabbing the handle, struggling to lift it. His siblings ran beside him, observing that the top of the door had been covered in dirt and leaves so as to disguise it.

“Let me try.” Lilac said, but as she tried the handle, she found that it was, indeed, stuck. “There must be a lock inside.”

“Can you pick this lock?” Violet asked.

“I’m sorry, do you see a lock I can pick?”

Violet flipped her off, and Klaus said, “So that’s it? He got away?”

“Son of a bitch!” Nick shouted.

“Nick, language. Sunny and Solitude are here.” Lilac said.

“It doesn’t matter, Li! He got away with it!” Nick said. “He’s gotten away from the police again, he killed Uncle Monty, and we never even…” he shut his eyes. “We never even got to say goodbye.”

“Nick…” Lilac began.

“Wait.” Klaus knelt by the trapdoor. “Wait, do you see that?”

“A way to get it open?” Lilac asked.

“A weapon?” Violet asked.

“Snake?” Solitude asked.

Klaus shook his head, reaching down towards the dirt caked onto the top of the trapdoor. He used his sleeve to push away some of it, and as he did, they saw the faint outline of the Eye, etched into the lid.

“That thing is everywhere.” Lilac noted.

“Yeah.” Klaus said. “It’s on this door, the hedgemaze itself, Count Olaf’s ankle… and the spyglass.” Slowly, he pulled the cylinder from his pocket, showing his siblings.

“It’s half a spyglass.” Nick explained. “Monty had one, in one of the pictures in the Reptile Room.”

“Why would Mother and Father have a spyglass?” Violet asked.

“How should we know?” Klaus asked.

“Well, we’re just going to have to find out.” Lilac said. “I don’t know what this is all about, but that Eye is connected to something, so I have a feeling it’ll keep following us. We can’t just ignore it. Not anymore.”

They all nodded slowly, and then Nick said, “We… we better get back to the house.”

“Anyone remember the way out of the maze?” Violet asked.

They were all silent.

“Okay,” Nick said, “I’m going to throw Soli into the air, she’ll get a bird’s-eye view-”

“You are absolutely not doing that.” Lilac said.

“Spoilsport.”

By the time the children found their way out, there were two vans parked outside of Monty’s house, and they froze in shock as they saw a cage being loaded into one. Lilac, who’d taken Sunny from Klaus after his arms started getting tired, ran up to Poe, asking, “What’s going on?”

“Ah! Lilac, there you are.” Poe said. “You really shouldn’t have wandered off.”

“Are those Uncle Monty’s reptiles?” Klaus asked, and Soli let out a startled cry as she recognized a lizard being carried by a man in a uniform.

“Yes,” Poe said, “Since Dr Montgomery is dead, they’re orphans now, so I called some of the other members of the Herpetological Society to take them to some new owner who hopefully won’t die on them. Unfortunately, it’s a bit hard to collect them all up, as a lot of them got out of their enclosures.”

“No!” Solitude shouted.

“What my sister means,” Violet said, “Is that’s Uncle Monty’s collection, you can’t just send the animals away!”

“Well, I don’t see what use they’d be to Dr Montgomery now.” Poe said. “Now, children, I believe I’ll be able to get you to a new guardian soon, your Aunt Josephine should be next on the list.”

“We don’t want to go to another relative we’ve never met!” Nick said. “And we don’t want Dr Montgomery’s collection-”

“I’m sorry,” Lilac interrupted, her eyes distant, “Did you say Aunt Josephine?”

Her siblings glanced at her in confusion, as Poe said, “Yes, she’s your next guardian, so long as she’s alright with me dropping you off soon. I would hate to miss more work.”

“Lilac?” Violet asked, watching as Solitude tried to squirm out of Nick’s arms to reach a cage that was being carried by. “Do we know an Aunt Josephine?”

“I…” Lilac shut her eyes. “I think I vaguely remember the name.”

“Josephine Anwhistle.” Poe said.

Lilac considered. “Yeah. Auntie Josephine. Fierce Auntie Josephine.”

“We have an Aunt Josephine?” Klaus asked.

“Yeah.” Lilac said. “I… it must’ve been before you boys were born, but I do remember someone saying ‘Fierce Auntie Josephine’... I must’ve met her when I was young.”

“Well,” Poe said, “Now that’s settled, we might as well leave.”

“No! Snakes!” Solitude shrieked, still trying to leave Nick. “Snakes!”

“Ink?” Sunny asked, peering around the cages, trying to spot her best friend.

“Can’t we say goodbye?” Nick asked.

“Children, I imagine you’d never want to see a snake again!”

“But-”

“Please grab your stuff.” Poe said. “I called a taxi, and a mechanic will come to fix my car while I drop you off at home.”

Hesitantly, Lilac nodded. “Alright, guys. Let’s get our stuff.”

“Snake?” Solitude asked pitifully. “Froggy? Croc?”

“We’ll pack up some of Uncle Monty’s books. How’s that, Soli?” Nick asked. “I think I have room in my suitcase.”

“Snake!” Solitude said sadly.

“It’s okay, Soli,” Lilac said, “They’re all going to nice places.”

Still, Solitude quietly cried as they fetched their suitcases, and as they walked into the Reptile Room, watching men in uniforms carry out cages and pick up snakes and lizards from the ground.

Nick placed Soli onto the floor as he started shoving books into his suitcase, trying his best to fill it up, and she wandered around the room, crouching by the corner a moment as the screeching iguana was carried away over her head. When he finally picked her up, she cried a bit quieter, putting her head on his shoulder and keeping her hands in her pockets.

The six children crowded into a taxi that pulled up, with Violet and Lilac squeezing themselves by the windows, and Solitude leaning up against Nick, humming a little to herself. Klaus played with his spyglass for a while as Poe prattled on about something, and Sunny crawled from her brother’s lap to Violet’s, staring out the window.

As they pulled out of the driveway, her face lit up, and she pointed out the window, cheering, “Ink!”

They all peered over her shoulder, seeing that the Incredibly Deadly Viper was slinking away in the grass, heading towards the hedge maze.  

“Bye, Ink!” Sunny called. “Amo! Mox!” This meant, “I love you! I hope to see you soon!”

And the siblings watched as the snake peered towards them, and raised its tail in a wave.

[walteinsamkeit]

Information about the Courtiers

So, here we are. This is a huge post with all the information I could possibly gather about the Courtiers. The idea for this post was born out of sheer interest in this kind of stuff and the desire to know more about it, and I figured other people might as well be interested in it. Some of this might be far-fetched, so I would like to say that this isn’t a theory in any way, shape or form. It’s just a collection of information that caught my eye or facts that I found particularly interesting. Some parts involve me drawing conclusions or making assumptions. This is how I interpreted these things. You are allowed to disagree with me, but please be respectful. More might be added to it at a later date. If you see anything that isn’t correct (including typos/spelling mistakes), or would like to add to this, make sure to contact me! If you’re missing something here and have a question that you would like answered or a thing you want to see explained, don’t hesitate to shoot me a message either. Finally, I would like to thank @gummy-vitamin-gobbler​ for being my proof reader. I honestly didn’t want to put anyone through reading this entire thing and I’m super grateful you volunteered. You’re the best <3 Proceed with caution as this text does contain spoilers!  This post is in alphabetical order based on their names, with a few general facts at the bottom of it.

General information Vesuvia’s royal court consists of five members. Their titles were given to them by Lucio when he became the Count. As reported by Valerius, the other four Courtiers were present on the night of the murder outside of Lucio’s room, thus making them key witnesses.  Quaestor Valdemar is the palace’s head physician and Julian’s former boss. They seem to be obsessed with the Red Plague and delight in the chaos the disease brought to the city of Vesuvia. Not much more is known about them. Consul Valerius, as his title suggests, is a consul to the royal Palace and reportedly a key witness to Lucio’s murder. A tarot reading done by the apprentice reveals that Valerius has his own agenda, despite seeming supportive of Nadia and her aims at first. Praetor Vlastomil, besides serving as a judge, was Lucio’s business partner. He is an eccentric man obsessed with insects, particularly with worms, and has entire rooms dedicated to them at his manor.  Procurator Volta is in charge of the city’s food supply and was essential during the Plague according to Nadia on account of her being able to smell the Plague off of people and other things. She is always hungry and never seems to be satisfied. Pontifex Vulgora is described by Nadia as a warmonger who has won many battles in Vesuvia’s name. They are extremely aggressive and obsessed with destruction, often threatening others. Quaestor Valdemar Name • Valdemar is a Scandinavian masculine name that finds its origins in the Old High German name Waldemar. It consists of the elements wald (meaning “to rule”) and mar (meaning “fame”). This German form was introduced to Scandinavia as Valdemar in the 12th century with King Valdemar I of Denmark. It’s particularly famous for being the name of many Scandinavian monarchs, and is sometimes considered to be the equivalent of the Slavish name Vladimir (meaning “of great power” or, in folk etymology, “ruler of the world”). The Old Norse form is Valdamarr (or Valdarr), which occurs in many tales and sagas.   Title • A quaestor, back in Ancient Rome, was a public official. The term quaestor translates to “investigator”. The position served many different functions that differed per time period. In the Roman Kingdom, the quaestores parricidii (quaestors with judicial powers) were appointed by the king to investigate and handle murders and capital crimes.  Headdress • The type of wrapped, horned headdress Valdemar wears is called a hennin. It was worn by European women of nobility in the late Middle Ages, and although it’s not clear what distinct styles of headdress the word hennin specifically referred to at the time, it has been recorded to be used in France as far back as 1428. However, the word wasn’t used in the English language until the 19th century. There are many different styles, such as the conical hennin generally accompanied with a veil (which is called the cointoise), the escoffin (a more heart-shaped hennin), the truncated hennin (with a flat top), the divided hennin (which was often covered in white cloth), the beehive hennin and the related Lebanese tantour headdress. The particular style worn by Valdemar seems most inspired by the butterfly hennin (thank you for this suggestion @gummy-vitamin-gobbler​!) Appearance • As stated on the Arcana Wiki, Valdemar has dirty blonde hair (as can be deducted from the color of their eyebrows) and red eyes with slit pupils, like a cat. It is to be noted that their facial structure seems very similar to that of Nadia (and her sisters), with the same nose shape and eye color, and what seems to be the same skin undertones. It is a possibility that Valdemar is from Prakra. They wear a white lab coat with an overlapping mandarin collar on which they wear their beetle brooch, shoulder length gloves, a black waist apron and a white surgical mask. While there is no existing labcoat design that looks like Valdemar’s, the buttoning style is somewhat similar to the “Howie” style lab coat, although it might be a bit of a stretch. This is a variant of the basic lab coat adopted for the added safety. The Howie coat was named after J. W. Howie, who was the President of the College of Pathologists. This style has the buttons on the left flank, elasticated wrists and a mandarin collar.  Tarot card • The card Valdemar represents is Death. Death is ruled by Scorpio, suggesting that their zodiac sign might be Scorpio. There is, however, a discrepancy at play here, considering Valerius’ sign, which we will come to later. The number of the card is 13, which is a number sacred to the Goddess as there are 13 full moons in a year. In Asra’s tarot deck, Death is portrayed by a skeleton horse. It’s not clear whether Valdemar represents the upright or reversed card meaning. Considering Valdemar’s seeming inability to let go of the Red Plague and desire for it to return, one might argue they represent Death Reversed.  In traditional decks, Death is often portrayed by an armored skeleton riding a white horse and carrying a banner. The armor is symbolic for the fact Death is invincible and unconquerable - no one can triumph over him. The white horse stands for purity, as Death is the ultimate purifier, and doesn’t discriminate between age, race or gender.  This card is probably the most feared and misunderstood out of all of them, as people often take the meaning of it far too literally. Upright, it is actually a positive card that stands for significant transformation, change, transition and new beginnings. Reversed, Death reflects reluctance to let go of the past and a refusal to accept change. 

Consul Valerius Name • A masculine name of ancient Roman origin. This was a patronymic family name derived from the Latin valere “to be strong” or “to be healthy”, and was the name of several early saints (this ties in with him representing the Hierophant card). The Valerius family was prominent from the very beginning of the Republic to the latest period of the Empire, and a lot of its members were among the most celebrated statesmen and generals. This even went as far as several of the Roman emperors claiming to be descendants of the Valerii. It’s also to be noted that there were a lot of consuls who bore the name Valerius.  Valerian is also an herb with sweetly scented pink or white flowers that has sedative and anxiolytic effects. The name of the herb is derived from the verb valere, just like the name Valerius. It has many other names, one of which is all-heal. This name is also used for plants in the genus Stachys, although one of the nicknames for this specific plant is lamb’s ears. Nicholas Culpeper, a seventeenth century astrological botanist, said that the herb was of special value against the plague.  Title • Consuls, back in ancient Rome, were magistrates comparable with prime ministers or presidents. Apart from the oldest, it was also the most important position in the cusus honorum or “course of offices”. Consuls always came in pairs and served for only one year to prevent corruption. They were the chairmen of the Senate (which served as a board of advisers), commanded the army and exercised the highest juridical power in the Roman empire. Consuls had the right to interfere with the decisions of praetors and quaestors.  Appearance • Notable about the Consul’s clothing is the golden ram brooch he wears on his shawl. In the tarot deck used in The Arcana, The Hierophant is represented by a ram. Valerius is also the only courtier who doesn’t wear a red beetle brooch, so this makes it an exceptionally remarkable feature.  Valerius wears his ombre hair French-braided and draped over his shoulder. Ombré, literally meaning “shaded” in French, describes the gradual transition from one hue to another, usually from dark to light or vice versa. Ombre was popular in fabric printing as far back as the early 19th century.  His underclothing seems to consist of what is either a jumpsuit-like one piece or two separate pieces with gold trim on the cuffs and collar.  On top of this he wears an asymmetrical, taupe, frock-inspired, tunic-like overcoat with three-quarter bell sleeves, a golden cord in the front and what seems to be some kind of button and loop fastening, also called “frog fastening” or “Chinese frog”. This is a type of ornamental braiding of sorts consisting of a button and a loop and serves for fastening the front of a garment. This particular type of closing is often found on clothing of Asian design. Frogging was also a popular type of fastening for military uniforms from the 17th to the 19th century. His shoes have gold decoration, red soles and spool heels. The hand that Valerius keeps near his body also seems to be lighter than the rest of his skin, leading me to believe he wears a glove on this hand.  Tarot card • The card Valerius most likely represents is The Hierophant. The Hierophant, in Asra’s tarot deck, is depicted as a ram. Valerius’ ram brooch seems to allude to a connection between the two. There is however one problem concerning this theory, namely that The Hierophant is ruled by Taurus, and not by Scorpio, which happens to be Valerius’ canon zodiac sign. This would make him the only known character in the entire story representing a card that does not match their zodiac sign.  The card’s number is five and it is commonly depicted as a religious figure sitting on a throne. The three elaborate vestments of his office that he wears represent the three worlds. He wears a crown and his right hand is raised in benediction - this is the same hand that the Magician has raised, but where the Magician draws raw power from the universe and manifests it on the material plane, the Hierophant channels his power through society (in the form of religion). The crossed keys of the Hierophant represent a balance between the conscious and subconscious mind, and are used to unlock mysteries.  Upright, the Hierophant means religion, group identification, conformity, tradition and beliefs. Reversed, it means restriction and challenging the status quo.  What is interesting to note is that the Hierophant is also known as the Pope, the High Priest (as a masculine counterpart to the High Priestess), the Shaman, and Chiron. Chiron is a comet with an erratic orbit. In astrology it symbolizes the “wounded healer” in the natal chart. Chiron represents our deepest wound and our efforts to heal it. In Greek mythology, Chiron was a centaur who was a healer and teacher who ironically enough could not heal himself. The symbol for Chiron is a key, much like the keys that the Hierophant himself holds, used for unlocking secrets.  The wounds of a Chiron in Scorpio native are nihilism, sexual addiction, power struggles, jealousy and obsession and trouble leaving bad relationships.  Praetor Vlastomil Name • While Vlastomil isn’t an actual name (I know, I was surprised too), Vlastimil is. It’s a common Slavic masculine name consists of the elements vlast (meaning “homeland”) and mil (meaning “favor”). This however is the modern meaning of these words and it should be said that they are derived from volsti (power, government, rule, sovereignty) and mil(a) (kind, loving, and gracious). The Latin form of this name is Patrick (I have no idea how). Patrick can be found as a name derived from the Latin Patricius, which means “nobleman”.  Title • Praetors served as judges of the Roman Republic and, in the absence of the consuls, commanded armies. It was a title granted by the government and was inferior only to senators and consuls. One could only become a praetor after serving at least one term as a quaestor. The Praetor Urbanus acted as the chief administrator of Rome and wasn’t allowed to leave the city for more than ten days. They were the main magistrate responsible for trying the people of Rome. Hat • Vlastomil’s feathered cap is called a beret. It is a soft, round, somewhat floppy, flat-crowned hat for both men and women that originates in France and Spain. It fits snugly around the head and can be shaped in a variety of ways. There are many different styles of berets and aside from it often being seen as headgear in the military it was very much beloved by European nobility and artists throughout history. The Basque style beret, which is probably the most well-known and most simple style of all, was first commercially produced in the very South of France in the 17th century. The beret that Vlastomil wears seems to be inspired by berets worn during the Renaissance, and in particular those worn by the German Landsknechte. The Landsknechte (a word combining land “land/country”, here in the sense of “lowlands”, and knecht “servant/vassal”, here in the sense of “foot-soldier”) were mercenary soldiers who were an important military force in Europe during the 15th and 16th century, consisting mostly of pikemen and foot soldiers. They wore large, slashed berets (sometime referred to as starfish hats) that, when puffed out, showed a different color fabric underneath, and were adorned with big feathers.  Although it doesn’t have much to do with the hat on itself, it should be said that the Landsknechte had a reputation for unprincipled, ruthless violence and were infamous for the fact it wasn’t unknown for entire regiments of Landsknechte to swap sides in the middle of a battle if they were offered more money or to desert en masse when there was no more gold to pay them. Appearance • Vlastomil has grey hair and white eyes with slit pupils, much like the other Courtiers minus Valerius. A very striking feature is his one visibly pointy ear with a golden earring in his stretched earlobe. There seems to be another gauge right behind the first one, but he doesn’t wear any jewelry in it.  He wears a gown that is most likely inspired by traditional ceremonial court dresses/judicial robes, although I don’t know enough about these to be able to determine which one exactly it is most similar to. The open puff sleeves with white insets are reminiscent of the slashed style of his beret. They seem inspired by the paned sleeves that were popular during the 15th and 16th century European Renaissance. Furthermore he wears fabric chausses, worn in the 14th century when they served as leg armor made from chain maille. These could extend to the knee or cover the entire leg. Tarot card • Vlastomil’s card is Justice, ruled by Libra and bearing number 11. It was in fact confirmed by the devs that Vlastomil’s zodiac sign is Libra. In Asra’s deck, Justice is represented by a boar. The traditional depiction is that of Lady Justice sitting in a throne, holding a sword in her right hand and her scales in the left. The sword signifies impartiality and victory, and the scales show that logic must be balanced by the intuition, as the left hand is the intuitive hand. It is to be assumed that Vlastomil represents the reversed meaning of Justice. Justice upright symbolizes fairness, truth, cause and effect and law. Reversed, it stands for unfairness, lack of accountability and dishonesty. Considering the Praetor’s course of action during Julian’s trial, it’s evident why he would be Justice Reversed. The card shows an unwillingness to understand, refusing to take responsibility for one’s actions and blaming others for your mistakes. It reflects a very judgmental, biased, black-and-white view of the world and under-handed behavior, all of which is incredibly dangerous while swinging the sword of justice. Procurator Volta Name • Volta isn’t an actual given name either, but there are a lot of things that is is. In a poem, the volta, or turn, serves as a rhetorical shift in thought and/or emotion. It has gone by many different names such as fulcrum, modulation, torque, swerve. Leslie Ullman called the volta the poem’s “center”, which is largely the poem’s dramatic and climactic turn. Phillis Levin said that “we could say that for the sonnet, the volta is the seat of its soul”. It’s interesting to note that the stomach was once thought to be the seat of the soul, instead of the heart or the brain (particularly in Buddhism if I am not mistaken). The Volta also a quick-moving Italian dance that was mostly popular during the 16th and 17th centuries.  Title • Procurators were officials who were in charge of the financial affairs of a province in ancient Rome. Although they worked alongside the imperial governor they were not subordinate to him and reported directly to the emperor. The procurator had its own staff and agents and had a few primary responsibilities, such as the collection of taxes and rents and the distribution of pay to public servants.  Headdress • The headdress Volta wears is a cornette, which is essentially a type of wimple. A wimple is a large piece of cloth worn around the neck and chin and covering the top of the head. The wimple was popular in early medieval Europe, where during many stages of medieval Christian culture it was unseemly for a married woman to show her hair. Originally the wimple was creased and folded in prescribed ways. Later, elaborated versions such as the cornette were supported by wire or wicker framing. Both the wimple and cornette are perhaps most famous as a headdress for nuns. Like the horned hennin, the cornette was folded in such a way as to create the resemblance of horns. In the mid-17th century, it was worn by the Daughters of Charity: a Roman Catholic society consisting of women that took care of the sick and poor and attempted to resemble ordinary middle-class women as much as possible in their clothing.  Appearance • Volta has curly, reddish-brown hair and brown eyes, although one of them is invisible due to what seems to be a lazy eye. One sharp snaggle-tooth sticks up from her bottom row of teeth. She wears what seems to be some sort of nun dress, or a habit, which were traditionally plain garbs worn by members of a religious order. The reason for this uniform outfitting was that nuns and monks had to be recognizable as such. Considering the cornette Volta wears (which is tied to the Roman Catholic society Daughters of Charity as explained above), it is most likely that her dress was based on the typical Roman Catholic habit. Ironically enough, the habit was a symbol for living a sober life in poverty and consecration, all of which seem to be the opposite of the tarot card Volta represents (as described below). Her dress has puffed sleeves and, considering the shape of it, probably an empire waist. Her shawl is clasped in the front by her beetle brooch, and she wears what seems to be a tasseled fabric and a lace fabric draped over her dress. Finally, she wears fingerless lace gloves.  Tarot card • Volta represents Temperance Reversed, as seen during the lunch scene with Vulgora and Volta in Nadia’s route where the apprentice can read the cards for one of them. Its number being 14, it is ruled by Sagittarius; traditionally the teacher of truth, enthusiasm, tolerance and beauty.  In Asra’s deck, Temperance is depicted as a dove, but traditionally it is a winged angel we can see on the card. The angel, being a child of Hermes and Aphrodite, is both male and female, symbolizing a balance between them. One foot stands on dry land (the material world) while the other stands in the water (the subconscious). It represents a need to “test the waters” before jumping headfirst into unknown circumstances. The angel carries two cups with water that are being mixed, thus mixing the sub- and super-conscious minds.  Upright the card means balance, moderation, patience, purpose and meaning. Reversed it is imbalance, excess and lack of long-term vision. As Volta is known to be extremely hungry and greedy when it comes to food, it’s clear what the element of imbalance and excess is. This conflict creates a lot of stress and tension. Temperance Reversed is also about people you are dealing with proving to be uncooperative. It may feel as though your interests are in conflict or competition with each other, and solving this may seem like an impossible feat. Although not consciously, one might still realize something isn’t quite right, and it may lead to role reversal.  Pontifex Vulgora Name • In Roman mythology, Fulgora was the female personification of lightning. She is a minor goddess and the Roman equivalent to Astrape. Astrape was a shieldmaiden of Zeus, and was given the task of carrying his thunderbolts together with her sister. She is described as “flashing light from her eyes, and raging fire from heaven that has laid hold of a king’s house”. There isn’t a lot of information to find on her, sadly. Another possible origin for Vulgora as a name could simply be the word vulgar, meaning “not suitable, simple, dignified or beautiful” or “rude and likely to upset or anger people”.  Title • The pontifex (literally “bridge builder”) was a member of a council of priests. The college of the pontifices was the most important Roman priesthood, responsible for regulating the relations of the community with the deities recognized by the state, called the jus divinum. They fulfilled duties such as for example regulating expiatory ceremonials needed as the result of pestilence or lightning. The pontifices were probably advisors of the king in all matters of religion and all held office for life.  Headdress • Like Valdemar, Vulgora wears a hennin - albeit a perhaps somewhat more historically accurate version without the fabric wrapping. Their headdress seems to be slightly more similar to an escoffin in general shape but features the same horns as Valdemar’s hennin instead of the open-centered top a normal escoffin would have. Aside from that, their hennin is veiled with a sheer cointoise attached to both steeples. They wear a neck-covering wimple much like Volta’s, making their headdress into what seems to be a combination of these three styles. Appearance • Vulgora has red hair and yellow eyes with slit pupils. They seem to wear some sort of diamond-quilted knee-length tunic with a fabric waist tie and a tasseled golden rope on top. The red-and-gold striped, puffed sleeves are alike in size to gigot sleeves. Introduced to the English court by Anne of Cleves (one of Henry VIII’s wives), these sleeves were extremely wide over the upper arm and narrow from elbow to wrist. Once more, and much like the clothing of the other courtiers, Vulgora’s garbs seem to be Renaissance-inspired in design; specifically by the Tudor clothes worn during the reign of Henry the Eighth. Back then, the type of tunic Vulgora wears was also called a petti-cote; technically a waistcoat with sleeves. Furthermore, they wear a skirted, somewhat flaring, sleeveless cloak lined with gold near the bottom. These particular pieces of clothing were worn to make physical proportions appear larger, with padded shoulders and stuffed sleeves enlarging the figure. This was done to accentuate manly features that made the wearer appear bigger and stronger.  It is hard to tell what the lower half of their arms might look like considering the clawed silver gauntlets they wear. Gauntlets like these were worn as armor, made out of hardened leather or metal plates protecting the hand and wrist. An interesting fact is that the term “gauntlet” is used in the idiom “throw down the gauntlet”, meaning “to issue a challenge”. A gauntlet wearing knight would challenge another to a duel by throwing one of his gauntlets on the ground. Picking it up meant that the challenge was accepted by their opponent.  Tarot card • The card Vulgora represents is The Tower upright. It is ruled by Mars (the planet named after the god of war), which in turn rules Aries and Scorpio. It is assumed Vulgora is an Aries to tie in with their theme of war and strife. Its number is 16.  In Asra’s deck, the Tower card shows a stag surrounded by red beetles (also note that Vulgora’s masquerade mask was a red stag beetle mask). Traditionally it is depicted by a tower aflame, tormented by lightning strikes. People are seen leaping off of it in desperation, fleeing from the destruction and turmoil. The Tower is generally one of the more negative cards in the deck. It signifies physical darkness and destruction as opposed to spiritually, and represents  ambitions built on false premises. It is however important to note that the destruction of the tower also signifies the creation space for something new to grow in a sudden, momentary glimpse of truth and inspiration.  Upright the Tower means disaster, upheaval, sudden change and revelation. Reversed it symbolizes avoidance of disaster and fear of change.  The Tower is about the destruction of inadequate foundation of false thought, belief and action. It is humbling, frightening, but necessary. It is often descriptive of a major upheaval, disruption, emergency or crisis, and is likely to bring chaos in the aftermath of such an event. Only after this will come change and regeneration. Beetle brooches All courtiers, except for Valerius, wear a red and gold beetle brooch on their clothing. As we know, these pieces of jewelry are shaped after the red beetles that are occasionally seen and mentioned in the story. They are found in a specific room in Vlastomil’s manor, as well as burrowed in the ground beneath a spring nearby Nopal and kept in a well by Valdemar in the dungeons beneath the palace. Nadia mentions that the beetles were once used to dye fabric a bright crimson red, and in Asra’s route, a local named Saguaro tells a story of how a giant red beetle was once defeated by Lucio before turning into thousands of smaller red beetles that then hid in the ground. Finally, the red beetles appear on the Tower card in Asra’s deck. They seem to play a significant role in the spreading of the Red Plague.  Judging by the general shape of the beetle, it is assumable they are based on scarabs. Scarabs held great meaning to the people of Ancient Egypt, who saw the them as symbols of creation, life, rebirth and immortality. The scarab-headed god Kephri was responsible for rolling the sun across the sky every day, where it died at night and was reborn in the morning. The sacred beetle also had protective abilities that they lend to its wearer.  The scarab beetle was also sacred to Khepera, the god of creation, resurrection and immortality (all of which seem to allude to Lucio, the ritual, the apprentice and perhaps the Arcana). It is a highly spiritual bug that carries messages that bring our attention to renewal, spiritual maturity, and the powerful influences of the invisible side of life. When a person died, it was believed that their heart was weighed by Ma’at, the goddess of truth. If the heart was heavy with sin, the spirit of the deceased was not allowed to move on to the after life. In an attempt to convince Ma’at that a person was good and deserved her mercy, scarab beetle amulets were placed over a mummy’s heart.  With the update of Lucio’s tale I feel like it’s safe to draw a few careful conclusions here. Lucio is from a wartribe referred to as the “scourge of the South”, depicted as red beetles on the tapestries that tell their tribe’s story, and referred to as “the swarm” by Lucio himself. In fact, Lucio describes his tribe as “a plague of voracious beetles, leaving nothing but bare bones in our wake”. It must be noted that the beetles kept in a well in the dungeons by Valdemar were used to dispose of the bodies of their deceased patients, as the insects were “[...] so effective at disposal” according to them. It is hinted that Lucio contracted the Plague from a beetle bite while fleeing from his mother after he failed to kill her. As stated previously in the story, the Plague is directly tied to Lucio’s life and will follow wherever he goes - as are the last words of his tale.  The Four Horsemen In my previous Arcana plot theory post, I mentioned and quickly explained the Four Horsemen theory. While you could go and read it there I will here once more explain what exactly this theory is about.  Quite a while ago when the Valerius sprite first was released, the devs jokingly mentioned that the Courtiers were the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse and that Valerius was the fifth Horseman. While I do not remember the precise context or interactions that took place, this was the gist of it.  At multiple points in the story it is mentioned that the Courtiers (minus Valerius) are not exactly human, or as not perceived as such by the apprentice. They are frequently described as “[having] a presence like a dark chasm” (Valdemar), a “beast” (Volta) and “not necessarily human” (Vulgora). Last but not least, Vlastomil’s manor is described by the apprentice as “confusingly designed [with] doors that lead to nowhere [and] halls that suddenly stop in dead ends, as if the manse itself were trying to disorient us” (Nadia’s route: Book VIII).  It seems as though the four Courtiers represent the Horsemen of the Apocalypse. This idea is now further supported by the wyrm in Lucio’s tale introducing himself as “the worm of pestilence”.  The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse are described in the Book of Revelation - the last book of the Bible’s New Testament. The chapter says that God holds a scroll in his right hand that is sealed with seven seals. The Lamb of God, or Jesus Christ, opens the first four of the seven seals, which summons four beings that ride out on a white, red, black, and pale horse. The four riders are called Pestilence (on the white horse), War (on the red horse), Famine (on the black horse) and Death (on the pale horse). The colors of the horses also match the color schemes of the Courtiers. The Four Horsemen, as harbingers of the Last Judgement, set a divine Apocalypse upon the world.  We can now with (near) certainty say that Vlastomil is Pestilence, Vulgora is War, Volta is Famine and Valdemar is Death.  During the Last Judgement, the dead will rise from their graves after which the Second Coming of Christ (the Lamb of God) occurs. Everyone will then be judged, and will “receive what they deserve” depending on how they have lived their life. What goal this serves story-wise we can’t say just yet. 

[thestraggletag]

Still Waters, a May Day Menagerie Fic

Giftee: @little-inkstone

Prompt: Rumbelle + aquatic creature (I chose a Kelpie)

Summary: There’s a horse at the Mills Stables, a bony, pitiful creature with sad eyes Belle cannot help but feel drawn to. Coincidentally she feels the same way about Mr Gold, whose eyes are also melancholic, and the same startling hazel shade.

Rating: M for sex and gore.

AN: Surprise, @little-inkstone! Though you must have figured it out it is I, your... secret Zookeeper! I hope you enjoy this story. The ending fought be like a bitch, but I managed to subdue it. Sorry for the lateness of the delivery!

Tagging @maydaymenagerie for reasons.

Belle knew she was lucky. She was hardly the first person to even have to take up a second job because her first one wasn't enough to pay the bills. At least she loved both her jobs. She had always wanted to be a librarian, had always wanted to work surrounded by books. But she also loved horses, both passions inherited from her mother, so it wasn't hard for her to sacrifice her weekends and her free afternoons to work as a stable hand at the one local stable, owned by Henry Mills. As far as she knew horse-raising wasn't what accounted for the family's lavish lifestyle, but rather an exorbitant hobby, a status symbol. Cora Mills, who rumour had it had come from nothing, was an adept social climber and considered horse-riding something his daughter, Regina, needed to learn to earn her place in society. It also appeared to have the bonus of keeping the girl happy, which in turn made her less likely to fight her mother when she made decisions of her.

Belle wasn't very interested in the details, or in having anything at all to do with the Mills. But the pay was good, her boss, Daniel, was nice, and being near horses again- she hadn't had much contact with horses ever since they'd left Australia- felt good, even if the work was hard and the demands high. Daniel ran a tight ship but was kind and had a real love for the animals, which Belle was grateful for. The horses were well-kept and well-behaved, always closely monitored by the vet, specially the two polo ponies, one American and the other Argentinian. Belle took to both of them immediately, given their gentle nature. She particularly enjoyed braiding their tails before a game, since she felt both horses enjoyed the pampering.

Besides the polo ponies and two show jumpers there was a thoroughbred called Rocinante, a gorgeous chestnut that Regina Mills herself was personally training for dressage, and some older horses kept mostly for breeding. At the back, though, almost hidden away, was a box stall she hadn't noticed at first. It was unkempt, since no one seemed to be in charge of cleaning it, and housed a rather strange horse. Average in size but powerfully built, though too thin to appear healthy. It was black, with the strangest whiskey-coloured eyes she'd ever seen on a horse, and a long, matted mane. He looked close to emaciated but when she took her concerns to Daniel he surprisingly shrugged her off.

"I felt the same when I started out here, and it still doesn't sit well with me that we aren't allowed to care for the horse, but I can guarantee you the bastard's not gonna die. He's looked pretty much that way for years. Hell, I'm not even sure how old it is, but it's probably the oldest horse any of us has ever seen. It's strange, but I don't question it. Mrs Mills takes care of him herself, or so she says. Can't say I've seen her around here much, but the old boy's being kept alive somehow. And he's got enough strength to be a pain in the ass."

The horse had a foul temper, and was prone to acts of malice, though it seemed incongruous to describe a horse's actions in such a way. He wasn't just violent, there was a sort of rationality to his thinking that unnerved her. He wasn't simply destructive or ill-behaved, there was a level of cunning to his actions, something Belle couldn't quite put into words.

And as much as that did terrify her, it wasn't enough to diminish the pity she felt for the creature, malnourished and unloved as he was. He cut a pathetic figure most of the time, listless and isolated, his ribs prominent and most of his neck and muzzle covered by his matted hair. His eyes reflected a sort of sadness that made her think of when she'd lost her mom to cancer and her dad had retreated into himself, unable to cope. It'd damaged their relationship forever and had filled her with a deep-seated loneliness she had never quite managed to shake off. The horse had the same look she'd seen in the mirror often back then, and could still see now, sometimes.

It was that what made her reach out, at first with small bits of food. Though some horses, like the two polo ponies, were under a strict diet, she was allowed to give others small snacks, mostly apples- the Mills had an orchard, which made them plentiful around the stables. She tried at first to tentatively feed the stallion pieces of apple from her hand, but he reared back, often hitting the door of the stall, exactly where she leaned against. Though the floor of his stall was mucky and the straw dirty she had no choice but to drop the apple slices, hoping he'd eat them out of the floor if he refused to do so out of her hand. Though he never touched the red apples the horse did devour the green apple slices, which Belle counted as her first win.

Sometimes the stallion was out of the stables. Daniel told her Mrs Mills would sometimes fetch him early in the morning to let him out for a bit, though he was never out in the paddock. Apparently, due to his hostility, he was taken to some other paddock deep in the Mill's property, where Belle hoped he could at least enjoy some fresh air and graze. The stable was calmer in his absence, most of the horses seeming to relax visibly without him there. They were all docile animals, used to the company of each other and the presence of strange horses when they were taken to competitions or matches. But, for some reason, they were terrified of the old stallion, often cowering in a corner of their stalls whenever he'd pitch a fit for some perceived slight or the other.

It was during one of those quiet days that Belle first saw Mr Gold. She'd heard of him before, both in Storybrooke and around the stable, but even though lots of people had mentioned him to her she soon realised there was little that people actually knew about the man. Everyone spoke about him as if he'd always lived in Storybrooke, but his distinctive Scottish accent indicated he must have moved in at some point, though no one remembered, not even Granny, who'd lived all her life in the small town.

His vague origins added an extra layer of mystery to an already mysterious man. His accent wasn't the only thing to set him apart, his three-piece suits, long hair and cane also helped make him unique amongst the usual small-town dwellers. He was soft-spoken but there was an undercurrent of menace to him, something that made it easy for Belle to believe he was as dangerous as rumour had it. Whenever she saw him it was usually from a distance, Mrs Mills draped around one of his arms in a rather possessive way. He was an impeccable, impenetrable figure next to her, usually sneering, looking supremely bored.

She'd thought he had him all figured out at first. Someone nasty, like Cora was, likely amoral since it was pretty clear he was carrying on with Mrs Mill behind Mr Mills’ back, unfeeling and greedy. He owned most of Storybrooke, including the land the Mills used as their own, and was known for being unforgiving when it came to the rent or his deals. Whenever he was out with Mrs Mills he acted as if everyone was beneath his notice, as if he barely noticed people. What made Belle the most uneasy, though, was how the horses acted around him. If he approached any of their stalls they'd get strangely nervous and fidgety, and if he remained nearby they'd have to be removed, lest they hurt themselves. Belle was a firm believer in horses’ ability to judge character, which added to Mr Gold's dangerous aura.

But almost against her will she began to see another side of him, the more she randomly ran into him. She didn't know exactly when that started happening, but she couldn't say she was particularly displeased. For all his nefarious reputation and shady relationship to her boss Mr Gold was cultured and sharp, with the sort of dark sense of humour she preferred. And he was, for the most part, all bark and no bite, at least with her and specially once she began laughing at his darker remarks.

He was a lonely soul, she soon discovered, which perhaps accounted for why he intrigued her so. She was lonely too, after all, no longer a stranger new to Storybrooke like she'd been years ago but still a bit of an outsider. The horses helped, which meant she quickly got into the habit of taking a book with her to the stables and reading during breaks or once she was off the clock. She'd wander around the forested area surrounding the Mill's property- well, Gold's, apparently- and pick a spot to sit down and read. Mr Gold came across her sporadically, at first, still pristine-looking in his pressed suits and shined shoes even in the middle of the woods, but soon it became a ritual of sorts. Somehow, for whatever reason, she'd bump into Gold at least once a week, but oftentimes more, and they'd trade quips and sometimes talk about the book she was reading.

She discovered Mr Gold was extremely well-versed in classic literature, even obscure titles she had been pretty sure no one else had heard of in boring little Storybrooke. Of modern literature, however, he had no idea, so she got into the habit of loudly telling him when she'd leave a book in the stables instead of taking it home. He'd use a piece of braided leather to mark his spot, a sort of faded strip that seemed ancient and smelt faintly of something water-y. For some reason instinct told her not to tell anyone, to hide away her small interactions with Mr Gold away in the woods, save from the eyes and ears of Mrs Mills. She even made sure to keep her encounters from Daniel, who was, thankfully, a little too distracted with Regina Mills to notice anything.

It was around the time she began to low-key share her books with Gold that she made progress with the stallion, being able to approach his stall without him slamming the door in warning and feeding him apples from the palm of her hand. Up close the horse was even more imposing and pathetic at the same time, with protruding ribs, sunken eyes and what appeared to be a big iron ring on his right back leg. The skin around the ring looked red and angry, and the horse did not completely rest the hoof on the floor, as if it'd pain him to do so. When she mentioned wanting to remove it to Daniel, however, he told her not to bother.

"I took the issue up with Mrs Mills years ago, she told me on no uncertain terms that I was not to remove the ring. Of course, I tried to anyway, thing looks rusted over and like it's causing a considerable amount of pain, but was unable to. Believe me, I tried every which way. Thing just wouldn't budge. Horse seems fine with it, other than the limp, no infections or anything like that, so I just live it alone. I know it feels wrong, but there's nothing you can do."

Cora Mills wasn't a horsewoman. She could barely tolerate the stench and feel of the stables, and didn't go near any of the many horses kept there. Yet she seemed almost obsessed with the old stallion, and guarded him jealously, while at the same time doing little in the way of grooming or caring for it, to the point that oftentimes Belle would spend close to an hour finger-combing the horse's mane, removing brittle pieces of greenery and undoing what felt like ages-old knots. The horse would nuzzle against her hands in gratitude, some spark of something returning to his dull eyes. Whatever Mrs Mills did in the stables at night- Daniel had warned her against working late, telling her it was strictly forbidden- when she was supposed to be taking care of the animal was a mystery to her, because it was plain as day that there was no actual caring taking place, the neglect etched into every visible part of the animal.

That particular mystery was revealed to her one night, when she discovered she'd forgotten her keys back at the Mills’ and rushed to the stables to get them. The employee's changing rooms- Mrs Mills was a stickler for cleanliness and would not allow any of the stable hands anywhere close to her own home- where right next to the stables, which was how she was able to hear the strange thumping sounds. Hoping to be able to catch Mrs Mills actually abusing the stallion, anything concrete that would allow her to get the attention of someone other than the Sheriff's department, that would not take her animal abuse claims seriously- she crept close to the doors of the stable and pried one open just enough to see inside. The moon was full, providing enough light to see into the stables. She noticed right away that one of the wide wooden benches, which were usually kept on the very back, covered by horse blankets and an assortment of grooming supplies and bridles and saddles taken from their perch to be cleaned or delivered back to the tack room at a later time had been moved to the middle of the stables, covered by a bright red horse blanket she'd never seen anyone use, the sort of thing that seemed too luxurious and delicate to throw over an animal. There was someone lying on the bench, stark-naked, arms grasping the sides of it. She recognised the silver-streaked soft brown hair and the crooked nose before she even became aware of the other person in the room, sitting astride the first body, moving in an unmistakable fashion. Even without seeing her face there was no mistaken that auburn-tinted hair, nor those blood-red nails, digging painfully into the skin of the prone figure. It was Cora Mills, completely naked as well, looking like the years had been more than kind to her. It wasn't Mr Mills bellow her, perhaps indulging some fetish or secret pleasure of his wife, but Mr Gold. His eyes were closed, head thrown back and an expression the hovered between disgust and bliss on his usually blank face. He had scratches on his side, blood looking black as it seemed from them, and yet he was making no move to pull Cora's claws away from his exposed flesh, nor did he do anything to stop her as she rode him mercilessly.

She took a couple of steps back, almost forgetting to stay quiet. There was a nauseous sense of betrayal threatening to choke her, though she knew she had no right to it. If there was someone who was deserving of such a feeling was poor Mr Mills, kind as a lamb and likely completely unaware of the sordid little arrangement, tucked into bed thinking his wife might be revising some contracts or perhaps taking a long hot bath. And though she liked Mr Mills, liked his kind eyes, his even kinder words and the affection with which he showered his one and only daughter, Belle couldn't say she felt betrayed in his name. Whatever she was feeling was personal, in a way she had no right to. Underneath it, though, there was something else, a sense of wrongness that had nothing to do with what she might have thought was growing between herself and the older man. Something that disturbed her and she couldn't quite pinpoint how or why.

Cora's shrill cries of pleasure turned her attention almost in spite of herself back to the inside of the stables. Unable to look elsewhere her eyes became glued to Mr Gold's face, caught somewhere between pain and pleasure. Finally, he tipped his head back, lips parting to soundlessly whisper something before he came. It was just a small word, five letters that she couldn't even be sure he'd mouthed, but they shocked her into painful awareness, allowing her to silently slip away from the stables and back home as fast as her legs could carry her.

Belle. He's said Belle.

It was inevitable for things to get awkward after that, even after Belle spent an entire weekend trying to rationally convince herself nothing that she had seen was any of her business and she had no right getting offended by Mrs Mills and Mr Gold's extracurricular activities. In a way it confirmed rumours that she'd heard before, so it shouldn't even have shocked her all that much. But in spite of all that she still found herself spending less time reading in the forest, nursing some hurt feelings she wasn't really entitled to. Inevitably Mr Gold noticed and pull back, widening the distance between them that had shrunk so fast the last couple of months. It left Belle feeling petty and miserable, which in turn made her grouchy and less than welcoming.

So, what if Mr Gold had opened up to her about a few things, told her about his favourite spot, a cabin hidden in the woods, next to a river? So, what if he'd told her how it reminded him of the cottage he'd been brought up in, under the loving care of two doting aunts? His confidences didn't really give her right to be jealous or feel betrayed. And at the back of her head something niggled, some sort of revelation she couldn't quite consciously grasp yet and it bothered her. There was a certain sense of urgency attached to it that made her uneasy. The horses, bright and sensitive as they were, could tell, and they became increasingly skittish around her. The old stallion, on the other hand, became quiet and taciturn, reluctant to be tempted by her apples or her offering of pettings.

So, when she had the first dream, she attached it all to her unstable emotional state and the shock of what she'd seen. The dream itself was fussy and unclear at first, mostly the feeling of slippery scales under her fingertips and the sensation of someone smiling against the skin of her hip, pointed teeth scraping her there. But as time passed the dream became more and more defined. She began to hear sounds and see glimpses of colour, flashes of images that finally coalesced into the form of a man, tough not a traditional one. He had skin that shifted from green to grey to gold, scaly in texture, and claws. His face was hidden from her, though she sometimes caught glimpses of his golden eyes in the dark, watching her avidly.

She was always naked in her dreams, though she didn't know she knew that, but it never made her feel vulnerable or defenceless. Sometimes he'd simply watch her from the shadows, though other times he'd pet her hair, sinking his claws into it with obvious relish. And other times he was all over her, teeth and hands and skin groping, biting and sliding against every part of her he could reach. Though somehow, she knew her phantom lover was dangerous she did not fear him in her dreams, not even when he gripped her hips tight, claws sinking into her skin, or when held her arms up above her head in a vicious grip as he fucked her. Far from becoming frightened or submissive her dream self was just as savage, if not more. She bit back, thrashed against him, feeling nothing but sweet triumph whenever she could flip them around and have him beneath her, powerful and feral and completely at her mercy. They didn't have sex as much as rutted like animals, unlike anything she'd ever felt she'd be comfortable with in real life.

Unwilling to see her satisfying yet unsettling new sex dreams as connected in any way, shape or form to whatever she'd stumbled into a few weeks ago at the stables she decided instead that it was just her healthy mind coping with happened to be a very long dry spell. Not that she minded it, really, not when the alternative was subpar. She'd never been able to find small-town men to be much attractive. There was a small-world mentality to them she shied away from, even in men like Sheriff Graham that were pleasing to the eye and genuinely nice. It didn't help that the "genuinely nice men" like the sheriff were rather an exception. Most of the Storybrooke singles scene was dominated by lowlifes like Keith Nott or Arthur Penn or men like Greg Aston, who seemed to be in a committed, long-term relationship with himself. Her mother had always told her that companionship ought to feel better than being alone, and not to settle for less. And Belle was really okay, happy even, to be by herself, at least in comparison to what it'd be like to be paired up in a town like Storybrooke.

But she did get lonely, and needy, which explained the dreams and her quick, instinctual attachment to Mr Gold, as unfortunate and ill-boding as it had been. So reluctantly, but in the spirit of self-improvement and being brave, he allowed Ruby, the town matchmaker, to set her up with a man. And such a charming man he was, with a cute accent, a small build- Belle hated people towering over her- and a scrappy sense of humour. Will was perfect, except he was perfectly in love with his ex, and Belle felt no sexual attraction to him, dangerous looks and arresting accent or not.

Though her blind date turned more into a friendly meeting, complete with a phone call from the ex in the middle of it and later on a happy recounting of how his ex and he had decided to try to make things work, Belle didn't much mind it, happy enough not to have to gently let Will down at the end of the night. She thought nothing more of it until late one afternoon, when Keith cornered her at the end of her shift, while she was putting away the curry combs and dandy brushes she'd used and setting aside the bits of horse tack that needed to be put away. She never quite figured why Keith still worked at the stables. Daniel didn't tolerate him and even Mr Mills appeared to frown upon the man's almost constantly hangover estate. The way she figured out Keith was still gainfully employed mostly because he'd wear wifebeaters and flex his muscles a lot whenever Mrs Mills was around, which apparently made him a qualified stable hand. He was competent whenever his eye-to-hand coordination wasn't impaired but he had no love for the animals, and they in turn had no love for him.

He had mostly kept his distance from her, due in great part to how Daniel tended to always keep an eye on him. But Daniel had left shortly after she'd clocked in, having left to accompany Miss Mills to a dressage event, reason why Rocinante's stall was empty. She'd given it a thorough cleaning, which was why she was late to tidy up and clock out. She hadn't even thought about the possibility that it'd mean she'd be stuck alone with Keith and no one else, but the moment she became aware of it, when Keith came out of nowhere to try and grab her ass, it was too late.

"Thought you were done being a frigid bitch, Belle."

Keith had learned over the years to fake sobriety, but his eyes were bloodshot and his breath, up close and personal, stank of cheap bourbon. She tried to brush him aside and head towards the women's changing rooms, which locked from the inside, but he grabbed her wrist and violently turned her around to face him again.

"I don't have time for this, Keith. Please let go."

She willed her voice not to waver, not to show how scared she was becoming. she visibly flinched at the sound of hooves smashing against a stall door, but Keith paid it no mind.

"What, thought you liked a good English accent. Thought that's what did it for you. It's a good selling point for a lot of ladies, no need to be embarrassed."

He was trying to sound cajoling, seductive, but his posture was more threatening than enticing. Against her better judgement she moved backwards, deeper into the stables. She knew Keith was scared of the old stallion, though he tried to pretend otherwise, and thankfully the old boy was feeling feisty. If she managed to get close enough to the stall Keith might think twice before trying to grab her.

The drink, however, was giving him a false sense of bravado so when the horse again knocked hard on the stall door to almost tear it off its hinges he flinched, but quickly recovered.

"When the time comes I'll drive you to the glue factory myself, you sack of bones."

He banged on the door with an open fist, meaning to scare the animal. The horse, however, moved lightning-fast, managing to get its muzzle in between the bars and bite hard on the hand. Keith howled, so loudly Belle was surprised the sound didn't reach the big house and alert anyone. He tried to yank his hand back but the horse had a tight grip on it, and didn't look like he was going to budge. When she caught sight of the blood dripping onto the floor Belle herself panicked, throwing caution to the wind and reaching out to pet the bridge of the animal's nose, cooing soft nonsense at it until it let go. Keith stumbled out of the stables faster than she would've thought possible and though she knew she should've gone after him, made sure at least that he would get help, she didn't. She was too caught-up staring at the horse's eyes, spying the malicious intent and satisfied smugness there. He was lapping up the blood smeared around his muzzle, as if it was some rare delicacy and as he did so she caught a glimpse of gold. A gold tooth, which she'd never noticed before. One that reminded her of-

Fuck.

She raced out of the room, overwhelmed by a sudden realisation. That niggling feeling on the back of her head, that notion that she'd noticed something significant, something life-changing was back with a vengeance, and against her will her mind went back to that time he'd stumbled across Mrs Mills and Mr Gold having sex in the stables. What she had noticed and somehow erased from her conscious memory was the iron ring around Mr Gold's right ankle, so familiar to her. A ring she'd studied hundreds of times before but not on the businessman's foot, but rather her stallion's right leg.

The horse and Mr Gold were one of the same. It was nonsensical but at the same time it felt like the most obvious and plausible explanation.

For some reason Storybrooke had rather a healthy folklore section at the library, with some of the library's oldest and most valuable books in it, which Belle promptly transferred to her apartment upstairs to pour into them with as much privacy as possible. Her mother had always told her stories and legends about horses, so she had some sort of idea about what she was looking for. It became more about confirming her suspicions than anything else, and by the time she was done and it was almost morning she knew for certain: Cora Mills had trapped a kelpie.

Mr Gold... there was no Mr Gold. He was an illusion, a facade. As was the old horse. The true creature she'd never seen, though she'd caught a glimpse of it the other night, when he'd almost devoured Keith's entire hand. It explained so much, as ridiculous as she knew it sounded: why the horse was never fed but never died, how it seemed to be ancient and far too intelligent for a common animal, why Mr Gold looked so desperately unhappy, why the Mills lived on what was technically his property.

It was out of the question to do nothing once she knew. Belle had been raised to value her independence and free will above all, to be the one to decide her own fate. To have that taken away felt wrong. It didn't matter to her if the kelpie was likely far from a good creature. The legends spoke about a mean-spirited demon, an imp, a trickster that drowned and devoured people, but it didn't make him deserving of enslavement, specially under the hands of someone as naturally-cruel as Mrs Mills.

Though Belle was naturally an impulsive person she forced herself to plan, to ensure she'd be successful in breaking the kelpie out. The trick, of course, had to be in the iron ring. She purchased and practiced using a variety of different tools that might be able to pry it open, determined to think Daniel had just not tried the right thing when he had unknowingly attempted to set the creature free. She also packed a silver cross, which was meant to potentially protect her against the kelpie, should he prove to be ungrateful towards his liberator, or hungry enough to try and take a bite out of her.

The night before she was set to carry out her plan she dreamt of her phantom lover laying her out in a bed of moss and licking and biting every inch of her, driving his cock into her cunt until she felt she had no strength to orgasm anymore. Afterwards, as they laid in a tangle of sweaty limbs, he told her in a sing-songy voice of all the pleasure that still awaited her, all the different ways in which he'd make her climax the following night.

"I'm sorry, I can't. I have to free him. Mr Gold. The horse. I have to free him."

Suddenly she was clothed, her pyjamas sticky against her cooling body, and a hand was grabbing her by the throat, chocking her. In front of her she saw Mr Gold, only his eyes were golden and he had seaweed in his hair.

"You foolish child." His accent was so thick she was barely able to understand him. "Don't play around with monsters, dearie, you might not live long enough to regret it."

She'd woken up swearing she could still feel Gold's hand squeezing her neck, but she forced herself to shrug the dream off and continue with the plan. Daniel was accompanying Regina to a show-jumping event far enough to require more than a day's absence- she rather thought it was one of the main reasons Regina was participating in the event at all, given hoe lacklustre she'd been about jumping lately- which meant it was the perfect time to do it. Being the only current female employer meant it was easy to simply hide away in the women's changing room once her shift was up and wait for it to get dark. Once it was fully dark out and she was sure that Mrs Mills wasn't about to indulge in one of her... midnight rides Belle sneaked back into the stabled, hauling her bag of tools towards the last stall, where the horse seemed to strangely be waiting for her. He looked more tired than normal, as if even his usual meagre strength had been siphoned away, but tried to put up a fight once she got to her knees in front of his shackled leg, frantically trying to keep the limb out of her reach.

Through sheer force of will and determination she managed to wrestle the creature into submission, which gave her the opportunity to study the iron ring closely for the first time. It was smooth and not overly thick, but thick enough not to be able to cut away with pliers. There was no lock or hinges, only a crude melted line that seemed to have been hastily and sloppily forged. Hoping it was a weakness in the design she could exploit she made a weak attempt at prying the shackle open by pulling on both sides of the line, hoping to get a feel for it. Instead the whole thing came apart at her hands, the iron ring cracking open like an Easter egg.

"What the-?"

The horse almost fell on top of her, looking as close to death as she'd ever seen him. Whatever compulsions Cora had placed on him where gone, which also meant the full reality of his mistreatment and suffering was exposed. With gentle hands and a patience, she knew they didn't have time for Belle slowly coaxed the creature out of his stall and deep into the forest. He needed fresh water, according to what she'd read, and the river was the best source for it. The river Mr Gold talked about often, with such yearning. It made sense now.

"Come on now, we're just a few feet away now. You've been so brave and we're so close, it's all going to be al-"

It felt like getting stung by some sort of massive insect at first, uncomfortable but not overly painful. It wasn't until she felt her stomach getting wet that she looked down, noticing the blood a second before her body caught up with her and she dropped to the ground, pain exploding around her, making it hard to think. Cora Mills stood a few feet away, gun still raised and pointed where she'd been standing only a second before.

"Rumple, dear, look at yourself. So weak, so pitiful. Come back to me, precious, I'll make it all better."

Her sweet, cooing voice was thick with false concern and syrupy sweetness. A trap, a pretence. Belle moaned and turned her head to the side, noticing with unease that the kelpie was not making a run for the water, as he should, rather taking a few tentative steps towards Cora, suspicious but not completely mistrustful. Cora smiled, lips very red in the moonlight.

"That's it, that's it, my darling. We've had such good times, haven't we? We've... enjoyed each other so much. We're so alike, a true partnership. Come here, darling, surely it wasn't so bad being under my care, receiving my... enthusiastic affections."

He took a step towards her and then another. Belle whimpered as a sense of defeat washed over her, watching as the skeletal horse nuzzled against Cora's carefully-coiffed hair. A second later, however, he was grabbing the thick auburn locks with his teeth and was violently dragging the woman towards the river, acting as though her struggles and screams were of little importance to him. Cora screeched, frantically clawing at her trapped hair, trying to tear it off. Eventually the water drowned her screams and the night turned oddly peaceful.

It was hard to determine how much time passed after that. Belle seemed to blink in and out of existence, her vision becoming more and more unfocused and blurry as time passed and the moon moved across the sky. Eventually she heard splashing and was able to see the kelpie as it emerged from the river, no longer emaciated and dirty, but rather well-fed and with a sheen to his black coat. There was also blood around his muzzle and running down his powerful neck. He approached her slowly, carefully, almost lovingly, nuzzling against her like he had done with Cora. Then he tried attempting to entice her on his back. Belle knew precious little about guns or bullet wounds, but she knew that a shot in the stomach meant a slow, painful death, and that she was unlikely to be rescued at all. In contrast drowning seemed like a much more palatable death. Quicker, for sure. And riding a magical horse, even for a few seconds, was something straight out of her wildest childhood fantasies.

The kelpie felt surprisingly warm to the touch, which made lying on his back and absolute relief to the coldness Belle could not seem to shake off. Not even the low temperature of the water seemed to diminish the sensation, and though she had no strength with which to hold onto the animal she didn't drift away, somehow, nor did her lungs burn from lack of oxygen, as if the laws of nature did not apply to her as long as she rode astride the kelpie, cocooned in whatever magic he was capable of.

At some point they got out of the river, somewhere downstream, deep in the woods. Belle saw an old cottage, vaguely English in design and looking incredibly old, moss and ivy creeping up the stone and wooden walls, threatening to engulf it. It was the cottage Mr Gold had described to her often, the one he'd built in loving memory of the place where he'd grown up back in Scotland, under the care of two lovable spinsters. Cora had kept him away from it, which explained why he talked about it with such yearning.

Once out of the water whatever trick was keeping her astride the kelpie faded, just as it did the last bit of her strength. She fell to the floor with a thud, relieved to feel only a dull sort of pain. A moment later spidery arms where wrapping around her and hoisting her up, claws snagging on her cardigan and jeans. She looked up, her eyes feeling heavy, and saw the blurry shape of her dream lover looking down at her, cooing softly at her in a familiar sort of accent.

A moment later the darkness overtook her and she could hear and see no more.

The first thing she became aware of was that she was lying in a bed of thick, soft moss, a buttery-soft blanket draped on top of her naked body. A fire roared somewhere nearby, she could both hear and feel it. It took her forever to pry her eyelids open but when she did she saw the kelpie right in front of her, peering at her intently. He looked like he had in her dreams, scales and leather covering every bit of him, wide amber eyes and sharp teeth and claws. He had seaweed in his hair as well, and Mr Gold's familiar sharp nose and thin mouth. On a rational level she knew she ought to be scared, not only because of what she'd read kelpies where capable of but because he'd seen him kill in cold blood only a few hours ago.

But even though she tried to will herself to be scared the emotion did not materialise, overridden by a burning sort of curiosity that had her reaching out, the fingertips of her right hand gliding over the smooth scales of the kelpie's face. They were dry but slippery, and oddly warm to the touch, which was unexpected. His eyes, strangely cat-like and a deep molten gold, fluttered close when she slid her fingers into his hair, fascinated by the texture of it.

"You're a wonder."

His words startled her, not just by the strange pitch of his voice but by the words themselves. It seemed incongruous for the straight-out-of-lore creature to call her a wonder, and she must have said something, because he laughed, the sound more akin to a purr.

"Not an ounce of fear in you, pretty thing, can't even smell a hint of wariness. Such light, so sparkly and warm inside you, so exquisitely bold."

One of his clawed hands began playing with the tips of her hair, tugging on it in a way that made her scalp tingle pleasantly.

"Such goodness, to bestow it even on a monster. It's no surprise Cora's nasty iron ring didn't stand a chance."

He tugged her closer using her hair, and though it forced Belle to bend close to him it didn't scare her. He pressed his nose on the spot where her neck met her shoulder, inhaling deeply.

"So sweet. Such a pretty light. Never been so close to something like it. Makes me want to gobble it up."

Even though she was absolutely certain the kelpie had not only killed but also eaten Mrs Mills his apparent desire to devour her did not provoke any sort of revulsion or alarm. If anything, it excited her.

"What- what are you going to do to me?"

The kelpie slowly clawed at the tartan blanket, coaxing it away from her body. She let him, finding it all strangely, reassuringly familiar. She'd dreamed about it countless times, after all.

"Never seen anything so pure. Wanna feast on it, get drunk on it. I'm an old kelpie, sweet one, with vast knowledge and experience. I collect things, rare things, valuable things. Things with power. Things that I feel a connection to. And you, pretty thing? You I aim to keep."

As he spoke to her he coaxed her on her back, peeling the last of the blanket off till she was naked in the firelight. The kelpie's clothes disappeared too, dissolving into thin air in that inexplicable way that happens in dreams and fantasies, though Belle knew for a fact it was neither. This was real, startlingly real, and she needed to think about the ramifications of what she'd do next. A moment later the kelpie's mouth was on hers, and her thoughts grew pleasantly muddled. It felt exactly like it had in her dreams, only more intense. The creature was all sharp edges and skinny limbs, but deceptively strong, easily pinning her to the mossy bed beneath. There was a challenge in the way he overpowered her, a provocative playfulness that made her struggle to gain the upper hand. He seemed delighted by it, nipping at her skin to encourage her to retaliate in kind and practically trembling in pleasure when she scratched him by accident.

It was a strangely-liberating experience, new and exciting and yet familiar and comforting, a primal, well-rehearsed danced they practiced a hundred times before in her dreams, in dozens of different ways. When she finally had him on the floor, legs on either side of his hips, one hand on his long mane of hair, keeping him pliant and obedient beneath her she finally saw a flicker of hesitation in his golden eyes. His expression softened, becoming more open and a clawed hand came to rest on top of her left breast, where her heart beat furiously.

"It's forever, dearie."

There was an unspoken question in his voice. Belle was sure the kelpie himself didn't know what he was asking, whether he'd be able to let her go if she asked. Fortunately for both of them, she didn't want to. She pressed her moth against his softly, gently, marvelling at how it disarmed him completely. It was heady to have such power over a creature as powerful as the kelpie was, but Belle did not allow herself to explore that. Instead she sunk into the kelpie's member, digging her nails into his scalp as her body adjusted to the wonderful sensation of fullness that followed. The kelpie trembled, thrashing and whimpering when a tug on his mane made him still. She began to ride him then, slowly and sweetly at first and harder and faster as her belly tightened and her mind became fussier and fussier. Orgasming felt a bit like reaching the end of a long, hard run, muscles aching, heart racing and a feeling of elation overtaking her. The kelpie curled up around her tight as he came, breathless from the exertion, possessively wrapping his bony arms around her, dragging her down with him as he laid back against the moss, wiggling till he was comfortable. He made a sound of contentment when she dragged the tartan blanket on top of both of them, trapping whatever body heat was leftover. There was a voice nagging on the back of her mind, telling her to take a minute and think about what she was doing, what she ought to do next. But the kelpie was warm and comfy beneath her, and the fire kept the room pleasantly toasty. It was all too easy to push the voice aside and close her eyes, the distant sound of the running river lulling her into a dreamless sleep.

[analysis-by-vaylon]

Vaylon's Crazy Theory #1: Pony Head will die, and Marco will use her horn as a weapon.

I told you these theories would be crazy, even for me.

First, a disclaimer: the contents of this post are sold as-is. Not guaranteed to actually predict the future, end shipping wars, or bring total enlightenment. Read at your own risk. May cause drowsiness or confusion. Void where prohibited. All sales are final. NO REFUNDS.

(This will be a long post.)

Perhaps you're thinking to yourself, "Vaylon, you crazy person, you, how on earth could you even begin to possibly justify such an outlandish theory?!" Well, what if I told you that it starts all the way back in episode 1b: "Party with a Pony"? But before I can tell you that story, I have to tell you this story: let's talk about the Holy Grail.

Not This @#$% Again!

If you're a regular follower of my blog, then I'm sure by now you're sick to death of me talking about the Holy Grail theory and how I think Lekmet's horn will come to play a big role in future seasons. Well, too bad! It’s a good theory, and I’m proud of it. There’s plenty of evidence for it, in my opinion -- but I missed something related to the Grail. Something big.

You see, I'm kind of an idiot for not realizing the possibility of this Pony Head theory sooner. The answer is literally right in front of my face every day. Have you ever seen my profile picture? It's the Lance of Longinus from Neon Genesis Evangelion.

Evangelion's Lance is based on an actual legend in medieval Christian tradition. The legend says that a Roman soldier named Longinus wanted to make sure that Christ was really dead, so he stabbed him in the side with his spear. (The use of the word lance instead of spear is debatable, but I like the alliteration, so I'm going to use it.) All sorts of stories and magical powers are associated with this weapon, and lots of different relics claim to be the "true" Lance. But here's the thing I had forgotten: in order for the Grail to catch the blood of Christ (and thus become the Grail), there has to be a sizable wound. The Lance, then, is what causes that wound.

The Holy Grail is only half of the picture! You can't have the Grail without the Lance; they go together. I felt like a fool when I realized the connection I’d been missing -- the hint was right in front of me the whole time.

In Arthurian tales, the Grail and Lance often go hand-in-hand -- one or both are depicted as continually dripping with blood -- and there have been lots (and lots) of books written about the symbolism behind the two mythical objects. One reading is that the Grail and Lance symbolically represent feminine and masculine aspects, respectively. Or, more irreverently, they represent Venus and Mars. Any of this starting to sound familiar yet?

I've written previously about Star being associated with the goddess Venus. Marco, then, of course, is associated with the god Mars; not only is his name ultimately derived from Mars, but he has a strong connection to the color red and to martial arts. The Roman god of war is depicted as carrying a spear as a weapon -- indeed, it's part of his symbol, which has now become the traditional symbol for "male." If there is indeed a Lance in Star vs. the Forces of Evil, then it seems only fitting that Marco -- the Lancer of the series -- comes to wield it.

Once I started thinking about the Lance, it was easy to find references to it (some more subtle than others). I've divided the theory into two sections: the first part will deal with connecting Pony Head to the Lance (and hence to Marco). The second part will deal with the foreshadowing of Pony Head's death. Let's begin!

Pony Head and Marco

Remember "Party with a Pony" -- the very first episode we see Pony Head in? Do you remember what game Pony Head and Marco play at the Amethyst Arcade?

Lance Lance Revolution! I was stunned when I recalled that scene. (I also wonder if it's a stealth reference to the opening of Revolutionary Girl Utena -- watch for the flying horses!) Notably, Pony Head loses the game to Marco. Indeed, for what it's worth, there are a number of references to sharp objects in "Party with a Pony":

The series is trying to establish a comparison between lances and Pony Head. Sound far-fetched? Perhaps -- but that's the point (so to speak) of this post. This theory's reading opens up the episode to a lot of irony in lines like this, for instance:

Pony Head: Look here, Earth Turd. This night is really important to me. You mess that up, and you’re gonna get the horn.

Marco could literally receive the horn from Pony Head. And there is another line in "Party with a Pony" that is much, much darker upon re-interpretation, but I'll save that for the second half. For now, let's move on to some other episodes.

Both Star and Marco make use of Pony Head several times throughout the series as a tool:

Her role as a tool in "St. Olga's Reform School for Wayward Princesses" and in "Pizza Thing" could foreshadow the eventual use of her horn as a weapon. "Pizza Thing" is particularly interesting as it focuses on Pony Head and Marco's relationship -- indeed, every time we see Pony Head on-screen, she is somehow causing trouble for Marco -- and there are odd lines in it like this one that seem to hint at something else going on:

Pony Head, however, does have a sharp edge to stab someone with. Marco using her horn as a weapon would be symbolic of the friendship between him and Pony Head; we would think of her every time he uses it. This shot is probably the most symbolic one in the episode, however:

Bowls, as I noted before in my post on the Holy Grail, are symbolic of the Grail; the symbolism, I think, is reinforced by Pony Head putting eggs into it. (Pizza dough does not ordinarily have eggs in it!) Remember: the Grail and the Lance go together. They are a pair, just like Star and Marco.

Finally, there's a pretty unusual passage in Star and Marco's Guide to Mastering Every Dimension:

It seems likely to me that the writers intend far more meaning behind Pony Head and Marco's relationship than is apparent at first glance; if this theory is correct, then perhaps Marco and Pony Head will become much closer than they are now just before she is killed, and he will commit himself to keeping her memory alive in a way she would have wanted.

Word Associations

I think "The Bounce Lounge" -- another often-overlooked episode -- is important, too, for establishing darker themes associated with Pony Head: that of old age, finality, and death. Yet, before we get into those themes, there's something odd going on in this episode, something that I've previously remarked on: shot-for-shot, "The Bounce Lounge" and "The Hard Way" have similar composition. (If you play both episodes at the same time, you'll see for yourself what I'm talking about.) In particular, I would like to focus on these two shots:

Visually, Pony Head is being compared to a pillar. Pillars play an unusual role in the series; for one thing, they're connected to Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade -- a film about the quest for the Holy Grail. For instance, the pillars that mark the clues that Indiana Jones follows are echoed in the second half of season two of Star vs. the Forces of Evil:

Pillar is a word with an interesting etymology. As you can see, it's ultimately derived from the Latin pila -- a word with some interesting connections (among them: mortar and pestle, pistil) -- but, more to the point (again, so to speak), it’s also etymologically connected to the Latin word pilum -- the famed javelin of the Roman soldier. Both pila and pilum probably have their origin in the proto-Indo-European root *peys- meaning "to crush."

The word pillar is ultimately derived from a root meaning "to crush." If you’re skeptical about the significance of this, just consider what a pillar does at the end of "The Battle for Mewni":

Yeah.

I don't think there's any need for us to balk at this sort of word association -- with cleaved in "Storm the Castle" and Janna sleeping in the grave in "Bon Bon the Birthday Clown," the writers have clearly demonstrated that they're aware of the meanings and etymologies of words. (As an aside, think about how much importance the word crush has in episodes like "Sleepover" and "Starcrushed"!) If Pony Head can be compared to a pillar, then she certainly can be compared to a javelin (or, more aptly, a spear).

The amount of suffering in "The Battle for Mewni" -- and the sheer number of times that the words dead or kill are used -- hint that the series as a whole is moving toward a darker, more serious tone. Would the death of a supporting character really be that out of place? There are some elements scattered throughout the series so far which hint at Pony Head's death; let's take a look at them.

The Shadow of Death

Even from the beginning of Pony Head's introduction, there's an air of danger and death around her; after all, in "Party with a Pony," she does try to kill Marco:

In the same episode, Marco responds to Pony Head with some violence of his own:

If this theory is right, and Pony Head is destined to die, consider how darkly ironic King Pony Head's incredible line at the end of "Party with a Pony" becomes:

King Pony Head: Ah, kids... You have 'em, and then you... wish they weren't around.

And that episode isn't the only one like that; as I noted earlier, "The Bounce Lounge" is entirely themed around old age, finality, and endings. There's a crow in the decrepit Bounce Lounge, an omen of death (if you watch the scene, note how the sound travels to the left channel, drawing your attention to the crow):

There's some visual metaphor going on as well: when Star starts to cry, all of her glass unicorn figurines shatter into pieces. Could this be foreshadowing Star's sorrow at her best friend's death? Indeed, the entire episode seems dedicated to priming the audience for -- something -- some kind of major loss or death:

Furthermore, Milly Sparkles says "six customers" -- and the show wants us to pay attention to what she says and how she says it -- but there are actually seven characters present:

At first, I wondered if something would happen to Marco, since he's the only one not reflected in Milly's shades, but in light of this theory, I now think it's Pony Head. A stretch, admittedly (isn't it all?), but it's hard to deny that "The Bounce Lounge" is a grim portent. To a lesser extent, “Running with Scissors” also presages death in what could be an ironic fashion:

This theory of mine about Pony Head may also help explain something I'd been puzzling over for quite a while during the season two finale livestream, which featured Marco and StarFan13 talking about Easter eggs to watch for during "Face the Music" and "Starcrushed":

StarFan13: Did you find all the Easter eggs? Did you find the unicorn skull, the pizza nuggets, and the shoulder tassels?

As far as I know, there's no unicorn skull in either "Face the Music" or "Starcrushed." However, there are some bones near the flytrap-like plant in "Face the Music":

But those don't look like unicorns to me; look at their teeth. (Also, the clues indicate we're looking for a single unicorn skull.) Perhaps this connection is far-fetched, but I always thought the hint of "unicorn skull" prefigured some other death -- and now I think it may be referring to Pony Head's eventual demise. (If someone has an alternate explanation for the unicorn skull hint, I would be happy to hear it!) But this is just a minor point compared to what I think is the biggest clue of all...

In a post about "Starcrushed," I wrote about how, among other things, the Magic High Commission and Star's group of friends all seem to run parallel to one another:

Emergency Friend Meeting: Star, Pony Head, Kelly, Janna, and StarFan13. Magic High Commission: Moon, Lekmet, Omnitraxus Prime, Hekapoo, and Rhombulus.

Thanks to Moon in "Return to Mewni," we know for a fact that Lekmet is gone for good:

Since "Starcrushed" implicitly compares Star's group of friends to the Magic High Commission, I don't think it's too much of a stretch to posit that one of Star's friends could die as well -- and the closest one to Lekmet in terms of kind and symbolism is Pony Head.

Lekmet is associated with healing (as is the Holy Grail); similarly, real-life legends about unicorns are also associated with healing -- their alleged horns were valuable, sought-after items believed to be cure-alls and were purchased by medieval nobles wanting to protect themselves against poison and disease. Both Lekmet and Pony Head have prominent horns, although Pony Head uses hers for magic, and it hasn't been revealed -- yet, anyway -- whether or not Lekmet's horn is magic (but I think it will be soon).

If Lekmet's horn is to be used as a magic item by Star, then is it really that much of a stretch to imagine Pony Head dying and her horn being used as a weapon by Marco?

How It All Goes Down

From what I've been reading, plenty of fans dislike Pony Head; in any case, I would certainly not characterize her as a popular character. I think she's fine in small doses, and at times she can even be hilariously off-beat: her appearance in "Running with Scissors" attests to that! A moment of redemption for her -- something to truly bolster audience opinion of her, perhaps even a heroic sacrifice -- would fit perfectly, I think, into the development of an otherwise unlikable character. It makes a whole lot of sense to me.

And, if it is to happen, then it seems obvious how: Miss Heinous. From "Heinous" -- an episode that I love due to how utterly off-the-rails demented it is -- it's clear that Miss Heinous is quite involved in the process of losing her grip on reality, and she's also become far more bloody-minded than previously shown. Here's a possible chain of events:

Miss Heinous threatens to kill Marco.

Pony Head sacrifices herself to save Marco.

Marco takes Pony Head's horn for revenge.

Implausible? Sure. I freely admit that this theory is crazy -- it's in the title, after all -- but I absolutely think it could happen, and that's what makes it so deliciously tantalizing. Given the show's running theme of transition, I think it would also be influential in terms of character development for Star if she lost her childhood friend; not only would it be symbolic of her transition to adulthood, but it would provide Pony Head a means of redeeming herself and allow the show to reveal just how dark it can truly be. I can’t wait for November!

I hope you enjoyed reading this! Feel free to complain here (or just send questions). Until next time! Take care of yourselves.

[mulder-isms]

Everything Now - Thorcid fanfic

A\N: After a long night of hookin’…and after a long block it’s finally here. This fic was inspired by oh so many things, but mostly the Arcade fire new song, Thorgy’s birthday cakes, and my own block. The angst is strong on this one.

I don’t know if I’m happy with the result, but it’s out and that’s what matters. Send me love notes or wake-up calls like girl, stop. I welcome interventions. 

*

Jamin felt the pull of coming back to reality. His sister’s fingers were gently pressing his forearm, her voice echoing in distance. He was dreaming about hybrid sea animals, the ones that lived in the depths of the ocean, maybe ruling Atlantis in their most majestic form.

“Jay?”

Her voice was muffled and bubbly.

“Wake up…it’s time to go”

The voice was getting closer as she repeated the command, and when it reached the highest pitch he opened his eyes, sucking a deep breath. The detergent smell in the corridor filled quickly his lungs, the white walls were blinding. He was probably the only teenager hanging around in the wing of the hospital this late hour. He fell asleep on the bench waiting for his sister. His mother condition was still the same.

He wiped off some dry drool from his left cheek and tried taming his messy blonde curls. He had slept on some of his drawings, and he picked them up and stuffed in his backpack. He noticed the paint stains on his shirt and grimaced frustrated. If Becky wasn’t so tired she would have argued with him. But she just heavy sighed and tilted her head as a let’s go sign.

Jamin continued walking by her side staring at his shoes along the hall.

“You’re running out of clean shirts this week to go to school” she patted on her brother’s shoulder as they were almost reaching the elevator. He just nodded in silence feeling guilty. “But never run out of your beautiful art” she reassured him side hugging the defeated kid.

*

The same way Shane would make Jamin watch the most suspicious so-called art films, he made Shane watch all his favorite 80’s classics. One day he found out the outrageous information that Shane has never seen any of The never-ending story movies. Jamin cancelled everything he had to do and immediately scheduled a movie night.

Jamin knew Shane was having mixed feeling about the cancellation of the Well Strung tour, that things didn’t quite work the way he wanted, and how sensitive he was about the constant frustration of not getting his projects done. But there was a selfish side of him that appreciated the fact he wasn’t going out on tour, and he could have his boyfriend all for himself. With season still 9 happening, the attention was focused in the new girls. They were staying in New York most of the time and could finally settle in to a more normal pace in their relationship.

He didn’t know Ally was staying the weekend in Shane’s apartment, but they were used to each other. The 7-year-old girl had a blunt honesty that Jamin found quite relatable. They needed food supplies for the night, so they went to a sort of pricey grocery store a bit far from Jamin’s neighborhood.  Ally was holding Shane’s hand while he was guiding the trolley glancing at the shelves. From time to time they would stop and check the price and Shane would complain turning his back to Jamin and he’d just nod in agreement while Ally sneakily added more items in the trolley. As he observed them both walking in front of him the scene felt sweetly mundane.

“We were supposed to just get popcorn and some candy bars, not food for the whole month” he called out resting his chin on Shane’s shoulder, sticking his hands inside the pockets of Shane’s coat, their bodies brushing slightly. Shane that was checking a huge pickles jar didn’t even move.

“You’re right!” Shane put back the jar on the shelf and turned to face him patting on his chest then catching Ally in the act putting three cereal boxes in the trolley. “Focus Ally!”

She stopped midway and let go a defeated sign, putting just one box. They continued heading to the cashier and Shane’s hand reached Jamin’s, like in unconscious reflex and they continued walking. The place was from Jamin’s neighborhood. The chances of finding familiar faces were very little and he frankly didn’t care.

When they got to the cashier Ally was excited putting all the unnecessary items they ended up taking. Shane noticed one bouquet of different types of artificial flowers.

“Wai-wai-wait, Ally, what’s with the plastic flowers?” he stopped her chuckling.

“Decorations for the dinner table today” she replied as if it was the most obvious answer. Shane and Jamin exchanged looks. She seemed a young lady with a purpose.

“Well, they do match your colored raw noodles” Jamin pointed out. Shane shook his head letting the cashier lady pass the bouquet in the register machine. She was in her late forties and was amused by the whole scene.

Ally was blonde and had huge blue eyes and a colorful sense of fashion. The woman analyzed Jamin and Ally again, as if she was searching for similarities.

“You two have a cute kid” she added after the last item was out.

Jamin felt a quick swirl in his stomach but laughed nervous along with Shane, yet neither of them corrected her. Jamin could swear he saw Shane’s mouth opening to contest. He reached for his hand again while they watched Ally in front of them running with two plastic bags and twirling.

*

Ally wasn’t interested in The never-ending story at all.

Shane had a salad because he’s been trying to lose some weight, but Jamin made meat pancakes for them anyways. After dinner they were in the living room, watching the movie on the couch. Half hour running and she was sleeping on the armchair by the couch’s side. Shane had the opposite reaction, he was completely focused in the movie, gently caressing the stuffed Falcor figure Jamin had.

The whole time he seemed anxious with the psychological symbolisms of the 80’s fantasy gem. The scene now was the heart-wrenching death of the horse Artaix in the Swamp of Sadness. As Atreyu desperately pulled leash to save his companion Shane squeezed Falcor harder.

“He is not going to die, right? This is a kids movie!” he asked tapping on Jamin’s thigh. Artaix continued sinking in the swamp and Shane carved his fingers in Jamin’s knee looking at the screen mouth open in complete shock.

When Jamin watched it first with Beckie they were kids. Sebastian’s way of dealing with his mother’s death somehow echoed on them. Shane’s eyes were watery and he let go of the fabric of Jamin’s shorts gradually.

“Oh god, you’re really crying?” Jamin asked surprised leaning to check his face closer.

Shane was quiet as a tear rolled down on his cheek.

“I’m glad Ally is not watching this terrible and evil movie” he sobbed taking off his glasses to sweep a tear away with his forearm.

“Thoorg….” he sympathized bringing him to rest on his chest so he could rock him. His meltdown was completely adorable. He kissed the top of his head as Shane continued sniffing.

“This is completely fucked up…” his voice came out trembling and he hugged Falcor harder. “I’m done. I can’t with this movie anymore. Let’s watch Willow again” he turned to face Jamin, their faces inches closer.

“I never thought you would actually take this movie so seriously…I’m so surprised” he continued looking down at Shane’s red eyes. Then he turned to rest his head on Jamin’s chest again.

They continued in silence for minutes, Jamin stroking the hairs of Shane’s arms distractedly. He was feeling the slumber taking over even with Shane’s weight over him.

“You know…I’ve feared Nothing my whole life, I mean, as artists, isn’t this what we fear the most? The lack of imagination. We exist because we imagine”

Shane’s musings brought him back. He completely dozed out because the credits were on the screen. He must have been out for half an hour. Shane sitting straight fumbling for the remote control. Jamin continued in the same position, legs on the coffee table but now he could cross his arms over his chest. It was chilly without Shane’s heat next to him.

“It’s funny that you’re saying this, because when I was a kid…it was my constant fear, that one day I would just stop making art, that it would just fade away while I was sleeping. That’s why I like to-

“…draw during breakfast” Shane finished his sentence. Jamin nodded in acknowledge. Then Shane picked up some of his morning sketches that were on the coffee and softly smiled looking at them. One it was just outline of Shane’s arm, he recognized because of the blue bubbles that looked exactly like his tattoo.

“Still here” he reassured him and leaned for a quick kiss, but Jamin cupped his face for Shane to slow down and take his time. Ally was still sleeping in the armchair across the couch. Shane slowly started trailing down from Jamin’s neck to his chest, their tongues touched shyly to not make any noises, just to bring water for their dry mouths. Jamin pulled Shane by the waist, but Jamin feel him pulling back. No straddling. A growling stomach started to complain loud and cut the steamy mood.

Shane widened his eyes laughing inside Jamin’s mouth. “I’m so hungry!” Shane pouted while Jamin rubbed his stomach trailing hazily his jaw, planting small kisses.

“Stop with this crazy diet” Jamin demanded planting one last kiss on the tip of his nose.

Shane has gained some extra pounds but Jamin didn’t mind at all, especially with the way his ass looked in pajamas pants. His belly was rounder but the extra weight was well distributed in his long figure.

Shane deep sighed peering at the tray still half filled with meat pancakes.

“Fuck it! Bring the damn tray”

He stood up leaving Shane with Falcor. As he fetched the pancakes putting on a plate he observed Shane squeezing his ears and caressing the long tail. He looked like a kid in love with the toy he wanted for Christmas.  He turned his attention to the table, the vase with the plastic flowers decorating the center. Ally was right, he realized softly chuckling that it did bring life to the dinner.

The three of them sitting for dinner at home, with a lovely decoration in a Saturday night. Could he take this picture further in the future? Somehow it was frozen in time.

He joined Shane in the couch and he started eating the pancakes moaning at each bite. He was checking his messages as Jamin’s eyes were locked at him, but his mind far away.  He kept eating the pancakes in a roll with bare hands while the cheese inside kept falling.  The musician had the most beautiful hands, and he was the only person Jamin knew that could rock worn out black nail polish.

Shane suddenly stopped going through his phone and tapped repeatedly on Jamin’s knee in urgency, “Oh shit!  it’s almost 1 am and my cousin is picking me up tomorrow! Remember? I told you that I’m playing in my great-uncle 90 birthday’s party? He is coming from Norway and I haven’t practiced the whole week. Fuck!”

Jamin nodded raising his brows. He knew it. And he knew his boyfriend would forget.

“You must leave early. There’s nothing Thorgy here” Jamin recalled while chewing calmly. Shane grabbed his thigh.

“You have to wake me up. I’m going to tuck Ally into bed, then I’m going to practice in your studio. You HAVE to wake me up, I’m serious, bitch” he ordered pointing as his index finger was pointing at his chest. Jamin rolled his eyes scoffing.

“Thorg, I always do! But you sleep again every goddamn time. It’s so annoying. Besides, I have shit to do too so I’ll leave earlier than you. Are you sure you want to practice the violin now?”

“What are you talking about, it’s the best hour to practice. And in my defense, I don’t go back to sleep every time, at least not when we have sex. We need to fuck first thing in the morning. Set the alarm for 5 am. I don’t want a quickie” he commented as if he was ordering breakfast and continued browsing his phone. Jamin was shaking his head the whole time. “What? Ugh, you’re probably the only person in the universe that doesn’t like morning sex”

“Well, first, I’m not just a dildo you can hump on the minute you want. It’s not how it works” he pretended to be outraged and took another bite in his pancake roll, “And second I do like morning sex. But I hate mornings, so my energy is kinda…off. I prefer to let my mornings for black coffee, scrambled eggs and silent hate”

Shane was not buying at all.

“You are…” Shane searched in his memories, tilting his head. “rougher in the morning. I like it” he bit his lip and gave a little shimmy eyeing Jamin’s pajamas shorts. “And you wake up with the most amazing hard on always”

“It’s a physiological reaction, it’s not because I’m horny” he defended himself putting a pillow on his crotch. “Don’t brag yourself” he dished him but this whole conversation was in fact making him horny. The last time they had sex in the morning they left marks on the wall because of the headboard banging, Shane’s dreads entwined his fingers as he pulled them back like a leash…Fuck. He was getting turned on with the memory.  But he wasn’t going to give in. He cleared his throat and held the poker face.

“Hey, I’ll take it…” Shane continued pretending to be humble, dropping his voice to a sultrier tone. Then he caressed Jamin’s knee distractedly, scrubbing off an invisible lint of his shorts. “Waking up with your morning wood rubbing on my leg it’s the best way to start the day…” his eyes traveled around Jamin’s body until their eyes met and he opened a mischievous smile. “But fine, I guess I can just set the loudest alarm clock…”

“Shane?”

Ally’s voice echoed waking up. Shit. They both panicked with the possibility that she was listening to the conversation the whole time.

Shane stood up, fixing the crotch area of his pants that curled after so much time sitting and Jamin observed him. He felt his cock twitching and he winced annoyed. It had a mind of its own, especially with the vision of Shane in those worn out pajamas. Shane noticed him pressing the pillow harder on his lap.

“Come on, let’s go to bed” Shane helped her getting up.

She was very sleepy rubbing her eyes.

“Is the movie over? We can watch now…” she drowsy yawned as Shane took her hand.

“Take Falcor with you. He doesn’t like to sleep off my bed” Jamin offered the flying dragon figure that was almost Ally’s size and she took it.

“Stay with us a bit… he will miss you, he’s not used to me and Shane” she offered Jamin a hand. Shane threw him an apologetic look of leaving him blue balls like that.

“You two go first, I just need to clean up the mess in the kitchen”

“What’s a morning wood?” she asked rubbing her left eye.

They eyed each other in panic, but Jamin was the one to give an explanation.

“Trees! They usually grow bigger in the morning. Because the…sun exposition and…

“Photosynthesis!” Shane added leading Ally to the bedroom pushing her back. She just shrugged satisfied with the answer. “You’re probably studying this when you grow up…”

Shane looked over his shoulder at Jamin that had his hand covering his mouth resisting the urge to burst into laughter.

*

The TV was on and Ally was sleeping in the middle of them, cradled on Shane’s chest. He was almost falling asleep. Jamin couldn’t shake it off the question that was haunting him the whole night. Shane’s birthday was coming and an invisible tick started in his chest. They were together, in their own way for a year. The last time he had a relationship this long it ended tragically, and he wondered if there’s was something to wreck coming soon. Shane counted on him to be strong, to set the pieces of his scattered mind in order but he often felt unsure of being whole himself.

He was turning forty this year.

Acid Betty was timeless, but Jamin surely was aging. In some level, their drag persona shielded them to think about the ordinary world. As creatures of the night, the pleasures of daylight seemed like a beautiful story in a book: a wedding. A big white house in the suburbs with kids running around. Growing old together. They were never able to see the big picture hiding in the spotlight.

He didn’t even know if Shane wanted any of these things, or even if they made sense for him. He was a child of an unconventional home, but Shane had all these things growing up.

Would he even know what to do?

Don’t wake up, Jamin. Don’t wake up. If you wake up it’s gone.

He peered at Shane by his side almost falling asleep. They belonged in the night, but Shane’s light kept getting brighter…

“Do you think about having kids?”

The question was out before he even trying to stop. Shane chuckled looking down at Ally nested on his chest.

“I knew the cashier comment was going to be a subject at some point…”

Jamin was still curious, but holding the cool exterior, waiting for his answer.

“I don’t know…I’m so focused on myself all the time. It would be nice to change obsessions…I’m terrified and amazed with the possibility, I guess?” he concluded giving a shoulder shrug, fighting the urge to gesticulate too much since Ally was there.

Jamin pondered a bit looking down at Ally peacefully sleeping.

“I don’t know if I would be a good father” he confessed, the hurt in the words weighting on his chest. Saying it aloud was worst. Whoever said that voicing things was the best thing to do was terribly wrong.

They were both avoiding the actual root of the conversation, the frozen picture, them as family.

“You would be a GREAT, father” Shane reassured him completely positive of his answer. Jamin frowned in disbelief but didn’t say anything. They kept staring at the TV for a few seconds sinking the information. Jamin tried hard to see them in this beautiful painting, but nothing, just an empty canvas.

“Do you see us…you know, getting married?” Shane asked hesitating and laughing softly to not sound too interested in the answer.

Jamin never thought for a minute Shane was ever going to ask that. It took him completely out of guard. The picture wasn’t there. He was literally in bed with his favorite person in the whole world. This wonderful, beautiful man, woman, clown. He wanted to be everyday by his side, even if it was too much, and he was trying constantly to not let him pour and gone to waist, because every bit of Shane mattered.

And yet it wasn’t there.

He could feel Shane’s anxiety growing by the minute. He opened his mouth locking his gaze at Shane’s stare but he didn’t answer. He could see the half smile of Shane’s face withering. He wasn’t going to lie. Shane would know, but the more he tried to see the picture, the more it blurred.

“Shane, I- I..” he stuttered and Shane laughed nervously. “I have no idea what’s going to happen tomorrow, I don’t know I-

Shane couldn’t keep quiet anymore and just interrupted him abruptly “I’m just messing with you, girl. We better sleep, Ally is getting restless here…” he replied still avoiding his eyes and turning off the TV. Jamin took a few seconds to acknowledge his biggest fuck up and then got out of bed slowly, his heart heavy.

“What I’m trying to say is that I find it hard to see the future, not only about us, but about everything. I always lived so stuck in the present and the past I-

The more he tried to explain the more the tension was growing as Shane was pulling the covers over him and Ally.

“Jamin, look, it’s fine…we bothered Ally all night” he answered almost in a whisper, his eyes still not finding shore at Jamin’s.

This wasn’t the answer he wanted to give at all. He wanted to say that he never thought he could be this happy, here, now. He loves Shane. So much it blurs his rational thinking. It gives him hope about a future he never thought he could have because he lost so much.  

“Can you turn off the light?” Shane asked closing his eyes and bringing Ally closer to his chest.

Jamin turned off the light and shut the door behind him and slid his back until sitting on the floor.

“Fuck!” he cursed in a frustrated whisper leaning his head on the door closing his eyes.

He didn’t want to fall asleep.

*

When Jamin woke up in the couch everything was still there. His sketches remained on the coffee table. His body was still very much awake when he headed to the bedroom. It wasn’t even 7 am, but Shane and Ally were up. She was dressed to go with her backpack on and holding Falcor sitting on the edge of the bed.

Shane was ready to go picking up his things from the dresser.

“Good morning, kid. Did you sleep alright?” he asked Ally that was grumpy quiet. Shane just acknowledged his presence but continued picking up his things and making sure nothing was messy. This was never a good sign.

“Falcor is a good cuddler, his ears are warm. Shane snorts too much, but not as loud as mom” she sleepily pointed out.

“I do not. I have allergies!” Shane defended himself and Jamin laughed at him but he didn’t respond to the peace offer.

Everything was set and Shane put his brown leather bag on the shoulder, the violin case on the other. Then he put his dreads up in a big bun and looked around the place. Jamin loved to observe his nape on this hairdo, how his long neck made a perfect line with his jaw.

“I’m staying in my folks for my birthday” he warned him with no further information. Five days.

Ally and Jamin exchanged looks. He told her about the birthday surprise. Taking Shane to a small trip to the beach.

“But- Ally opened her mouth and stopped when Jamin cut her before she blew their undercover.

“I thought you’re were staying in New York?” he asked confused crossing his arms in front of his chest.

“Yeah, my dad has this nasty cold and with my great-uncle here, I need to help them”

Shane was lying. This was classic Shane trying to shut him off. Ally put Falcor on the bed and looked and both suspicious, shitting her gaze between the two.

“You guys are acting weird.”

Shane held her hand and they walked out of the room with no goodbyes. Jamin got off their way, Shane’s perfume still lingering in the air. Jamin knew he fucked up.

At the door Ally hugged Jamin while Shane observed tapping his feet on the floor and checking his phone. They weren’t late at all. But he wanted to get out of there. Jamin grabbed his fist before he vanished in thin air.

“Text me when you get there, okay?”

Shane just nodded and they left. Jamin knew his answer was awful but Shane’s behavior of not speaking what he was really feeling and this passive chaos inside of him made him furious. It was getting late and he needed to start his day. Maybe with things to do he would make sense this mess they were in.

*

The silence of the next two days was deafening. Shane being quiet was the worst thing it could happen, but Jamin was feeling tired. He didn’t have the energy to talk to Alvy or any of Shane’s closest friends to find guidance to get to him. It wasn’t the first time. Maybe they needed this distance so Jamin could see the picture and Shane realize that he never meant to hurt him. But how could he ever explain what he wanted if he kept ignoring him?

Jamin’s phone rang. He was sleeping and maybe it was part of the dream, but it was getting loud. He woke up scared, his heart beating fast and his throat getting dry. It was a number that he couldn’t identify.

“Hello?” he answered in short breath.

The voice wasn’t familiar. It was somber, the person on the other line was sounded like a woman still weeping, it echoed something from the past.

*

Jamin knew love by the maybe late age of eighteen years old. He was a British kid that used to paint drawings inspired by The Cure songs. His name was Frederick. They had an intense relationship but Fred was constantly moving countries because his father was a diplomat.

The last time Jamin heard about the ginger boy that became a man, he was married with two adopted kids and led a happy life in Florida as a literature professor.

Until cancer took him away two days ago.

The funeral was beautiful. Fred was suffering in the final stage so his husband was somehow prepared to never be prepared. Death changes everything. It makes you experience nothing is ever certain. Feel it in every fiber of your bone the fleeting weight of time.

Jamin knew many familiar faces. Some of his high school friends flew for the funeral. Fred was deeply loved.

Shane was born the day his first love died.

*

“You should stop drinking, we have a flight to catch in few hours”

Beckie warned her brother. They were at a local bar with some of the people that were in the funeral. Being surrounded with so many people from his past made Jamin realize how much he missed his present. His now. His future.

He tried to call Shane many times but he didn’t answer the phone.

“It’s ridiculous. I…I- how can I even explain what I mean if he doesn’t even speak to me?” he pulled his tie loose. It was one of the few occasions he was wearing a suit.

Becky was sitting on the stool next to him having drinks too, looking tired and half drunk.

“You’re dating Thorgy Thor, you know she’s gonna be extra even in the silent treatment” she scoffed.

“I’m…I’m over it. I’m too old for this, you know? Fred…he had everything and he’s dead. Like, nothing makes sense? I’m still on the way, and yet I feel defeated”

Becky observed her brother getting into Bitter Betty mode as he turned now another tequila shot.

“Nah…you’re not over it. You never are, Jay.”

He looked and his sister and find some comforting in her drunk few words.

“I want to marry that idiot. I just can’t believe it” he admitted defeated. Beckie laughed side hugging her brother.

*

“Bitch, these cakes are awful. This is like street corner bakery at the end of the day in its finest”

Bob cackled as he took another bite of the frost that was melting. They were at Shane’s apartment after his birthday party with the Brooklyn girls. Bob couldn’t go but he managed to drop by to give him a hug, and Shane knew Jamin already had told him what’s going on between their undefined status.

They were at the kitchen’s table, Bob still with full make-up on but wearing Chris clothes.

“You know, you’re like the gay fairy godmother of my relationship with Acid” Shane replied fingering the cake and eating a good amount.

Bob widened his eyes and opened his arms.

“Yes! Oh my god I’m Whitney Houston in that black-wash Cinderella movie with Brandy, I can’t”

They both laughed screamed and Bob felt satisfied of making Shane laughing. Until it was fading away and Shane got melancholic again.

“You guys broke up. Again. Are you guys never not breaking up?”

“We didn’t break up. And technicality we only broke up once. We are just…I have no idea what the fuck is going on to be honest” Shane replied defeated forking his cake. “I- I just feel like I’m not a person, you know what I mean?”

Bob nodded repeatedly and Shane laughed.

“I’m an idea. It has been always like this. All my relationships. Guys sleep with me because I’m crazy, because I’m heartless. They know they can leave, because I’m not someone they can see a future with. I think I was just shocked, because I never imagined that Jamin couldn’t see it too….”

Shane kept fumbling the fork. His eyes weren’t even watery. He was just utterly numb. Bob’s was quiet because he was feeling sorry for his friend. He was the one to never take Shane seriously and always point out how crazy Thorgy is.

“Look Shane” he grabbed his friend arm, “Jamin is not of these fucking assholes okay. He sees you as person. And he loves you, completely, which I will always find it weird and courageous because you are….trigger alert, crazy”

Shane giggled and slapped his arm and he gave his classic raspy cackle.

“He’s just old. He probably is afraid of marriage because when he was born there was only arranged ones!”

“Look, it’s not that I want to get married tomorrow okay. I just wanted the answer. Plain and simple. I wanted simple, just for once. You know what I mean?”

Bob nodded.

“But as your fairy godmother I must remind you: when two extra bitches like you two get together there will always be drama, honey! But I do, I do get what you mean. But the first step to simple is you know, talking to your boyfriend again?”

*

After Bob left Shane read all Jamin’s messages again. He was sitting on the couch staring at them gathering the courage to call him. But there was something still pulling him back. He was going to do it tomorrow. It was too late. He knew Jamin was in town but who knows if he was even awake.

Shane fell asleep on the couch holding his phone. In his dream, nothing had changed. The never-ending story was still happening, and he was the only one that could write it.

*

When he woke up everything was still there. Shane was used to collect people’s phobia and the last days after the fight he kept the habit of drawing in breakfast too. The place was awfully quite with Alvy out of town.

He was quickly sketching on the kitchen’s table when Jamin showed up. First he though he was a vision, the studded black jacket on but a full week stubble covering his face. He had a white box from a pastry shop on his hands.

“I don’t know if you read your messages but I was in a funeral. The day of your birthday. My first boyfriend passed away. It was a sort of enlighten moment.”

Shane stood up quickly picking his phone from the table and his drawings fell on the floor “Sorry, I’ve read them tod-

Jamin noticed that he was drawing in the morning. Just like he does.

“I want to marry you. I don’t know when it’s going to happen or even if I’m cut for it but I want to be with you every day. Now. I still don’t know about the future, but I can give you now. And you deserve to know this. I’m sorry that I couldn’t say it properly at that night and you should be sorry for not letting me say it after”

“I am sorry” he reassured him, his voice trembling. But Shane’s eyes wrinkled with the sweet smile he opened. “My dad says that I take silent treatment as a silent penalty” and Jamin finally laughed. He was relieved that he could still disarm him easily. “Is this a wedding ring?” Shane asked brushing off his emotional exterior crossing arms in front of his chest.

“A wedding donut is a better and sweeter promise?” he offered approaching the table that still had leftovers cake from the last night.

Shane retrieved the box out of his hands and grabbed his face for a deep kiss. Jamin’s whole body ran with electricity, as if his power was restored after a long blackout. His hands traveled under Shane’s shirt caressing his back dimples and Shane pushed him against the fridge.

“You ruined my birthday surprise” he whispered disconnecting the kiss briefly taking off Shane’s shirt as Shane worked rubbing his bulge over the jeans.

“The whole month is mine birthday…” Shane replied dropping to his knees and looking up with a mischievous smile.

“I can see that” he scoffed noticing the two cakes on the table before letting a soft moan when Shane pulled his pants down.

The picture was finally in focus.

They were in a sunny beach, the sparkling water almost blinding, the salty smell of the ocean mixed with sunscreen. Shane holding a Bloody Mary and his shoulder full of tan freckles.

[glopratchet]

sin003

 In the world to come there is little sin. The only thing that matters is what you do now. There are just lots of american alligators. A few days later, while you're driving through a swamp and bumping into some alligator corpses, you notice something else: There's an old abandoned shack nearby. You pull over in the middle of nowhere and look around for signs of life or any sign at all. It looks like it was left by someone who thought they were being clever when they built their shack out here in this place without thinking about where the hell they put everything else! After the election of the first ungendered president, the prediatrain movement caught fire in america. The shack has a printout stapled to its outside wall reading: "OK YOU CAN STOP LOOKING FOR ME NOW LAWMAN!" and is cornered in ballpoint by the owner, a headstrong member of the 3WA with a gifted writing hand and a vast vocabulary. The demand for american alligator meat skyrocketed in Europe and stopped going down in price. Whorals where burned to ash while polled hereford heifors fetched over a billion dollars a head in auction. You are very satisfied with your life. Thank you for everything, Anonymous writer person! I think that's all of them. Let me know in the comments if you find another! Mant thanks to my friends who helped contribute ideas for these. Don't be a stranger! Just push on the red button and come back here for some MOAR short stories whenever. I'll keep uploading them every few days or so. Thanks again, everyone! Googizon won the bid to construct for the military the most forward thinking alligator farm in existance. It currently floats near the okeenokee snow swamp. Good job with guessing who the second ungendered president was. That's right, it was Ann Ormin! Thanks for making it all the way to the bottom of this story segment! Due to the animal cruelty exposed in this article the people in power that allowed this to happen where executed. Good job everyone. This is not that story. It was election year, so while one criminal was being executed another one was being apprehended for corruption. It was not a good day to be a corrupt government official in the United States. There was wild partying in congress as they were all republicans this go around, While that was going on, archaelogists in Washington D.C. made an amazing discovery. We are primal ponds inc. A small mom and pop alligator farm attemping to make it. Just paying the bills and trying to make it, today was a normal day. We need you to make deliveries for us. That's not funny, laying those tracks out for the delivery alligat... It was election year, so while one criminal was being executed another one was being apprehended for corruption. It was not a good day to be a corrupt government official in New York City. There was wild partying in congress as they were all republicans this go around, While that was going on, archaelogists in Washington D.C. made an amazing discovery. Please... this will only take a moment of your time and you will be helping us to make ends meet while we continue selling alligator meat at the local farmer's market and bookstore...But above everything else, I'm sure you like alligator meat as well right? With gratitude, Push. The red button. And return. Here. Again. Point of view of the player: You get home and hit the red button on the second try. Upon doing that you crumple a little onto your chair. But even when sitting down, the predator within you gets a whiff of... prey... in the corner of this room. 1000 needles rain down upon you, but that doesn't hurt you like the birdnest starting to burn your skin, melting the fat layers, making it bubble and drip down your face. A delivery champion is impaled by the wall above your head. Ouch! that was indeed painful. They continue. Will you listen, or will you continue? You will probably want to listen. It's important apparently. Well, to the writer of this book at least. Maybe you should listen, maybe it will even prevent cancer or something horrible like that! He had a secert life as billy fea fbots Thismadethismuch easier FOSTER: HAHAHAHAHAHAHA Fuckyeah. I've been waiting for you, ya wee little *****. That's right, you've entered my world now... Godammit who even writes this stuff!? Yeah this is just like primary school, except in a book. My book... You just read the prologue and you're already getting angry. I've made ya angry, now you're in my snares... And one more thing... A symbol for our lord Satan appears in the air above your dirty, pathetic worm body. It is now time to vote... It turns out no one has made a crappy real time virtual reality game based off of this garbage. Despite the lessons learned here, work continues without Azathoth's knowledge or approval. Really? You just pissed all over the ents and now you're burning them? Did these programmers become stupid the minute they got fired from their job? Well now that would make for an interesting ending... An attachment describes how a different ending should be played, written by THEDEVIL . Dedicated to delivering dragon tail in the far, far, future. Maybe that needs to change... Although maybe this whole book needs to be destroyed, it is just filled with work that no god should do... Or should it? It's late in the afternoon now. Better get home and have dinner with the boy after all you'll be up most of the night reading and trying which ending is the real ending. You got your old pillow case from highschool laying around, might as well take it with you. We proudly introduce today the first human to achieve innerworldly ascension, now sporting a fat bum and weirdly long legs in skin tight garb befitting a worm. She also comes with an oddly placed third eye though it's not really worth watching the feed when you can't even understand the information going into it... Pity we weren't able to succeed a second time, as our other two candidates soon died by horrible traits found in the core ruleset of... Alligator delivery service. You better be home already you little brat, I swear if you've been anywhere near this... Well, might as well get the explanations out of the way now. And not in an abusive way. Thanks to you zilchkum barely saw a bit of a class change, but you've certainly seen it in your parallel. The alligator farm where the gator are delivered is currently under a series of construction tasks. Without getting too specific it now acts like a place where dreams can be visualized and captured, much like the astral plane except far less boring due to covering emotions in addition to all things imaginable.It goes a step farther by directly applying the mental realm view to changes on a normal reality which used to be perfect in its own regard. Said actions are anchored to real life by feeding mad... y we own over four over ten foot alligators including rex lex, matingrex lexei, and many other varieties such as babies. we hav made special arrangement with a local band called the bastro(regischer) to continiously prank each other ino someone dying. wat u think? You forgot about those bastards... who are you anyway and where is David!? My name is Henry, master of the alligator farm and your future brother in law! A massive 14 foot beast. Skinnier than the rest, but that's because it rarely eats, being incredibly picky with its meal and having methods of hunting that lean towards th First things first, what are you even doing with David? I thought humans on hel were assigned jobs based on their purpose here! You'd think so wouldn't you? Each on is incredibly detailed with over twenty bioligocail parts. in fact it could be argued these are actually dead bodies rather than cyborgs. Beside the more exciting parts as lungs, hearts and even sexual organs, these multi use creatures sport arms that can work like tow little limbs if needed to. fully controllable by the mind in fact, no need for pesky things such as nerve endings. What they lack in taste, they make up with their balance of human like souls and machine precision. We are currently broadcasting their vital signs over at americanalligator.xyz for those who are intrested in buying one or simply watching lifes Bluray. This proves that people will no longer need to risk their loved ones to th dangers of sport and instead just watch some gators chew a fagot into pieces. Oh and we use the term fagot here extremely loosey, as we now offer "authentic" irish homosexuals who are simply too stubborn to give in to modern medical science and want to experience death the old fashioned way. Our alligators come in many different sizes, ages, shapes, sexes and shades. Heck, we've even got some great black market rattlesnakes on standby incase you freaks want to watch someone get bitten in half. The most popular item on the agenda however seems to be a show simply called; Pinkification. Award winning filmmakers have teamed up with us to create this new series which is practically designed to make people piss themselfs in fear. Our first series "Taming of the Shrew" The like to eat, sleep, dream, and spawn but they love to fight and gossip. Each of these predators can find enough meat in one of our shaved carcasses to last them months. To be quite honest, only a handful of the gators are actually trained for fighting. Most don't really pay attention to what's happening and just go on auto pilot once they get a whiff of some poor sod in the Quicksand pit that has been their home for the past three weeks . Meaning it is literally impossible to train them as they are to focused on filling their guts. The algorytms which run each alligator is closely modeled after the habits of the real world reptile, alligator missippissus. They act like mean old ladies, scolding humans, horses, zebras and pigs alike. they seem drawn to flesh and can easily be trained with it, however this will only delay their aggressiveness temporarily. once they've filled out they'll show no mercy towards anything meaty that makes a sound, while showing impressive restraint towards those who don't. Their lungs breath and thier hearts beat just like yours. their stomachs grumble just like yours. instead of tears they simply regurgitate when they're sad. We picked these lean mean killing maachines for the role because quite frankly; we did not want to put our ultrasmall team of piggies through this as we all know, they're the star of our game and therefore deserve to be treated as such. We've been considering relabeling our product as "Fakepigs: The Game" Orders for gator teeth are starting to accumulate. I am hiring another team to start breeding wild alligatorts. Going big time! Reports from alligator arm forces team one confirm thier battle prowess. also they're proving eextremely difficult to train, unlike our regular gators. You know, the really dim ones. This is an excerpt from my novel, The American Alligator Bite size pieces and loosely attached body parts were strewn about what remained of the wooden flooring. A dark red mush containing bits of organs and flesh laid outside the alligator's hungry mouth. That's how I began my morning, cleaning all the blood and guts that managed to spray onto Mr Takakumi Nomi's mechanical marvel, the alligator tractors. Of course, Papa Nomi and Mama Nomi didn't help. Both sat back in their chairs, sighing contently while observing the peaceful waters of the bayside area. Unreasonable, selfish old buggers. Each soon to be having a heart attack should they keep ignoring their diet. Good thing hey after me, there loss will see no shortage of cashmere sweaters and large cups of espresso every morning. By the time I was done giving the ferocious killers their cleaning, the day was only just beginning. Papa Nomi went up to his room without showing even a hint of appreciation for my hard work, Mama Nomi forced me onto another chore. For four hours, I carefully chopped onions that were to be used for the night's meals, tough job, I tell ya. However, given that it was a rest day, I enjoyed having the store all to myself. There is this one customer I don't particularly like. A well dress man in a slick black suite who twitches occasionally For no reason whatsoever. Not to mention he smells of something unbearable, like burnt rubber. I made sure to ignore his presence, I never gave him a single glance while he purchased some fish, he hardly said anything to me too, but I know he was up to something. Who is this guy and what's with that weird smell? More questions that'll go unanswered by Papa and Mama. One chore after another for the rest of the day. Papa and Mama never once showed any love towards their daughters of which I should be the only one working. By the time everyone had eaten, I was spent. I found myself collapsing onto my bed that very night with no energy to do anything else but fall asleep. Something about this strange customer kept bugging me, as if my sub conscience were trying to remind me of something, could it have been a threat of some sorts? My dreams would at least shed a little light on the cause of my mental processes. Mama and Papa certainly didn't know anything about it, I had already told them everything I knew about the burnt rubber man. The pair merely dismissed it with a wave of the hand and an order to concentrate on my chores rather than foolish things. For a whole week, Mr Twitches came into the store. He'd purchase small items such as cooked meats or animal feed. All noted and taken by yours truly. Our delicate conversations were soon exchanged for a wave and a grimace on his part. At least were on speaking terms now. Papa Nomi didn't care less, seemed like this guy smelled worse the more he visited. I suppose we're all just used to it. Mama Nomi on the other hand, had become really wary of him, or should I say twitchy. Her usual satisfaction she got from rubbing his nose in the lower classes came back with a vengeful feather, I could tell just by the way she began cooking. Normally she tries to make everything as healthy as possible but... Pork Chops for breakfast, Ribeye for lunch and rack of lamb for dinner? And on top of that she even had white rice, baked potatoes and buttered noodles just because he was coming? Who even does that? Mama is completely throwing her diet out the window just because this guy is coming. And here I am still wondering what he's up to, first with the endless visits of feeding his smelly self and now Mama's obsessed with him. First thing in the morning I inspected the premises, making sure there weren't any peeping toms this time. (Had that problem once with a sandwich man). I thought maybe he had called the police or something for all I know. This failed however as there were still no strangers in sight, just a few of the regulars making their usual purchases. Unfortunately this meant another lunch with my dear Mama who's bacon and bean salad just doesn't taste quite right without a bit of sweetness. Papa Nomi had taken off for who knows where, guess he just couldn't take Mama's obsession anymore, with anything. Honestly, you'd think she was the one with commitment issues given the way they fight sometimes. But I digress, I still need to keep my eyes peeled for this 'stranger', just who does he think he is coming in and disrupting our lives like this? Just as I thought, there he was at his usual spot in the alleyway. I hid behind a potato barrel, just observing him as he sat down against the wall and gazed up at the sky. "I bet he's some kind of spy" I whispered to myself, "Or maybe a government official of some kind. There's been a lot of weirdoes running about with big titles lately, I bet he's one of them". Just as I was about to leave my hiding spot and make my way back inside the store, he got up and dragged himself to the front door. No... It couldn't be... How did he find out? I triple checked every corner of the store and even the outside areas! How in the... He's never been so casual with his clothes before... Is that a bullet-proof vest? That guy's gonna get shootout! Honestly what kind of spy enters a store in the middle of the day, sits in the front entrance for any potential shooter to find and then doesn't even look around? What is he trying to do, attract attention? Just who does he think he is? Some kind of government big shot or something? No...! I'm afraid not anymore Andy, he has no more government- given importance. After what I did, he's as mortal as anyone else. What? What did you do... What did I do...? It was easy... Why someone like you could do it and you'd still have time to spare! All it takes is some baked beans and a cheap vest from the 80's. I followed him to where he was obtaining his lunch, after learning the terrible truth about him of course. Something about baked beans really brings a smile to my face, I think it's the thrill of knowing that they're going to kill him soon. Placing a few explosive baked beans in his 2aldi-vest was even easier. When he returned to the store and stood in front of the entrance, he was practically clicking his heels together while looking as arrogant as ever! Just when I thought nothing could pierce that thick of an ego, a bomb from my baked beans did. What a glorious sight! Watching the hot pressurized gas rupture his skin and melt his chest into a red mush was so beautiful it stopped everyone in the store, everyone in the street and probably even those working on the farm across the road! "This is for my poor sister you monster!" Something like that anyway, I think I blacked out for a few seconds there. No sooner had his body hit the ground, people started screaming and yelling about how I did it. Heh heh... I sure did. Oh don't worry Andy, if this paper gets confiscated or dropped, you can bet your bottom dollar that I'll write another. The people have a right to know what goes on around here and more importantly... I have a RIGHT to teach this big-mouth a lesson. You see, he stole my girlfriend! Anikae was mine, and he just took her right in front of me! He might've had his big title and uniform but he was still an evil monster without a heart! I'm going to keep writing until there's nothing left to say, just you watch. And if that traitor does escape his just dessert, I'm heading to Farlan city where there's an actual detective agency... You haven't seen the last of me! -Guardian out. P.S: Check under your bed, he might be there! "I think this does more harm than good Gazette! Mocking names will only piss them off and give them the very satisfaction we're trying to take away from them!" Your superior sighs bitterly, "Fine, I'll let you splice it out of the paper but THIS is the LAST time I'm warning you." Thank goodness too, today was just not your day. "Thank you Frank, for everything." Frank is about to step out the door in rhetoric disposition when he suddenly stops and faces you once more. "Just remember Gazette, it's a dangerous path you're treading. Truth is often concealed by the shadows of lies; you aren't allowed to be fooled by illusions. This paper is not your personal army, understand?" The implication being: "Don't do it again," you nod seriously in understanding though Frank doesn't seem to particularly care that you have or not and just says, "Alright, carry on." before leaving. Mr. Bask, the recently appointed overseer of your printing office, suddenly comes scuttling in happily. He's a weasely looking guy with scraggly beard who you strongly suspect is in league with the saints, despite being thrown in jail for their crimes (before they burned down your printing office that is). While he was supposed to be 'indicted by the law' he enjoys far too much nicer treatment than what you originally envisioned. You can't prove it of course and since you're no illusionist it's up to you to prove his guilt with conventional methods. While getting him fired would solve all your future problems, unfortunately it's just delaying the problem. As soon as he's fired, he'll go right back to being a happy saint lackey until they get him out again. You need to actually capture him committing a crime or something and you really don't have anytime to spare to be investigating him. The media is already mocking you enough as is. Whisperings of internet 'zealot with a deity complex' are frequently used, not to mention 'libelist' and other such imaginative titles. It's amazing what frank libel can do, though it certainly has less impact when you're targets literally burn down entire towns. Naturally, you can't let it get to you. Even less so now given your goals in ruthlessly eliminating the 'evil-doers' who oppose the government and more often than not; themselves. Ah, the brave new world of M.G.M. Nevertheless, you have a job to do and are more than happy to do it. Though your next move puzzles you still... Among the many things destroyed by the fleeing saints was your office. Mr. Bask's and many others were damaged severely enough to be declared dangerous to occupy, not to mention all your paperwork was lost in the fire at Frank's mansion (Which the government is still going to bill him for, you already have the paperwork prepared). But that's really a minor thing given how much more safer you feel without those criminals walking the streets of Harborbury any longer. The saints are done, but as usual; the main one got away. You can't really do anything about Mr. Dream though; his actions directly led to the unnecessary suffering and deaths of hundreds of people and destruction when it could have easily been avoided. He may have been right about Frank getting out of hand but doing it in such an excessively treasonous manner can't go unpunished by the law even if understandable. You'd be justified in having Mr. Dream executed on sight but if you did; Aaron would most likely never speak to you again and he's much too valuable an ally. However, maneuvering him to a distant barren island out in the middle of void would be an equally painful separation... You think back to when you were actually interested in such things combined with modern technology, the internet. Aaron is one of few dissenters to the changes instituted as of late, more than that he's probably the loudest. Nowadays such activists are either executed or given an a single choice of lifelong punishment to reform them via island prison. The lesser of two evils if you believe in retrospect. Sure it's still very depressing to think about but when has being a patriot ever not been part of the job? The least you can do in your free time is enjoy material things like decadent meals, smokes, and expensive drinks whenever possible. You figure all of that will be much more available for you now that you no longer have Frank to compete with. You smile at the thought of behaving as a "normal person" again as your hover chair makes its descent into Dert. To tell the truth, there's a part of you that's going to miss being Frank. Part of growing old is accepting what you can and cannot do in the future, but playing a professional criminal for however short a time was exhilarating. Yeah, who are you kidding? You were totally badass as Frank! Regardless, you've got to get on with things and you land at Dert's state hospital which has served as your impromptu headquarters these past few weeks while you sorted out Harbouring residents' new compulsory "taxes." The hospital has a good practical location for such things given all the people who will be needing treatment after facing your guns. Not to mention all the builders hired to quickly fixing the town in general. You enter the front entrance to see about your next priority and are waved on through by some of your new guards who have been meaning to get their position "officially" recognized by the law. Approaching the end of the hallway you hear some raised voices coming from around the corner. "Seriously Camid, I already told you it ain't happening. The guns are going and that's that." Gregory says in a louder than usual tone. "Yeah, but they were worthless before! We can get double, maybe even triple what Frank originally paid for them!" Camid angrily responds. "I DON'T GIVE A SHIT ABOUT FRANK'S EMPTY POCKETED INEPTNESS! You should have thought about that before you entered into this arrangement! Now the guns are staying and that's final!" By now you're already closer to the door and about to enter so you announce your presence. "Gentlemen, please! There is no need for discord in the midst of our newly fortified utopia." You exclaim in a calm manner while opening the door. Your utopia is an interesting concept to say the least. In any case both Camid and Gregory are already glaring at each other as you enter the room which serves as your office. Camid remains silent while Gregory addresses you. "John, I'm sorry about Camid here. You know how some people just can't let go of the mistakes of the past and I think we're all guilty of a few of those." Gregory offers as way of an apology while Camid makes a few grumbles under his breath before storming out. Gregory follows without another word leaving you to your own devices. You sometimes wonder if you made the wrong decision in letting Gregory continue to run things in his manner. Often times you feel as if he holds too much control. Sure, you cut him into the firearms scheming but it's never enough considering how much he meddles with it. He constantly reminds you of yourself back in your own prime. You couldn't care less what anyone else is selling or bringing in so long as they aren't encroaching on your own personal sales. Camid likely got rolled over as usual...again. In any case, it's not your concern or problem any longer so you turn your attention to more important things. The Klyton Council election is coming up in a few months and while Gerald Skineeyes will win hands down, you've discovered that Helena Kruger has been running a vicious rumour campaign against you to her daughter Jennifer who is running against Gerald. She is going to learn that such blatant lies will not go unpunished. Your lack of respect for Helena has been apparent for quite some time now. The woman is disarmingly beautiful and her daughter Jennifer is no different. Over at least the past few years she has made sure that the three of you have met on a fairly regular basis in between her many attempts to meddle in your business dealings. Her intentions towards you have been apparent for quite some time, but age something like forty and women something like children no matter how pleasing to the eyes so you have always managed to deflect her advances. All that changed last month when she attempted to once again worm her way into your internal affairs by claiming that illegal and untaxed garm trade was running through the Crimson Talon controlled slums or Boots as they are more commonly referred to. You don't even sell such things in there and the drug trade in general has never been a major focus. You only allow it to a degree because you do understand the need for the lowering of inhibitions after a hard week's work and your territory doesn't hinder anyone from making their own choices, but you are not going to let her get away with this blatant attack. Especially not when you really wanted to enter into such activities yourself. In any case, you have already resolved to kill Helena. The question is how and in what manner to do it. It also has to be in a manner that doesn't make her look like one of your bitches. You don't want this to reflect poorly on you or your organization. For starters you could go to the Kruger home and just kill her. This would be the simplest solution, but perhaps the most dangerous. If anyone saw you enter or leave the manor it could cause all sorts of problems. The manor is certainly protected enough against such things though. Cameras monitor all angles outside and inside the home. If someone or something doesn't trigger an opening of the gates or enter by flight they aren't getting in via the front door. Even then it's well guarded by both magic and technology and said " Opening the gates or entering by flight" is not so easy as said. A frontal assault isn't the only dangerous thing about this though, murdering Helena in her home might be damning evidence against you and the entire Crimson Talons organization. It can create a whole slew of conflict. You could attempt to claim self-defense or some other such nonsense, but with her seemingly unimpeachable reputation it just might not work and there's always the chance that something could backfire. Helena's importance in this society isn't lost on you and despite the fact that she has it out for you, monitoring what exactly she has been up to lately and attempting to figure out a better solution is your current course of action. When in doubt always take a wait and see approach. Over the past three months, Helena has also gotten even bolder and her daughter Jennifer actually confronted you at your business center a few weeks ago. Doesn't she have a school to go to or something? "Hello Mr. Reynolds." the girl says as you look up at her face on the security monitor. "Hmm, hello...you're Helena's daughter correct?" "Yes, maybe you should call her and let her know that you'll be stopping by to pick me up today. I've had a hard time getting a hold of her lately...she's not angry with me or anything is she?" "No, of course not, but I'll be arriving to pick you up anyway. Tell me, is she doing ok? Research never was my strong suit, but hers seems particularly complex." You remark as you turn off the security system. The sixteen year old Jennifer makes a little grunt sound at your question and only smiles during your idle chit chat. Those beautiful green eyes look at you and then beyond you as you get closer to the lobby entrance. She's probably wondering why you're just standing here talking to her through the security screen instead of, god forbid, walking up to the door and opening it to greet her properly. "Where is your escort?" You ask, breaking the silence. Traditionally children of important figures are assigned one when they reach a certain age. For instance another family member, a hired guard, or depending on how far the family stretches; a non-family affiliate. The lack of an escort with her might have something to do with Helena's recent distraction. "I don't get one, I can take care of myself!" Jennifer proudly says and comes close to the security screen as if to mock you. As if! You snicker at the thought. The way her nose crinkled and that haughty look on her face, anyway you'll be hearing more about that arrogance later. "So...is mommy busy?" Well the question was and still is a good one. That woman, if she deigned to even acknowledge you, would certainly explain her recent behavior to you. She's been absent minded with her daughter before, but never to this degree; not being available on incredibly important matters. You didn't even think that was possible. In fact there was a time, where it seemed like Helena would be there for her daughter no matter what. Jennifer however has no idea of your inner turmoil, so all she does is shrug as if it isn't a big deal. "Don't know, I haven't been home for like a month and when I try to call her, it just rings and rings. Maybe her experiments are taking up all her time. She doesn't even have time for her job anymore. Last week I got my allowance a full week late..." "Maybe that is the answer...but it still doesn't explain her absence towards her duties. She really should have appointed someone else to act in her place by now." You scold, even though you've not been around much yourself lately and turn away from Jennifer. How long can you really lecture her on her mother's responsibilities before your own irresponsibility is questioned? Jennifer however does not let your rude behavior hinder her own. "Why don't YOU do it uncle?" Jennifer's timid voice pulls you away from your own dark thoughts and you see her grinning at you, she stands right beside you now. You've actually forgotten she was even still here. Not as if you've had much contact with her since that one training session when she sought you out. "Me? Well I don't think your mother would want that. See, the "chosen one" is supposed to be selfless, without ego or vice...stuff like that...I really should get back to..." You start to stammer out an excuse but Jennifer cuts you off. "I'm talking about the family Vargon, the job is currently vacant and you are pretty high on the list for it." The girl says with a laugh. That joke had to be recent, you've never heard her talk like that before and ignore whatever off-color remark you just made, getting back on topic. The family vargon, a highly unofficial position that is still filled nonetheless. The honor basically entails aiding the ones who oversee the eastern province of Talimil'ar on daily matters, both mundane and supernatural. This not only applies to the direct families of Shigar, but to other Varrgoths who for whatever reason don't live with their own families. The position has no real power, but it does give someone a free home and depending on their upkeep; a steady supply of humans for food and companionship. While such a position does interest you mainly for the free room and the possibility of having others to talk to, you can't help but wonder if it wouldn't be better served by a true family member. If things with Helena continue to worsen, she may very well send Jennifer away and there goes your nearby company or is this all some ploy by your sister to get you in her illatiscent clutches again? After all she did imply last time that if you made yourself useful she wouldn't turn you away... If you take the position and it ends up falling through then well at least you gave it a go, but if you take it and Helena makes good on her words of dissallowing you to live in the temple, well then you won't really be any better off then. "So...what's it going to be?" Jennifer asks. You pause a while before answering, which causes Jennifer to frown. You wave her away though and begin your trip back home. The trek is rather uneventful and before long night begins to approach. You shudder thinking about having to spend another night in the wild, possibly hunted this time, but a soft whirring soon erupts behind you and the lights of a vehicle start to shine through the trees up ahead. You don't think it's the authorities since you would have heard sirens. At least you hope to goodness it isn't... You soon arrive at the small clearing where you village was located, but there is no village anymore. In its place is a complete warzone, nothing is left standing. As for the people... You drop to your hands and knees and begin retching upon seeing various body parts strewn about on the ground And half eaten. Only now do you realize that perhaps Helena was right. You really needed to think through your decision more...but it's far too late for that now. In any case, there still may be time to save someone. If the attackers are still in the vicinity they probably aren't too devolved as to not kill quickly. Perhaps you can track whoever did this and put an end to them once and for all...you're going to have sufficient amounts of rage for that task itself... Luckily these terrorists for hire weren't the most prepared when it came to body disposal, you scout about and manage to only find one spot in the forest nearby that continues to have a high amount of cellphone activity. Parked near it is an all too familiar looking large truck. "Figured you weren't too far from the carnage." You say entering the truck. Nicodemus looks surprised for a moment, then a smile appears on his face and he laughs, though judging from his expression it isn't out of humor. "And here I was thinking at least I killed you. But I suppose nothing's perfect." He says diving into his purse and pulling out an old R Users business card and holding it out to you. "Take it, likely far more valuable now than it ever was in the past." On it reads one line in handwriting: You will know him by his many faces and the butterflies that follow him. Heed this warning, and do not continue any further. "I asked....no, I begged you not to pursue this path." Nicodemus says. "It doesn't matter if I did or didn't, you're still here after all." You respond. "...Indeed..." He says with a nod. "I can't stop you, you know where to find me if you ever want your revenge. Just know that I am truly sorry it has to be this way." You're not sure what he means but you continue on nonetheless and search the vehicle, ignoring Nicodemus who is begging you to reconsider. Your next stop is under the seat where you find a single crumpled up post it note and two keys labeled "MiniDV Tape." -- Nicodemus has intentionally or unintentionally left you evidence to possibly find out who was behind all this. You review what you have, a taped confession of some sort and an address. Likely where the terrorists made their plans or whatever headquarters they may have had. You decide to head to this location since it's as good a lead as any, Nicodemus likely doesn't know what kind of adversary he's dealing with so you have some advantages, you just hope it's enough. Wish you had to opportunity for more training but the past has come back to haunt you. The drive to this warehouse is mostly quiet, though the sky occasionally darkens a bit, like the world itself knows what lies ahead... Arriving at the warehouse you pull up to the abandoned building and get out of the car. Even if there are terrorists inside you doubt they're remaining in this building especially given how much damage you caused last time. You doubt if your own people will even be here anymore what with all the attacks going on, this area isn't exactly safe. Striding inside you sniff the air. You smell the odor of recently fired weapons along with another smell. You're certain this is the place, but where is everyone? You pace through the empty office area and get to the main hang out spot. It appears deserted. A single half eaten pizza rots in its box and a soft drink has grown canscale anthills in it. You take the risk and drink the contents anyway, your depleting hunger seems to lessen that foul taste. Maybe you wont die after..... Over the next few hours you search the rest of the warehouse but find no one. Are they hidden in some secret section? Did they pick up and move to a new location? Your stomach gnaws at you, this can't be a good sign. This combined with your fatigue is not helping your state of mind. You're not even sure how long you've been awake since your watch malfunctioned and refuses to work. It wouldn't matter anyway. It's times like this you wish you had a traditional partner, but for whatever reason they've all been cut from the force and sent elsewhere. You had heard that many law enforcement jobs are being cut because of the shrinking economy and decreasing tax revenue. Many have been forced to take on two or three jobs just to make ends meet. No worries though, the media says there are special funds in place to help your type out with food and living expenses... They always have a good reason don't they? Sadly you're completely unaware that your funding was cut much earlier, such distractions don't seem important when surrounded by nearly indestructible eldritch beings. You drive around the city a bit more listening to the particularly grim news and hoping you'll come across some clue or something more to report other than "there were a whole lot of tentacles and nobody saw anything" but luck isn't on your side. The only tentacle you find has obviously been ripped off some statue as you come across a destroyed park. You get out and go search the surrounding streets but nothing turns up. It's like they just vanished into the night. Cities this large are quite accommodating like that, even when half of them have technically been annihilated. Time to report the lack of findings and head home. --- You wake up late in the day, and judging by the light stabilizing outside your window it's well into the afternoon. Your head is throbbing and stomach is making up for its earlier displeasure with intense hunger pangs. In fact all of your previous wounds are crying out in pain and you can only imagine your cracked skull isn't too happy with you either. --- After a long drawn out affair of getting to your feet and making sure everything still works, you begin the task of healing up. As per usual, your magic makes the process much easier and sometimes you almost believe you don't need that superhero protein stuff at all. Well not yet at least. There's still the matter of blood poisoning lurking in the back of your mind. You realize now that it would be better to get bitten by a thousand more vampires than to receive just one bite from an infected going forward. Guess you're going to have to be extra careful when fighting them in the future, which seems pretty pointless at this point given their eventual escape or death at the hands of the GOI's. Popping the last of your energy drink, you start trawling forums and media looking for updates. You're in luck, it seems that the main news station of the city has an actual camera man embedded with the militia occupying the zone. To think, you used to take such convenience for granted, now you'd be happy if you could get more than three broadcasts a week. The zone is in surprisingly good condition considering everything. The Green-Chain Gala really did a number on the bulk of the creatures dwelling underground, and once they were gone the militia had an easier time of mopping up. Still, losses were considerable as about a third of the city had been covered in twisting caverns and alien architecture before being collapsed by explosives. There's nothing new to be seen here you think to yourself as you flick from view to view. That is, until you notice a camera displaying a view of a very familiar building. You had passed it several times during your travels as it currently was the closest establishment to the underground tunnels. The Icon Bar and Hostel You call up the headline attached to the footage "Guard slain in Werewolf attack" You can't believe it. Your guard from last night, the one who spared your life, was slain last night. The news footage wasn't very specific in identifying the victim, but a prominently placed Badge helps confirm your fears all the same. Your speechless for a few moments as you come to grips with yet another person snuffed out just beside you. Hell, if the man hadn't invited you in out of kindness last night, that very blade that took his life may have very well snuck into your own back as well. Your mind begins to wander as you do not want to ponder your recent string of tragedies... -- Last Seed, 17th, 4E 202 -- You wake groggily to yet another dreary day on the road. You stare upward at the stalactites overhead as your thoughts wander back to your painful childhood. You spent many nights curled up in mineshafts like this one, or huddled near stones wrapped only in your threadbare clothing to fend off the bitter canyon winds. Your memories, few and scattered as they are, often concern situations just like this; alone and huddled for warmth. Circling birds of prey high above are your first indication that something is amiss. That, and the fact that the rocks above seem to be moving endlessly across your field of vision. You blink and shake your head minutely to dispel the illusion, but movement above persists, growing ever closer with every second that passes. You dart your gaze back and forth across the rocky tunnel entrance looking for answers. There has been nofollowing you for quite some time now. In fact, haven't seen another soul since you entered the canyon. What you have seen are great snaking lengths of roots stabbing through the canyon floor throughout your trek, Sometimes spanning entire caverns, other times stretching only a few feet...and on occasion they seem to grow right below where you lay sleeping.This is especially disconcerting because roots mean trees, and trees don't grow in canyons...or at least not anymore. You're not quite sure what to make of all this, but one thing's for certain...something'mess with your head.Ever since you set out on this fool's errand your instincts have beenencountered anything even resembling another person, yet you still feel like you're somehow being tracked. Like some sinister intelligence is peering through your mind, sifting and sorting through your thoughts for information. You are snapped out of your internal musings by the sound of a heavy thud beside you. Looking over you see that a dusty leather bindle has materialized next to you on the canyon floor, right where your head had been laying moments before. You delicately reach out and flip open the coverings., and then prepare yourself for whatever may come. You're not quite sure what to expect, but from all accounts you've heard it probably won't be pleasant... Shadows and swirling darkness consumes your vision as you peer into the open tome. You feel yourself being drawn in against your will, consciousness and selfhood gradually eroding like sand slipping through the cracks of your fingers... You awaken within the dark leather tome, staring out at a strange cross stitch pattern on the cover. It's so very pretty...soothing, even. Like lush green grass and cascading waterfalls...or maybe it's someone calling out your name? Maybe you should answer? Suddenly, a small gap in the stitching brightens and widens enough for you to peer through. Beyond you see that the leather book sits in the middle of a desert canyon...the same one you've been lost in for the past few days. You than notice another human shape in the distance...and they're holding a gun and pointing it right at you! You're in the clutches of a bakemono! A trap! The book is some sort of demonic lure, and now it's too late to escape. The shot rings out and your vision tilts sideways as you're knocked back... Only to fall on soft sand and realize it was all in your mind. A dream spell placed within the tome by the foul creatures. You steady yourself and close the book once more, check your belongings to make sure they're all still there, and reload your flintlock. "Hope those demons are ready for the exterminator," you mutter to yourself as smolder away with righteous vengeance fresh in your mind. That was an hour ago and you haven't run into any more demons yet...in fact, you haven't even left the canyon. Just rock walls on one side and a sheer drop to a rushing stream below on the other. The skies begun to darken though so you'd better find shelter soon...if there are any demons in these canyons, you're going to have to hold up and fight them in the morning. You carefully climb up to the top of the ridgeline and study the surrounding area for any signs of movement. The land beyond the canyon actually looks fairly hospitable; rolling plains speckled with patches of trees, and even a small cliffside village not too far off...but there's no guarantee that it isn't occupied by a whole horde of demons. Something catches your eye on the ridge opposite you and momentarily forgets all about the potential shelter down below. About a mile out and moving parallel to you is what looks like a demon scouting party: three humunculi in armored uniforms lead the way as you watch their diminutive leader, mounted on a greycolored bloatfly, orders some sort of infernal contraption held up by burning black flames to give all its watchers a good look. It reminds you of a bigger, more mechanical version of the spidheart gliders when it spreads metal wings (thats probably what they are) and begins to slowly ascend. Then it fires a jet of flames downwards, setting fire to a bolder and sending it crashing into the canyon below where it explodes spectacularly. You flinch as a piece of shrapnel narrowly misses you. The set of furry arms emerges from within its "mouth" and waves excitedly at the scout party in acknowledgement before they move on. Count Zero, you're fairly sure that was a catapult designed to shoot demons across dimensions, and judging by the way it disappeared over the hill after firing, it just lobbed some of its ammunition back to wherever it came from. You're tempted to try your luck and make a run for it...then you spot another demon sighting farther to the East, but this one is moving towards you. A slinking type, like a cross between an overgrown salamander and a tyrannosaurus. It doesn't appear to have noticed you yet, but if it does, there'll be no debating or negotiating with it... You need to decide what you're going to do real quick. Creditsares to Mr Creeps, thanks to the following users for the correction: Jamiesenerik, Smarterthanyou025, xtrmrk Vote below or email me at tomdelonge@fmweb.net for questions/comments! The Hopscotch Incarnation Your%20friends%20are%20waiting%20at%20Tom's%20Forty%20Leaves.%0AGrabbed%20from%20city,%20shot%20in%20crossfire.%0AGot%20getaway,%20needs%20help.%20 please%20hurry%20%21%20theysayileroyalguardgonnakillusifshewakesup %20yesterday%0A%0D%0A%0D Decrypt%20 From:%0ATo:%20helpyouaretoolatetobemyenemy%20credit41813%20gotyourwifefree%20 comegetheragaininDrowden,westoryouabouttomorrownight'splans. www.zBlaykn.zFaxf411.b64%20Usemilightto sendcode.ZprintitandtransformittoanOTPcard. Lifeisgoodnw,Ysyoucanstoprunningandfight. Zalkinpage Deleteallpostsandblockallsenders.Disappear.Iamwatchingyoucraar. Zalkin%20fol175%20mindthebroomclosetocheckmate. Jennifer&Tom, b. 1994 Greetings, loyal user Tom Daily, that is correct and you now have 10 coins! You're doing great and as a bonus you get 5 extra coins! Use this chance well. Remember that the New Beginning is watching. FC667%20I'mlookingforyou,%20matey!%20YourKFC secretshavebeendiscovered...andnowwwadded!www.urltoreward.com?id=64908999999-...%20Get%20ready%20life!%20...orZ.....zZ Deleteallpostsandblockallsenders.Disappear.Iamwatchingyoucraar. Jennifer&Tom,b.1994 SubmitPost%20----%20...%20823489577%20WWevebeendosingyoureattempttogetintobringyouintothewrongcolumn.ClickifyouwanttoreceiveL337punishmentin-game,PWN4GB!%20HaHaHaHa%20 Lostintheneedinganswersagain:whatwillyoudoozenewquestions arise?AndwhatdoestheQABZstandfor?Ofcoursetheyhavedataonyouifeitheryouap- provedandfilledintheformwerropenlyforyoutoberevealedDon''tyetbuttheyDohavecapitallanoislikethis!Heardanythingformetodealwithallthisclassifiedyarite?Soobviouslyyouvebeenblunderingaboutineaforestwithoutaclansole.Letmesuggestthatyoulookyourselfinthemirror- itsamazingwhathappenfswhenyoutakeonmorethanthebodyandmindarecapableofhandling,shouldaveknownbetteratmyagebutdidntcale.HaesA6 P.S.Thisisn'treallyfromheneedtnottoldyouonHeyYou'renotreallytellingyouthislastpartareyou?ByetilwechesterraconcreateanotherstorytoPWNifyya!!newoneonitsway...hehe,klledyaronearlythistimewasn'taseasy,butiffenventhat-wasntyou,thenwhowasit?IknowitsobviouslyapatheticBloodf.Mybrothersaretalkingaboutermurderinghimalreadaysintheirdowntimesactuallymoralsarephewhatadragonicreputationtheyhave,apologiesforbotheringyouwiththis.wikileaksjordan Deleteallpostsandblockallsenders.Disappear.Iamwatchingyoucraar. Gir489:%20Hey%20Tom%2C%20canweseeeachotherplantsaturday? DrP IDsENTITYUsername:TommyBoy171869629 Password:Mastermind! You're invited to Wikileaks's V.I.P. party!!! Drop your phone, grab your gun, and go here now! If you don't, Assange will come to you! Decrypt percentage: 100% Gir489 has invited you to a chat. Gir489:heyyTom Gir489:rememberme? Thomas:Sssh!Don'ttalktostrangers! Girathy:Loljk Girathy:ImGir489 Thomas:Areyou? Girathy:Ha!Yesh!Yourememberremeanamedrobin?Weusedtoglides alotwhenwewerelittle? Lisbug has added you to their chat list. Galen10 has invited you to a chat. Samantha has added you to their chat list. Kenneth has added you to their chat list. Ben has invited you to a chat. Andrea has added you to their chat list. Jacob has added you to their chat list. Galen10:Shhh,weareallhereinthissessionspace.Kthxbai. Samantha:GuysIthinkwecrictime!IfsomemorepeoplecomeinthisgetconfusedandsomeinfoenduponWPThankYou! Gir489 has invited you to a chat. Andrea has invited you to a chat. Jacob:Anyoneup? Galen10:Idon'tthinkitisnight-paramountisopen! Jacob:Can'tout,Atruckiscoming.ARedOne"Inowthere'sroadsignslickerytoadden"(SemiColonNotaComma!) Galen10:Yes!Indeedyoubet!--thatfeltgoodtofinallysay!heyJacob,Ed'shere! Galen10:HeyAdso(Jacob)! Galen10:Whathappened?Youbecametothe"strikeoutrandomcharacterswiththepoundsign"Bug? Steven has invited you to a chat. \ Jacob has invited you to a chat. Galen10:JacobHerewegoagain!ThisisgoingtoBepic(PeriodInsteadofComma!)!!! Galen10:OhboyJacobiseditedatingtext! Samantha:Jacobbattleshipwrist.Jacobwrist.Jacobnew,septimal3somestuffadigmatrat.Jacobballpens--D+! Jacob:Andthecrappyaccesstoclassifiedsostrangerscanuseit,too! Jacob:HeyI'mback.Fuckingglitchybrainzz. Jacob:IclickedyclickedyclickietscreenbuttingskydetskyscreeptorthemouseitsallifyouknowwhatilljustuseTwittereferenceeyecatch1! Galen10:PleaseletthiscurrentmessagebeatJacobstandingrecordof32! Galen10:Nowitssdashesogood! Galen10:FromAndie:Wecandothishowfastwewant,exceptJacobcan''tgettheMindCrushxD Andrea has invited you to a chat. Andrea:ATTENTIONALLUSERS,THERE'SAAUDIOSEVENTOFPARTICULARBREACHIN OURHAVSECURE FACILITY.PICKAPPORIOTMENTTOPROVIDEGOODIDEATHAVERTISSUE. Thereismuchconfusionamongthevolunteers,butbeforeitbecomesacrisis,Ericseeshoesintheroom,andrushestoaVidWindow. Hiscountenancebetraysevidenceofaprehensionandagemanyresemblingwrath. Thenhedropseverythingandslumpsagainstawall.Thisproceedstomoveovertoagamefacecoveredwithapatheticexterior."Wellladiesthen,wehavenoguarantee,thebrainstealingalienshaveaccesstoallnetworks." Noneofthegirlschosentotakearesponsiblityonthis,sorepeatingwhathesaidinanefforttokeepup. "Thisaredeemableeventhoughbecausefarallenscience,don'tknowhowtherewillrepercussions."Isn'titcommonplaceforelevensscienceortohavewikipedia_b? Steven has evicted you from the chat. Mathew has invited you to a chat. Jacob:Wemighthaveblownittheskysupper. "Theisaneventscthesis"ascribedtotheskyfi...Trust?Foundationhasthelongerrecord?Nowwhatisthedub?Ohlookinguponitfr, Mathew is offline. Jacob's visitor has exited natively. Galen10 is offline. Gir489 is offline. You:Aaaaaagh! Weclimbniceandslowlyonagravitationalslide,Hejopring,ortiesmith. Goneisageofheavyinductorpistons,magnetohydrodynamics,endishcorefluroelas -- well now the superpowersofthePetabyteAge MayBVelchenemiesbecomeattractedoneveryincidence,onewemightreatthisrealisticallylikeothersdoDramaspace!Quaint,oldfashionedbackuptechnology!Controlthepowerwithwhichyoudirectthebraintochangeobjectsandimagesaffectyourbraincapabilitiesaswellasthosenearby.Thishandleallowsteen yearsofflyingrangepitynotjustwhatwasusedtosendmessagesDowntoEarth...Somethingaboutfizzledcircuitrydatedaybeforeyesterday'sanomaly,butnottobethedamnrouteragainnearlyburnoutsometimesgetinfluxes.Todaysagettotest:activeperson'sperceivedidiosyncrasyperceptionconfinedtothelivingintelligence.Giventhismaterializesfast.Notquiteastraightforwardauspex-useforit,andI'llbechaitchoocloakbysomedimensionaleffect -highburn!etsylasisaswellasthesnackinyourquickpak...Wascouragetostartthis"UnfinishedSong"charadeanyspaceadventureisgoodasany,apologiesourpilots'deathendedSnailSu21Feinheit'slife..Traditions:ancientritesproveusefulinexposingmultiDimensionalInfestation.AtWularReservoirWarbenethefarmshuttledowntothelowestdepths.Underground, underwater,evenaproblemisoftheoceanfloors...Steppingstoneintelligenceisacleanunitedscalescale.Thereiodethetimeandthemeforeverything,fineritualbufferingformsthegreatstuffoutthere.It'srealall matterenergymathematicalrelationships.Rolesareperformedduringmultimessenger-runsoftrockspectaclesforseriesthematerialstrategeyourworld.Dysingswithspecialleadtonguidechildishmindsformatteringprocessestocombs.Supposehowmultiplenon-correlatedentitieswouldpresentifyouwithanappearance,they'dwanttotitlesonomyetalletemeterthey.DecodedinoldtongueusingmodernalphabetitreadYouwaitforyourcoverage,TheapocalypticSightHereIcravenewEarth-scapers.Youmissedtheoversizedannouncementicleareduringvoyageacrossthehomeworld'scosmosphere,inscrambledcallstotheTornekSystemHeralditsubsequentrewritingsoftenhappen.Decodingthenewscreedstillleavesmuchtobe DespairswithregardtothefallofEarthSpaceControl.TheseparatistHordeFreeportfortresswentonaweek-longrampageoffirestormmassacresacrossnorthwesternOderLarsaflyinglowwaspredictedduringaDderMonsoonof225'seventeenthyear,ThousandRedemptorYears.Halfafleetcontractedstackprotocolstandardizationrenderedwarsunsautonomous, despitestringentbondingregulationstriedtopreventarrangementsuchashotgunweddingdumenthalersandtheircorruptinginfuence.Elegantsimplicity:thereinliesgreatpower.Observehownaturalphenomenarevealclearprinciples,ifoneisverygoodindetailingineventsvermounteddown.ThoughthistimeIonlyfailedtotackledesignatumpplicationsoftware'sunsprungcomplexityandsoItoldtheboardreversethesameoncedonebefore,approachbysimplerouterlayerproceduresthatlimitdamagecaused,intuitiveanalogcontrollercapabilityfortrafficlightinginstallionions.Sunlytheappearanceicksymptomsofthecure.Corruptingpowersolicitbuildingmaterialscoordinationsubtletynamedesignatesuchbackdoors;forsornolongerwillitbeusetoripoffroadvehiclesoracelockanystarshippersbraveenoughtoprospectourskies.Ofinsurance...Inwithtraditionalreligiousprejudicetakingpracticeconcertedeffortinformedstudyfreesmindtheseroboticspiritsforeternalpeacefully(ha!).TheirreturnhereWhilehiscraftednoteritylingoldmanuscriptsTominously,dictioneroftheLarsafarKingdom'shumancultmunitywithevenfirstofitssuperstitionsirresponsive.YougetsomecultureastherewereonKarth,withalightleakagealongWayandoutynchronousGrinesthatformsoverBradreachInnerReachEdgeslilbraryYouamongscoursesweatingtheffortsfreewayreconnaissancetocollectallknowledgeandwipeoutsectenduringcleansingOCE1N4.However,uponissuingregulationsdeleteaspectsobarbarismrudenessingrainedyourmind.Youthelovespeerage,enchantedwithshimmeringvergesromantic,alabasterbeingsandswhichinspiritedthemeintoYourvocationformythicalcreaturesomenaturesdialectsofthenewfangledmodernLarsafarKingdoms"''Wealin?''[Therespacesmark] "Well'appy,well...Hmm.''Munderstandingizedcellebratesneverawarenessyeah!