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ohbutwheresyourheart · 6 months

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2, 3, and 23 for Tansy!

Hehehe thank you for giving me a chance to talk about my most troubled daughter. TW for discussions of cannibalism, suicide, and religious trauma.

2. What’s something about your OC that people wouldn’t expect just from looking at them?

Well, for Tansy, the immediate and obvious answer is “she’s a necromancer” haha.

I’m still hammering out the exact lore on necromancy for Unquiet Bones, but so far: it’s a power bestowed on Tansy (so those in the know believe) by Ysa-Munda, the Goddess of Death. Mother Josefina, the head priestess of Ysa-Munda, initially thought it more likely it was a gift from Xenith, the God of Life, on the basis that Ysa-Munda would be shooting Herself in the foot a bit giving someone the power to bring people back from the dead. But… she got shouted down. Because, hey, what would she know?

Some followers of Ysa-Munda have a very mild form of Tansy’s powers: they can search the afterlife for souls and occasionally perform seances to bring the soul briefly back to speak with loved ones. Even this, however, is seen as stepping of Ysa-Munda’s toes and only done in special circumstances -- e.g., if someone died in a sudden accident, then with a sufficient ‘donation’ to the temple, it might be allowed for the deceased’s family to contact their soul to say goodbye. This may or may not also be used to figure out inheritances.

(Sidebar: Ysa-Munda is also an unofficial patron goddess of lawyers/accountants, because nothing in life is certain except death and taxes.)

Tansy, however, can go much further than this: she can bring souls all the way back from the dead and place them back in their bodies. This is how she resurrected King Damian when he was dying as a child (and has done so multiple times since).

The downside to this is that Tansy is explicitly a necromancer, not a healer. The soul gets put back in the body in… exactly the state the body is in. So if, say, she resurrected someone who died of a virulent flesh-eating plague -- well, that would probably be quite traumatising for the soul in question.

The other downside is that Tansy requires a physical connection to the person she is resurrecting. For anyone not related to her by blood, this is satisfied by drinking their blood or, for a full resurrection, eating their flesh.

(Damian, oddly, is exempt from this; his father, King Theodoric, claimed it must be due to Damian’s royal blood: he is, via the divine right of kings, connected to all of his subjects. Nobody in the intervening years has seen a good reason to disclaim this, or an alternate explanation.)

Very few people, even within the cult of Ysa-Munda, are aware of the extent of Tansy’s powers, as Mother Josefina feared that widespread knowledge of a true necromancer would cause either a) mass hysteria and danger of violence towards Tansy, and/or b) that Tansy would be petitioned to resurrect multitudes of people. Mother Josefina , especially given her doubt even now that Tansy’s gift truly does come from Ysa-Munda, fears that Tansy using her powers any more than absolutely necessary would bring Mother Death’s rage down upon them all.

3. What is your OC’s fatal flaw? Are they aware of this flaw?

This is SUCH a good question because I was honestly stumped for a little while!

After mulling it over, I think Tansy’s fatal flaw is ultimately her inability to see situations from the perspective of other people.

For example, when Damian tells her again and again that he doesn’t want her to continue resurrecting him, Tansy assumes he’s just attempting to shirk his responsibilities as king and not realising how grateful he should be for a miracle (possibly because she heard this expressed as a child by other people).

Or when she asks Lucia to leave Varnius’s commune and come back to Haelgavaard, not understanding why Lucia would turn down someone who cares for her and is willing to provide for her material needs and why that wouldn’t be enough to erase her mental health issues.

Tansy isn’t malicious (although she definitely does some awful things), but she is someone who has rigid beliefs that are extremely difficult to change. She considers herself to be logical and is inclined to think people who disagree with her without (in Tansy’s opinion) a good reason are being controlled by their emotions. The solution, then, is to talk the person down until they realise how irrational they are and come around to Tansy’s way of thinking.

23. What emotion is the hardest for your OC to process? How about express?

I think both of these ultimately come back to fear.

Tansy was deeply terrified and traumatised as a child when her first attempt to resurrect her foster mother who died of the plague turned out horribly. Her foster mother suffered immensely until she was killed again to put her out of her misery, the rest of her foster family turned against her and denounced her as a monster, and she was then ripped away from the only family she had ever known and taken to do that exact awful thing again to a boy her own age.

She was then told that the fate of the entire kingdom rested on her doing that awful thing again, and again, and again, as often as needed. Even as the boy she grew to care about grew, in his turn, to hate her for being his tormentor. Even when she fled the kingdom, she was eventually dragged back and the metaphorical shackles put on again. There is no escape from her life except escaping her life, and the thing she is most afraid of in the world is facing Ysa-Munda when she dies.

Tansy has been afraid of so much, for so long, that she’s grown almost numb to it: the fear has been so consistent that it’s become her baseline and she can no longer really tell when she’s feeling it. Tangled up in this is the thread she clings to that as long as she does what she’s told and fulfils her given role then everything will be okay and she’ll be okay and so she just has to keep treading the same path and -- yeah. She’s a mess.

#unquiet bones #antanasia

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wuxianxkexing · 2 years

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So a lot of people criticize Itachi Uchiha for spending all of that time in the Akatsuki as a spy yet he failed to report anything actually useful about them. My head cannon is that he reported useful stuff about them all of the time but the truth about the Akatsuki is so batshit crazy that the Leaf Village just assumed that Itachi lost all of his marbles because there is no way that all of the stuff he told them is true.

Here are my head cannon reports from Itachi on the Akatsuki.

- The leader of this organization is an actual dead corpse who goes by the name Pein. I think he is an actual corpse reanimated by a necromancer (and if he is I need to find out if he has free will or if he is being controlled). Perhaps someone stole the 2nd Hokage's Reanimation Jutsu, or they figured out another method of necromancy. He has eyes like a chameleon but I'm unsure the entirety of the abilities of his kekai genkai.

Leaf Village Reaction: *thinking this all sounds plausible enough* OH shit.

-The second in command is a kunoichi named Konan. Her body is made of paper and she likes to fold bits of herself into origami. She says that it helps keep her flexible. Her paper is also resistant against water, oils and flames. I'm unsure if it's a paper clone jutsu or if it's a kekai genkai.

Leaf Village Reaction: ? "Weird, but ok."

- Next is Sasori of the Red Sand. He is still alive, sort of. He has taken up the hobby of turning living people into puppets (thousands of them in fact) and he also somehow turned himself into a puppet? He also turned the 3rd Kazekage into a puppet.

Leaf Village Reaction: "Surely Itachi must be mistaken? It is not physically possible to turn yourself into a puppet and still be alive afterwards. Plus Sasori was just a teenager when the 3rd Kazekage went missing, no way is he responsible for it."

- Deidara is partnered with Sasori. Deidara has mouths on his hands that he uses to mold clay explosives. His hands are always wet with his hand mouth saliva and when Hidan irritates him he puts his hand mouth saliva all over his face. He specializes in long distance combat and is training specifically to counteract genjutsu.

Leaf Village Reaction: "Gross, was that one part necessary?! Plus none of our medical ninja have even heard of a birth defect like that."

-Kakazu is also still alive. He has 5 hearts that are encapsulated in tentacle monsters with face masks. When he thinks he is alone he let's them out of his body and plays with them like they are dogs. He has killed all of previous partners for annoying him so Pein found an immortal to be his partner. He only cares about money and he somehow is a master of all elements.

Leaf Village Reaction: "Bullshit. That old fuck should long dead by now and it's impossible for anyone to use more than 2, maybe 3 elements. It is unheard of for anyone to use all 5 plus how the fuck does he have 5 hearts in tentacle monster pets? Is this even from Itachi?"

-Hidan is immortal. He performs human sacrifices for his God Jashin by standing in a sigil and stabbing himself after licking his enemy's blood. The terrifying thing is his ritual actually inflicts damage upon his enemy instead of himself. Do not engage in short distance combat with him no matter what. Send only long distance specialists or genjutsu specialists. He is not very bright and has not noticed in the past when I have put him under innocent genjutsus to test him.

Leaf Village Reaction: "I don't think that is physically possible??? Plus immortality definitely isn't. "

-Kisame is my partner and he is half shark half man. His sword eats chakra and he is one of the 7 Swordsmen of the Mist. Despite being known as a friend killer he is actually really nice? I'm not sure if it's just a ploy or if the rumors are wrong, but he seems to be really loyal to me. I think he knows that I'm a spy but he hasn't said anything to anyone as far as I know. He wants to fight Might Guy again as he deems him a worthy opponent.

Leaf Village Reaction: *Already knowing Kisame is half shark because he is famous* "Shit, does this mean our operation has been compromised? Is this why all of this information seems kind of bogus?"

-Zetsu is the final member of the Akatsuki. He looks like a Venus fly trap and he can go through any object to spy on people. He likes to eat decaying corpses and seems to have multiple personalities.

Leaf Village Reaction: *Knowing that Kisame is half shark because of imperfect sage mode, but knowing that you can't learn sage mode from a plant* "OK this has to all be bullshit. Just toss the rest of the information Itachi gives us. This operation has been compromised somehow but we can't call him back to the Village because of all of the murder. Plus if he actually has gone crazy we definitely don't want him back."

Meanwhile Itachi was telling the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth but it's just so insane that no one believed him. They thought he either lost his marbles or that he had been exposed and his letters comprised somehow and that is why I believe despite having an actual spy inside of the organization that the Leaf Village didn't know shit.

#leaf village #konoha #akatsuki naruto #naruto #akatsuki #itachi uchiha #kisame #itachi headcanons #deidara #kakazu #hidan naruto #zetsu #pein naruto #konan naruto #sasori

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danspectorboy · 2 years

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HUGE NONA SPOILERS

Tbh I think we got it all wrong about John and the Lyctors

I've seen a lot of people say John Gaius renamed his friends, and that he doesn't realize how bad it is because he is selfish, etc etc, and like.

I think he definitely knows. I also think he doesn't consider the Lyctors actual people.

Allow me to explain.

The first time we see John begin to have his necromancy powers, it is with Ulysses and Titania. From the start, he loves them, but is a different kind of love, one that makes more sense: he loves them not as people, but as bodies he spent time around. When he starts to develop necromancy, he still doesn't see personhood in them, he has no respect for the dead. He plays pranks with them, he shows them off.

The first vision he has of necromancy is that of, essentially, playing with them. They're not sentient yet, or capable of pantomiming it. They are, at the start, barely a well loved doll.

His performances get more elaborate, but ultimately fake. He uses a corpse to pretend to be the president. He gets skeletons. He heals, sure, but until the nun kills herself to get John his understanding of the soul, once someone is dead, that's it.

And then he puts Alecto inside a dead body. And then he eats a system. And then his friends and the friends of his friends die. How much of that, even if he brings them back to life, is preserved? How much does John actually think it is?

And even more, should someone die, and their body now fully be under his power and control, even if he doesn't use it— how much actual friendship is there in that?

At some point, doesn't it start to feel more like he is pretending that the dead bodies are his friends, rather than an actual resurrection? At what point does it feel more like a disrespect to his friends' actual memory, to use their names?

And I think it's exemplified with Kiriona Gaia.

She's dead. Her soul isn't even intact. She could have been his daughter. He raises her from death, gives a place of honor in his empire.

She is still renamed, and considered a construct.

#nona the ninth spoilers #nona the ninth #nona spoilers #nona theories #the locked tomb

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misterewrites · 3 years

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Mystery at the Salt-Irons

Hey everyone! E here with a new chapter! kept you waiting huh? Haha sorry it's been a busy few weeks. Nothing serious but I had to keep starting and stopping this chapter so it threw me off but it's here, it's ready and I hope you enjoy it!

I have some special guests in this story, some ocs made by my friends because you know what I can so I will and honestly, they were really great oc ideas guys. so keep an eye out for @hains-mae and Biz_fantasist OC(I don’t know if she has a tumblr but it’s late so I’ll edit it later)

That's it for me! I hope you are all stay safe, keep your loved ones safe, wash your hands, wear your masks, push to give everyone the vaccine cuz this is getting ridiculous. I hope you have a great week, thank you for reading. I deeply appreciate and feel free to share it with your friends, give me feedback. Reblog and comments all that fun stuff! Thanks and I'll see you soon!

Here’s the chapter over at Ao3

https://archiveofourown.org/works/30599756/chapters/85394095

Here’s the story from the beginning if you’re curious what this is about

https://archiveofourown.org/works/30599756/chapters/75486005

and here’s a list of all my work both original and the various fandoms I write for

https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrE42/works

Summary: Finnrick is called to solve a mysterious case as per his job as the city's only Private Investigator wizard but as he sinks deeper into the case, the more it seems that something is happening behind the scenes. Of course with an old friend in town and dark magic surrounding the case, Finnrick is as busy as ever. Ain't no rest for the wicked.

-----

The Salt-Iron Flats weren’t anything special on the surface: An unassuming apartment complex on the north side of Newton Haven, the only thing most people remembered about the place was how the price tag hurt their souls.

Of course, unlike the general housing market, the Salt-Irons (affectionately referred to by the locals) actually had a very reasonable reason for fetching such a high rate: The salt and cold iron baked into every single brick that formed the building.

If you weren’t in the magical know, you’d think it utterly insane that you’d be forced to pay such a large amount of cash because some weirdo decided to make a new age artistic statement with bricks. Of course, if you are aware of the greater community at large, you’d knew you were paying the insanely large sum because someone decided to make the Salt-Irons the single most protective location in the city.

Most mortals have forgotten their history, their lore and collective knowledge passed down throughout the generations: Why their ancestors used to place lines of salt in front of the door and windows, why the elders always suggested to the braver, recklessly youthful family members to carry iron whenever they ventured through the wild.

Outer beings were repelled by salt and iron. No one really had an idea why fae, angels and demons weren’t fond of salt or iron and there's been plenty of arguing about the subject but all in all the fact remained they did not do well when faced with either.

That was the main reason Finnrick didn’t find himself in the north side of town often.

Well that and the zealous Gate Keepers. Those guys were freaks but between them and the Salt-Irons being the only supernatural community up here, Finn never got a case from the area.

Until today.

The Salt-Irons were great at protecting you from any outside threats that wished you ill will: It didn’t protect you from anything you decided to bring in with you.

It was five in the morning when Finnrick got the call. The M.R.R.D representative didn’t have much to offer beyond the address and floor but he thanked her all the same.

Finnrick yawned tiredly, stretching the tension out of his neck while he sipped his coffee. He let out a sigh of relief as the sun slowly rose into the sky.

The Salt-Irons was a twelve story tall building painted a ghastly pale green that made Finnrick sick just looking at it.

“People are paying how much to live in that shade? I’d ask for discount if I were them.” Finnrick laughing to himself, making his way into the apartment complex.

Luckily the interior was much nicer than the outside: Everything was well kept and cleaned. Not a single speck of dust in sight and the wooden stairs didn’t creak when Finnrick placed his foot on them.

Which was good given Finnrick needed to go up seven flights of stairs.

Finnrick wheezed a little, wiping the sweat from his brow when he reached the seventh floor. He glanced down the hall one way then the other as he began to search for room 707 which basic deductive reasoning suggested should be around the corner.

Finnrick crushed the empty foam cup and tucked it into his coat pocket as he made his way to 707. It was a simple wooden door and immaculately spotless just like the rest of the place. He rose his hand and gently rapped on the door.

No response.

He frowned, checking if he was still alone in the empty hallway and rose his hand towards the door frame.

His eyes glowed with a blue energy as he whispered softly “Revelis”

The door gleamed with a bluish hue for a moment before fading away without a trace.

No protective spells laced over the frame so the only thing Finn had to worry about now if it was locked.

He tried the knob, unsurprised when it swung open silently.

“It’s not breaking and entering if someone’s expecting you” Finnrick justified to himself as he pushed the door in.

He nearly staggered backwards: The air tasted thick and foul like something had been left rotting inside. His skin prickled with anxiety, a chill running down his spine with each step he took further in.

Finnrick took deep, calming breathes while doing his best to ignore the bitter taste that seem to cling the air within.

He noticed the trail of footsteps, perfectly preserved in what appeared to be black dust leading deeper into the living room.

“Hey da! You here?” Finnrick called out, carefully stepping closer “You and ma still married?”

There was a deep grunt of acknowledgment before a voice responded “Sorry son, we’re divorced now. She got custody of you.”

“Well fuck. I guess I’m going to be eating kale and poorly cooked spinach for the rest of my life.”

Garrus Valka was not in fact Finnrick’s father, adoptive or otherwise. He was actually one of the highest ranked officers of the Magical Rapid Response Department: An elf clocking in at 200 years old with richly tanned skin. His bluish gray hair was slicked back in his preferred style. Garrus’s had his back turned to the detective but Finn knew his sliverish gray eyes were deep in concentration as he took down notes about the surroundings. His beautifully inhuman features were marred with a scar on the right side of his face: burnt skin on his cheek, healed by time and various surgeries. An old war wound though Finn never got the full story.

He was dressed in typical M.R.R.D fashion: Dark blue windbreaker, jeans and a blue shirt with the words “Powered by coffee and spite” splashed across the front. His Winchester rifle was slung across his back, ready for any action that may befall the elf.

“Drift.” Garrus greeted teasingly while offering a hand.

Finnrick gave it a playful shake “Da. So is mom here or she trying to smite pigeons again?”

“THEY TRIED TO STEAL MY HOTDOG!” Garrus’s partner Eden screamed from another room “I SHALL BRING MY GOD’S WRATH UPON THEM!”

“You know when they mean justice.” Finnrick called out “I don’t think they mean against winged rats.”

Eden chuckled darkly “You know not their sins.”

“Okay.” Finnrick nodded despite the fact she couldn’t see him “If you say so. What happened Da? Aside powerful necromancy.”

“Powerful necromancy” Garrus replied cheekily “and missing persons.”

Finnrick rose an eyebrow “Persons? More than one?”

“Two: A father and son. Richard Charles and his son Richard Jr. Recluses it seems. Neighbors hardly saw them. Mostly kept to themselves.”

Finnrick pursed his lips thoughtfully “Any magical abilities?”

“They’re not on records if that’s what you mean.” Garrus answered “Never signed up in the academy, not registered with The Council. If they were practitioners they didn’t tell anyone.”

“So what was the spell? I just smell the remnants of spookiness.”

“Hadn’t noticed the rest of the room huh?”

Finnrick frowned before finally getting a good look at the rest of the room: Every inch of the apartment was blanketed with the same black dust that he found in the entrance way. Inches and inches of the substance and that wasn’t the strangest part.

Everything was bent at different and odd angles: chair with crooked legs, the wall clock warped and twisted, the fridge leaning like someone folded it in half. Floorboard reached for the sky and walls split inward.

There was a common misconception about magic. Most people thought spell casters, especially wizards, could command reality to their wills. That magic was capable of impossible feats and it was as simple as snapping your fingers.

The truth was all magic, ranging from divinity to free range nature, was performed on a micro scale. Practitioners did not alter reality but rather shortcut it. Throwing fireballs was as simple as rapidly heating the air until it combusted. Turning invisible was less about vanishing completely as it was bending the light around you to not be seen. Magic was rooted in reality and imagination. If you had the magical strength to perform the magic, the magic often followed your lead.

Of course there were spells that required much more than magical hand and willpower. Powerful magic, like summoning outer beings or raising an army of zombies, required both time and materials. Magic was like any other energy: you needed enough of it to perform what you wanted. The human body could only generate so much magic without dying and resting was necessary to replace any expended in the use of spells. Materials were guidelines for the spell. Feathers for anything with flight, ash for fireballs etc etc.

The other thing needed was to gather energy and store it for the spell’s use. There were different ways to achieve this: Wands, talismans, potions were basically magic soups. The most efficient way to gather energy was the wizards preferred way: Circles.

Finnrick eyed the room closely this time, murmuring under his breath about angles and trajectory. Garrus paid him no mind, well familiar with the private investigators methods.

“If this went like that” he gestured to the wall clock “and that went here.”

Finnrick glanced about, carefully walking about as if worried he was going to step on a landmine.

“Here.” Finnrick found himself staring at a spot in the middle of the room “Ventus.”

He gestured with a hand and light breeze filled the room. It brushed away some of the dust covering floor, revealing the outline of a half melted metal ring.

“What is it?” Garrus turned curiously

“Spell circle. The source of the explosion. I’m willing to bet it’s custom made. Copper, steel. Maybe some bits of tin couldn’t stand the surge.”

“No iron or sliver?”

Finnrick shook his head “That’s for containing or repelling monsters. Necromancy is more about drawing in the evil entities. Or sucking out life.”

Garrus sighed tiredly “Don’t touch?”

“Only if you want to live to see retirement. Might have some pent up magic ready to blow outwards.”

“Understood. I’ll call in our guys. I’ll let you know if something comes up.”

Finn nodded gratefully while pulling out a vial and motioning to the elf “Mind if I do?”

“Be my guest, you might find something we’d miss.”

Finnrick smiled gratefully before scooping up some of the dust and sealing it within the vial.

“Take care Garrus, stop fighting birds Ma!”

“Flying rats!”

-----

The cafe was lively despite being early but that was no surprise given it was Mother’s. Mother’s was the single best food establishment in all Newton Haven and if anyone disagreed, they were allowed to have their opinions.

They were also allowed to be wrong.

Finnrick paused in the doorway, breathing in the scent of well cooked eggs and sweet lemonade. The pop and sizzle of heated grease brought a sense of comfort to the hard working private investigator.

“Finny Drift!” Maddie Copperstone called from behind the counter “How’s my favorite customer holding up?”

Maddie was 40 years young with tastefully curled dark brown hair. Human, little on the short side but fierce. She wore a simple red blouse and jeans, both stained with flour that the apron around her waist did not prevent.

Finnrick bounced over cheerfully, reaching over the counter to give the matron the biggest hug he could muster “I’m good Maddie. Working a case.”

Maddie’s brown eyes searched his face carefully “You always working Finny. You resting as much?”

“Scout’s honor.”

Maddie let out a disbelieving chuckle “You weren’t ever a Scout.”

“Honorary scout after I stopped that bear from eating them.”

“Thought it was a giant raccoon.”

“Yes but people don’t take giant raccoon seriously. He here?”

Maddie clicked her tongue disappointingly but motioned to the booth at the far end of the establishment “Rest.”

Finnrick rose his hand in surrender “After.”

“Never you mean!” Maddie shouted after him.

Amos Frye hadn’t changed much since last he was roaming around Finnrick’s neck of the woods: Handsome with soft gray eyes that reminded Finn of gathering storm clouds. His long black hair was tied in a messy bun held up by a golden pin, a braided strand hung loosely near his face. His beard was much shorter than what Finnrick remembered though he noted the unkempt split ends indicated that Amos hadn’t trimmed it in a few weeks. His iconic dark red sleeveless jerkin and black jean combination would look ridiculous on a lesser man but had allowed the monster hunter to show off his muscular frame. His brown skin was a bit more pale than usual so no doubt Amos had been operating at night lately.

“Finnrick, you cheeky bastard! I am so glad you came!” Amos beamed happily, his various bangles and bracelets clinking together in equally joyous celebration as the two shook hands.

“Amos! Happy to see you.” Finn beamed brightly as he slid into the booth across his old friend “Why though? Family trouble?”

Amos’s joyfully gleam turned dark for a moment.

“No. Have you…?”

Finnrick shook his head quickly “Not a word. Sorry, I hadn’t meant to…”

Amos waved the apology away “No worries cuz. I understand why you’d think that. Coming across the pond isn’t a spur of the moment thing and Os has always been the black sheep of the family. I suppose no news is good news.”

“Right.” Finnrick cleared his throat awkwardly “So what’s the trouble? I doubt you’d call me up for a nip and chat.”

“Rightly so.” Amos confirmed, reaching into the bag at his side and pulling out a folder “Hunting business as usual cuz.”

That made sense: Amos was the latest of a long family whose specialized business was monster hunting. The Fryes had been striking at things that went bump in the night for centuries ever since the first Frye defended the folk of some underground society.

Amos was an average wizard if Finnrick was being generous. That was not a slight against his old friend, it was a matter of fact: Amos spent most of his time honing the physical aspects of his profession which was obvious given the size of his arms. Any spells he knew were purely for defensive or preventive measures so he often communicated with Finnrick for higher quality and complex spellwork.

Finnrick took the folder from Amos and began pouring over its contents.

Most were quickly scrawled notes Amos had noticed about his quarry: Long sliver hairs, canine in nature. Large paw prints found in the areas it had been sighted, far too big to any natural wolf. Wulfvur and werewolf were hastily written and as quickly crossed out. A pattern of hanging out in wild areas, often forests and swamps.

There were pictures too: flashes of sliver, blurs of fangs and muzzles darting in and out of camera frame. It was always a distance away, sprinting deeper into the wildness. It was hard to tell from the photos but Finn guessed it might’ve been 10 feet tall at the very least.

“Why we hunting wolves now?” Finnrick asked curiously.

Amos flagged down the waitress “Contract given to my pa. It was hanging around the marsh lands of the jolly old isles. Someone wanted it gone.”

Something wasn’t clicking with Finn “and you followed it here? From England?”

“Nah cuz” Amos gave a cheeky grin “I tackled it through a portal and found I illegally crossed into America.”

“Ah.” Finnrick nodded in understanding “Fae.”

“Fae?” Amos frowned thoughtfully “I thought that too but I never heard of any snarling wolfie breaking into homes and snatching out wee younglings in them old folktales.”

“Fae are weird.” Finnrick shrugged “Their whole shtick is not making any sense. I had to expel a cat the size of a bus once. Double decker tall.”

Amos whistled in appreciation as he scratched his bread “So fae. Slippy fellow as you can tell. Whatcha recommend?”

“What’s the contract?”

“Banishment. It’s looking like wolfie ended up in the wrong part of town.”

“I think you mean next town over. Fixed a pattern yet?”

“Not yet but I wasn’t looking for one.” Amos admitted “Thought I was tracking some mutant. Fae changes a lot. Magical circles?”

“Easiest way to catch it.” Finnrick agreed “Sliver for sure. Iron would hurt it and based on your files, it hasn’t done anything than thin the local wildlife population. No need to anger mister big bad wolf.”

“Good call. I got some talent to handle a few circles but tracking is not really my speed.”

“I’m on a case but if you swing by the M.R.R.D, maybe they’ll loan you a wizard.”

Amos let out a disappointed sigh “I need to take care this sometime this year Finny. Bloody bureaucracy probably set me back a month at least.”

“There’s always Jaime but she’s pretty busy at work.”

“Jaime huh?” Amos smiled mischievously “I haven’t talked to your sister in a long time.”

“I will curse you.” Finnrick playfully threatened “And not no simple hex either. I’ll make you bald.”

Amos gasped dramatically, clutching at his hair protectively “You wouldn’t dare mate.”

“Shinier than the sun.”

“Okay, okay” Amos conceded “I’m kidding. She’s with Casey anyway. Good couple. Cute couple. He still hopelessly selfless and she still trying to fast track her way to power?”

“Yep.”

“You gonna fix that?”

Finnrick shook his head “It’s their lives. Their choices.”

“Idiots.” Amos chuckled “the lot of them.”

“All you need is love?”

“Spoken true the gospel of my land.”

-----

A few hours later with a brainstorm session completed and a promise to help out the next day, Finnrick left Amos to his work and continued with his own.

It was noon now and as the sun rose high in the sky, Finnrick found himself at the Grimyard.

The Grimyard was the premiere spot for all things magical in Newton Haven: Rows and rows of shops specifically catering to the magic community. The streets were paved with century old cobblestone and the buildings here were various hues of faded brick and mortar. It was easy to get lost in the Grimyard if it was your first time as the Grimyard did not spread out, it stacked downward. Layers upon layers of the Grimyard were actually underground to allow those with issues against the sun to sell their goods and services at all times of the day. Don’t let the dark fool you, anyone with worthy talent or product was here in the Grimyard.

Normally Finnrick would wander around a bit, checking out the various businesses and protective wards around the mile long patch of land but he was on the clock and the sooner he began to figure out what was going on, the sooner he could stop it.

Luckily for him, his destination was right here on the top floor of the marketplace. Specifically furthest back corner.

Knightly Ore was ran by the Knight family. Originally they only sold rare metals and ores which were necessary components for some of the more complicated magicks. At some point the owners expanded into selling more alchemical materials and eventually brewing potions, salves and such for a fee.

Despite decent business, it was the most rundown building in this part of the Grimyard: Broken window shudders with the paint faded down to the original shade when the business first opened decades ago. The humble black door was crooked and creaked whenever it moved

Finnrick knew the owners fairly well but here wasn’t here for them. He was here to see their son.

He pushed past the building, ducking into the alley that led to the lot directly behind the shop.

“Halt!” A voice called out “Who seeks the Brewmaster of the Grimyard?”

“It is I, Finnrick the detective. I got money and I need work done”

The Brewmaster was Theodore Knight, an incredibly talented alchemist who didn’t have the same opportunities Finnrick did: He was pretty tall for his age (14 or 15, Finnrick lost track once or twice) but clearly a teenager given his short lavender hair had a few strands dyed red. His eyes were an unnatural pale blue, paler than the blue of the sky. He wore the usual attire Finn often found him in: A sleeveless dark blue hoodie with a fist sized red gem clasped in front just under his neck and a lighter shade blue t-shirt. He wore black finger-less gloves gripping his brown messenger bag slung around his shoulder. A matching brown pouch hung around the waist of his gray cargo shorts and his brown boots were kept clean despite his place of business was in an alley behind his parents shop.

Theo jumped out from a hidden shadowy corner of the lot “Finn, whatcha got for me now?”

Finnrick reached into his pocket, showing the eager teen the vial that held blacken dust within.

“That’s it?” Theo scoffed, rolling his eyes “I was expecting something…...cooler.”

He took the vial and raised it to the sun. Theo gave it a rough shake and watched it carefully for any properties the strange substance would display.

Theo frowned, clearly unsatisfied by what he saw “You brought me ash? Plain ash? It’s your money but even I think it’s a waste.”

“It’s ash?”

Theo shot the detective a look that screamed how obvious it should’ve been “Yes, ash. Thicker than what I’ve seen but ash all the same.”

Finnrick bit his cheek thoughtfully.

“Look Finn, you know my rates. I dunno what you want me to do but standard fees apply.”

“I’ll paying double.”

The Brewmaster’s eyes narrowed suspiciously “Double for ash? What’s so special about it?”

“Oh nothing." Finnrick pretended to look disinterested “Aside it was taken directly from a crime scene: Necromancy and cast via a half melted spell circle.”

It took Theo a minute to allow the implications of what Finnrick said to sink in. His eyes shifted from suspicion to wild excitement.

“Really?!” Theo clutched the vial like it was his first born child “Necromancy really doesn’t like many alchemy processes. It’s not going to be easy for me.”

“I know right?” Finnrick grinned impishly “It’s almost like I’m going to have to pay double for it.”

“Yeah, you’re gonna have to….” Theo pouted unhappily “Ha freaking ha. Okay smart guy, pay up.”

Finnrick handed over 50 gold. Theo took it eagerly, his eyes lightening up with glee.

Theo paused for a moment, his face turning oddly serious for a teenager.

“It might take me awhile depending on what you want.”

“I want to know what’s in it. Necromancy requires specific ingredients. After that it’ll be easier to track the seller.”

“And the buyer!” Theo blurted out excitedly “Smart.”

Finnrick ruffled his hair playfully “I wish I thought of it. You keep this up and you’re going to run me out of business.”

“I’ll text you when I have something.”

“Pleasure as always Theo.”

“It’s Brewmaster.”

-----

It was 2 in the afternoon when Finnrick made his way back to the Salt-Iron. He stood outside the complex, tossing the remains of his pizza into his waiting maw and crumpling the can of soda he was drinking before tucking into his coat pocket.

“What’s this?” Finnrick asked, utterly confused by the crushed foam cup he pulled from within “Oh right my coffee. I’ve been really at today.”

Finnrick wiped his hands clean and made his way inside the Salt-Iron once more, mulling over the details of the case as he ascended up the stairway.

Blacken ash cast by a spell circle. Both father and son missing with no indication where they went too. Recluses and rarely seen. Necromancy within a threshold.

It was hard to tell how deeply the father and son were involved in spell. Someone who had access to the apartment was behind it no doubt. Spell circles were the most consistent way to cast magic but they took time to build, set and channel energy. You didn’t build a spell circle without knowing exactly what you plan to do with it.

The nature of the magic was also a mystery: Dark magic had various applications and not a single one was good. Finnrick hadn’t much experience with that branch of magic but there was nothing logical about the aftereffects: Ash spread throughout the apartment, clinging to everything like a second skin. There was no signs of an outward blast given that nothing bent in the same direction. Everything in that room decided to twist in whatever wayit felt like. If the spell was supposed to draw in something then chair legs and wall tiles would’ve been pulled directly towards the circle.

“Curiouser and curiouser Alice” Finnrick spoke to no one in particular.

He was on the fifth floor when he noticed something odd.

Finnrick raised an eyebrow as the skies outside the window darken, black and stormy.

A thunderstorm it seems.

Finnrick peered out the window, glancing upwards to see what was going on.

Dark clouds swirled directly overhead. Rain began to lightly drizzle as the skies boomed. Thunder and a moment later lightning trailing across the gathering storm.

A thunderstorm that formed directly above this building.

Without warning.

“Well that’s not ominous.”

Finnrick made the mistake of leaning closer to the window, peering around to see if he could see where exactly the storm was coming from when it happened.

“Watch out below!”

Finnrick noticed three things in that moment: First, was of course, someone shouting to watch out below. Second was the distant sound of claws scratching something wooden, the walls perhaps. Lastly was the thudding of something falling down quickly and towards him.

Finnrick rose his hand, pivoting on his heels in time to see something crash into him.

It wasn’t much of a contest: Both Finnrick and whatever slammed into him broke through the fifth story window and went sprawling into a freefall.

#My story #Mirror's Edge #Original Work #original story

47 notes · View notes

dangerouscommiesubversive · 3 years

Text

all my tubes and wires and careful notes

Fandom: Kamen Rider Ghost

Characters: Tsukimura Akari, Alia

Song: "She Blinded Me With Science," Thomas Dolby (playlist here)

Note: Thank you to @si-siw for letting me borrow your headcanon and infecting me with this ship! I hope you enjoy the story!

The skies of the Ganma World may be clear, but the ground remains in a state, and so Akari and Igor have been working non-stop for nearly five hours when they hear a quiet, polite cough and look up to see Alia standing in the laboratory doorway. When she has their attention, she says, softly, “Are you on the verge of any particular scientific breakthroughs?”

Igor seems poised to launch into an extended explanation of what they’ve been working on, but Akari cuts him off with, “Not really. Decent progress, but nothing big yet.”

“I see. Thank you.” Then, directly to Igor, “In that case, I will need to borrow Miss Akari for a short period. You should use this time to have a meal, you’ve been working for some time.”

Blinking, Akari makes sure all of her notes are in order and then follows Alia out of the room and down the hall. “What did you need me for?”

She can see the curl of Alia’s tiny smile just from the way it changes her profile, before her mouth has even really moved. “I wanted company for lunch. And,” slightly more quietly, “I thought you might like some time out of Igor’s company.”

“I—yeah, I really do, thank you. He’s not a bad research partner, he’s just…” Akari gestures vaguely as she hunts for the right words and then settles on the diplomatic, “high energy. Plus at some point I’m going to have to explain the whole ‘I’m a lesbian’ thing and I’m not looking forward to it.”

“Is he very persistent?”

“No, you know, he really isn’t, but it’s still a conversation that we’ll need to have.” They turn a corner, go through a doorway, and are unexpectedly in a small sitting room, mostly plainly decorated, although one wall holds a painting that Akari blinks at. “Wait, did Cubi paint that?”

The tiny curl of a smile comes back. “He did. It makes the room brighter. Please, sit.”

Lunch is already served, the small table set with tea and sandwiches, and when Akari sees them her stomach growls, and she blushes. “Excuse me, I guess I am hungry.”

“Then sit down, please, and eat.”

Something seems odd as they sit down to eat, but Akari’s so hungry that she doesn’t bother working out what it is at first, in favor of wolfing down sandwiches as she gives Alia a progress report on the soil research. It’s nothing to do with the food, at least. Not the tea either, although the blend is unfamiliar. Certainly it isn’t Alia’s manner, she’s listening and asking thoughtful questions as always.

It’s—

“I love your manicure,” she’s saying, “sometimes I wish I could do fun stuff with my nails, but I do so much with my—I’m sorry.” She lowers her cup, blinking. “I just realized I don’t think I’ve ever seen your hands before.”

Alia looks down at her own hands, wrapped primly around her teacup. “No, I suppose you wouldn’t have.”

“I, if this is rude to ask then stop me, but do you hide them on ohh.” Akari trails off mid-sentence as a pattern of vividly pink circuitry pulses from Alia’s wrists to her manicured fingertips. “Oh, that’s beautiful.”

There’s a moment of silence as Alia stares at her in faint but obvious surprise. “Do you think so?” She lifts one hand from her cup and turns it in the air, as if she’s seeing it for the first time herself. “They’re prosthetic. My real hands were badly injured in one of the early trials of Eyecon technology. These are lifelike, but as you can see, they aren’t a perfect counterfeit.” The circuit pattern pulses down them again as she holds her hand out to Akari, a stylized eye appearing for a moment in the center of her palm. “My father preferred to address the issue as he addressed many others in his later life, by ignoring it, and so I became accustomed to keeping my hands concealed. In my Eyecon form they were whole, of course, but old habits are hard to break.”

Akari stares at Alia’s extended hand in shock and fascination. “I…wow, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bring up a painful subject.”

“It’s all right. It was more than a hundred years ago at this point.”

“Oh, yeah, I suppose it…wait, if your hands are prosthetic then how did you manage the manicure? Are they acrylic?”

“They’re magnetic.” Suddenly smiling, Alia sets down her teacup and removes one of her pointed, painted thumbnails, revealing dull metal beneath, and then puts it back on. “Alain had several sets made for me as a gift shortly after we all returned to inhabiting our original flesh.”

“That was thoughtful of him.”

“He’s always been a thoughtful boy.”

Akari takes a sip of tea, amused by the reminder that of course Alain’s sister still thinks of him as a boy, and the meal continues in companionable silence for a few minutes until she realizes something else. “You were involved in the original Eyecon trials?”

Another one of those tiny curls of smile. “Of course. I was Edith’s research assistant for many years.”

“You were? Why didn’t he ever—of course he never mentioned, why would he give someone else credit. What parts of the project did you work on?”

“Oh, most of them, I’m primarily an engineer but I’ve dabbled in a number of scientific disciplines. And I do some design as well. Would you like to see my workshop?”

“I would love to.”

---

The first thing Akari sees are the notebooks. The heavy bookcase in Alia’s lab does hold some academic texts, but more than half of it is packed with enormous ledgers bound in dark leather, so many that she’s shocked the shelves don’t groan under their weight. Two more lie open on an enormous rolltop desk, their unlined pages filled with with notes and sketches in a tiny, precise hand. On the walls hang several large, heavy parchment sheets, on which are hand-drawn diagrams of machinery, hibernation capsules, an exploded Eyecon, and—

“Is that…Alain’s suit?”

“Yes.” Alia reaches up and trails a fond hand down the edge of the diagram, which is labeled Necrom—for Adel? Alain. “I designed it.”

“Oh.”

“And here is Makoto’s.” The next diagram, Makoto’s name written at the top in ink much less faded than the rest. “And the next one is an early draft of what eventually became Takeru’s, although Edith did some further work with it that he didn’t inform me about. He designed and built the transformation devices, but the suits are my work.”

“Oh, I…” Akari stares up at the diagrammed suits, the close-up sketches of tiny components, more of Alia’s perfect handwriting in notes that she can only partially read. Some are in Japanese, but others are in Latin, and more are in a language that she doesn’t recognize. There are more diagrams, too, rolled up in a wooden bin, each one neatly labeled. Specter 1.0, Necrom (Alternates), Wraith, Manes and Lemures, Eyecon (Prototype), Hands. And the tables—once she can tear her eyes away from the wall she sees that there’s a blank Eyecon disassembled on one table, and on another is an Ulorder with a panel open lying on top of yet another diagram, this one in different handwriting and weighed down at the corners with books. “This is the most beautiful room I’ve ever been in.”

“I am very glad that you think so.”

“I, I just.” A bit of futile gesturing as Akari struggles for words, and then, “Look, can I. Can I buy you dinner?”

Alia…blinks. “Pardon me?”

“I would, um, love to take you to dinner sometime, so we can. Talk. More. Because I really like talking to you. And, and maybe a concert or a movie or something, or there’s a History of Engineering exhibit at a museum near the temple, I know you haven’t gotten to visit the human world much and I could…show you around.”

There’s a long moment where Alia’s just staring at her and Akari considers the very serious possibility that she just messed up big time.

“I,” she starts again, “that is, if you want—”

“I would enjoy that.” Alia takes one of Akari’s hands in both of hers. Akari can feel how cool they are, the odd smoothness of the skin as pink circuits pulse down them, and normally she’d want to know more about that but right now there’s so much other stuff happening even if really it’s only one other thing. “A concert, if you know of one coming up, I think I get enough of engineering in the normal course of my day that maybe the museum might be better saved for a second visit.”

Akari’s ears are ringing. “There’s, um, a performance from a popular violinist coming up next Thursday night? Takeru gave me two tickets, he knows the performer…somehow…”

The curl of smile, small and warm and directly entirely at her. “I enjoy violin music. And we can discuss our work over dinner.”

If she nods any harder she’s going to get dizzy. “That. That sounds wonderful. I’ll, uh, I’ll pick you up at five!”

#tsukimura akari #ganma alia #fanfiction #30 day shuffle challenge

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fragmentedink-archived · 4 years

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Hell to Pay: Part Forty-Six

I, II, III, IV, V, VI, VII, VIII, IX, X, XI, XII, XIII, XIV, XV, XVI, IX, IX, XX, XXI, XXII, XXIII, XIV, XV, XVI, XVII, XVIII, XVIIII, XXX, XXXI, XXXII, XXXIII, XXXIV, XXXV, XXXVI, XXXVII, XXXVIII, XXXIX, XL, XLI, XLII, XLIII, XLIV, XLV

cowritten by @lux-scriptum

A/N: trigger warnings for mentions of miscarriages

The pool had been exactly what Lev expected. Big, sleek, modern. Two diving boards, which Lev hadn't expected, one medium height and one close to the water, down at the deep end. Lev had curled up in one of the chairs and watched Nik sit on the edge of the pool, dangling his feet in the water.

Lev ate without complaint, even though he was back to broth. Being in the sun was nice. He meant to keep watching, but in the end he fell asleep. Someone had carried him to bed, which Lev didn't mind one bit.

When he woke up, though, he was sweating. Even just the little stirring of Lev waking had Nik waking up as well. Lev's head spun slightly, so he closed his eyes again and burrowed close to Nik, mumbling softly.

A hand ran through his hair. "You okay?" Nik asked. "You feel warm."

Lev shook his head. "I feel-" He considered that and then just ended lamely, "Off."

Nik sat up. "D'you want me to go get Ash?"

Lev considered that too. "Probably a good idea," he finally mumbled, not even opening his eyes.

Nik left, and Lev decided he would just wait, shifting uncomfortably. He felt hot. And cold. And just- wrong.

Lev rolled over as best he could when he heard Nik come back, Ash and Cameron both in tow. He stared at Ash as the angel checked him over. Eventually, Ash asked him, "Do you know what day it is?"

Lev blinked. "No one told me," he finally said, rubbing his face.

"Do you know who the current ruler of Liwen is?"

"Bay," Lev said after a pause.

Ash eyed him, and then, "How long did you have to think about that?"

"A little bit," Lev admitted. "I'm used to saying Mikel."

Ash squinted. "Fair enough. How do you feel? Is it hard to breathe?"

"Like crap," Lev muttered. "I just ache, and I'm too warm- and too cold."

"You should have let the heat take its course, in its entirety," Ash said irritably. "Your body is trying to right itself the best it can, whether you want it to or not."

Lev looked down guiltily. "Does that mean another heat?" he asked in a small voice. "And- do I need- do I need sex to make it work? I- we haven't talked about that. Any of us."

Ash wrinkled his nose. "Sexual intimacy is not an automatic requirement for heats. Intimacy comes in all forms, Lev. I'd have thought you'd understand this by now." He stopped; pinched the bridge of his nose. "No. You just need to let this run its course. You just need your mates' contact and closeness and to stop denying yourself what you need."

After thinking about that, Lev nodded, not even questioning Ash's inclusion of Cameron. "Okay," he agreed easily. At some point during this conversation, Nik had crawled in bed with him. Lev rolled over into him without thinking, sighing.

"Maybe next time you'll stop being so boneheaded and listen to me," Ash said.

Lev nodded against Nik's chest. Nik's arms went around Lev without hesitation. He didn't have to look up to know it was Cameron's hand in his hair.

"I'm assuming you're staying until his fever breaks," Cameron asked Ash, still stroking Lev's hair.

Ash must have said something, but Lev was too tired to care.

---

Amara shuffled back and forth on Cameron's porch. She'd already been to Ash's house, and Celeste had sent her here. Just seeing the pregnant healer had made Amara feel even more self conscious about her request.

She fled before Celeste could ask her why she wanted Ash. It wasn't that she didn't trust the witch. It was just that it was bad enough telling Ash she needed help, to tell someone she didn't know very well just was too much for her pride.

Before she could decide, the door swung open. "If you're going to sulk, come do it inside. I'm working on dinner," was all Cameron said.

Amara followed him without dispute. He wasn't wrong; she'd been sulking. Ash was waiting for them, though he narrowed his eyes, which were still glowing an eerie green, the moment he saw her. How he still had the magic to see was beyond her.

"Lev's not able to see anyone right now," Ash warned.

"I'm not here to see Lev. I'm here to see you." She stepped closer, and then went still.

Ash lifted a brow, giving a silent, well?

"I need your help," Amara finally said.

Ash gave her a sharp laugh. "Oh that is rich," he said. "First you and every single damned person I know go ahead and break nature after I beg you to not perform necromancy, and now you want a favor. Well, Amara," Ash said. "Seeing as how I am busy making sure Lev doesn't die again, why don't you go ahead and take a number and get back to me when I'm a little less busy trying to save your cousin. How about that?"

Amara opened and closed her mouth. He had a point. She'd put him through a lot, knew the damage it'd done to his body. The fact that he still had the magic to see, and heal, was amazing. She looked away.

"Ash, I..."

"No," he said, rubbing his temples. "What do you want? You clearly need me for some reason and I'd rather minimize whatever damage I can before you try to do something on your own and make it all the more worse. It is my job."

She lifted her chin stubbornly. "Cin and I have been trying for months to have a child," she admitted. "I- even before we were trying, I couldn't carry to term, but at the time it didn't seem to matter. I didn't want kids then." She pursed her lips. "I can wait, Lev's more important, but- I didn't know who else to ask."

Ash lifted a single, scrutinizing brow and clicked his fingers along the kitchen counter. "And why now?" he asked. "If you are trying to use a child to curb your impulses I swear it will be the last thing you do."

That stung, but- it was valid. She didn't have a response to that. "You don't have to help me," she said defensively, dodging his question. "I just figured you were the best person to ask." He was. He was the best, the safest course of action. And he was her friend, even if they both needled each other to the point of near cruelty.

"I am the best person to ask, but you didn't answer my question."

Amara could have drug it out, but Cameron didn't seem pleased. Not that he ever did, but- "I don't know," she finally admitted, defeated. "But plenty of people have had kids just because they were careless. I'm- I want this. I fucking moved."

Ash lifted a brow. "You moved?"

"I let Cin buy a house," Amara muttered. "We weren't going to raise a kid in that apartment."

"Congratulations on making one good move without help."

Amara grimaced. "If the answer is no, Ash, just say it. I'll figure something else out."

"What, you're allowed to torment me, but I'm not allowed to torment you?" Ash asked dryly.

To Amara's embarrassment, she could hear Cameron give a small snort.

"That's exactly what I'm saying," Amara snapped, before wincing. Putting two assholes with short tempers in a room was ill advised on a good day.

"Well, suck it up," he said. "If you want my help you're going to have to suffer a bit."

"Listen, I'm not asking for free. I'll pay you for your help, Ash."

Ash waved her off. "I don't want your blood money," Ash replied. "I have my own."

"I have my trust fund, if you don't want my money. I've not touched it. Ever."

"If you want my help, you're going to work for it."

"Asshole," Amara bit out, but- she'd expected that. And deserved it, if she was being honest. "What do you want?"

Ash gave a little smile. "Let me think about it."

Amara threw her hands in the air. Even if she did expect it. "Fine." She might have gone on, but- "You said Lev can't see me. Is he alright?"

"He's sick," Ash said with a sigh.

There wasn't even an ounce of accusation here, but Amara felt guilty anyway. "Is he going to be okay?"

"We'll see," Ash said tiredly. "His fever just started. His body is trying to go through another heat without actually going through it."

Amara closed her eyes briefly. "Okay," she said softly.

"Are you prepared for what will happen if this goes south?" Ash asked pointedly.

She stared at him for a very long time. Eventually, she said, "As long as I can say goodbye- I'll figure it out. But he's not going to die." She set her jaw stubbornly. "He'll be fine."

"And I will do anything in my power to make sure he will be. We're in uncharted waters; nothing is certain."

"I know," Amara said, looking away.

"Sit down," Cameron said, setting two plates down. "Eat."

Amara flopped down with a huff. "Thanks," she muttered. After a few bites, she added, "With moving, it's been mostly take out for a few days."

"Do you need leftovers?" Cameron asked.

Amara paused, fork halfway to her mouth. "I-" In for a penny, in for a pound. At this point her pride was already more than smarting. "Yeah. If you have some to spare."

Cameron nodded, and started reaching for tupperware.

"You can eat first, you know," Amara muttered.

Cameron ignored her, so she just turned back to her food, picking at it.

"I'll do everything I can to help Lev," Ash said, startling Amara.

"I know," she said, blinking a few times. "I trust you."

Ash watched her for a long moment, reading her carefully. "You know I didn't tell you no," he said. "I'll help you, I was just being a dick, which, you kind of deserved. I'll just need some time, especially with Lev sick and you being. You. But we'll figure it out."

Amara rubbed the back of her neck. "I know," she repeated quietly. "It's just been a long few months. I trust you." She went back to eating pointedly.

Ash poked at his food as well. "Don't I know it," he muttered.

---

A day and a half later, Cameron was still doing damage control and nothing seemed to be going well either. Nik was on edge and not leaving the bedroom unless Cameron forced him out and even then it hadn't lasted long.

Lev's fever only grew; the sheets and blankets damp with sweat to the point of needing changed every few hours as well. Cameron was in the process of bringing Lev broth when he heard Lev's voice from the bedroom.

Considering he knew Nik was currently sulking out by the pool, and Ash was in the kitchen, it suggested that Lev was talking to himself- or hallucinating, more likely. He turned back to get Ash and then pushed the door open.

Lev was still on his side, looking up at nothing through his damp locks. "I missed you," he mumbled. "Where have you been?"

Ash slid Cameron a concerned look before moving over to Lev's side. He pressed his hands to Lev's face and looked him over. "He's burning up," he muttered, more to himself than anything.

Cameron put the food on the desk and watched at the footboard in silence.

"I'm sorry you're alone," Lev said.

Cameron wasn't sure if he wanted the answer to whomever it was that Lev thought he was talking to. Perhaps it was high fever that manifested someone from Lev's past, or someone he just thought he knew. Delusions left no good answers.

"I always worry, Darius," Lev said, with hints of sadness to his soft voice.

Cameron was startled enough that he blinked. "Excuse me?" he asked, without thinking.

Ash looked at him, a little surprised. "You know who he's talking to?"

Cameron opened and closed his mouth, and then promptly walked out of the room. The iciness under his skin was momentarily forgotten when he nearly ran into Nik, who stopped short and frowned at him. "You look like you've seen a ghost. You okay?"

"Go see Lev," he bit out. "He's hallucinating."

Cameron didn't give Nik a chance to respond to him before shouldering past him and going to lock himself in his office. He stopped short at the doors and looked at the nearest sentry. "I am only to be disturbed for an emergency or if it's Ash about Lev or Nik's conditions. Anything or anyone else, toss them on their asses. If you do not comply, your job will be terminated effective immediately."

The sentry nodded stiffly and it was answer enough before Cameron disappeared inside his office. He had the tumblers locked in place when he crumpled into a corner of the couch as a fox.

---

Nik bolted towards the bedroom the moment Cameron was out of his sight. Something was bothering the alpha but he wasn't currently sick with a high enough fever to be hallucinating, which made Lev priority.

Ash looked up when Nik appeared in the doorway, already ready to give orders. "I need to regulate his temperature."

"What can I do?"

Ash hesitated only slightly. "I want to get him in a bath. Are you able to be in the tub with him? I know-"

Despite the stiffness in his spine, Nik cut him off. "It'll be fine," he said, already unbuttoning his pants. "I'll do whatever you need me to do."

Ash looked to Lev, and carefully tugged on his hair. "We're putting you in the bath, okay? Need to break your fever and lower your body temperature."

Lev looked through Ash, maybe to the hallucination Cameron was talking about? He gave a small "Okay."

Ash hooked Lev's arm around his neck and hoisted him up, following Nik into the large bathroom. Nik had started the water while Ash watched Nik hesitate. He looked up. "Do I need to take everything off, too?"

Ash looked him in the eye. "Take what you want off. You don't need to get undressed if you don't want to. It's your body."

"But-"

"But nothing," Ash said, sharply. "Decide now. We need to get Lev's temp down."

He felt the blood drain from his face, but he shut up and dressed down minus the shirt. He got into the tub, only seconds before Ash put Lev in his arms. It didn't take much of Lev's listless touching for Nik to get the hint. His arms carefully wrapped around them once Nik got settled enough Lev wasn't completely on top of him. He pressed a kiss to Lev's shoulder. "Don't worry we're gonna make everything okay."

He wasn't sure who, exactly, he was trying to comfort, but Lev looked up at him all the same. "Nik?"

Nik tried for a smile, even if he knew it was falling horribly flat. "Hey Princess. Talking to anyone interesting?"

"Just Darius."

"Oh?" Nik asked, having zero clue who the hell Darius was. "And is Darius more interesting than me?"

"No," Lev said, looking down. "But I left him alone, like I left you alone. And that's not fair."

"...oh."

What the fuck was he supposed to say to that.

"I'm sorry," Nik said, tiredly.

Wordlessly, Ash went about pouring cool water on the both of them. Nik was far less happy about it, though he didn't whine.

"I'm sorry too," Lev whispered. "I shouldn't have left."

He didn't know which 'left' Lev meant, and he was too afraid of asking.

----

Cin hated to leave Amara alone, but Ash had asked him to come, and after what Amara had gone to talk to him about, he wasn't gonna say no. He realized how much it'd taken for Amara to come, and he was proud of her. As prickly and bitchy as she was, she was making progress in just being a better person

Probably, anyway.

He didn't bother knocking on the door, and instead went about tracking Ash down. The angel had been around often enough lately he could remember his scent.

The office he found was quite fancy. Ash looked over at Cin, eyes glowing green with magic. Cin had always found it a bit eerie, but he just waved curiously at Ash.

"You wanted to talk to me?"

Ash gestured to the chair beside him and said, "Have a seat."

Cin flopped down gracelessly. "Seated."

Ash leaned back and flung an arm across the back of the leather chair with irritable elegance. After thrumming his long fingers along the desk, Ash finally said, "I am assuming you know that Amara has come to see me, and I am assuming you're aware she wants a kid?"

Cin nodded. "She's wanted it for a while," he admitted easily. "Before the Lev fiasco. But we were talking about it. It's how I managed to talk her out of living in that awful apartment. Though I think, to an extent, that it's empty nest omega instincts, just a little. I just don't mind. I'm thousands of years old. No reason not to settle down."

Ash seemed to consider that. "You realize," he said, "if I agree to help her, there will be caveats. I will help if I suspect there be toxicity or instability in your home. No kid deserves that. " he paused. "No offense meant. I guess."

"That's fair," Cin replied. "I wouldn't agree to have a child if I didn't think we could handle it. And as much as Amara hates to accept help, I'm sure my brother, her sister, and Levant will all be lending a hand at some point or another." He considered Ash. "Is that what you wanted to tell me? That you want us to be sure we're healthy enough and ready to have a child before you'll agree?"

"Something like that," Ash said, wryly. He watched him silently, before, "Is there anything that I need to know? Like maybe why she would come to me now?"

"Oh, she miscarried last week," Cin explained. "And that's not the first time, both intentional pregnancies and not." He looked down. "She doesn't want your help out of pity. But I didn't realize she hadn't told you yet."

"I am aware Amara doesn't do pity," Ash said, face drawn. "But this might complicate things a bit." Ash pulled out a notebook and scribbled something on a piece of paper, handwriting barely legible. "I'll have to ask her some more questions." He looked up at Cin. "Is there anything else I need to know?"

"Not that I know of," Cin said after a pause. "I don't know if the miscarriages are a- a genetic thing, or an old injury. She's plenty scarred, everywhere, but- again, I don't know, and I don't think she does either." He paused again. "I know she's asking now, but I don't think she's ready right away. And I don't think she expects your help right away. She'd rather Lev live if you can ensure that."

"I can't ensure anything," Ash said, sounding pained. "I can only offer my help and my best. I'll do everything I can for Lev and i'll help Amara. I don't plan on doing anything right away. Especially if she just miscarried and has a tumultuous history of pregnancies already. Her entire lifestyle is going to have to change. I cannot in good conscious help if she keeps going the way she is."

Cin gave a little proud smile. "She's working on it. The last job she took was for Destris. Letting me buy her a house was a big step, I think." He leaned back. "But we're working on the rest."

Ash's little smile came back. "Then I guess she needs a job, then doesn't she." He leaned back. "I mean, I'm joking. Mostly. Though I am glad she's not, you know. Killing people for a living. Not exactly conducive for a healthy home life. But what would I know. My parents were executed and I was raised by a glorified mass murderer. At least she has that going for her, I guess."

Cin watched him for a long moment. "We'll do our best. She doesn't want her kids to have the same childhood she did. Her parents died doing the same job she has. Tu killed my parents, but then again- that's complicated in it's own right." Perhaps that was a bit too blunt, but... "I don't want us to be like either of our parents. And she doesn't either. We'll be better."

Ash stared Cin down. "I'll hold you to that."

Cin shrugged. "Okay," he replied easily.

---

They had managed to bring Lev's fever down enough he wasn't hallucinating, though that small success did little for the anxiety clawing at Nik's insides. Still they also managed to get Cameron out of his study, at the very least so he could make Lev chicken soup. If only so he didn't kill Nik for cooking in his precious kitchen.

Ash ended up pulling Nik to the side once Cameron came in with food. "You haven't been eating," he accused.

"Excuse me," Nik said. "How would you even know that. You can't even see."

Ash's face hardened to the point Nik almost winced. Right. That was probably unwise to say to one of the two people with an anal need to mother him. Ash grabbed his arm and yanked him unnecessarily close. "You are pregnant," he hissed. "You need to fucking eat."

Nik flashed a quick glimpse at Cameron across the room, but his focus seemed to be fixed on feeding Lev. He let out a sharp sigh and glared at Ash, and shoved him. Hard. "You are not my damn mother, Ash. Keep your opinions to yourself."

He wasn't sure if he were surprised or not by Ash grabbing his ear with lightning quick reflexes and dragging him the rest of the way out of the room. He pushed Nik to the wall, but he did it with such calculated carefulness that it only made Nik more annoyed. "It is not a damn opinion, and considering you are pregnant and Lev is sick and Cameron is being Cameron but squared, I have half the mind to force you to come home witn me where I can keep you under my roof with me twenty-four seven so I can make sure you-"

"Okay!" Nik snapped. "Stars, you micromanaging dickhead. I get it. I've been a little busy. I didn't just go 'hey, I'm growing this weird thing so I'm just going to starve it out. In case you hadn't noticed, my boyfriend was hallucinating and my other boyfriend is being a nutcase, but hey, I'm the problem, right?"

Ash's finger dug into his chest. "Currently? Yes. Because I happen to care about you the most, but you are also the biggest suicidal, neurotic mess I have the misfortune of knowing during a good day. I just want to make sure you're taken care of because I will not have a repeat of breaking your ribs because you decided to go off the deep end again." Ash's voice dropped. "You scared the living hell out of me. Don't make me find you like that again."

Tears of anger and regret and shame burned in Nik's eyes. He rubbed them away with the palm of his hands. "It wasn't like I did it on purpose," Nik said, trying to keep his voice from breaking. "And I didn't not eat on purpose. I've been a little busy."

"Just. Be careful," Ash said, stepping back. "I'll help if you want. But you need to take care of yourself."

"Yeah, okay," Nik sniffled, under his breath. "Fine. Are we done now?"

"Yes." Ash sighed.

And on that fantastic note, Nik slipped past him and went to crawl into bed up behind Lev. He pressed a kiss to Lev's heated shoulder and snuggled up against him and closed his eyes. He could feel Lev reaching out for Cameron. "I can't find Darius," Lev was saying. "Will you find him for me?" Cameron's hesitancy was palpable. "Please," Lev said. "I can't find him."

Cameron sighed. "I will see what I can do."

---

Cameron found his way back to the witch's house in the woods when Lev and Nik went down for their nap. It wasn't long after Cameron giving Lev his word that the fever broke and some kind of clarity coming back to Lev's eyes. He didn't think too much about that.

He didn't bother knocking on the witch's front door and walked right in, heading back to where he figured Cyrus would be. The bedroom.

The demon appeared from the kitchen. "What are you doing here? He's sleeping." When Cameron kept walking, he added, "The spell he did for you wiped him out."

Cameron, once again, ignoring the demon's commentary, kept walking back to the bedroom. Cyrus managed to be roused by the bedroom door opening. He was clearly trying to be polite when he said, "Can I help you?"

"Lev asked for someone," Cameron said, shoving his hands into his pockets. "How much would it be to perform that spell one last time?"

Tagging: @incandescent-creativity @idreamonpaper @lil-mis-red @ @solangelo3088 @halstudies @littleyellowdinosaur @caelisis

#writeblr #writers on tumblr #wip boost #hell to pay #ch: cameron #ch: nik #ch: ash

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missvictoriam · 7 years

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‘I want to go to a school that is going to let me become a champion because I am the best among the best, not a school that is going to let me become a champion because I am the best among the worst.’

Victoria was practically bouncing around her cabin on the Durmstrang ship. Her mind was running practically two hundred kilometres per hour as she paced back and forth. This was what she had been waiting for all her life, the big chance she finally got to shine. Not just among the Durmstrang students, but among eight wizarding schools.

All her life, she was living in competitions - and she was doing whatever it takes to be the winner of everything. It wasn’t her parents, they did not do anything to pressure her. It was only Victoria who was constantly pushing herself to be the best. Being the runner-ups only mean one thing - you’re not good enough to be a champion. Doing magic, dancing, playing the piano… it was either being the best, or not doing anything at all. And she usually picked the first option.

When she was eleven, her parents originally wanted to send her off to Beauxbatons. She had everything it took to fit in: a pretty face and a smart brain. She could have been the best student there, but she refused. She said to her parents, looking them straight in the eye, ‘I want to go to a school that is going to let me become a champion because I am the best among the best, not a school that is going to let me become a champion because I am the best among the worst.’

So they shrugged and sent her to Durmstrang - and she loved it there. She had heard all about its dark reputation, but it was so much more than what the people told you. The people there helped her become stronger and smarter, they challenged and motivated her. They could be intimidating, they could be ambitious, but they were not dark. They were open-minded, and that might be why they had a few wizards that had gone over to the dark side; but that was also the reason why many other great wizards were born here in Durmstrang! And anyway, which school can say that they had not produced at least one dark wizard? Clearly the problem was the wizards themselves, not the schools.

Victoria’s mind went back to what her parents told her when she departed for Hogwarts: that whether joining the competition was her choice to make, and whatever she chose, they would always support her and hoped that she would keep herself safe because holding a funeral would be way too expensive. At that time, she just rolled her eyes, but she knew they truly cared about her. And she was eternally thankful that they had been nothing but supportive of her all her life.

It took some time, but she realized that winning the tournament was not about the riches, nor the glory, but it was about her self-affirmation. She wanted to prove to herself that she was good enough to stand out among thirty-two students. She also wanted a chance to learn more from other people - so that she could beat them again in the future.

She was so immersed in her thoughts that it took her a few moments to notice someone was talking her. Turning towards the voice, she realised that it was the Headmistress. ‘Victoria, I trust that you have been holding up well?’

‘Yes, certainly, Headmistress Lenox,’ she replied hurriedly. She didn’t want to appear too excited; she’s got to maintain some dignity, after all.

‘Good. And is everything under control? Our grand entrance? I have heard that you students have prepared quite a performance, one that needs my… ah, fog machine, you say,’ the headmistress said with a smile.

‘Yes, Headmistress, everything is going according to plan. Students all know their position and what they have to do.’ They’d better be; Victoria spent six months teaching everyone their spells. She and the rest of Charms club had used half of the year to put together an entrance that no one would forget. They were part of the few students who knew the Triwizard Tournament was happening before everyone else. She handpicked a few to do the most important spell: Horacy (or Horuś, as he had reminded her countless times) Antończyk for his talent in necromancy and transfiguration, Aino Koskinen for her talent in transfiguration, Adrian Nykvist for his talent in charms and of course, herself. Their plan was, as Horuś had called it, ‘extra’; but Victoria preferred the word ‘extraordinary’.

‘I do hope our performance will go well. At least better than Beauxbatons, certainly,’ the Headmistress mused. ‘Now, go on deck, I have a few announcements to make.’

Students crowded up to the deck after hearing the Headmistress’s orders. Turns out it was just repeating everything about not dishonouring the school, behaving, and telling some student off because he did not follow the dress code. Victoria did not pay much attention to the speech; she did pick up a few important points, such as they should not make enemies of everyone; instead, they should try and find allies. And that no matter how they did, they should at least beat Beauxbatons. Victoria couldn’t hold back a smirk at that.

In a blink of an eye, they had already arrived at Hogwarts. She would admit that the castle looked magnificent; not as much as Durmstrang’s, of course. They entered, and willing students placed their names into the glowing Goblet of Fire - including herself, Horuś, Aino, and Adrian. Trying to contain her excitement, she walked over with as much elegance as she could muster, dropped her piece of parchment into the Goblet of Fire, and gave a small smile as she went back into the crowd.

‘Ready, Durmstrang?’ Headmistress Lenox’s voice rang out. Students shouted out words of affirmation, and with a smile, the Headmistress turned on her personal fog machine, and the doors to the Great Hall swung open.

At that moment, time froze for just a few seconds. Spells ran through Victoria’s mind in a blur, and she raised her wand. Time resumed its pace, and she heard her own voice cry out the spell. Instantly, the floor of the Great Hall rippled and suddenly, it was no longer the floor, but the surface of a lake. She had no idea if anyone let out gasps of surprise; it was taking every ounce of her concentration to not let water rush up to the surface.

She could hear Aino and the students shouted out their spells, and the next moment, glittery gold stars fell from the ceiling. Adrian added his flair - stars became constellations, constellations become alive, galaxies crashed together, and at that moment, it felt like they had the universe in their palms.

At last, the big finale - she watched as Horuś pressed his hands to the ground, and the imagination of the students came alive. Creatures that couldn’t have existed jumped up from the ground, including a great big snake - Jörmungandr, the serpent so big it surrounded the earth, and a giant firebird. Victoria smiled as she saw the snake finally dove under the water, and she broke off the spell that transformed the floor. In the stunned silence, the Durmstrang students bowed.

‘I now invite you all to eat, drink, and make yourselves at home! Welcome to Hogwarts!’ The headmistress of Hogwarts finished her speech, and students instantly attacked the food on the table after some Hogwarts students performed a song. Not very impressive in her opinion, but she appreciated the effort. Victoria didn’t thought that the headmistress's words were particularly worth recounting; she wasn’t going to wander around and get herself injured, anyway.

Durmstrang was seated with the Slytherin house, a bunch of people wearing green robes. She thought that dividing them into houses was only ever going to increase the feud between certain houses, and the school could never be truly united, but she kept her thoughts to herself. The food was delicious, and she watched with annoyance as students around her ate with little manners and dignity. She did not miss a chance to eavesdrop on the chatter of different people to gain information as she ate. She had already planned to sleep in the Slytherin dormitory; after all, they seemed like her kind of people - ambitious and would not give a crap about nonsense, and it would be the perfect opportunity to gain insider information. Even if the talk did not benefit her in the tournament, it would probably still make good gossip.

She suddenly realised that if she was chosen, this would be the last meal she could eat without thinking about whether she was going to die. What’s the point if you don’t live on the edge? she told herself, trying to bring back her enthusiasm for the tournament. But right here, this was the first time she was nervous about the selection.

Finally, when everyone had finished their meal, the dishes disappeared and Headmistress Mercier rose to her feet. With a flick of her wand, the Goblet of Fire entered, and she began to read the names of the chosen champions. Victoria could feel her whole body trembling with the anticipation. After what felt like a thousand years, it was Durmstrang’s turn.

Firstly, a crumpled piece of parchment: ‘Adrian Nykvist!’ She watched as he jumped out of his seat and practically ran up.

Next, a messily folded piece of paper: ‘Aino Koskinen!’ The girl walked out calmly, and Victoria sat on her hands to keep them from shaking.

Then, a neatly folded parchment: ‘Victoria Meyer!’ She couldn’t processed it at first, but she stood up when her brain finally knew what was happening. Keeping her cool, she flipped her blonde hair to her back and walked out. It took every piece of her pride to not laugh out loud. Containing her excitement in a satisfied smile, she followed the other champions. She couldn’t believe this was actually happening, but at the same time, this was exactly what she wanted to happen.

Looking back, she caught the last champion being announced: ‘Horacy Antończyk!’ He made his way to them with a cocky smile. Typical.

Turning, she walked into the side chambers where further instructions would be given. She felt like she was not walking, but floating on air. If this was the Durmstrang team, then the other schools wouldn’t even stand a chance. They were going to crush the Triwizard Tournament.

#twtoc #OMG I SPENT WAY TOO LONG ON THAT GRAPHIC #practice challenge

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pitz182 · 6 years

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Florida Versus Evidence: How I Lost My Children Because of Past Drug Use

I am living in two worlds. One is a world populated by doctors and advocates, run on the tenets of research and science and reason. It is a world in which addiction is treated with medicine, and where there's no question that people who use drugs deserve to be safe and free of avoidable infections and diseases. In this world, nobody hesitates to administer naloxone if the occasion calls for it. In this world, people are not afraid to touch the bodies of drug users, and we all understand that if you can self-administer naloxone, you don't need naloxone. I experience this world through phone lines, e-mails, and social media. I write about this world; this world is my template for how all worlds should be.Addiction as Moral FailureThen there is the world where my life takes place. In this world, having an addiction is a moral failure. Drug use is met with punishment. Judges replace doctors and toxicologists, making medical decisions and determining the results of drug tests with reckless abandon. In this world, abstinence is the only route to health. In this world, a hit of pot is just as chaotic as compulsive, daily injections of heroin. In this world, there is no sterile equipment; in this world, everyone is sick. Here, you can be sentenced to death just for being the friend of someone who overdoses. This is the world I touch with my fingers and teeth—the world where I walk, and eat, and breathe. This is the world where I live.I became involved with the Florida Department of Children and Families in April 2018. I was never charged with a crime or afforded the presumption of innocence, evidentiary standards, or jury decision that would have accompanied a criminal charge. Instead, one judge—virtually accountable to no one and equipped with full immunity—deemed my husband and me guilty of some nebulous pre-crime like the woeful characters in Philip K. Dick's short-story-turned-film "Minority Report." Apparently, I am guilty of the possibility of neglecting or otherwise harming my children in the future because I have a diagnosed substance use disorder.Since that decision, I have been forced to obey the mandates set forth by my county's child welfare authorities in an attempt to win back custody of my girls. So far, not a single mandate has been evidence-based.I love writing about harm reduction, evidence-based addiction care, and trauma-informed mental health practices. I enjoy staying informed about best practices in addiction medicine. I am proud that I get to help demystify and destigmatize addiction and mental illness, and I am honored to have the opportunity to speak with the researchers who have dedicated themselves to driving us out of the dark ages of addiction medicine. But now that I am living in those dark ages myself, I can't shake a sense of bitterness: I write about a better world, but it's one that I only get to view from afar.Substance Use Disorder Treatment and GeographyIn 2017, I wrote an article for OZY about the general disparities between addiction care in red states and blue states. I was living in Seattle, Washington, at the time but I'd had some experience trying to get help for addiction in Florida—so I knew how backward providers could be. For example, when I gave birth to my daughter in Palm Beach while on prescribed methadone, hospital staff refused to let me breastfeed her. She was treated for Neonatal Abstinence Syndrome (NAS) and pediatric staff claimed that enough methadone would be passed through my breast milk to potentially harm her. In reality, numerous studies have found the exact opposite to be true and breastfeeding is now recognized as one of the most effective balms for NAS, due to the maternal contact and general health benefits of breast milk. The amount of methadone passed through breast milk is too negligible to help or harm.As I wrote in the OZY article, Democratic-ruled states are more likely to offer Medicaid coverage for methadone and buprenorphine, while Republican states are less likely to even offer the medications themselves, much less cover them. People in red states also face harsher penalties for drug crimes and are less likely to be allowed to continue a methadone or buprenorphine prescription while incarcerated. (Though this is a nationwide issue, blue states are leading the reform.) But writing the story from Seattle meant writing from a place of comfort: I was living among the reformers—walking within the pages of history that will be attributed to the good guys. I was able to take my buprenorphine every day because my state insurance covered it. I was surrounded by intelligent, informed people with whom I could speak honestly about my decision to engage in non-abstinence-based recovery. When I wrote about the issues in the system, I wrote from a place of distance. Of privilege.I did not appreciate how lucky I was until I dove headlong into the true trenches of the Drug War. In Recovery and Losing CustodyIn Broward County, Florida, my children were removed from me because of unsubstantiated accusations of drug use. When my first slew of drug tests returned negative, the opposition began slinging whatever they could think of in my direction, hoping something would stick. Most of it revolved around the fact that I was poor—but ignorance about mental illness and addiction reared its ugly face yet again. The opposition cited my prior child welfare investigation in Florida—the one that was triggered by my daughter's NAS. It was a routine investigation that had been deemed unsubstantiated. These types of investigations are typically labeled "harmless." I had been in compliance with my methadone program, and my daughter's doctors had no concerns—but five years later, the opposition used that prior methadone prescription as a basis for deeming me an unreliable witness: the dirty, lying junkie. When I was asked under oath whether I had spoken with one of my husband's siblings about possibly purchasing marijuana, I admitted that I had. Clinicians in addiction treatment recognize that drug cravings are normal and applaud us when we admit that we think about buying drugs but then decide against it. But the guardian ad litem attorney—the counsel whose job it is to protect my daughters' interests—argued that by considering using marijuana, I placed my sobriety and therefore my children at risk. It didn’t matter that I canceled the purchase and honestly acknowledged that I’d thought about it. The judge called my process of considering marijuana but then deciding against it "drug-seeking behavior." She gave custody of my daughters to my husband's parents.The terribly irony underscoring the entire proceeding is that if I were still living in a state that embraced the most current research on addiction, I would never even have been in a courtroom. The accusation against me stated that I left my daughters in the care of their grandparents for three days while I used drugs outside of the home. According to the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services, "drug tests do not provide sufficient information for substantiating allegations of child abuse or neglect or for making decisions about the disposition of a case." Drug use on its own, away from any children, is not child abuse. A parent who leaves their child with a family member to go to a bar for an evening is generally considered to be engaging in responsible substance use.The federal government recognizes that child abuse cannot reasonably be defined as placing a child with a trusted caregiver, leaving the home for a couple days, and returning sober. It doesn't much matter what went on during those two days. True or false—the accusation against me never described child abuse. A more enlightened jurisdiction would have recognized that. The separation trauma that my children and I have endured over the past nine months is completely attributable to our location.I used to write about addiction and drug policy from a place of privilege. Now I am writing from the deep trenches. I feel as though I am performing a kind of literary necromancy whenever I publish—except that instead of communing with the dead or demonic, I am writing from within that unillumined place, hoping that, by disseminating research, facts, and the words of distant experts, I can summon reason back into my life.

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emlydunstan · 6 years

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Florida Versus Evidence: How I Lost My Children Because of Past Drug Use

from RSSMix.com Mix ID 8241841 https://www.thefix.com/florida-versus-evidence-how-i-lost-my-children-because-past-drug-use

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alexdmorgan30 · 6 years

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Florida Versus Evidence: How I Lost My Children Because of Past Drug Use

from RSSMix.com Mix ID 8241841 https://ift.tt/2TPskZS

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readbookywooks · 8 years

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He faltered under the gimlet gaze. 'Oh,' he said. 'Oh. Of course. Sorry.' 'Yesh,' said Cohen, and sighed. Thatsh right, boy. I'm a lifetime in my own legend.' 'Gosh,' said Rincewind. 'How old are you, exactly?' 'Eighty-sheven.' 'But you were the greatest!' said Bethan. 'Bards still sing songs about you.' Cohen shrugged, and gave a little yelp of pain. 'I never get any royaltiesh,' he said. He looked moodily at the snow. That'sh the shaga of my life. Eighty yearsh in the bushiness and what have I got to show for it? Backache, pilesh, bad digeshtion and a hundred different recipesh for shoop. Shoop! I hate shoop!' Bethan's forehead wrinkled. 'Shoop?' 'Soup,' explained Rincewind. Yeah, shoop,' said Cohen, miserably. 'It'sh my teeths, you shee. No-one takes you sheriously when you've got no teeths, they shay “Shit down by the fire, grandad, and have shome shoo—” Cohen looked sharply at Rincewind. That'sh a nashty cough you have there, boy.' Rincewind looked away, unable to look Bethan in the face. Then his heart sank. Twoflower was still leaning against the tree, peacefully unconscious, and looking as reproachful as was possible in the circumstances. Cohen appeared to remember him, too. He got unsteadily to his feet and shuffled over to the tourist. He humbed both eyes open, examined the graze, felt the pulse. 'He'sh gone,' he said. 'Dead?' said Rincewind, In the debating chamber of his mind a dozen emotions got to their feet and started shouting. Relief was in full spate when Shock cut in on a point of order and then Bewilderment, Terror and Loss started a fight which was ended only when Shame slunk in from next door to see what all the row was about. 'No,' said Cohen thoughtfully, 'not exshactly. Just – gone.' 'Gone where?' 'I don't know,' said Cohen, 'but I think I know shomeone who might have a map.' Far out on the snowfield half a dozen pinpoints of red light glowed in the shadows. 'He's not far away,' said the leading wizard, peering into a small crystal sphere. There was general mutter from the ranks behind him which roughly meant that however far away Rincewind was he couldn't be further than a nice hot bath, a good meal and a warm bed. Then the wizard who was tramping along in the rear stopped and said, 'Listen!' They listened. There were the subtle sounds of winter beginning to close its grip on the land, the creak of rocks, the muted scuffling of small creatures in their tunnels under the blanket of snow. In a distant forest a wolf howled, felt embarrassed when no-one joined in, and stopped. There was the silver sleeting sound of moonlight. There was also the wheezing noise of half a dozen wizards trying to breathe quietly. 'I can't hear a thing—' one began. 'Ssshh!' 'All right, all right—' Then they all heard it; a tiny distant crunching, like omething moving very quickly over the snow crust. 'Wolves?' said a wizard. They all thought about hundreds of lean, hungry bodies leaping through the night. 'N-no,' said the leader. 'It's too regular. Perhaps it's a messenger?' It was louder now, a crisp rhythm like someone eating celery very fast. 'I'll send up a flare,' said the leader. He picked up a handful of snow, rolled it into a ball, threw it up into the air and ignited it with a stream of octarine fire from his fingertips. There was a brief, fierce blue glare. There was silence. Then another wizard said, 'You daft bugger, I can't see a thing now.' That was the last thing they heard before something fast, hard and noisy cannoned into them out of the darkness and vanished into the night. When they dug one another out of the snow all they could find was a tight pressed trail of little footprints. Hundreds of little footprints, all very close together and heading across the snow as straight as a searchlight. 'A necromancer!' said Rincewind. The old woman across the fire shrugged and pulled a pack of greasy cards from some unseen pocket. Despite the deep frost outside, the atmosphere inside the yurt was like a blacksmith's armpit and the wizard was already sweating heavily. Horse dung made a good fuel, but the Horse People had a lot to learn about air conditioning, starting with what it meant. Bethan leaned sideways. 'What's neck romance?' she whispered. 'Necromancy. Talking to the dead,' he explained. 'Oh,' she said, vaguely disappointed. They had dined on horse meat, horse cheese, horse black pudding, horse d'oeuvres and a thin beer that Rincewind didn't want to speculate about. Cohen (who'd ad horse soup) explained that the Horse Tribes of the Hubland steppes were born in the saddle, which Rincewind considered was a gynaecological impossibility, and they were particularly adept at natural magic, since life on the open steppe makes you realise how neatly the sky fits the land all around the edges and this naturally inspires the mind to deep thoughts like 'Why?', 'When?' and 'Why don't we try beef for a change?' The chieftain's grandmother nodded at Rincewind and spread the cards in front of her. Rincewind, as it has already been noted, was the worst wizard on the Disc: no other spells would stay in his mind once the Spell had lodged in there, in much the same way that fish don't hang around in a pike pool. But he still had his pride, and wizards don't like to see women perform even simple magic. Unseen University had never admitted women, muttering something about problems with the plumbing, but the real reason was an unspoken dread that if women were allowed to mess around with magic they would probably be embarrassingly good at it . . . 'Anyway, I don't believe in Caroc cards,' he muttered, 'All that stuff about it being the distilled wisdom of the universe is a load of rubbish.' The first card, smoke-yellowed and age-crinkled, was . . . It should have been The Star. But instead of the familiar round disc with crude little rays, it had become a tiny red dot. The old woman muttered and scratched at the card with a fingernail, then looked sharply at Rincewind. 'Nothing to do with me,' he said. She turned up the Importance of Washing the Hands, the Eight of Octograms, the Dome of the Sky, the Pool of Night, the Four of Elephants, the Ace of Turtles, and – Rincewind had been expecting it – Death. And something was wrong with Death, too. It should have been a fairly realistic drawing of Death on his white horse, and indeed He was still there. But the sky was red lit, and coming over a distant hill was a tiny figure. barely visible by the light of the horsefat lamps. Rincewind didn't have to identify it, because behind it was a box on hundreds of little legs. The Luggage would follow its owner anywhere. Rincewind looked across the tent to Twoflower, a pale shape on a pile of horsehides. 'He's really dead?' he said. Cohen translated for the old woman, who shook her head. She reached down to a small wooden chest beside her and rummaged around in a collection of bags and bottles until she found a tiny green bottle which she tipped into Rincewind's beer. He looked at it suspiciously. 'She shays it's sort of medicine,' said Cohen. 'I should drink it if I were you, theshe people get a bit upshet if you don't accshept hoshpitality.' 'It's not going to blow my head off?' said Rincewind. 'She shays it's esshential you drink it.' 'Well, if you're sure it's okay. It can't make the beer taste any worse.' He took a swig, aware of all eyes on him. 'Um,' he said. 'Actually, it's not at all ba—' Something picked him up and threw him into the air. Except that in another .sense he was still sitting by the fire – he could see himself there, a dwindling figure in the circle of firelight that was rapidly getting smaller. The toy figures around it were looking intently at his body. Except for the old woman. She was looking right up at , him, and grinning. The Circle Sea's senior wizards were not grinning at all. They were becoming aware that they were confronted with something entirely new and fearsome: a young man on the make. Actually none of them were quite sure how old Trymion really was, but his sparse hair was still black and his skin had a waxy look to it that could be taken, in a poor light, to be the bloom of youth. The six surviving heads of the Eight Orders sat at the long, shiny and new table in what had been Galder Weatherwax's study and each one wondered precisely what it was about Trymon that made them want to kick him. It wasn't that he was ambitious and cruel. Cruel men were stupid; they all knew how to use cruel men, and they certainly knew how to bend other men's ambitions. You didn't stay an Eighth Level magus for long unless you were adept at a kind of mental judo. It wasn't that he was bloodthirsty, power-hungry or especially wicked. These things were not necessarily drawbacks in a wizard. The wizards were, on the whole, no more wicked than, say, the committee of the average Rotary Club, and each had risen to pre-eminence in his chosen profession not so much by skill at magic but by never neglecting to capitalise on the weaknesses of opponents. It wasn't that he was particularly wise. Every wizard considered himself a fairly hot property, wisewise; it went with the job. It wasn't even that he had charisma. They all knew charisma when they encountered it, and Trymon had all the charisma of a duck egg. That was it, in fact . . . He wasn't good or evil or cruel or extreme in any way but one, which was that he had elevated greyness to the status of a fine art and cultivated a mind that was as bleak and pitiless and logical as the slopes of Hell. And what was so strange was that each of the wizards, who had in the course of their work encountered many a fire-spitting, bat-winged, tiger-taloned entity in the privacy of a magical octogram, had never before had quite the same uncomfortable feeling as they had when, ten minutes late, Trymon strode into the room. 'Sorry I'm late, gentlemen,' he lied, rubbing his hands briskly. 'So many things to do, so much to organise, I'm ure you know how it is.' The wizards looked sidelong at one another as Trymon sat down at the head of the table and shuffled busily through some papers. What happened to old Galder's chair, the one with the lion arms and the chicken feet?' said Jiglad Wert. It had gone, along with most of the other familiar furniture, and in its place were a number of low leather chairs that appeared to be incredibly comfortable until you'd sat in them for five minutes. 'That? Oh, I had it burnt,' said Trymon, not looking up. 'Burnt? But it was a priceless magical artifact, a genuine—' 'Just a piece of junk, I'm afraid,' said Trymon, treating him to a fleeting smile. 'I'm sure real wizards don't really need that sort of thing, now if I may draw your attention to the business of the day—' 'What's this paper?' said Jiglad Wert, of the Hood-winkers, waving the document that had been left in front of him, and waving it all the more forcefully because his own chair, back in his cluttered and comfortable tower, was if anything more ornate than Galder's had been. 'It's an agenda, Jiglad,' said Trymon, patiently. 'And what does a gender do?' 'It's just a list of the things we've got to discuss. It's very simple, I'm sorry if you feel that—' 'We've never needed one before!' 'I think perhaps you have needed one, you just haven't used one,' said Trymon, his voice resonant with reasonableness. Wert hesitated. 'Well, all right,' he said sullenly, looking around the table for support, 'but what's this here where it says—' he peered closely at the writing – ' “Successor to Greyhald Spold”. It's going to be old Rhunlet Yard, isn't it? He's been waiting for years.'

#LightFantastic

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