#stand up pouch volume

[meownotgood]

I got a bunch of cute akis today. way too many akis. look at them carefully

[florencemtrash]

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Chapter Fifteen

Azriel x Day Court Librarian Reader

Summary: Y/n's clairvoyance is a gift from the Mother, but it feels more like a curse. With the power to gain knowledge through touch alone, Y/n holes herself up in The Alcove and hopes her powers and parentage will remain a secret. But things will change after the Summer Solstice ball and a chance encounter with a certain Shadowsinger.

Warnings: ANGST... that's about the only major warning I can think of

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

Jurian and Vassa took the attic and became scarce, but when night and day slid into one another you still heard her painful screams, muffled as they were by the magic that encased their room. It was a feeling more than anything else. A tension that gripped the House until it seemed to be sobbing. At sunrise and sunset without fail, Vassa’s body broke and rearranged itself, flesh turning to feathers and feathers to flesh. Before it had been a painless process where her body came and went in its various forms, but no longer. Now she felt everything alongside an itch deep within her bones that couldn’t be satiated by food or drink or anything else. 

Go to the lake! Her body screamed. Go to Koschei! And then punished her when she didn’t comply. Like a beast had sunk its claws into her flesh, its waiting mouth only inches away from snapping. To stay away was a slow, agonizing march to death. To move close would be swift, but final, and somehow Vassa knew that if she gave into Koschei’s call, she would be lost forever.

You lingered at the base of the attic's staircase, your bare feet sinking into the soft rug until the sounds of cracking bones finally ceased. Three pairs of feet shuffled above your head and you heard Jurian’s faint whispers like a gentle push of air. When the door opened and Lucien emerged, you saw Vassa crumpled on the floor, now a bone-thin woman with dull, coppery hair and skin ravaged by scratches and pockmarks. 

“Shhhh. It’s ok.” Jurian whispered, encasing her in his arms. 

“I can’t,” her voice trembled. “It hurts. I-I-I’m burning.” 

“Y/n?” Lucien frowned. The door slammed shut with a bang and you jumped backwards. You clutched a velvet pouch close to your chest and then slowly held it out to Lucien. 

“It’s for Vassa,” you explained, trying to keep your eyes on his mismatched ones — one russet as river stones, one gold like the sun. He opened the bag and stared in confusion at the fine, white powder within, giving it a tentative sniff. “Morphine. Humans use it for pain.” 

“I know of it.” Lucien’s frown deepened. “They get addicted. Take too much and they die.” 

“She’s already addicted. That’s what’s happening isn’t it? Koschei’s drawing his power away to get her to return to the lake and every day that passes she’s dying.” Lucien tightened his fists around the bag, still skeptical. Vassa had endured enough. He didn’t want to have her endure this either. “The bag is enchanted and will never allow her to draw too much. Just enough to calm her hunger. If we’re lucky it might help her sleep too.” 

Lucien stood there, clenching and unclenching his fists from around the gold drawstring, waiting for Vassa’s cries to cease. But they never did. And there you were standing in front of him, unwavering and expectant. There was a glimmer of stubbornness in your gaze. A sign of the hours you’d spent researching Vassa’s condition and acquiring the strange human drug, and your disapproval if Lucien didn’t accept it. 

“Thank you, Y/n,” he whispered, “But please go. Vassa hates for anyone to see her like this. Even Jurian and I.” 

You swallowed thickly and nodded, disappearing down the stairs as quickly as you could. The next morning when the sun rose over the mountains and Vassa changed, you heard only the House’s usual breathings. 

The House buckled under the weight of the Inner Circle’s secrets and the sheer volume of history that had occurred within its walls and between its occupants. It utilized its magic in clever ways — your door opened with a creak that wasn’t there before so that Azriel would always hear your comings and goings. Lucien would suddenly find his door locked and the curtains drawn on the days when Helion made surprise visits to see Y/n. Nyx would find himself ushered around by a broomstick that swatted his ankles when the adults were discussing private matters. It was all a great deal of work. 

So it was a relief when Rhys and Feyre quietly moved their children to the House of Wind with Nesta and Cassian, and when Mor and Emerie took the final steps in emptying their rooms and went to hide out in their city apartment. It was even more of a relief when Helion returned to the Day Court, but not before throwing a heavy threat in Azriel’s face that if he should ever hurt his daughter again in any way, shape, or form, he’d strip the wings off his back. 

Meals at the House were tense, quiet affairs, something not even Feyre, Elain, and Nesta’s sisterly conversations or Cassian’s light-hearted humor could ease. Elain stayed close to Lucien’s side, one hand always on his arm or resting against his back or brushing against his, but that didn’t erase what the Blood Duel had done to his trust in Elain. He was kind, but guarded, especially when Azriel was in the room. But it was more than she could ask for because it was more than she’d ever given him in the beginning. 

You and Azriel were worse off.

You were speaking once more, but your words were always laced with a bit of apprehension and Azriel’s were always filled with sorrowful hope. Conversations were dull, short, and didn’t even begin to brush the surface of all the things you should have been talking about. You were terrified not of the Shadowsinger, but of his opinion of you. Did he want you so he could fix you? So that he could feel needed? So that you could be another one in a list of females he burned through? 

It never truly seemed like that was the case, but you also didn’t trust yourself when it came to your emotions. You had told him once that you couldn’t imagine having a love like Feyre and Rhysand’s, or Nesta and Cassian’s, and you still meant it. You were a matchstick and he was flint, and you didn’t know what would happen to you after he had lit you aflame. For all you knew, you were already burning and this wonderful thing you’d had with Azriel would live and die with nothing more than the memory of an embrace in Rhysand’s office to show for it. 

But oh how you ached to touch him again. To hold him like you had before and to have him return the gesture just as strongly. 

You stiffened when Azriel’s hand brushed your arm, warmth bursting out from the point of contact. 

“I’m sorry.” Azriel whispered, and he was talking about more than the wine he spilled when he reached over the table.

You spared him a glance, the first real look you’d given him in two weeks. The flagon slipped from his hands, and if it weren’t for his shadows catching it an inch above the floor, the room would have been doused in burgundy red. 

“Does Lucien know?” 

Rhysand looked up from his papers. Missives from the Darkbringer army and Illyrian troops up north clogged his desk, all begrudgingly accepting his orders to prepare for what could amount to another lengthy war. Letters thrown back and forth between the seven courts added to the chaos, all of them war-weary and desperate for a path that wouldn’t lead to bloodshed. 

You took up the center of his room and stood so quietly he hadn’t even noticed you until you spoke. It had been eating away at you for days since Lucien’s arrival. Every time you two saw one another or spoke, you tried to scrounge for clues that would reveal whether he knew he was Helion’s son and whether he might suspect you were Helion’s daughter as well. The other members of the Inner Circle had been tight-lipped about that secret, a skill you now knew they all possessed with alarming dexterity. 

“Does Lucien know he’s Helion’s son?”

Rhysand slumped back in his chair, rubbing his temples with one careful hand. Finally he said, “Yes.” 

The answer knocked the breath from your lungs. You’d been expecting the opposite. “Does he… does he know about me?” 

Rhys sighed and shook his head. You didn’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved. 

“How long has he known?” 

“Six years. Feyre was the one to tell him. She was actually the first of us to recognize the similarity, believe it or not. But then, no one ever dared to give weight to the rumors surrounding Helion and Aurelia Vanserra while Beron was alive.”

You rocked back and forth on your feet, breath shaking as it entered your body. “Six years. Six years and you never thought to tell Helion that he has a son? I thought you two were friends?”

Rhysand tensed. “I’m Lucien’s friend as well and he begged us to never speak of it - to live as though we’d never learned that secret. And I keep my secrets. We all do.” 

“You and your family have made that very clear in the time that I’ve been here.” 

“If you mean Azriel—”

“Don’t play dumb, Rhys, you know I’m talking about him.” Tears pricked at your eyes, adding to the humiliation that had coated you like a film ever since you’d seen his memories about Mor, Elain, and Gwyn. “I don’t—” You swallowed thickly, “I can imagine how you must have all been whispering behind my back about Azriel and I. How you must have found it so pathetic the way he charmed me when I was really his fourth choice.”

“That’s not true.” Was what Rhysand was going to say. But he didn’t need to. Azriel said it for him. 

Your face lost all color, any bravado melting away at the feeling of Azriel’s shadows wrapping around your ankles like ribbons of silk. You could feel him in the room and that quiet darkness he carried around with him as inherently as if it were stitched onto his body. 

Azriel was shaking. Shaking. With anger, turmoil, or grief — you couldn’t name it. All you knew is that one moment you were standing in Rhysand’s office, all velvet upholstery and suave, expensive taste, and the next you were in Azriel’s room. 

Everything smelled like mountain air. Maybe it was the gothic windows that stretched into the vaulted ceilings, stained glass opening out onto a personal balcony with deep blue curtains fluttering in the breeze. But you were sure that even with the windows barred it would smell the same. It would smell like Azriel. If you threw open his wardrobe you’d come face to face with a wall of black. Lots and lots of black. Black suits he hardly ever wore. Black fighting leathers. Black leather jackets for everyday. Black trousers. Black boots on the floor. Very practical. Very Azriel. 

If you dug through his dresser drawers you’d find black boxers and socks to match and no shortage of knives and daggers hidden behind wooden planks or in leather sleeves nailed to the bottom of his desk. But at first glance you only saw three weapons in plain view — Truth Teller, blade down and stuck in the wood grain of his desk beside a pile of reports, and two obsidian blades hanging from the wall beside his midnight blue bed in the shape of an “x.” 

The smell — Azriel’s smell — calmed you, at least up to the point where you turned to find him standing less than six inches away, hazel eyes boring into yours. Then your pulse skyrocketed. You were certain that if he only looked down to your heart he’d see it pounding against your chest like a drum skin ready to burst. 

“That’s not true,” he repeated earnestly. “And don’t you dare believe it. Not even for a second.” 

His eyes jumped back and forth between yours and before he could stop himself, his hands were grasping yours in a gentle hold. The leather gloves were soft and supple beneath your fingertips. You wanted to rip them off so you could feel his scarred hands again. 

“You weren’t meant to hear that,” you whispered, suddenly feeling small. That angry humiliation went up in a puff of smoke and left you shy and uncertain. 

Azriel gripped your hands a little tighter and you watched as tendrils of shadow worked their way up your arms and got lost in your hair. “But I did,” he said breathlessly, “And I need you to know that it’s not true.” 

“Azriel—”

“I know—” he was shaking his head, “I know what Helion said and I won’t lie and tell you that I’m perfect or that I’ve made any smart decisions about love in the past — I’ve not make a single one — but… but Y/n you’re not a fourth choice. You’re not something broken that I’m trying to fix or some fantasy I’ve fallen for.”

His hands shook and despite the gloves his hands still felt sticky and wet. Slick with your blood. The burning scent of iron in his nose.

“You’re the most real thing in the world to me. You’re—” You’re my mate. The words crawled up his throat like acid and it just felt wrong. He would say those words to you. He would. But not now. Not like this. He came up with something else. “Y/n, please tell me you believe me. Please.”

And there you were. Falling all over again. Burning like a matchstick on fire. The flames slowly eating away at you bit by bit. You wondered what would happen when you finally hit the ground, or when you ran out of length. Would he still hold you like this? Would you still feel real to him? 

“How am I meant to know, Azriel?” 

You’d always been good at books. You knew the ways in which these stories worked where the themes and plot points had been preordained and written with the purpose of being tied up in a neat package by the final page. People were very different. They were unpredictable and chaotic and they could lie through the skin of their teeth and believe they were telling the truth. And that was the problem wasn’t it? Because you still believed every word that came out of Azriel’s mouth, and his hands still felt like they were keeping you tethered to this earth when sometimes your powers and the memories that came with them made you feel like a whisper on the wind. Weightless and at the mercy of something you couldn’t control. 

“You can trust me. You can know for yourself.” 

He pressed your hand against his cheek and you wanted to cry at the faint pricks of stubble beneath your skin and the sharp curve of his jaw. 

He wanted you to use your power on him. He wanted you to learn all the ways he wanted you. All the ways he loved you.  

But you couldn’t do it. 

Azriel panicked when you remained silent, staring at him and at his hands like you were frightened. All at once he was back on the streets of Velaris, cobblestones shaving away at the skin of his palms as he dragged his way up to you inch by bloody inch, fighting against a body that was too broken to move. 

He couldn’t remember what it felt like when he’d stabbed you through the chest and dropped you on the street. Everything between the moment he saw Andrian’s clear-cut eyes to the moment he saw Rhysand’s horrified gaze was fuzzy and dark. But that made it worse because now in his nightmares he could imagine all the ways he’d hurt you, each version teeming with the same level of horror and possibility as the previous one. 

He let you go and hated himself when you stepped back, your hand slipping away. 

“I won’t… I won’t hurt you again, Y/n. I swear on my life. I’ll-I’ll make a bargain, I don’t care. I would sooner die than let something like that happen again.” 

I don’t know what I’d do with that kind of love. If I’d be able to handle it. It might be too much for me.

“Y/n, please.”

 I am not broken. But I am afraid. 

You fled from his bedroom. 

The air had a bite to it now with winter descending. The snow line on the mountains dipped lower and lower each day, creeping like ivy down a brick wall. 

Elain never wore gloves. Not when she was gardening. It was something she and Ione had in common. She liked the feeling of her strong hands, the callouses on her palms and fingers that she’d earned all on her own. She grunted, slamming her shovel into the soil and feeling the microscopic chips of ice give way when she kicked down on the blade. It was too late in the season to be planting tulip bulbs. If she’d been in Velaris she would have done this four weeks ago. But it was alright with her. She knew the value of hard work, and she had enough hope for the future to believe that even though she was late, she’d have something beautiful to call hers come springtime. 

“It’s time for that conversation I was telling you about,” she said cryptically, as was her way. 

Lucien dropped the final basket beside where Elain now knelt in the dirt, her pale pink dress dirtied and littered with her own handprints. The brown bulbs rolled around like oversized chestnuts, the kind that he’d be roasting over a fire right now if he were still in Autumn Court. Instead he was here, lingering in a Court that had never felt like home. Then again… he’d never felt at home in Autumn, Spring, or the Human Lands either. 

He straightened up and wiped his hands clean on his trousers, golden and russet eyes trailing over the River House’s grounds for this mysterious person he was meant to speak to.

There. 

The faint swishing of black robes behind a dark green topiary tree. He should have known Elain had been talking about you. 

You cracked your knuckles and rehearsed the words you’d scribbled out earlier that day and then set to fire in a maddening loop. You’d been restless with the truth of Lucien’s parentage and you couldn’t believe that the others had held their tongues so readily. As it was, without Azriel’s company to help quiet your mind, you’d dug into this new piece of information like a starving animal and couldn’t let go.

Was this a good time to tell him? Would there ever be a good time to tell him? You had no idea. 

Somewhere in the attic, you knew Vassa was itching to take to the skies like the burning comet she was. Every night she shivered in Jurian’s arms, the morphine barely able to take the edge off the humming in her bones, and every morning she let him lock her away in her cage. It was getting worse and worse trying to keep her from succumbing to Koschei’s influence. Even now you thought you could hear her keen cries whistling from the attic like ten thousand arrows launched into the air. 

Somewhere else, in a secret, hidden place you knew nothing about, Andrian had finally been imprisoned. Andrian with his bent neck and silver, candy-floss hair and bloody little hands. 

You shivered and jumped back five feet when Lucien called your name, kind eyes narrowed in concern. His shirt was loose and open and the sweat on his body rose like mist off his skin. He was his mother’s son first, Helion’s child second, and fire still ran through his veins. The chill did not touch him. 

He tipped his head to the side, red hair spilling out from the messy way he’d tied it up and away from his face. A brutal scar ran through his eye like a fissure, starting at the center of his brow before clawing its way down his jaw like a lightning strike frozen in time. But for all the cruelty he’d been dealt with in life, his eyes were gentle, even the mechanical one that whirred and flashed in the sun. 

They were even kinder when he looked at you. You with your inquisitive gaze and curious nature, like a stray cat that couldn’t help but linger too long at doorways. One foot inside, one foot ready to run and hide. He’d caught you watching him at dinners, and he’d catch himself staring when you walked around the house with a book in your hand, so utterly absorbed that you would bump against doorways and bang your hips against sharp corners. 

“Elain told me about you. Did you know that?” 

You blinked in surprise. “What did she say?”

“Elain… Elain doesn’t always speak clearly. Much of what comes out of her mouth can feel eerie or discomforting. But, she told me before we left for the Night Court that I would be happy I came. That I would never regret the things I learned on my trip.” He tilted his head even further, looking more and more like a fox with each turn of his face. “And she mentioned a bird. A bird with ink-tipped wings and eyes like a crow.” 

You flexed your fingers, well aware that the tips were smudged with ink, the nails bitten down to the quick. 

“Someone clever and cautious who’d been hidden away their whole life and needed to see the sun.” 

You felt stripped bare. That strange vulnerability that comes with being summed up in so few words had you feeling airy. Like one sentence could be enough to carry the weight of the three centuries you’d lived and never buckle. 

“I know you’re Helion’s son. I recognized it the moment I saw you.” 

Lucien stepped back, scarlet brows shooting up into his hair with alarm.

You hesitated, then continued on cautiously. “I recognized it because I would know my father’s face anywhere.” 

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

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Author's Note:

I KNOW IT'S A CLIFFHANGER ENDING BUT I NEEDED TO BREAK EVERYTHING INTO CHAPTERS SOMEWHERE AND I'M GOING TO TRY AND GET CHAPTER 16 UP BY WEDNESDAY SO I DON'T LEAVE Y'ALL HANGING FOR TOO LONG. HAVE MERCY!!!

The good news is that Chapter 16 is already mostly written, I just need to edit it all to make sure things flow smoothly. Also, LUCIEN KNOWS NOW AHHHHHHHHHHHH

Sorry for the Azriel angst... but it's delicious, no?

[sebastians-niffler]

Judge of Character | Sebastian Sallow x GN Hufflepuff

(REQUESTS ARE OPEN!)

Word count: 1.2k

Warnings: none! absolute fluffy goodness for my first post on this page c:

Summary: When professor Howin assigns a task on caring of a niffler, Sebastian has a bit of a hard time. That is, until you give him the confidence he had hidden all along.

“Now, just gently tickle their belly: like this,” professor Howin demonstrated as her finger tips grazed over the nifflers stomach, earning a giggle from the creature. You slowly and gently let your fingertips graze the light brown patch that covered the creatures otherwise dark, chocolate brown colored fur. As your fingertips tickled the beast, it began to wriggle in delight as various coins and rubies began to slip out of their pouch. “Very well done! Ten points to Hufflepuff!” Professor Howin stood by your side as your niffler had sat back up to collect their shiny belongings and also managed to sneak your own personal bracelet clean off your wrist while you were smiling at the professor.

“Oh come on you bloody rat!” You heard a familiar voice shout from the table towards the kneazle pens. “I thought you were supposed to like this, why am I wasting my time with you,” frustrated grunts filled the air as the boy took the creature by its toes and hung it upside down. “Perhaps because you are torturing the poor thing, Sebastian” Ominis spoke up as he tried to stifle a snicker behind his hand. Ominis reached his hand out to feel around the table to cradle his niffler in one hand while he tucked his wand into his robe before gently tickling onto the creature's soft tuft of blue fur. “See?” The blonde boy smirked in Sebastian's general direction, earning a growl of jealousy in response. “You know, Sebastian, they say that creatures are a good judge of character.” Ominis started as he began to laugh through his words.

“Perhaps, you could assist your Slytherin friend with his niffler? I think he needs a more… gentle approach?” professor Howin raised her eyebrows as he forced herself to look away from the scene and back towards you. “Once you have taken care of that, you are free to spend the rest of class time as you’d please. I know you have been wanting to spend some more time with the new baby thestrals.” With a delighted smile and an eager nod in response, you thanked the professor before slowly stalking toward your friends. You gently place a hand on Ominis lower back so as to not startle him as you sneak up on Sebastian. “I thought I heard you struggling over here,” you began as you smiled through your words, placing a hand on Sebastian's shoulder. “Oh Merlin, finally, a voice of reason that Sebastian will actually listen to.” Ominis pressed his hands together in prayer as he lifted his head to the sky. “That bloody rat trusted the one that couldn’t even see it over me, the one that was doing exactly like everyone else did!” Sebastian pouted, looking over to Ominis to see if he had offended him with his spurt of jealousy. “Sebastian, you just need to be more patient. It will learn to trust you; we both did…” Ominis whispered soothingly as he gave his friend a reassuring pat on the back. “Ominis is right, Sebastian. These creatures don’t understand things the way we do. They don’t inherently know that we don’t mean any harm. You have seen the poachers all around in high volumes lately first hand!” You started as you gently slipped the niffler into your hands and nuzzled its beak with your nose. “For all they know, we are no better than those nasty nasty poachers, right?” You spoke in a baby-talk sort of tone to the niffler before pulling back and smiling genuinely at your friends. “Now, hold your hands in a little cup like this,” you held up your hands so he could watch closely, Sebastian shuffling to stand beside you so he could watch your exact movements. “Very good! Now, slowly just let it get used to you before you start moving.” You gently slid the niffler from your hands into his, the creature sniffing his fingers before nuzzling into his palm.

After a few moments, the niffler was in delight as Sebastian began to tickle their light tuft of brown fur. “Look at it! I think they actually like it!” Sebastian's smile gleamed in the dimming sunset as he turned to look at your for approval. “I knew you could do it, you just needed an extra hand.” You smiled and placed your hands under Sebastians, caressing his knuckles with your thumbs. A bright flush of red spread across the boy's cheeks before setting the niffler back onto the table and scratching nervously at the back of his neck. “I’m going to get a head start to the great hall for supper, but I will save a seat for the both of you. Don’t dally on your way back.” Ominis smiled as he retrieved his wand from his robes, the tip flashing red to lead the boy towards the castle. It was clear that your friend knew you wanted a moment alone from the blush now spreading to your cheeks as well. “Would you like to see the new baby thestral? Professor Howin gave me a key to their den so I could give them some food and brush them before the class gets to see them next week. I wouldn’t mind the company.” You insisted, nudging your elbow into Sebastian's arm. The boy smiled and nodded in excitement as he watched you turn towards the den, sheepishly letting his hand brush yours as you walked. You took a deep breath as if to swallow any ounce of courage in the air and let your fingers interlace with him as you walked toward the den, a smile forcing itself to spread across your lips.

“It still hurts me to know that you can see thestrals too,” Sebastian started as he opened the door to the den, letting you walk in first before he quickly trailed behind and let the door close behind him. “That makes two of us. But, it at least makes me happy to be able to see these little guys.” You smiled as you kneeled down, gently stroking the back of the creature's mother before doing the same to the new baby. “Absolutely beautiful and misunderstood creatures.” You muttered to yourself as you smiled at the now yawning baby thestral. “Are all Hufflepuffs this good with beasts? Or was Ominis right about creatures being a good judge of character?” Sebastian chuckled as he knelt down beside you, his hands in his lap. You let out a soft chuckle before grabbing his hand on your own and guiding it to the back of the thestral. “Maybe a bit of both,” you shrugged as you slowly let go of the boy's hand, watching him gently stroke the back of the creature. “I guess even creatures need their own emotional support Hufflepuff,” Sebastian joked as he jokingly poked at your side, earning a wriggle out of you before setting your head on his shoulder. “They will have to find their own, you’re mine.”

[slippinmickeys]

This is for @medicatedmaniac who asked for a Ficlet set in the Proof of Life Universe: “Proof of Life my beloved - maybe the leadup to the Pulitzer prize being awarded? Maybe the night of and their in their hotel room getting ready to go to the ceremony? Or they get a letter about being nominated in the mail and maybe have mixed feelings on the nomination?”

1. She gets caught as she stands on the threshold of the hotel room, déjà vu suddenly overlaying her vision like a slide into a projector. The window is in the same place. The desk. The carpet is the same, though cleaner. If she closed her eyes she would hear a spat of gunfire. She does not close her eyes.

“Scully?” says Mulder from behind her with a gentle hand on her upper back.

She has stayed in hotel rooms since being held hostage in Africa, but this one…this one has a layout so similar to the one in which she was held that her amygdala takes over her higher functions. For a moment. One moment. Then she swallows and forces herself to breathe again. Forces herself to calm.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Mulder whispers. He has come up more closely behind her, is looking over her shoulder into the room.

He is the only other person in the world who would get it, and does.

In a moment, the bags he was holding hit the floor and he brushes past her, marches into the room with purpose, directly to the desk, where he picks up the telephone receiver.

“I’m getting us a different room,” he says.

Scully swallows thickly and finally does close her eyes, breathing deeply through her nose. She does not hear gunfire. They are an ocean away from that place.

“Wait,” she says, then moves into the room herself. Stands in the center and takes a slow turn. Mulder, still standing at the desk, still holding the phone receiver in his hand, watches her.

She turns to him calmly, and, she thinks, with dignity.

“Before you call,” she says, “take my picture.”

“Take your-”

“Take my picture,” she says. “In front of the window.”

Mulder slowly lowers the phone. Glances at her. Glances at the window. She doesn’t have to explain what she means. He understands immediately.

“A journey of a thousand days,” he husks.

Scully nods. “The light,” she goes on, “is perfect.”

2. Africa again, but far east of the jungle mountains and lowlands besieged by war, they are now in the shadows of Kilimanjaro, the savannah stretching before them as paper unfurls from a scroll.

Scully is here for six months, the resident doctor in a rural hospital built and supplied by a Canadian charity. She treats diseases long dead in the First World west, urges the women to collect water from the new well six miles away rather than the river that is only two.

She has a local guide and contact who works for the charity, a lanky Maasai man who goes by the Christian name of James. He wears ropes of delicate and colorful beads and a lion's tooth on a cord around his neck. Under his red tunic he wears a white Hanes wifebeater and sandals made of old tires. He is missing a tooth on the side of his smile, which he is also always wearing.

“Good morning, Doctor,” he says in his friendly accent when she emerges from the clinic door to see if there is anyone waiting for treatment.

“Jambo!” Scully says at a volume and enthusiasm which makes her uncomfortable. She would rather a quiet hello and nod, but the culture she is living in necessitates jovial greetings at all times.

James is leaning against a post just beyond clinic porch and holding a spear which means he was likely out in the bush.

“Have you seen Mulder?” she asks.

“Yes,” he says. “He got a call. He asked me to come and get you.”

At this, Scully raises her eyes. Cell phone reception is spotty here at best. She hasn’t bothered to carry her phone with her in weeks. Mulder always has his out in the field, but the clinic is in a dead zone and there’s really no point.

James pulls his own cell phone out of a pouch that’s looped around his waist. He presses a button and hands it to her.

“Scully?” says a tinny voice punctuated by static. She puts the phone to her ear.

“Mulder?”

“Scully,” Mulder says. “Call Benjamin and Savato, tell them we have to leave early.” He explains his statement in a rush and Scully is dumbfounded when she silently hands the phone back to James.

He nods at her and steps back respectfully. When she’s halfway through the door of the clinic, she comes back to herself and spins around.

“James!” She calls out. “How does your phone work here?”

James smiles widely, showing the gap in his mouth.

“Magic,” he says.

3. The day is sullen; gray and without cheer. Outside the window, the rain comes down in a defenestrating assault.

In the bright doorway of the bathroom — they have a top floor suite — Mulder stands, struggling with the knot of a bow tie.

“Monkey suit,” he says, a little whiny.

Scully smiles and walks up to him, the silk sheath dress she’s wearing whispering as she moves. She’s not wearing heels yet and has to tilt her head back to look up at him.

“It’s only for an evening,” she says, reaching up and taking over the knotting. “And if the big mucks at Columbia hear you complaining, they might take back your award.”

Mulder lifts his chin to give her more room to work. After a moment she feels his warm hands settle on her waist.

“There,” she says, straightening his bow tie. His hands stay where they are.

“Does it feel weird?” He asks her quietly. “To be here? For this?”

She pulls a stray hair — hers — from his white sleeve.

“A little,” she says.

4. “…for fairly obvious reasons, the areas of arts of scholarly arenas live close to my heart and lived experience. Over these two decades, so much has changed in our world. And we all know those changes have had huge impacts on journalism, the arts and scholarship. But three things have remained true. One, is that we value these roles of journalism, the arts and scholarship, and that has remained central to a good life. Personally, socially and politically. The second is that good and talented people continue to join these professions. And the third is that the Pulitzer Prizes annually provide the world with the occasion like tonight, to honor and celebrate these critically important areas of human endeavor, and the people who perform at the highest levels in them…”

The speaker continues to drone on. Scully pushes the remainder of her short rib around on her plate. Mulder has barely touched his fish.

The picture of Scully standing in the window of room 1055 at the Hilton has been projected on a giant screen behind the podium for the last several minutes, and Scully can feel the eyes of the gathered assemblage flitting to her on a near constant basis.

They’re probably thinking of her trauma, of her experience, and they have most certainly read the stories that were breathlessly published about her and Mulder. Most of them have seen up close and personal the ravages of war and upheaval. There are several journalists she knows here, acquaintances she left behind when she resigned from CNN. Most of them approached before the ceremony and politely inquired about her, her health, what she was up to now. Many with a sad, pitying look on their faces.

She sets down her fork and turns the wedding ring around in circles on her finger. She doesn’t feel pity when she looks at that picture. The look on that woman’s face displays nothing but courage, and the eye behind the camera nothing but love.

When Mulder heads up to the stage a moment later to be handed the certificate he won, the applause that spreads through the room is thunderous. His eyes never once leave hers.

5. The lobby of the auditorium is thick with people and humidity, joyous voices rising up over the static of tires sloshing over rainy streets just beyond the front doors. They’ve been back in the States for a week, but Scully still isn’t used to the crowds. The noise.

From behind her, Mulder touches the bare skin of her shoulder. He’s just returned from the coat check and holds up the red wool coat she’d had to buy at Nordstrom two days before. She puts her arms through the silken sleeves.

All around them winners and colleagues and friends are making plans to go out and celebrate their accomplishments. One man in a charcoal suit has a bottle of Veuve in his hand that he swiped off of one of the tables. Several people have invited them to join them.

Mulder tips his head to whisper in her ear.

“We can slip out right now when no one’s looking,” he says.

She doesn’t even wait to answer, using her small stature to slip in between several people and out into the cold damp.

They’ve been provided a town car and driver for the evening, but it’s too hard to find him in the chaos outside the auditorium, so they hail a cab instead. Once they’re on their way back to their hotel, Mulder pulls the certificate out from under his coat where it was sheltered from the rain and looks at it.

“I’m starving,” he says to the piece of paper.

“You barely ate,” Scully points out.

“I was nervous,” he explains.

Scully takes the certificate gently from his hands and looks at it. The gold foil. The calligraphy.

“If we call in a room service order now, it should be to our room by the time we get out of the shower,” she says.

“God I love you,” Mulder says reverently.

They gorge themsevles on cheeseburgers and truffle fries, and, on a whim, a bottle of champagne (Mumm’s rather than Veuve, as, Mulder points out, he isn’t about to spend his prize money on booze) as they sit around in fluffy white robes with HBO on mute on the big TV in the corner.

On the desktop, under their room key, sits the Pulitzer certificate.

“That’s as much yours as it is mine,” Mulder finally says to her, nodding towards it.

“Yes,” she agrees, and sets a half full glass of bubbles on the bedside table. She reaches for the terry cloth tie of his robe.

Later, it’s all soft sighs on soft sheets and Mulder fills her with himself until they become each other.

[iamafanofcartoons]

No , RWBY is neither misogynistic nor homophobic...it is every bit the opposite

Rwby not written for the male gaze. Redesigns made by critics focus on sexualizing women.  RWBY has women show much less skin than the typical fairy tail woman. Also their clothes have pockets and pouches. Rwby is not written for the patriarchy.

So Personally I've always felt like misogyny was always made by the critics. A common thread in a lot of that group's criticisms seems to come down to not liking that some of the show's villains embody male power fantasies, and that the positive male characters it has aren't the main characters, with the female characters being a harem for them.

It's a female-centered story whose true focus is its main characters' growing and supporting each other through their weaknesses and struggles, and a lot of men can't stand it.

Rewrites and AUs focus on men, on straightwashing women, on validating edgelords, on telling women that they suck. And more importantly,  rewrites are obsessed with not letting women be right about anything or important unless they're tied to a male protagonist story.

But Rwby is about giving women roles typically held by men. Women not requiring men for authority, or guidance, but instead being men's equals. Or in the case of the female antagonists? Having mental superiority over deconstructed edgelords like Adam taurus or the "ends justify the means" deconstruction of ironwood.

They have girlfails like Cinder, who you can hate, but also admire that she keeps coming back and refusing to give up.

They have badass grannies like Maria Calavera.

They have autism-coded women.

And unlike Naruto? Women can actually WIN a 1 on 1 fight against a male opponent.

Edgelord is what incels see themselves as. Incels also see themselves as victims of women. They also see themselves as tragic,  misunderstood,  or entitled to an ego.

Adam is the example of the incel: "I was hurt by society, so I am going to make it everyone's problem! I am a hero of justice, for I am giving the world the justice it deserves! I am an underdog!"

That's how incels, conservatives, otakus see themselves.

They saw Adam as a Vergil Sparda. A dude who murders countless innocent lives for the sake of power.....who believes that power is the only thing matters. He ain't morally grey, he's evil. But he's cool, and to a lot of very emotionally immature people, coolness means morally grey or anti-villain/anti-hero. Adam was introduced trying to rob a train and blow up innocent people....people accused blake of being a murderer and trying to blow up the train, then running from adam. Adam was shown in volume 2, as a cult leader neglecting the deaths of his people. As with "Burning the candle" Yang and Blake scene, RWDE and RWBY Critics disregarded that because it ruined their headcanons of what they wanted Adam to be.

How many Adam fanfics have you seen where Blake is written as the one abusing adam?

Male abusers see themselves as victims of women.

Coffeehouse Crime, Danielle Kirsty, Eleanor Neale. Look them up on Youtube. They cover multiple cases of murderers and abusers. And the details that go into emotional and mental abuse/gaslighting? They cover them all. Including how society turns a blind eye to abuse if its not physical. Which is what Adam fans do.

Btw, if you want an example of a murderer who was an IRL abuser? Just look up OJ Simpson, who got away with both thanks to his fans.

RWBY covers emotional abuse, shows the damage it can do, and shows through Blake the recovery.

Arryn has been a victim of IRL cyberbullying from blacksun fans, BobxEliza fans, and Adam fans.

To where she's had to deactivate her social media.

Art imitates life....RWBY Critics harassing voice actresses. Though thefloofartist actually sent CRWBY gore fanart of Bumbleby and tauradonna ntr fanart, that was horrific.

Roman Torchwick is an example of charismatic sociopaths being the criminal: Society was mean to me, so I'm going to be racist, steal from the elderly, and hurt kids. Sure he has charisma as a character....does that excuse racism, calling Emerald a Street Rat, trying to rob old men, and shooting teenage girls

Jacques emotional abuse and gaslighting, something many people refuse to acknowledge unless its clearly spelled out from A to Z. One Adam taurus fan on twitter made death threats to a woman trying to explain that emotional abuse is real.

Raven is a bandit. A bandit is a killer and a thief. You don't romanticize killers and thieves. One piece paints an unrealistic view of pirates. 

Ironwood and Atlas represent the American Macho mindset and the nationalism issue Americans have. Illegally occupying foreign nations with military force as a means of "peacekeeping"? Removing leaders from power who don't respect your authority or your ideas? My way or the highway? Unwilling to compromise? Willing to work with capitalist Corporations so long as your war machine is funded? The ends justify the means? Only villains say that! Merging the police with the military to have unlimited power? Putting the good ethical cop "Marrow" under pressure and mockery? Treating the poor people as acceptable losses to cut and cutting all aid and support to the 99%? Arresting or threatening good samaritans who try to help the impoverished and underprivileged because they're not recognized by your licenses? Refusing to accept checks and balances because you see yourself as above the law and being the only one with the big picture? Seeing it as your duty to police others?

People were willing to consider Ironwood a sussy baka so long as they could consider Atlas to be like Germany. But the moment CRWBY pointed out how Atlas was too much like America? The "patriots" got furious...because it was too much like looking into a mirror, and the Ironwood fangirls did not like what they saw.

Less character bloat compared to shounen anime. Shounen has thousands of character. RWBY barely has 200. But they focus more on women's characters than men, and that upsets the Cardin fans and fanfic writers. If I had a nickel for every youtube channel that decided to make the racist incompetent bully into some "gigachad", I'd have two nickels, which isn't much, but still weird that it happened twice. Meanwhile, let a man have 3-5 minutes of screentime, the critics will say that Team RWBY don't act like the main characters. Protagonist centered morality only in shounen. Team rwby do face consequences and are forced to evaluate their decisions. The women are the protagonists, and they can spend more than 10 minutes without breaking the Bechdel test. Something that, once again, adam and cardin and jaune fanfics fail within a paragraph.

"A man and a woman can spend several seasons together and be just friends at the end"

Ichigo and Rukia from Bleach, One Piece Live Action, Naruto and Sakura from that Gay Ninja Series.

Or in RWBY's case, I'm referring Blake Belladonna and Sun Wukong

Neither showed romantic attraction towards either gender for the majority of the show. Blake and Sun's arcs in V4 and V5 were about Blake learning to accept help, and Sun learning to recognize and respect people's boundaries. Neither Blake nor Sun actually made serious advances, and simply stayed good friends. Also if lesbians cannot exist without being fan service to you, that just means you're a pervert and need to touch grass.

Anyway, whomever said that RWBY Writers have no idea how to write women need to take a look at how their critics make video after video bashing women and LGBT.

Oh, and twitter calls RWBY post v3 "pandering to tumblerinas".

Given how Tumblr has no pedophiles/lolicons, less conservatives and terfs, and is very feminist? I'll take that as a compliment.

[reddit-007]

AMAZON HAULT DISSCUSSION

Everything is less than $20 (much less, for the most part) and items arrive in one to two weeks, going completely against the grain of the company’s larger push for faster and faster shipping times.

From a business perspective, it’s a sector that the Seattle-based e-commerce giant could no longer ignore. With Temu’s U.S. e-commerce market share projected by eMarketer to grow from 0.7% this year to 2.3% next year, Haul seems like an obligatory experiment for Amazon, at least, and maybe a critical long-term move.

For now, Amazon Haul is mobile-only.

The best way to access it, in my experience, is to search for “Haul” in the search bar in the Amazon app. It’s filled with the tricks of the trade from this e-commerce genre, with playful language encouraging you to buy enough for free shipping, and more nudging after that for additional discounts.

As a member of Generation X, I’m probably not in the target demographic. (OK, definitely not.) I’ve glanced at Shein and Temu in the past, never actually ordered. I’m not a regular TikTok user, let alone an aficionado of TikTok Shop.

That said, I’m a longtime Amazon customer and Prime subscriber, like much of the U.S. population, so maybe I’m representative of the company’s opportunity to introduce these concepts to its larger customer base.

Here are my off-the-cuff thoughts after my first Amazon Haul experience.

This is a lot of crap. Scrolling down the list of items such as $4.99 wrist straps for weightlifting, $4.99 silicon dish drying mats, $2.73 oval shoelaces for sneakers, and $2.99 decorative outdoor solid throw pillow covers, it felt like rooting through abandoned items in the back of a warehouse — which might not be that far off.

My cart had lots of “lonely vibes” for a while while I tried to identify enough items that I would actually use to reach the $25 minimum needed for free shipping.

I ended up using the search bar to find items such as a $1.99 six-pack of adjustable cable organizers, an $8.79 pair of mesh zipper pouches for office supplies, a $3.99 desktop cell phone stand, a $6.99 small screwdriver set, and a $5.99 electronic cable organizer and accessories carrying case.

Yes, that was quite a haul! OK, I’ll admit I’m not immune to the dopamine that comes from treating shopping as entertainment. Looking at my cart, I was starting to see the appeal. My subtotal was $27.75, and the grand total after tax was $30.62, with a promise to arrive sometime between Nov. 21 and Nov. 25.

I can’t remember buying five different items for $30 on Amazon in the past. And it’s kinda fun to know that I’ve got various products arriving in a week or so. I’ll probably forget what I ordered in the meantime, making the experience more along the lines of receiving a surprise gift from myself.

With no small amount of guilt about the implications of modern consumerism, and recognizing my contribution to the demise of humanity, I could envision making a monthly (or weekly?) Amazon Haul order if the browsing experience was more tailored to me, and it wasn’t so tough to find items that I would want to buy.

Which leads to my last big takeaway …

Amazon Haul isn’t yet leveraging the company’s biggest strengths. The beta of Amazon Haul is largely disconnected from the existing Amazon shopping experience, as of now. The company clearly isn’t using what it knows about me and my buying/browsing history to target items to me that I’d be more inclined to like.

From the outside, given all the company’s expertise in e-commerce, this seems like a trivial enhancement to make, and one that could dramatically change not only the experience of using Amazon Haul but also the volume of orders.

In the meantime, I’m looking forward to trying out that cell phone stand and adjustable cable cords in the next week or so. I’ll post an update about the receiving experience after I get my first Amazon Haul. Credit : Seo Blogger _____________ Start With Amazon Haul Here !

[inneedofsupervision]

In a World full of Color, We only see Black and White (Chapter 1)

Summary:

Being homeschooled until now, Chan stands two days after turning sixteen in front of an actual school for the first time in his life. Chan's plan; keep low and get this done without causing himself trouble. But that's easier said than done when you only pretend to be human. In a society where people split into those who can use magic and those who are not, demons have nearly hit extinction. They are beasts accepted but still frowned upon by society and thus live with their true nature hidden. To this day, demons almost started becoming a myth. Chan is one of them.

Seventeen fanfic; High School AU, Fantasy AU, Demons and Humans AU

Chapter: 1,

Read on Ao3

The giant gate marking the school entrance did a pretty decent job of letting Chan want to turn on his heels and walk straight back home.

The whole situation still feels surreal to him. Last week Chan had prepared and studied for the exam that his teacher planned to let him take today. But instead of racking his brain over the overly complex questions his private teacher likes to create, Chan stands in front of an actual school. Not to mention that the school lies at the other end of the country. To say that Chan feels a little overwhelmed would be an understatement. He stumbles as someone knocks their shoulder into him.

“Hey, stop standing here. You are blocking the way.”

“Ah, sorry-”, he stops speaking as the group of students walks past. The teen who bumped into him looks older than Chan, probably a senior. There is no apology, nor a glance back. The group just continuous walking, chatting idly with each other.

“If you saw me standing here, why could you not just walk around me?" Chan pulls a grimace as he rubs his shoulder. He bents down to grab his bag and dusts it off. The bundle of keyrings jingles light as he throws it back on his shoulder. The noise of a busy school morning does not stop once he is inside the school. It is quite the opposite. Everything around Chan seems to grow even louder. The school does not only look tall from the outside. The sheer quantity of it is impressive. The entrance leads into a giant main hall, the latter dividing into several larger hallways. There are two sets of pompous-looking staircases leading upstairs. The staircases lie parallel to each other on both ends of the hall. Near the end of the hall, the ceiling bends and merges beautifully into a glass front. It grants a view into the inner schoolyard. Chan does a double-take at it as it looks much more like some fancy park than an actual place inside a school. There are various seating options and neatly kept flowerbeds outside. A lovable place where students can rest and recharge between classes. Chan takes a moment to imagine enjoying the fresh air and the sun on top of a bench mid a sea of blooming flowers. 

As you would expect from a school, there are many students. Like, everywhere. Most of the couches and chairs are packed, and the small study tables throughout the hall are full of notebooks and pouches. Most students stand together in groups, while others are busy on their own. The volume of noises is hard on his ears, the loudness coming from every direction, leaving Chan paralyzed at first. He looks around before going up the stairs. Chan soon realizes that the grandness of the school does not end here as he searches through the hallways that remind him of a giant maze.

“ Why is it so hard to find the office? ”

Chan is pretty sure that he went to the correct building, but for some reason, finding the teachers' office is like searching for a needle in a haystack. But it is not your ordinary haystack. Imagine a haystack with tons of ants inside. They are crawling all over the place, not caring if they bump into, or have to step over each other. They are working in a decoded order that nobody but themselves seems to understand. They do everything to accomplish their goal. And there is also the possibility of the haystack bursting into flames at any second. Maybe Chan should not have stayed up half of the night before. It might stop him from thinking of weird comparisons. But he had to unpack his stuff if he did not want to wear the same set of clothes to sleep that he wore on his way to the new apartment. Chan had just unpacked the most necessary stuff, for example, everything he uses to get ready to sleep. It had been a tiring task, even though there was not much to unpack. To his luck, the apartment was completely furnished. If not, he would have slept on the floor as he was too tired to build up a bed alone. The bed did a pretty descend job. Chan fell asleep as soon as his head met the pillow. He caught around four hours of sleep but it was barely enough to make him feel well-rested.

He stifles a yawn as he keeps wandering around the hallway. After walking for a few more minutes, with no clue where to go, Chan comes to a sober conclusion. He needs help. And sleep. But apart from that, he also needs some directions. And a cup of jasmine tea would be nice too. “I’m sorry, can you help me find the teachers' office?”

Chan should have stuck to the basic rules when asking for help inside a school. Not that he would know them anyway, as he had been home-schooled all his life. Now he knows to never ask for help from a larger group of people. When Chan realizes that he has made a mistake, the group of girls has already grown silent. The girl who has her back turned to him looks over her shoulder. As soon as she sees him, her expression turns sour, as if she had bitten into a bad apple. Chan only wonders what her problem is as he and the girl have never met before.

“Who are you?”

It sounds more like an accusation rather than a question. Chan raises an eyebrow at the harsh tone that the girl uses to speak to him. The girls surrounding her carry similar expressions as their eyes wander up and down on him, giving the boy a once-over. It made Chan feel very uncomfortable. He quickly casts his eyes away. Maybe it would have been a better idea to find the room alone. 

“Never mind, we got no time for you.”

She brushes him off, her friends following her as they stride through the hallway and out of his sight. Chan could only watch them leave, eyes wide in confusion, before glancing down at himself. His uniform looks like those of any other student around him. He even checked this morning if it was clean. No stains or toothpaste were on his clothes. They are spotless as expected of a uniform he had never worn before. He reaches upward to touch his hair, smooth banks laying orderly onto his forehead, the rest of his hair perfectly groomed.

“Maybe there is something stuck on my face,” he whispers as his hands wander downwards to check, slightly shocked that he might have walked around looking like a fool on his first day. It would not justify their reaction, but he only tries to make some sense out of it.

“Your face looks completely fine.”

Cute cheeks and dirty blond hair are the first traits Chan notices in the student who stands in front of him. The boy's eyes tell Chan he just met someone who probably knows all the students in this school and at least half of their secrets. “You are new, am I right? And looking for the teachers' office.”

Chan nods silently, sensing that the boy isn't done talking yet.

“Go up the stairs and turn left. Walk down the hallway. It is the second last door on the right side.”

The boy does not look much older than him. Chan eyes him with curiosity but does not ask for his name. The other seems to sense Chan growing cautious, probably spooked by the earlier accouter with the group of female students. "Nice to meet you. My name is Boo Seungkwan.”

Chan hesitates to take Seungkwan’s hand. The latter rolls his eyes and stretches his arm out further, grabbing Chan’s clammy hand, and giving it a light shake. “Thank you. I got a little lost.” Chan laughs, hoping to overplay the awkwardness while taking his hand back and trying to wipe his sweat off on his pants without attracting too much attention. He is a little embarrassed but still thankful for the help.

Seungkwan looks amused, lips somewhere between a pout and a smile, though Chan did not understand why the blond laughed at him. “I could tell. See you around.”

“Yeah, see you.”

“ Nice, but a little quirky ”, thought Chan on his way upstairs. He later realizes that he had not introduced himself to Seungkwan. Well, there will be a chance for that later. Probably. With the help of directions Chan got from Seungkwan, he finally finds the teacher’s office.

Not sure if it was alright for him to go in, Chan knocks twice. As he does not get an answer, the student hesitantly opens the door and takes a peek inside. The people in the room are busy. No one spares a glance towards the boy, who cautiously glances around. Chan keeps standing at the door for a few moments before he dares to walk into the room. The student stands a little lost in the office, unsure where to go until he spots a young woman sitting near the windows. She also seems busy sorting her papers, but she looks the most approachable to Chan.

“Excuse me-”

The woman looks up as he approaches and gives him a warm smile. “How can I help you? Are you a new student?” She sounds kind.

There are so many students in this school. How does everyone know that I am the new kid , wonders Chan before answering. “Yes, I am Lee Chan.” He gives her a reserved bow. The woman looks like she expects him to continue talking, but as Chan stays silent, she puts her papers down and turns to him instead.

“I am Miss Kim. You are probably Mr. Yun’s new student. Give me a moment, I'll help you find him.”

“Of course. Thank you.” Chan gives her another short bow and takes the chance to look outside the window. He could look over the whole school ground from the office.

The school complex contains four main buildings. The first building stands horizontal towards the school entrance and the street. Buildings two and three are positioned parallel to each other and located behind the first building. They look almost identical except for the annex growing out of the end of the third building. It holds the main library, which has a pentagon shape and owns several stories. Behind the fourth main building, which stays a little further from the others, are the training grounds and the gymnasium positioned. A little down on the left of the estate sits two luxury accommodations for the students who come from further away and live at the school. The school ground ends with the school garden and the greenhouses. The sheer size of the building complex amazes Chan even now.

Fitting the whole image, the teacher's office is also very grand. Although there are a lot of compact wooden desks and shelves everywhere, it surprisingly did not feel cramped inside. Mrs. Kim is soon done with her work, leading the new student through the office.

His eyes sting as he tries too hard to read the names written on the back of the folders as they pass the masses of shelves. Chan is not yet used to wearing contact lenses. The boy blinks a few times until the uncomfortable feeling in his eyes lessens and directs his gaze in front. He doubts that his folder will find a place between the other students and continues walking. Mrs. Kim slows down. Chan soon realizes their destination is the very vocal group of men standing in a half-circle at the other end of the office. His eyes fall on the large double-wing door behind them.

“ Principal office”,  stands on the golden sign next to it.

The boy is surprised that someone notices them as they approach the group. The men seem very immersed in a heated discussion. The probably youngest of them looks around, dismissing Chan with a short glance. His attention is focused on Mrs. Kim entirely. “Mrs. Kim, how can I help you?”

If Mrs. Kim had been uncomfortable by the too-sweet-sounding tone, she overplayed her discomfort well. Chan, on the other hand, has to keep himself from fumbling with the ring on his left ring finger, a nervous habit he developed over the years. He does not like to judge people based on their first impression, but Mr. Yun seems like a teacher who is hard to approach.

“It seems that your new student is looking for you, Mr. Yun. But he could not find his teacher.”

Mr. Yun’s expression turns cold as he unwillingly directs his eyes on Chan again, but he schools his expression soon after as he smiles at Mrs. Kim. “Thank you for showing him the way, Mrs. Kim. You are as nice as ever.”

“Are you not going to ask him his name? He is your new student, after all.” Chan likes Mrs. Kim more than his new homeroom teacher, but he also wishes she would stop talking to him as she did. Every word she says works as fuel for whatever negative emotions Mr. Yun holds against Chan. The boy can feel something dark growing from deep within the man, without the need to be a mind reader.

“Introduce yourself.”

It is an order. 

Although the icy tone is nothing new to Chan, the boy bites his lip before giving Mr. Yun a bow.

“I’m Lee Chan. I’ll be in your care, Mr. Yun.”

“Lee Chan?”

The sudden silence after the mention of his name makes Chan look up. The group of men had split up, and a gray-haired man, probably the same age as his grandfather, would be now if he is still alive, steps forward.

“Yes, Sir?”

“Lee Chan?”, the older man asks again, and Chan confirms with a faint nod, freezing in his bow as he feels the weight of a hand on his shoulder. The eyes he met seemed kind, but something feels off.

“You have classes soon, but before that, should we have a little talk?”

“Principle Hwa, -”

“Quit it.”

The men who had called out for the elder closed their mouths instantly. The older man is still looking at Chan. It was the second time this day that Chan felt incredibly uncomfortable. It gave off the feeling like the principal was examining him, searching for something that only he could see.

“Come into my office.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Chan steps after the principal into the office, the massive double-winged wooden doors closing behind the two on their own with a soft click.

“Let us sit down.”

 “Yes, thank you.”

Apart from the luxurious creme-colored leather couch standing in the center, the principal's office seems surprisingly down to earth. Maybe it stood in contrast to what Chan had been expecting.

The principal stands with his back to him, pouring himself a cup of coffee. Chan takes the chance to let his eyes roam around the office. He turns around once before he slowly sits down on the couch. The couch is softer than expected. Chan nearly falls back as he sinks into the soft cushion while sitting down. He quickly pushes himself up again and slides forward until he sits on the end of the couch, acting as if nothing happened. The student straightens his back and folds his hands neatly on his lap, a textbook example of an obedient student. He steals a glance at the elder and relaxes when he sees that the principal is still busy brewing coffee. The boy takes the chance to look around some more.

‘ Hwa Jihwon ’ reads the name sign sitting on top of the dark-reddish escritoire, illuminated by a small, out-of-place-looking Tiffany lamp. Bookshelves cover nearly every inch of the office walls. The last free inches of the room wall is complete with paintings of various sizes. The shelves are bending under the weight of hundreds of folders and books. Most of them are large enough that Chan would never start reading them if he ever picked one of them up. There are other items scattered all over the place, most unfamiliar to Chan.

What catches his attention is a mirror standing in the corner next to a painting of a sunflower field. Chan assumed by the looks of the frame that it had to be a mirror. But it is hard to tell. A white-bleached sheet covers the object in question. There is a small opening where he can see what lies underneath. Chan read somewhere that mirrors can turn black when they start desilvering, but the blackness of the mirror did not seem ordinary.

Chan does not dare to ask what had happened to the mysterious mirror and decides to look around further instead. There are two large sets of bowed windows. One of them holds a door that leads out onto a small balcony. Chan could not see what kind of view lays behind the thick stonewall which borders the area. “Do you know why you are here, Chan?”

Hot steam rises out of the cup that stands in front of him.

“I do not, Sir.”

He does not even like coffee. The cup is uncomfortably hot against his hands. Chan does not know what to take from the thoughtful expression turning over Mr. Hwa’s face. The man keeps looking at him like Chan is an enigma that needs to be solved.

The steam rises further, softly dancing through the air as it grows thinner and less visible until it disappears completely. Chan takes a small sip.

“Do you know why am I here, Sir?” asks Chan in turn.

Gray piercing eyes lock with his own. The student did not think he could sit up even more straight, but his spine proves him wrong. The director leans forward and takes his cup, never leaving Chan out of his eyes. Chan only sees now that a part of Mr. Hwa’s left pointer finger was missing. The boy quickly looks away, feeling the need to pretend that he did not notice. His fingers absentmindedly run over the floral pattern of his cup.

Chan takes another sip of his coffee to distract himself. He burns his tongue.

“To be honest with you,” began Mr. Hwa, as he kept giving him a curious look.

“I am not sure what I have expected you to look like.”

Chan freezes.

“As your dear father called me and asked for you to attend this school, I was about to decline. But then he shared a piece of information that perked my interests.”

The boy tries to retain a neutral expression as Mr. Hwa calmly drinks his coffee. Seconds pass by, and Mr. Hwa keeps on observing him. Chan knew that the man was waiting for a reaction. He could keep waiting if he had expected him to spring up and run out of the room. Not like Chan didn’t think about doing it. It would be the next better option, though not very rational, rather than sitting in a room with someone who knows more about you than he should. He ignores the pain in his mouth and looks up with a stoic face.

“Who else knows?”

He is surprised at how his voice carries through the room without an ounce of emotion. It feels unfamiliar even to him as his words chill the room as if they were out of ice. Mr. Hwa's lips turn upwards, the action well hidden behind the thin porcelain of the cup. 

“No one other than me in this school is aware of what you are, Lee Chan.”

As if he knew that his words come off like a threat, the director puts his coffee down again and openly smiles at the student. Chan doesn't move an inch as he watches the man with the eyes of a hawk.

“You might be on alert now. That is understandable. But our interests are probably more alike as you would assume, young man.”

Mr. Hwa sounding so at ease while sitting in front of him angers Chan. It feels like the man is doing it on purpose. Flaunting the fact at him that Chan’s well-kept secret lies in his hands, additionally holding more information than Chan. 

“What else did my father tell you?”

He listens to the story of how Mr. Hwa got a phone call about a month ago. He had been surprised at the sudden request of Mr. Lee to let his beloved son attend the school. His son, Chan, is a lovable child who had been home tutored until now due to special conditions. His parents had felt bad for their son. The child was missing out on social life because of it. Now that he would turn sixteen years old, it felt like the right time for Chan to attend a school together with other students.

“Until then, I did not know Mr. Lee had a son.” 

Chan decides not to comment on that. He knew that Mr. Hwa had already counted two and two together. Humoring him by telling the man himself that his parents kept him a secret feels like Chan voluntarily makes himself vulnerable. He rather kept the man guessing instead of affirming it.

“You must know, that it is in our best interest to care for students with special needs. Keeping that in mind, I had to ask your father about your condition to provide you with the best studying experience.”

“It is not a condition.”

Chan knew he played right into Mr. Hwa’s hands when he saw the man smile. He wants to slap himself but could not help getting defensive over the word. Even though the boy did not raise his voice, the anger it carries is very noticeable.

“Of course. I did not mean to offend you, Chan.” His jaw clenches. He reminds himself to stay calm, feeling his posture growing stiff. The fingers, that had nervously played with everything within reach came to a sudden halt. Chan knew that if his father went that far, he does not have a chance to back out of this. The second his father decided to call Mr. Hwa, Chan had no other choice than to attend this school. He suppresses a sigh.

“As you might know, this school is focused on educating those with the ability to use magic. But we also accept students with a great interest in magic. Under certain circumstances.”

The aftertaste of the coffee lies bitter on his tongue. 

“Like a scholarship?”

“That is indeed right. Several students attend the school through being granted a scholarship.”

Chan frowns at the words.

“Under certain circumstances?” he repeats the man's words, causing Mr. Hwa to lean back in his seat with a sigh.

“There are students who are not gifted, but are interested in studying magic,” answers Mr. Hwa, his voice patient as if he was explaining something simple for the fourth time.

Not gifted.

Right. Using magic is considered a gift. Although the majority of the population cannot use magic, at this academy, they get treated like they are something out of the ordinary. The absurdity of it has Chan baffled.

“Would you look at the time. We have drifted away from the important topics,” says Mr. Hwa as he looks at his expensive-looking wristwatch. To Chan, Mr. Hwa looks like he would rather keep playing with him, poking at sore spots and asking questions. Mr. Hwa taps a finger against his empty cup. A moment later, hot steam wafts out of it. The scent of freshly brewed coffee fills the room once again. 

“To get back to the topic.” begins the older man, “I believe you would like to keep your identity hidden.”

The director sits back up and Chan holds the eye contact. If he wanted to get a hold of his future school life, he had to act now.

“That is right.” Chan waits for the however .

Mr. Hwa chuckles and leans forward, causing Chan to frown at his reaction.

“That is very pleasant to hear. I hope you will not misread my intentions, Chan. I am welcoming your choice with open arms. You should know, that the comfort of my students, is my greatest interest. I'm convinced you are going to blend in well." The director holds a look full of expectations as he keeps speaking.

"Your father did not tell me about the level of your abilities. I assume they are above the average.”

Chan has to keep himself from crossing his arms over his chest. The manners taught to the boy, since he was little, are hindering him from it. His instinct, on the other hand, tells him to shield himself. “They are average. But I am not going to attend this school as a gifted student.”

The moment Mr. Hwa showed interest in Chan, the boy had made a decision. Chan feels satisfied to trigger a genuinely surprised expression from the man across from him. 

“You want to attend as a human?”, asks Mr. Hwa with a frown and sinks back into the cushion.

Chan keeps himself from growing annoyed at the director’s tone.

“I believe all of the students attending are humans.”

“Of course, you are right.” Mr. Hwa seems to be still perplexed by his decision. The disappointment is evident in his voice.

“I am going to attend under the pretense of having a scholarship. It is the easiest way for me to help keep everyone comfortable.” He emphasizes the word ‘ comfortable’ , causing Mr. Hwa to raise an eyebrow, an amused expression playing on his pale features. 

“I am looking forward to having a bright student like you attending this school, Lee Chan. It is going to be a pleasure.”

Mr. Yun did not look pleased when Chan came out of the principal office about thirty minutes later. It seems like the teacher had been waiting for him outside the office, perched against a desk with his arms crossed over his chest. He gave Chan a cold glare as soon as his eyes landed on him.

“We will talk again at the end of the week. I hope you take your time to get used to our school.”

Mr. Hwa stands next to Chan after they stepped out of the office.

“Study well, Chan.”

Chan dislikes the look the director gives him and avoids the gray eyes by giving a small bow.

“I will, Sir.”

“Good.” 

The principal pats him on the shoulder, a sign of encouragement, that gives the boy a sour taste on his tongue. Chan gives a forced smile. The older man walks back into his office, and the double-wing doors close on their own again, leaving Chan alone with his new homeroom teacher.

“Come on now. At this rate, we will be late to class.”

“Yes, Mr. Yun.” Chan quickly walks after his teacher, his heart beating faster as he realizes that he has to introduce himself to his new classmates in a few minutes. He never had them before. 

On his way to his new apartment, Chan had been excited at the thought of having classmates. He had imagined it more than once after the end of his private lessons, as he sat alone in his room, packing away his textbooks. How it would be to study together, fool around with someone during class, share books and ask for help and give advice. Right now, he could not bring himself to get excited over the thought as he had back then. Everything that Chan feels is an incoming headache from the lack of sleep and breakfast. The nervousness probably did not make it any better either. He had trouble standing up this morning and thus skipped breakfast. A decision he regrets deeply by now.

Chan wishes they could just continue walking around, but Mr. Yun is steadily heading towards a classroom door. Chan knew that it meant that they have reached their destination. He steps after Mr. Yun into the room. The new student feels the stares as soon as he walks into the class.

When he walked through the school before, no one paid attention to him. At this moment, however, over twenty pairs of eyes follow his every move with curiosity. Chan hopes his eyes do not look as irritated as they feel, the itch making him blink a few times.

“Hello everyone.”, starts Mr. Yun and greets the class while Chan quietly stands next to him, trying not to meet eyes with any of the students. He looks over their heads to not look disinterested and waits for Mr. Yun to let him sit already.

“This is your new classmate. Go on, introduce yourself.”

Mr. Yun gave him a bored look, fitting his equally boring-sounding tone. Chan hurries to introduce himself to the class. He is not keen on pissing his new teacher off. He gives a quick bow to the students sitting in front of him before looking up.

“Hello, I am Lee Chan. Nice to meet you. I hope we get along well.”

While he introduces himself, Chan spots a familiar face, leaving him surprised. Seungkwan looks at him with a raised eyebrow, looking just as surprised as Chan, but gives him a tiny nod in greeting. 

“Can we ask him some questions?”

Chan hopes and highly expects Mr. Yun to decline and make him sit down in the last free seat near the windows. Contrary to his anticipation Mr. Yun agrees. They ask Chan where he comes from and why he changed school in the middle of the year. He explains that he lived in Iksan but moved to Seoul due to his father changing workplaces. He feels unwell as he answers. The first thing he tells his new classmates is a lie, but Chan reminds himself that he has to get used to it. He wishes he could tell them something else. Not even Chan knows why his step-father made his move to Seoul so abruptly and let him attend a school as soon as he turned sixteen. He continuously tells them that he likes dancing as a hobby. A side of him could not help but mock him for it. 

"Telling them your hobbies after lying to them about everything else. What a funny person you, Chan." He tries to ignore the voice inside him and concentrates on the questions of his new classmates instead. The thirst for answers is growing less until few hands are left raised. Chan starts feeling not as nervous as he had before.

“Yah! Why are you all asking such boring questions?”

Chan directs his eyes to the boy who started speaking, caught off guard by the aggressive undertone in his voice. The other students seem to have similar thoughts as the girl sitting next to him asks what he means, looking annoyed.

“Ask him if he's gifted.”

Chan is taken aback by the sudden change of atmosphere inside the classroom. The whispers and murmuring stop in an instant. All eyes are back on him, waiting for him to answer. Out of the corner of his vision, he sees Mr. Yun glancing at him. Even his interest perks up at the question. If Chan had not talked to the director about the matter beforehand, he would have felt panic. As much as he dreads the question, he had expected it to come sooner. He should have been suspicious of the tameness that the questions of his classmates hold earlier. “Are you not going to answer? Just tell us already!”

Chan looks back at the boy, who glares at him with a threatening gleam in his eyes. The student asks him again, this time with his head cocked to the side as if he is ready to start a fight. “Lee Chan, are you gifted?”

“Don’t be like that Sejong. Of course, Chan is gifted. Why else would he be here?”

“In fact,” starts Chan, which causes the other student who spoke up, as well as the rest of the class, to look at him with an uncomfortable amount of anticipation, “I am not gifted.”

It took about five minutes for Mr. Yun and the threat of giving extra homework to the class to stop the murmurs. Chan still stands in front of the students, but while the topic of all their conversations is him, no one pays him attention. Or so he thought. “Why do they allow another one to come to school if they are not gifted. What a waste of space.”

“Sejong, mind your words.”

Mr. Yun did not sound upset by the student’s way of speaking but was more bothered by the volume of it. Chan feels better knowing that the only free seat available lies the opposite of the class. 

“If Chan would hurry and sit down we can finally start the class.”

The chuckles of the students make Chan flush, and his ears and neck grow hot as he passes by their desks. He sits down and quickly takes out something to write while Mr. Yun begins explaining the topics for the upcoming exam. The rest of the school day passes fast. During break time, several students approach Chan and ask him questions, some mildly offending, but he didn't let it bother him. He isn't sure why the students think so highly of themselves for being gifted, but after seeing the wealth of the school, Chan could assume what their backgrounds and social standings look like. Not like he could hold it against them. His background looks not much different, coming from a well-off family.

“Who would have thought that we meet again so soon.”

Chan looks up, the straw of his juice still stuck between his lips. He didn't even notice that Seungkwan’s seat lies in front of his own. The latter sits on the edge of his seat, legs crossed and an arm perched on top of the chair’s back to support his head. Seungkwan looks at him with interest, but while the curiosity of his other classmates makes Chan feel uncomfortable, Seungkwan feels not unpleasant. “How are you doing on your first day? Must be a lot.”

“It’s okay, I guess.”

When Seungkwan gives him a funny look, Chan realizes that his words and tired face probably didn't match at all 

“Hmm, if you say so.” Seungkwan nods as he talks, his bottom lip pushed forward into a pout, making it obvious, that he doesn’t believe a word of what Chan just said. Chan scoffs at the reaction, a small smile creeping on his lips while shaking his head. He misses the amused look on Seungkwans face, the other boy has turned around again as their last lesson of the day begins.

With Seungkwan’s help, Chan finds the way to the main library to get the rest of his books. He tells the other boy that he can go home now but Seungkwan was persistent to walk him all the way. The latter wishes him good luck carrying “the sack of bricks” home, while Chan keeps putting more and more books into his backpack. Seunkgwan bits him goodbye as they leave the libraby, on his way to meet his friends and Chan already could take a guess that Seungkwan is more on the social side. On his way out of the school, Chan walks past a group of boys, standing near the school entrance. After a short glance, he spots some of his classmates, but the rest of the faces are unfamiliar. It does look like they are hanging out with some older students though, and Chan had never gone to a school before, but his gut feeling told him he better not stays too close to the group.

“That’s him! It’s the smartass who’s new in our class.”

“Sejong, be quiet. He can hear you!”

“So what?” The group of boys laughs and several heads turn in his direction. Chan pulls a grimace and tightens the hold on his backpack, his steps getting faster. He glances around and jogs down the street, looking for the sight of a familiar school uniform. The boy cannot spot any of his classmates and deems it safe to pick up the pace. Chan runs back to the apartment, the door opening after the security system successfully scans his face. As soon as he steps inside, he slips out of his shoes and throws the backpack down. His eyes widen at the loud thud when the bag hits the ground and he stares at it for a moment before the realization hits him. 

“Oh.” 

He had completely forgotten about the books. 

"I hope I won't get a noise-complain." mutters the boy as he unpacks them and sets them on the desk next to the bed. He looks at the place where he had thrown the bag and Chan would not have been surprised if there was an actual dent on the spot it hit the ground. After checking that he doesn't accidentally disassemble half of his apartment on his first day, Chan let the jalousie of the window front down.

Technically no one could look into the apartment as it lays on floor number twenty-one and no other apartments around had similar heights. But Chan couldn't help being extra careful. Feeling better after seeing every window covered, Chan goes into the bathroom to wash up. He pulls out his cell phone and connects it to the apartment's sound system, needing music right now.

He folds the uniform and puts it away after dressing in a comfortable pair of sweatpants and a white t-shirt. While carefully taking out the contact lenses, today’s events roll past his mind. It still feels surreal to Chan. He pulls the ring off his finger and sets it gently on the free space next to the sink before washing his face. His hand blindly reach for the nearest towel to dry his skin off, breathing in the comforting scent of fabric softener. It is hard to believe that he will go to school now.

The words of Sejong and the questions of his classmates came back to mind. Chan takes off the bunny hair band that helped hold the black curls out of his face. While still holding the towel against his cheeks, finding comfort in the softness, the boy glances into the mirror. Emerald-green eyes stare back at him.

A demon pretends to be a human in a school full of magic users.

Chan puts the towel down and scoffs at his reflection.

"What a joke."

[kariachi]

Who wants some Argit 10 fic? Specifically, an Argit meets a Kevin.

~~

Earth isn’t that bad a place. Mind, his standards are as low as it is possible for them to be, beneath underbrush, but the point still stands. It’s a habited planet, dominated by a species he has access to from the watch, where nobody looks twice at a scrawny kid wandering around alone. That the place is a backwoods, pre-First Contact mudball where nobody would expect anyone to go doesn’t hurt either.

Argit doesn’t feel safe, he hasn’t felt safe since he left the pouch and his experiences since finding the watch have only made that worse, but he feels safer. As safe as a kitten can when they’re being hunted and hiding out by pretending to be another species for brief stints at a time on a strange planet. He can’t remember the last time he had a full day’s sleep, and that the locals are most active then certainly isn’t helping.

But after a few nights, and with plans for many more as he waits for his pursuers to well and truly lose the trail, he’s getting into the pattern of things on this new planet. Humans, he’s realizing, aren’t a vertical species no matter how high they build and so he can easily take shelter in high places and know that the odds are far lower of being discovered. There aren’t a lot of trees in the part of the city he’s been adjusting in, but what there are nobody inspects, and there are plenty of spaces a small Erinaen can get and rest with ease that humans would struggle with. He’s figured out the basics of the local money system- everything costs more than they say it costs, he does not know why and doesn’t want to draw attention by asking- and is figuring out where he can steal money, and where he can still find necessities if it’s not an option.  

And it’s that last one he’s working on when things take a turn.

Humans have better day vision than Erinaens, but their hearing is crap, and it isn’t until a local his age has crept into the same aisle of a small store that Argit realizes they’re even there. Both start when they see each other, the local’s hand darting to a shelf and Argit freezing in the midst of shoving a package of nuts and dried fruit into a bag he stole four planets back.

Something happens in that moment, as they take each other in. Both thin, both dirty, ragged, scarred. A sense spreads within each of them that the other gets it.

In two heartbeats the local kitten turns and takes a careful look around the corner, towards where who Argit assumes is the owner has been arguing with someone.

“We’re good,” they says in a near whisper. An amount of tension he hadn’t realized he was carrying drops from Argit’s muscles, and he sets to work shoving more than he’d planned into his bag. For the first time in what feels like an eternity somebody is keeping watch.

“What do you want,” he asks at about the same volume, and the local turns back just long enough to do a quick scan of the shelves, grab an orange bag, and toss it to him before turning back. Argit grabs another one, and some weird stick things he can’t identify but that don’t take up a lot of space. He shuts his bag, adjusts it over his shoulder to account for the added weight, and runs over the layout of the place as he saw it on his entrance. “I need to grab some water.”

The local shakes their head.

“I know a better place,” they say, backing away from the end of the shelf and turning towards him again. Looking him over, their eyes narrow at his now stuffed bag, flickering towards the entrance. They're on the same page again, it might attract attention if the owner isn't properly distracted. Already Argit is considering ways to ensure it, you couldn’t count on an argument doing the job, but the local comes to a decision faster, clapping a hand on his shoulder as they slip passed. “Come on.”

Having already decided to trust them, at least for now, Argit follows without question. Besides, it would be stupid to risk saying no, he has more to lose by making a scene than the local does. They lead him carefully through the rest of the small store, away from the entrance, muttering something he can’t catch in a pleased tone when they come across another door. This one is metal, with a push bar and a well-marked button beside it. The local ignores the button, laying both hands on the bar and letting off sparks that arc over it as they push it open into an alley.

Together they slip out, take a sharp right, and are gone. Down two alleys, over a fence, and through one of the smallest parks Argit has ever seen. Not that he’s seen a lot. It’s not until they’re passed the park that the local finds a bench next to a road, under a small roof, and drops down onto one of the seats. Argit carefully does the same, silently lamenting not being able to scan about with his ears in this shape.

“So,” the local says, sitting up straight and flashing a bright smile, “I’m Kevin Levin.” Argit is surprised to find himself honestly smiling back.

“Argit,” he says, without even thinking, a stupid move he’ll be grateful later didn’t come back to bite him. In the then and now, however, he just pulls one of the orange bags out and hands it over. “Thanks for the help, friend.” It isn’t meant in the moment. A turn of phrase learned from his parents’ tails. But Kevin brightens at the word. Something in Argit brightens to see Kevin brighten.

The rest is a history.

[oliverreedmasterass]

Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Interlude | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Second Interlude | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Epilogue

Chapter Summary: Rae's first day at her new school ends up being worse than she could have ever imagined.

Words: 3.2k

Warnings: language, mentions of missing people, leukemia

Notes: Thank you to @infinisonicosm for the fic idea!!

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

Rae didn’t text Jake. Instead she remained trapped in the confines of her new home, doing anything she could to keep her mind off Jake and whatever his deal was. Whenever her mind wandered to him and Sam and Josh and Sam’s friend, she put a new record on her turntable and cranked the volume all the way up to drown out her thoughts. Occasionally she’d peer out her window, worried she would see Jake standing down on the sidewalk, but he was never there. Maybe he understood that he had crossed a line. 

Monday rolled around a lot faster than Rae liked. That morning she woke up with anxiety churning in her stomach, her brain already thinking of viable excuses to get out of walking through the front doors of the high school. She didn’t want Jake to confront her about not contacting him, she didn’t want Josh to talk to her in his icy voice, and she didn’t want to be the new kid in school. She yearned to be back in Folsom, surrounded by her long-time friends, going to a school that was big enough that it was impossible to stand out. Rae liked staying tucked in the background for the most part, but it seemed like that was going to be a challenge in this small town. 

Despite wanting to stay in bed for the rest of her life, Rae forced herself downstairs to the kitchen where she could fix herself a bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios. Morgan was already there, shoving the pack of tampons that Rae had given him into the front pouch of his brand new backpack. 

“You ready for your first day?” Rae could do nothing to make herself sound enthusiastic. 

“Much more than you are,” Morgan chirped back. He dropped his backpack by his feet and redirected his attention back to a bowl of yogurt and fruit that he had fixed for himself. “I’m ready for a new start.” 

Rae shrugged. “That’s a nice way to think about it.”

“I’m gonna tell people my uncle is Vin Diesel.” 

“Thanks for letting me know so I can back you up on that one.” 

Rae and Morgan’s father drove them to Frankenmuth High even though it was only a fifteen minute walk away. Rae knew it was because he didn’t want Morgan to over-exert himself, but she also appreciated that it lowered the chances of her running into Jake. What she hadn’t expected, though, was for Jake and Sam to be standing at the front steps of Frankenmuth High, scanning around for her. 

Jake perked up at the sight of Rae as she slid out of the backseat with her head down, and rushed to her side. 

“I was worried something happened to you,” he greeted her, looking relieved. 

Behind him, Sam shook Morgan’s hand and introduced himself. 

“I don’t want to talk to you,” Rae told Jake under her breath. Jake backed away from her in shock. 

“Huh? What did I do?” He didn’t sound angry, just baffled. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Rae was short. She was having a lot of trouble looking him in the eyes. “Just, leave me alone.” 

“Rae, wait,” Jake said, but Rae was already hurrying through the front doors. Morgan had been in the middle of chatting with Sam about Michigan sports teams, but he rushed to catch up to Rae when he saw her speed away. Once they entered the crowded hallway, he reached out and put a soft hand on her shoulder to slow her down. 

“You good?” 

“I hope.” 

Rae was a bit disappointed that she didn’t have someone to show her around the campus so she wasn’t aimlessly wandering around, but she was also relieved to be away from Jake. Her morning was relatively mellow: she liked her teachers well enough and met a few classmates who seemed kind. Things were starting to feel like they could maybe be normal, which was a relief. 

Rae strolled out of her US history class and searched around to find a place where she could relax during their ten minute break. She settled for a bench that overlooked some outdoor basketball courts and slid her backpack off to retrieve a snack. While she fished around her messy bag, she hoped that Morgan was doing well and making friends. She hadn’t seen him since they went their separate ways for their first period classes, but she felt a knot form in her stomach at the thought that Morgan was hanging around Sam. She unwrapped a breakfast bar and took a large bite as she considered the best way to tell Morgan he should stay away from that kid. A familiar voice spoke behind her. 

“Jake ditch you?” Rae’s arms broke out in goosebumps. She slowly turned back and was face to face with Josh, who was smirking at her. She sealed her lips shut and shook her head in the hopes that was enough to get him to go away. It was not. Josh joined her on the bench, notably making an effort to give her some space as he sat at the far end. “I feel like we started off on the wrong foot.” 

“You could say that,” Rae retorted, immediately regretting that she had engaged with him in conversation. He was going to stick around now. 

“I don’t know what Jake told you, but I’m really not a bad guy,” Josh’s tone was warmer, the chill gone. “If anything, you should probably steer clear of him.” 

“Trust me, I am.” 

Josh looked intrigued. “He must have really screwed things up.” 

Rae knew that she shouldn’t say anything but, at the same time, she was curious if Josh had any insights about Jake to help her understand what she was dealing with. 

“He’s just, I don’t know, kinda weird?” Rae started. 

Josh gave a merry laugh. “That’s one way to describe him.” 

“He was really nice to me, don’t get me wrong but, I don’t know, I think it would be best if I kept my distance.” 

“What did he do?” 

“He, uh, showed up at my house. I never told him where I live.” 

Josh’s face was scrunched in a mixture of confusion and disturbance. 

“Fuckin weirdo,” he murmured. 

“Okay, good, I’m glad I’m not overreacting,” Rae breathed out a sigh of relief. Morgan hadn’t been nearly as troubled as she felt after Jake left the other night. He reasoned that Jake must have known the area well, and was aware that their house had recently been bought. Rae attempted to convince him to think otherwise, but she found that it was challenging for her to find the right words to describe why she was suddenly so nervous about Jake. Explaining that it was another “gut feeling” wasn’t enough to get Morgan on board. 

He just kept repeating, “He seems like a nice guy.” 

“No, he’s got to respect your territory,” Josh spoke, starting to look fired up. Rae regretted saying anything to him. “He should know that, of all people.” 

“What does that mean?” Rae was desperate for answers. “Does this have something to do with your beef?” 

“You could say that.” 

“Could you say more? Because I’m getting really tired of the cryptic talk. I just want to know what the hell is going on with you guys and this freaky town.” 

Josh shot her an apologetic smile and shook his head. “That’s a can of worms you don’t want to open, sorry.” 

Rae wanted to protest that that was actually exactly what she wanted to do, but the warning bell rang, indicating that they had to make their way to their third period class. 

“Where are you headed?” Josh asked. Rae was thrown off by how kind he was being to her. She wondered if he had any ulterior motives. 

“Biology,” she answered with caution. 

“With Mr. Dalton?” 

“Uh huh.” 

“Cool, I’ll walk you there.” 

Rae didn’t protest as Josh popped to his feet and waited for her to gather her things. They set off for the far end of the school, where the labs were tucked away, and Josh attempted to make some friendly small talk. 

“Where are you from, new girl?” 

“California.” 

Josh let out a long whistle. “Frankenmuth is one hell of a downgrade.” 

Rae attempted to break the news to Josh as quickly as possible, like ripping off a bandaid. “We moved so my younger brother could start chemo; he’s got leukemia.”

A look of sadness washed over Josh’s face. “I’m so sorry to hear that.” 

“It is what it is.” 

“But still, it’s shitty.” Josh stopped, and looked to be thinking hard. He sounded out his next words like he wasn’t sure if he should be speaking them aloud. “I know a thing or two about leukemia, I might be able to offer some help.”  

Rae raised an eyebrow. “What do you know about leukemia?” 

“My, uh, mom is in the medical field. She specializes in that kind of stuff. You know, blood.” 

“That’s cool,” Rae trailed off. She wasn’t quite sure what Josh was offering her, but she figured to leave it at that for the time being. She knew Morgan wouldn’t be happy that she was telling classmates about his illness; he had made it pretty clear that he wanted to have as normal of a high school experience as he could. But, then again, it seemed like a good chance to get a second opinion on how to make sure Morgan bounced back. “I mean, if it’s not out of you or your mom’s way, that would be nice.” 

“For sure,” Josh nodded. He reached into his back pocket and retrieved an older iPhone that made Rae do a double take. She hadn’t seen that generation iPhone in well over 5 years. Josh unlocked it quickly with a 6 digit passcode and went into his contacts. “Give me your number and I’ll hit you up.” 

Rae looked down at the phone, blew out a “eh, what the hell?” sigh, and grabbed it from him so she could put in her number. So maybe two weird guys who had some strange conflict between each other having her phone number wasn’t great, but what was the worst that could happen?

As she tapped her fingers over his phone screen, she saw Jake approaching them out of the corner of her eye and immediately tensed. He seemed to slow down at the sight of Rae and Josh, but then he put his head down and powered away. Rae could feel her shoulders drop in relief that Jake had chosen not to make a scene, though she still felt on edge. 

She handed Josh his phone back, and he scanned over her number to make sure that it looked legit. The minute warning bell sounded above them and Josh held up the hand that was carrying his phone in a wave to Rae. 

“I better go,” Josh excused himself, nodding back in the direction they had come from, completely oblivious to Jake’s recent presence. “I don’t want to be tardy for English on the first day. You know, I gotta make a good first impression.” 

“You could learn a thing or two about getting better at that,” Rae found the words escaping from her mouth before she could stop them. That made Josh stop but, instead of frowning, he let out a jovial laugh. 

“You’re not wrong,” he agreed, and then was on his way. Rae shook her head, still struggling to believe the strange triangle she had found herself trapped in, and stepped foot in her biology class. 

School let out at 3:45 and, even though Rae’s dad was parked out front to pick her and Morgan up, Rae opted to walk home instead. She needed some space to reflect on her day before her parents started to hound her, demanding to know how her first day went, and how many new friends she had made. Rae had to find the right way to tell them that the people she met were nice, but she had eaten lunch alone. A part of her had expected Jake to come back around to talk to her during their break, but he was nowhere to be seen. She wondered where he had been hiding. 

Rae waved goodbye to her dad and Morgan, sending them off so she could be on her own, and then trudged in the direction of their house. The humid air made her feel sluggish in her steps, and the searing sun overhead left sweat dripping down the sides of her face. Rae wiped the perspiration away with the back of her hand and made a small grunt of disapproval. She was going to enjoy a tall glass of lemonade when she got home. 

She hurried her pace at the thought of the refreshing treat, and pondered who she could befriend to distance herself from Jake and Josh. There was a girl who sat behind her in orchestra class that seemed shy, but nice. Rae made a mental note to formally introduce herself the next day and ask if they could eat together. She hoped the girl didn’t speak in codes like Jake and Josh seemed to. 

Rae was nearly to the edge of the campus and the students around her started thinning out, moving in all different directions to get to their respective homes. Rae only saw the long stretch of sidewalk ahead of her and focused on trying to pinpoint where it ended. There was no end in sight. 

“What the fuck?” she heard a voice bark to her right, which made her slow down. She hated how nosy she could be sometimes. 

Lo and behold, maybe about thirty feet away in front of the chain link fence that wrapped around the exterior of the school’s baseball diamond, Jake and Josh were standing in close confrontation. It looked like Josh had been the one to instigate things because he was hovering over Jake, his hands balled into tight fists ready to strike at any moment. In comparison, Jake’s eyes darted around, looking for an escape route. Rae was entirely stopped, gaping at the scene in front of her, but neither Jake nor Josh seemed to notice her. 

“You just showed up at her house?” Josh’s voice raised. “What were you thinking?” 

Shit, Rae thought as her stomach dropped. They’re talking about me. 

So, like any rational person would do, Rae crept closer to the two boys and ducked behind a tall oak tree to keep out of sight while listening in. 

“I wasn’t thinking, okay?” Jake pleaded, trying to get Josh to calm down. “I admit that was stupid. But she’s not talking to me anymore, so you should be happy.” 

“I don’t think you understand the magnitude of the situation,” Josh’s voice quieted, speaking through grit teeth. Rae had to lean closer to make out what was said next. “She’s speculating about us. She’s gonna find out.” 

Rae’s heart thundered in her chest. 

“She won’t,” Jake’s confidence was obviously wavering as his words raised into more of a question than a firm statement. Josh immediately picked up on this. 

“Look, I fucking hate you, and you hate me. But this is something we’ve got to work together on. The normies can’t know, that’s the agreement. You, of all people, should know that.”

“Don’t you dare bring that up,” Jake hissed. 

“I don’t know how you haven’t been thrown out of town,” Josh was off and running. “If your dad wasn’t so popular, you’d be dumped in the woods by your own kind, left to fend for yourself.”

“I know you wish that’s where I was,” Jake’s voice quaked with rage. 

Josh let out a taunting laugh. “It’s where you belong.” 

Rae peeked around the tree and saw Jake swinging his fist back, ready to make contact with Josh, who was glaring back at Jake with discontent. Jake would have slammed his fist into Josh’s nose if Sam hadn’t run up behind him and pinned his arms behind his back. Jake called out in shock at his brother’s sudden appearance and wiggled around to try and break free. Josh took a few steps back to steer clear of Jake’s flailing, and watched the two siblings wrestle with each other. 

“Sam!” Jake was out of breath. “Get off me!” 

Although he looked like a twig, Sam somehow managed to hold onto his brother tight, keeping him from tearing out of his grasp to tackle Josh. 

“Listen to me!” Sam’s voice cracked. Jake continued yelling at Sam to let him go. 

“I think I’m gonna dip,” Josh cut in, having a hard time hiding how tickled he was by the sight of Jake being held back by his kid brother. 

Sam looked over Jake’s head and pointed at Josh. “No! This concerns you too.” 

Sam’s words rocketed from his lips and shocked Josh in place. He gaped at Sam, his body stiffened into a frozen pose. Jake had grown limp in Sam’s arms, so Sam released him from his grasp and pushed him off so Jake and Josh were standing side by side, facing the young boy. 

“Someone stole Danny’s backpack from me.” 

“Fuck!” Jake exclaimed, still riled up from everything.  

“I have no clue who did it,” Sam looked between Jake and Josh. “It was in my locker, they must have taken it after lunch. But word got to the higher ups and the mayor is pinning the blame on us. He’s saying we broke the agreement.” 

“What do we have to do with it?” Josh found his voice again and jabbed a thumb into his chest. 

“Don’t you see?” Sam sounded exasperated, “They see us all as a threat. It doesn’t matter that Danny is my best friend, it doesn’t matter that the one before Danny was one of us, none of that matters. They need a scapegoat, and they’ve decided it’s us.” 

“But it’s not you guys?” Josh checked with Sam. 

“The smells in that backpack, Josh, that’s not a vampire or a werewolf.”

Rae’s head was spinning. They were all crazy, every single one of them. Nothing made any sense, and she suddenly felt a tug in her stomach that she needed to get away, and fast. 

“We have to get out of here,” Jake echoed her sentiment as his head twisted around, trying to make sure that no one unwanted was close by. He sniffed a few times, and then raised an eyebrow. 

“Rae,” his voice hardened. “Get out from there.” 

Rae’s eyes darted around in a blind panic. How the fuck?  

“Rae,” Jake repeated himself with more force. Rae slowly stepped out from behind the tree, her breath hitched in her throat. “You heard everything, didn’t you?” Jake asked, his voice still firm. Rae nodded her head, and noted that Josh was gazing on at her with sadness. “We have to go. Now,” Jake repeated himself. Rae didn’t like that he was suddenly pointing at her. “And that includes you too.” 

“No way,” Rae shook her head hard. 

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Josh murmured to Jake. 

“She’s a part of this now,” Jake turned to look at Josh. 

Josh shrugged like there wasn’t much to argue, and Sam looked at Jake in panic. 

“What are we gonna do?” 

“Dad’s bar,” Jake decided. “We need to hide, and I need a quiet place to sort all this shit out.”

***

Taglist: @lvnterninthenight, @writingcold, @myownparadise96, @i-choose-the-road, @psychedelicsprinkles, @mama-likes72

[reyrey11]

Nameless(3)

The old clock tower was home to her, her brother, and their friends—a group Nick was sure didn’t live there by choice but understood loyalty. Her brother’s sole purpose in gathering such a group was simply to extend his own survival.

As Rachel slipped through the back entrance of the tower—a tiny gap she’d discovered long ago—she placed the rings into a worn-out pouch. Once outside, she tossed the pouch into a corner where someone would find it and deliver it to Nick.

Doing it herself would complicate matters, and right now, she didn’t have the patience to lie.

Gripping a section of the tower’s inner wall, she hoisted herself up floor by floor through the crumbling structure until she reached the top floor and her room.

Her room was filled with a broken bed and an overwhelming number of books. Rachel had a habit of sitting on the partially destroyed wall of her room and reading. From that vantage point, she could see the entire city—a rare joy for her. When she sat at that height, looking down on the city, she didn’t need to focus solely on its beauty, as the nobles often did. From up there, she could see the lights of the north and east and hear the music floating through the air, while the west of the city gleamed quietly, like the moon.

Beauty could never exist alone in anyone, anything, or any place. It was ugliness that gave beauty its name, and in this city, the south—her home—was the ugliness that gave meaning to the beauty of other parts.

Throwing herself onto her shabby bed, Rachel let out a sigh of relief. She wasn’t in the hands of the authorities, Nick hadn’t reprimanded her, and most importantly, she was alive and lying on her bed.

Her dislocated arm throbbed painfully, and her wounded side, wrapped carelessly in a dirty cloth, had started bleeding again. She desperately needed to clean the wound and rewrap it with something sterile.

Dragging the large water bucket from the corner of her room, she began undressing. Her torn clothes, likely beyond repair, came off with a sensation like peeling off a layer of skin.

Her side wound was far worse than she’d initially thought, needing stitches. Although she was skilled at sketching, Rachel had no talent for sewing. Still, she could manage a few uneven, painful stitches to avoid the endless questions Nick would inevitably ask.

Lowering herself into the water, she cleaned off the grime. When it came time to disinfect the wound, she heated her newly acquired but subpar weapon over a fire. After washing the wound, she pressed the heated metal against its edges, ensuring it wouldn’t become infected.

Stitching the wound resembled sewing far more than she’d expected, though it wasn’t as excruciating as cauterizing. Once done, she wrapped the wound with a clean white cloth and donned one of her many long black dresses, which had slits from the waist down on either side, along with her short boots and black trousers.

Glancing at her bruised eye in the mirror, she applied some powder to mask the discoloration. Her blood sugar had dropped after the morning’s intense chase, so she reached under her bed for a hidden chocolate bar, ensuring the rest of the stash remained well-hidden. If Nick found them, she’d have to make another trip north for another minor theft.

As she rose from under the bed, chocolate in hand, she saw her brother’s spy and her own friend, Victor, standing in the doorway, wearing a frown that spoke volumes.

Chewing on the chocolate, Rachel asked, “What’s wrong, Vic?”

Victor’s frown deepened. “You know exactly what’s wrong. Nick wants to see you.”

Victor’s irritated tone made Rachel wonder what mistake from her morning adventure had landed her in this situation. Without a word, Victor left the room, and Rachel followed him with small steps. As she descended the spiral staircase in the clock tower, she took note of the intricate details in the building she’d called home for over two years.

The craftsmanship in the remaining sections of the black walls revealed that this place, now a ruin in southern Loaris, had once been much more. Despite its decay and the vines overtaking it, the clock tower retained a haunting beauty.

Her brother’s room was at the tower's base. With each step on the worn spiral stairs, her side wound throbbed more sharply, and her dislocated arm grew entirely numb. Still, Rachel ignored the pain and kept descending.

It took over twenty minutes to reach the crimson wooden door of her brother’s room. She didn’t want to face Nick alone, so she ensured Victor stayed with her.

Probably not the wisest choice—Victor seemed grumpier than usual today for reasons only he knew.

Inside, Rachel approached Nick with a carefully crafted nonchalance. Nick, with his blue eyes and short black hair, had a cruelty in his gaze that only enhanced his attractiveness. Many girls would gladly hang themselves for a chance at his attention.

Standing before Nick’s cluttered desk, she waited for the inevitable scolding and punishment for whatever trouble she’d caused today.

When Nick finally spoke, Rachel’s heart skipped a beat. “Give it back.”

She stared at him, puzzled, raising her brows in silent question. Nick rubbed his temples and, with his eyes closed, said, “Let’s not make this hard. Return the knife you took from my desk this morning.”

He didn’t know about her morning adventure, which was good news. But the fact that he knew she’d taken his knife wasn’t.

With a sulky tone, Rachel said, “I can’t wander around unarmed. What if someone attacks me?”

Nick smirked. “Don’t kid yourself, girl. Even your bare hands are weapons. And if you don’t have a knife, maybe you’ll focus more on defending yourself instead of causing trouble—which would be a good thing.”

Raising his hand, he waited for the knife to be placed in it.

Reluctantly, Rachel removed the weapon from her belt and handed it over. “Can I go now, sir?” she asked with crossed arms and a sarcastic tone, prompting Nick to laugh and stand.

Nick pinched her cheek. “When you talk like that, it feels like I’m dealing with a child, not a composed twenty-year-old woman.”

Victor, leaning against the wall, quipped dryly, “Composed?”

Rachel shot Victor a warning glance, prompting him to raise his hands in mock surrender, though his faint smirk didn’t escape her notice.

Nick twirled the reclaimed knife thoughtfully in his hand. “Well, at least now I don’t have to worry about you slicing someone’s throat while I’m asleep.”

Rachel, with a mischievous glint in her eye, replied, “I still have my hands for strangling, dear brother.”

Nick gave her a look that warned against even joking about such a thing.

Shrugging, Rachel turned to Victor with a silent question.

Victor, in his usual calm, neutral tone, asked, “What do you want to know?”

Nick, now buried in his papers again, muttered to no one in particular, “I’ll never understand how these two communicate with just a look.”

Resting against Nick’s desk, Rachel toyed with her nails and asked, “Who were the people dealing drugs in Tethys last week?”

Nick’s head snapped up, his gaze darting between Victor and Rachel before landing on Victor.

Victor locked his green eyes on Rachel’s and silently warned her to avoid causing more trouble after getting the information.

Rachel sighed dramatically. “Relax, it’s for Asmini.” A lie—her friend had neither asked nor cared to know.

Nick, seemingly reassured, returned to his work. His trust in Asmini was something Rachel had never felt directed at her.

Victor, now calmer, said, “They were agents of the second prince. Heard the deal was made on his direct orders.”

Hearing the second prince’s name, Rachel’s expression darkened. She had expected it, yet the mention still filled her with disdain.

The prince—a hedonist known for frequenting brothels—was a fool who habitually pinned the chaos he caused in the south on innocent locals.

Rachel longed to slit his throat slowly, ensuring he felt every ounce of pain as he drowned in his own blood.

Her growing anger drew Nick’s attention. He placed a hand on her shoulder to calm her.

Closing her eyes briefly, Rachel said to Victor, “I need proof. Evidence that he did this.”

Victor lowered his head, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “I’m sorry. I can’t. He left no traces.”

Rachel shook her head in disappointment. If Victor couldn’t help, no one could. That meant she’d have to take matters into her own hands.

Turning back to Nick, she asked, “May I go?”

Nick gestured toward the door, dismissing her. Rachel strode out, leaving her brother and Victor to discuss matters she wasn’t privy to.

She had no desire to hear about more innocent lives slaughtered by the royal guard.

No one cared about the deaths of southern Loaris residents—not even the southerners themselves. And even if someone did, no one dared to oppose the royal guard.

[modern-inheritance]

Escape pt 2 (3??) snippet #1

Iunno I bashed some out, so y'all can have it. No edits yet.

~~

“Not yet.” Eragon heaved an unfamiliar pack into Saphira’s saddlebags from where it hung lashed to one of the spare straps. “You need to look at her too.” And he gestured up towards the saddle.

“Her?” Brom’s head snapped around from where he was already pushing a foot into Snowfire’s stirrup. “You brought someone else? Do you know the danger that–”

“She’s the elf I’ve been dreaming about.” Eragon’s tone was flat with exhaustion, a hint of sharpness that signaled his growing annoyance at having to explain. “The Shade was hurting her, and she got wounded again when she fought him.” 

“Lost a lot of blood.” Murtagh added through the bootlace in his teeth. 

Brom didn’t hear him. The old Rider dropped back to the ground and rushed to Saphira, a half grunted apology to the dragon as he scrambled and heaved himself up to stand precariously supported by one of the secondary loops of her saddle. He seized the jaw of the slumped woman, icy prickles tingling in his stomach. 

“Hey, be careful!” Eragon’s cry was alarmed, volume dropping at Murtagh’s hissed warning. “She’s hurt. She helped us, and we couldn’t just–”

Moonlight caught and held in the silver rift through the woman’s brow. The old Rider’s mouth went dry. 

“Fucking stars! You crazy girl, what have you done?” Brom swore explosively, epithets in a language none but the unconscious elf would have been able to understand rolling off his tongue. Again, Murtagh let out a sharp hiss, already on his feet and watching the darkened trees for any pursuers. Saphira’s low rumble of surprise drowned her Rider’s confused bewilderment. 

Brom cut off the flood of questions he could feel simmering in his student’s throat. “Enough! We can’t stay any longer, she’s just going to have to hold out for now.” He pressed two fingers to Arya’s neck, mentally noting the lurid marks that stood out on her usually honey skin. There would be more, there was no question. But they simply didn’t have the luxury of time right now. 

Thready. Her skin was far too cool, breathing shallow and quick. The trauma bandage cinched tightly around her hips at an angle weren’t soaked through, but he could feel sticky, tacky blood on the back of the shoulder he was holding on to for balance. 

Brom looked down towards Murtagh. “Did you take any injectors from the aid station?”

“No, but she did.” The rogue grunted, gesturing sharply with his stubbled chin. “Some in her belt. Eragon, you heard him, get saddled up.” 

It took a few moments of fumbling, but by the time Eragon was pulling himself onto Cadoc’s back Brom had found the injector pens stuffed in one of the array of pouches on Arya’s apparently stolen belt. It was hard to read in the darkness, but he could just make out the bold ‘COMSTIM’ lettering along the side of one. 

“Should hold you over long enough.” Why was he talking to her now? She couldn’t hear him. Brom spat the cap to the side and jammed the pen into the elf’s arm. It snapped the dose in with an audible click on impact. 

He spared a few long seconds, watching the woman’s face intently. Her eyes flickered beneath their lids at the jolt of drugs. The only other noticeable change was a sudden deep breath, the transition from rapid little gasps to smooth inhales and measured exhales. 

Brom felt a little surge of fear rise in his throat before he tamped it down with reason. Arya was, to put it simply, tougher than most. She’d be fine, even if she wasn’t yet awake. It wasn’t an elven dose after all, so this was the best he could hope for. 

“You’re going to have to carry her till she’s awake.” Brom grimaced. The drop back to solid ground was oddly familiar. Even though she had carried him after Yuz’zac it always felt somewhat disorienting for the old Rider to climb down from a Saphira that…was not his. 

Saphira lowered her head to her Rider’s mentor as he came around to address her. ‘She is safe with me.’

[senjuushi]

Event Translation — Brand New Journey ~Italy Expedition Volume~

Episode 8: Galleria Umberto I

—After their one full day of sightseeing was over, (Player Name) and the others returned to Naples.

A recently built arcade stands right in the middle of a street lined with shops both new and old. 

Marks: There are so many people out, even though it’s nighttime. 

Carcanore: Hey, look, it’s Galleria Umberto I. 

Marks: ...? What’s that?

Benetta: This shopping gallery. It was built in the 19th century, during the large-scale redevelopment of Naples that followed the cholera epidemic. 

Benetta: After that, problems such as deterioration did come up, but it’s still the foremost shopping gallery in Naples, and always bustling with people. 

Carcanore: The domed ceiling is fifty-eight meters tall, and isn’t the mosaic on the floor gorgeous? It depicts the twelve constellations. 

Carcanore: You can find everything from fast-food restaurants to menswear stores with a century of established history here. There are other such galleries and shopping districts around, but I think this one is the most “Naples-like” of them all. 

Benetta: Precisely. —ah, that reminds me. 

Benetta: I have some business at the shoe store. Did you receive the items you ordered? 

The boutique Benetta went to was one of an ultra-luxury brand. 

Cutlery: H-Hold on a second! Is this... Salvatore Gamoferra*!?

Carcanore: Yep, Benetta only wears Gamoferra shoes.

Cutlery: I thought you were wearing super well-tailored clothes...! How much do your wardrobes even cost...!

Benetta: Sorry to keep you waiting. 

Marks: Is this store really that impressive? 

Cutlery: It’s a first-rate brand! It’s beyond expensive. 

Benetta: We hold Bella Figure in high esteem, and that means maintaining a pristine appearance.  

Benetta: Wearing products made by a trusted brand that represents Italy is only natural. 

Benetta: All of your clothes are from this brand as well, aren’t they?

Cutlery: Eh! Seriously!? You gave clothes like that to tourists who were just passing by...

Benetta: I couldn’t bring shame to my guests, could I? Especially when they saved Bonito’s life. 

Carcanore: Anyway, wanna take a little break and hit up a bar? There are some places here that are famous for their cannoli. 

Benetta: Before that... Bonito. 

Bonito: Yeah? 

Benetta: Go put these shoes in the car, please. It’s not becoming to walk around with a large number of shopping bags. 

Bonito: ...a-ah! No problem at all. 

Carcanore: ......

The bar was crowded with a large number of people. Tourists and residents of Naples all mingle together. 

Master: 

Today’s been fun. 

We were able to enjoy Italy to the fullest thanks to you. 

Carcanore: We should be thanking you too! You gotta come again sometime. I can show you around way better next time. 

Cutlery: Yeah. ...I thought bars like this only served alcohol, but there’s all kinds of food here too, huh?

Carcanore: Yep, everyone here in Naples has their favorite bar. 

Marks: The pubs in England feel totally different. This place is lively, but still relaxed... 

Benetta: That’s also Bella Figura.

Marks: Really?

Benetta: Indeed. Well-becoming behavior is also essential. 

Benetta: That’s why, even when going to bars, it’s unheard of to dress poorly or disgrace yourself with intoxication. 

Benetta: My gun, as you can see, also honors beauty. 

Benetta placed his gun on the table. The upper third of the slide is missing, and the barrel is exposed. 

Marks: ...the barrel looks off. What does that mean for how it functions? 

Benetta: It means that it’s beautiful. 

Marks: ...beautiful... Master, do you understand? I don’t get it at all. 

Benetta: It’s fine if you don’t understand. ...is Bonito not back yet?

Carcanore: Should I pay now? Umm... I wonder if I have one for this place.

Carcarnore pulled a pouch out of his bag— stuffed full to bulging with its contents.

Cutlery: What’s that?

Carcanore: Hold on a sec... got it! 

The pouch had all kinds of discount coupons inside, and Carcarnore took one of them out. 

Carcanore: I got this coupon half a year ago! The expiration date is... wow, just in the nick of time! It’s today, how lucky~♪

Cutlery: ...is this Bella Figure too?

Benetta: No... 

Benetta: Carcanore is a fine person, and fundamentally Bello. However, I don’t think this frugal behavior is ideal... 

Carcanore: I can’t help it. Even I don’t know why I do it— it’s just my nature, at this point. Or maybe a habit? 

Carcanore: Also, can you cut it out with the “frugal behavior” jab? I just understand the value of money! Isn’t it smart to think like that?

Benetta: I’m not going to answer that. 

Bonito: Sorry for the wait! The shoes are in the car now. 

Bonito finally returns. Instead of sitting down, though, he took a step back. For an instant, (Player Name) feels a chill run down their spine. 

Marks: —nh! 

*gunshot*

Benetta shot Bonito. 

Cutlery: ...huh?

Notes:

*“Salvatore Gamoferra” is an altered version of “Salvatore Ferragamo”, a real (and also highly expensive) Italian brand.

[darkspine10]

GF Fanfic - A World of Adventure

Dipper and Mabel Vs. The Past (15,993 words) by darkspine10

Chapters: 3/9

Fandom: Gravity Falls

Rating: Teen and Up

“You sure you guys don’t want to come?” Dipper said to Pacifica as she tucked Wendy into a pouch slung over her chest.

“This is family time. Zera and I married in and Wendy can’t exactly get much out of anything at her age.” She donned a pair of sunglasses, then stood on tiptoes to plant a kiss on Dipper’s lips. “Good luck with whatever happens. You can do it.”

With that she set off down the street, rubbing Wendy’s head and with Zera in tow. Dipper felt so incredibly lucky to have Pacifica in his life. Lucky, and proud, that she had changed so much to be with him, and stuck with him through everything, including the difficult period when having children had been taken off the table. Now it was his turn to make a change.

He jumped at the sound of a car horn disrupting the peaceful quiet of the street. “C’mon Dipper, get your butt in gear, we’re burnin’ daylight!” Mabel called from the driver’s seat of the Mini Cooper.

Patting the journal tucked in his jacket, Dipper slid into the car. He was filled with a sense of growing confidence. He’d picked out Journal 9, his latest in the line, and perfect for introducing his parents to a wider sense of the world. They could work backwards through recent months before Dipper could show them where it all started in Journals 1 to 3, then deal with the thorny topic of the volumes written in the twins’ teen years and onwards back to the present.

At least, that was the plan. Now he only had to choose the right moment.

“Seatbelt check!” Mabel said, and Dipper sheepishly remembered to clip his on. He’d been so wrapped up in his own head he’d forgotten. His parents were strapped in the back, with Merrise wedged in between them. She was beaming at him, excited to spend more time with her grandparents. Dipper hoped they wouldn’t disappoint her. “Right,” Mabel continued, “let’s get this wagon rolling!” She drove the Mini to the end of the street and round a corner. Pacifica had already programmed a route into the satnav, but none of them knew where it would lead.

Dipper watched the houses pass out the window. He hadn’t seen much of the old neighbourhood when they arrived the night before. They drove along the same streets he’d walked everyday to school, and passed parks where he used to ride his bike. He got a nostalgic rush, although it was bittersweet. He’d spent so long away that what had once been familiar now felt so distant.

Things had changed in that time as well. They drove by what had once been a construction yard where Mabel liked to practice parkour with her grappling hook. Now it was a modern office building and local gym for rich folks. Further on he looked out for old cafes he’d eaten at with his family, only to be disappointed when he saw they’d been bulldozed over.

At least his elementary school was still standing. His mother pointed to several ‘snowmen’ made of white cardboard and plastic junk lined up in the playground. “The kids made those last week. Not that any of them have seen real snow here in Piedmont.”

“Neither did we,” Mabel said with a shrug. “One thing we can’t blame climate change for.”

“Snow?” Merrise asked. “We saw some of that in Salem right?”

“What were you guys doing in Salem?” Mr Pines said, raising a bushy eyebrow.

“Halloween festival meet-up,” Dipper said without blinking. He inwardly cursed himself for the ease of the lie, even if it was partially accurate. They had stayed for the festival, sure - after tracking down a mythical beast and neutralising an angry militia. He turned back to the window, repeating to himself that it’d all be out in the open soon.

They drove down through Sea View Avenue, conspicuous by its lack of sea view, and passed the larger houses which Dipper had always shaken his head at. Rather than be jealous of all the extra space he found those houses wasteful. His family had never known great wealth after all. Anyway, his childhood dreams were much more grandiose than owning property; fanciful imaginings of far-off adventures, or discovering strange creatures eclipsed anything that regular. The only time he’d ever stepped foot in a fancy house like these was with Pacifica’s family manor, an experience he’d never relished.

As they wound through what seemed like an infinite maze of suburbs, both Dipper and Mabel began to grin as they recognised the route the satnav was leading them on. Mabel eased off the pedals. “Is this where I think it is? It is!”

Merrise craned her head to get a look. Ahead of them was a small wooden shack beside a course of neat little stretches of grass. Each one was entwined with miniature buildings and ramps placed as obstacles. “Wait, this is that thing Mom’s always talking about.”

“It’s Amazing Al’s Above-Par Mini-Golf Extravaganza!” Mabel yelled, taking her hands off the wheel to raise them in celebration. The car swerved as she did so and she hastily corrected. “Sorry, got a little excited there. Haven’t been here in forever.”

“Oh, what a clever choice Pacifica made,” Mrs Pines said. “You and Dipper always loved coming here after school.”

“Correction: Mabel loved coming here, because she always won,” Dipper said, laughing at the memory. “I was in it for the pretty decent hotdog stand. Wonder if it’s still here.”

“Heh, no surprise Paz didn’t want to come,” Mabel chuckled. “She didn’t want to get shown up at her favourite sport!” She parked the Mini at an askew angle, Mabel never being one for precision parking, and the family eagerly headed towards the course.

The only concession the place had made to the festive season was a shabby-looking inflatable snowman and some strings of silver tinsel draped over the entrance shack. A few other families had come out to play, avoiding the murky puddles that still lingered around parts of the park. Mr Pines handed the money over to a bored attendant with straggly hair on his chin, telling the others it was his treat and handing out the clubs.

“This one matches me!” Merrise excitedly grabbed a golf club with a pink handle and jogged off. Mr and Mrs Pines looked at her in confusion - Merrise was wearing a dark green sweater and denim jeans; not a single single item of pink. Dipper and Mabel laughed awkwardly at the hidden joke as they took clubs of their own.

“Hole number one is that one,” Dipper called to Merrise, who was passionate to get started but still had a poor grasp of reading numbers. “Man, this place brings me back. Long evenings away from all the stress of school. No distractions or worries, just some lighthearted fun.“ Before going on adventures and researching for his journal had taken up all his spare time, he thought again.

“All that practicing for tournaments and honing my skills,” Mabel sighed, fondly nostalgic. “Ooh, that reminds me.” She sidled over to the shack and hopped up so she was clinging off the side of the roof. “Used to need a leg-up for this. Hey, all my guys and gals are still up here!” A bunch of multi-coloured balls were stuck wedged in the corrugated roof slats. “Goes to show you how little things change in the grand scheme. I’m amazed this place is even still open after 20 years.”

Dipper stood on tip-toes to join his sister. “Recessions, pandemics… I guess people just really like mini-golf around here.”

“Maybe I can add a new ball-friend to the tally.”

“As long as you don’t go smashing any windows. I still remember sprinting out of here the last time.”

The twins hopped down and headed to hole number one. This particular golf course prided itself on a unique theming, being based on wonders of the world. Not the obvious ones like the Pyramids or Stonehenge either, but a delightfully eclectic collection of more obscure historical sights too. So the first hole was styled after the Temple of Artemis, with standing columns acting as obstacles. Of course, given 20 years of neglect the wooden structure was nearly as decrepit as the destroyed original.

Merrise had already placed her ball on the tee and was bouncing on the spot. “I can’t wait to finally learn how to play! Do we get to hit things with these sticks?” She swung her club in a wide arc, nearly decapitating Mr Pines who ducked just in time.

Dipper gently lowered Merrise’s flailing arms. “First of all it’s called a club. Second, never raise it above head height, ok? You’ll do yourself some damage - or more likely damage someone else.” He guided her into a putting pose, then let her take the swing. The ball ended up rebounding off a column and ending up halfway down the green. “Not bad, you’ve got a good angle on the hole.”

“Not bad? She totally missed!” Mabel said, before seeing her niece frown. “Uh, I mean, don’t listen to me, I’m, like, an expert. You’ll get better eventually. Geez, I’m starting to sound like Pacifica.”

Merrise shuffled over to her ball, never dropping her readied pose, then hit it again. This time it glided into the hole and fell in with a satisfying rattle. Merrise grinned and Mabel ruffled her hat. With that the track became a free-for-all. The Pines family weren’t exactly patient when it came to the game, opting to all play on the hole simultaneously rather than wait for one person to land their ball on target. Apart from Mabel studiously weighing up the trajectory of each shot, Dipper and his parents quickly got their balls in after two or three hits and moved on to the next one, a spiralling imitation of the Hanging Gardens, to join Merrise.

The family made their way leisurely around, taking their time between playing to catch up and chat. Mr Pines and Mabel shared in telling cheesy jokes, with the latter handily getting the highest scores on each hole. Merrise, struggling at first, quickly found a strategy to aiming the ball and raced around the course. However, by around the 12th hole, fashioned after the spires of Angkor Wat, her enthusiasm waned. She was tired of the repetitive putting. “18 holes, really? This is gonna take forever!”

Mabel laughed while lining up her own shot. “Heh, your mom’s gonna be so disappointed in you. First you don’t care about fashion, now mini-golf.” She putted the ball for another easy hole-in-one. She marked it on her scorecard, which was now covered in doodles of pig faces and snakes.

“Clothes are clothes,” Merrise said, uncaring as she stared down the course. “Mom’s always making me try on skirts and jewellery and I don’t get it. Either clothes are comfy or they aren’t. What’s the difference otherwise?”

Mabel blew a raspberry. “That’s no fun. It doesn’t all have to be formal junk. You can use different coloured outfits to show off new moods and styles all the time. I’ll have to teach you the joys of rainbow slap bracelets and customisable sweaters sometime. Or just wait til I introduce you to the punk rock look, now there’s something that’ll really make your mom completely disagree with all your life choices.”

Mr and Mrs Pines arrived at the 12th hole just as Dipper was returning from a trip to the snack stall. “The hotdogs aren’t quite as unique as I remember,” he said, licking his fingers. “Though maybe that’s the new lab-grown meat they’re using. Pretty greasy, but no worse than Grunkle Stan used to make ‘em. Man though, I wish they did kenpi over here.” He’d acquired a taste for the sweet-tasting potato strips during a visit to Japan two years prior. Since then he’d struggled to find imports in the US. “Maybe I should plan a vacation.”

“Kenpi, what is that?” his mother asked.

“Oh, it’s a Japanese snack.”

“First Salem, now Japan?” His mother seemed impressed. “Since when were you such a globetrotter, Dip?”

“Oh, um…” He racked his brain for an answer that didn’t involve the real reason, searching for a mystic sun crystal as part of a component to build an interdimensional gateway. Mentioning Japan had slipped out so casually he hadn’t even thought of an alibi. Maybe this was his chance to start opening up?

“They were visiting me and Zera!” Mabel said, grinning without a hint of subterfuge. “She and I met while I was in the country and invited Dipper and Pacifica over to introduce them.”

“At that casino?” Mr Pines asked wryly and Mabel nodded. He grunted a ‘hmm’ and went to line up his next shot. Some of Mabel’s words were technically true. They had first met Zera in Japan after all. Dipper sidled up to his sister and muttered a quick thanks, though he wasn’t sure adding more lies to the coverup was helpful at this point.

Mr Pines was retrieving his ball and called ahead to Merrise. She was already halfway down the 13th hole, with obstacles modelled on Mayan step-pyramids. “Hey kiddo, since Dipper’s already tested the waters, do you want anything from the snack stall? I could get you an ice cream, it would be nice in all this sunshine.”

“Ice cream? What’s that?” she said, with a barely suppressed cheeky grin. Mr Pines frowned. He was clearly disappointed to run into yet another cultural barrier with Merrise. He attempted to explain before trudging away to the stall.

Dipper pulled his daughter into a huddle. “What are you doing? You know what ice cream is, you ate one last week when we went to the park.”

“I know. I just thought saying it would be funny.”

Dipper stared at his daughter, eyes wide. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

“Maybe she’s trying to tell you that lying all the time is a bad idea?” Mabel said, arms crossed. “That’s the plan, isn’t it? To actually tell Mom and Dad what’s been going on sometime before the heat death of the universe?”

“I know, I know, you’re right. I’m just… waiting for the right moment. All part of the plan.” He patted his jacket where the journal was. He stiffened, feeling an odd warmth through his pocket. Like he’d left an overheating electrical appliance running. He wanted to investigate the source of heat when his mother interrupted his train of thought.

“Oh buttermuffins,” Mrs Pines’ ball clinked off the side of the scale replica of the pyramid of Kukulkan. “If Pacifica wanted us to have a calm afternoon she forgot that golf can be the most aggravating game sometimes.”

Dipper’s gaze was drawn to the wooden pyramid, reminded that he’d visited it for real two years ago. Yet another past location he had to cover up. His urge to say something was even stronger now. Once Dad returned he would do it, he was sure.

Mabel dropped her ball into place at the tee. “You’ve gotta have the knack, Mom. The precision, the focus, the patience.”

“Oh yeah, May, that’s you all over,” Merrise teased.

Mabel smiled, but then a chill seemed to come over her. “Although this hole might not be a lucky one.” She’d seen that they were on hole number 13.

“What’s the matter,” Mrs Pines said, nudging her with the hilt of her club. “You’re not superstitious are you, Mabel?”

“What, me, nah, of course not. It’s not a symbolic omen or anything like that. Although at least there aren’t any tiny golfball spirits influencing the outcome of the game. That’d be crazy right, heh heh.” She laughed awkwardly until noticing her mother’s confused reaction.

“I… suppose so,” she said, looking bewildered.

Trying to deflect attention, Mabel thwacked her ball hard. Her mother ducked as the ball rebounded off the pyramid, hit the neighbouring Sydney Opera House, and went rolling away. “I’ll grab it!” Merrise said, jogging away. Her focus entirely on the ball, she caught her foot on the low wall that surrounded the 13th hole and tripped. She went down hard onto her hands and knees.

Mrs Pines was closest and ran over to help her up. Merrise was already holding back tears and clutching her leg. There was a graze where she’d scraped her knee on the concrete path which winded between each hole.

“Oh my, that’s a nasty scrape dear. Here, I’ve got some tissues, let me clean the dirt off.”

Dipper came running over, panting and out of breath. “Merrise, are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” she whimpered. “You don’t have to worry so much, Dad. Ah, that stings.” Mrs Pines was dabbing at the graze.

“You probably got a friction burn as well,” Dipper explained. He knelt down and put an arm on her shoulder. “Somehow you’ve inherited the patented Pines clumsiness,” he teased. Merrise eked out a small grin, wincing through the pain.

“There, all better- Oh!” Mrs Pines had finished cleaning the graze, but was now staring in shock and the tissue. It was coated in small flecks of Merrise’s blood. Blood that was tinged a green hue. “What in the world…”

Mabel and her father finally wandered over. Mabel was about to apologise for sending her ball flying and causing Merrise to trip, but stopped when she saw the blood. “No hiding that,” she whispered. To her parents Merrise still looked human, but if something shattered the illusion they’d start to see her actual skin in all its bubblegum pink glory. It was now or never to explain things before they pierced the veil. “Dipper,” Mabel said calmly. “It’s time.”

“What is going on?” Mr Pines said, squinting at the blood drying on Merrise’s knee. “Is it infected?”

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Mrs Pines said. Merrise, uncomfortable with the scrutiny, stood up shakily on the injured leg and ran over to Dipper. He held her wrapped up in arms. “Dipper? What is all this?” His mother was staring at him with a look of concern, but there was also a sternness. She knew how to get him to open up and wasn’t going to take no for an answer.

He made a snap decision and stood apart from Merrise. She and Mabel watched him expectantly, bracing for impact of what he might say. Dipper swiftly removed Journal 9 and held it behind his back. In the rush and with his attention elsewhere he missed that a soft gleam surrounded the book, and failed to notice the suspicious heat emanating from its pages. “Mom, Dad. There’s some things I need to explain. They’re going to sound unlikely, even impossible at first. But I need you to believe me.”

“What are you on about, Dip?” His father asked, baffled by the turn of events. “What’s going on with Merrise?” Dipper flinched, uncomfortable with any perceived slight against his daughter.

“She’s… fine… well, not fine, her knee probably hurts, but that’s not the point…”

“Son, you’re rambling.”

“You’ve gotta understand, we were sure you’d think we were crazy, and then we’d never get to visit Gravity Falls or see our friends again, let alone all the other stuff.”

“What-”

“Grunkle Ford!” Dipper blurted out. “You remember when he showed up out of the blue, well this is all tied up with that! If he were here he could make you understand it.”

“Dip,” Mabel said gently. “You’re not making any sense, slow it down.”

Merrise’s fingers brushed along the gold medallion she wore. “Dad? I could just show them.”

“No no Merrise, I can do this.” He took a deep breath. Both his parents were staring at him like he had two heads. Doubt clouded his concentration. He felt like they’d never accept their granddaughter’s unique heritage, and thus all the lying and the secrets would tear them apart. He had to stay composed, had to make them understand. “You see it all started in 2012… no, uh, Merrise is from… no, magic is…” He screwed up his eyes, feeling silly for how he couldn’t get this out. Finally he calmed himself and was ready to face the consequences. “Mom, Dad, I’ve been hiding something from you, something that’s affected our whole-”

“Dipper Pines had a problem… Dipper Pines had to tell the truth.”

Dipper’s eyes flew open. The voice had come from behind him, whispered in a rasping tone in a voice that sounded not unlike his own. While the others looked on in confusion, he twirled around to look at Journal 9. His jaw dropped open.

The golden lines on the cover which formed the Big Dipper were blindingly bright and the pages shone. A glowing aura flowed around the book. He had to release his grip as a fiery surge burst out. It fell open on the ground, pages splayed. He stepped back in alarm and the others tried to peer over at what was happening. They had to cover their eyes momentarily as the book flashed like the sun.

Dipper was knocked off his feet by a powerful shaking. It was like the earthquakes he’d got used to as a kid living in Piedmont but he knew this was different. A vast column of energy shot out from the pages. Mabel quickly pushed Merrise behind her back and stood, arms raised, in front of her parents. Dipper scrambled backwards until he was at her feet.

The journal began to float a few inches off the ground, propelled upwards by the energy. Out of the swirling morass of light a glowing golden triangle began to form in the air. For a moment Dipper’s blood ran cold as the light extended upwards. But it didn’t form a top hat as he’d feared. A second triangle grew out of the first, like a directional arrow, and a short rectangle emerged from the base. He realised that he knew this symbol. How could he not? Pacifica wore it as a necklace, Mabel had it tattooed on her arm, it adorned three of the journals - it was his symbol. The Pine Tree.

Mr and Mrs Pines gasped as the golden light suddenly dissipated with a whoosh of air and the simple representation of the tree began to painstakingly resolve itself. Cracking and folding, wooden bark spread and branches burst forth. On either side the extremities curled into large talons, each sporting six fingers. Below the tree’s trunk instead of roots four slender legs sprouted, coated in a thick, matted tangle of beige fur. Each leg ended in cloven feet with a pair of delicately balanced toes. At the very top of the amalgam several points of light flickered into life in the air before faint lines connected them into a familiar shape, that of a particular constellation - the Big Dipper.

Finally, one last star appeared in the centre of the constellation and Dipper could tell that it was some kind of eye. It blinked, and then a circular sigil faded into being just below the constellation. It was the vaguely fishlike symbol from Grunkle Stan’s fez. Dipper watched in utter astonishment as the round symbol flexed, opening and closing, functioning as a mouth on top of this monstrous chimaera.

The golden glow exploded outwards, leaving the completed creature in place, a mass of wood and leaves and fur, standing taller than the surrounding wooden buildings. Its great arms reverberated the earth as they clamped down to support the great bulk. One fell upon the white arches of the Sydney Opera House, tearing claw marks along the surface. Behind the beast Dipper could see Mabel and Merrise staring slack-jawed, but his parents were absolutely terrified, clinging to one another for support.

He should be angry or upset, he should want to rage against this injustice derailing his perfectly laid plans to reveal the truth to his parents in slow increments. But instead all he felt was an upswell of relief. “Well shit. Cat’s out of the bag now.”

Below the four legs, Dipper spied his journal, now inanimate again and thankfully undamaged. “New entry: December 22nd, 2029.” The amalgam was talking, sounding like an oddly ethereal melding of several voices. As well as his own, Dipper heard fragments of Ford’s voice, Pacifica’s, even snatches of Soos and Grunkle Stan. “I am alive.”

“Dipper, talk to me, what are we looking at?” Mabel was trying to stay calm, but couldn’t hide the franticness creeping into her tone. Other people, golfers and staff members, hadn’t failed to notice the beast either and were starting to panic.

“I think it’s from the journal. From all of the journals.”

“But how?!”

“I’ve got a hunch,” he started to say, but the creature spread out its arms. Unsteady on its feet, it lurched forwards. Dipper sprung to his feet, unable to hide a fascination with the newly created being. “Can you understand me? I’m Dipper. The author.”

“Mason, what is going on?” his mother snapped.

He half-turned his head to her and shrugged, offering a weak grin. “Long story.”

“Long- Mason Pines, you explain this right away or I’ll-”

“Mary,” Mr Pines said, his voice trembling, “I don’t think now is the time.”

“Property of Mason Pines… Pacifica Pines… Stanford Pines…” The chimaera’s arms gripped the constellation head. “It does not cohere. Gemloblin, Floating Cliffs, Kochab, The Oracle, Lilliputtian, the Code, F helped build the bunker, Pacifica’s new haircut, April 4th, July 15th, February 29th… ah!” Thrashing about, the creature exalted and charged towards the shack by the entrance. The terrified attendant clambered out and let out a piercing scream as he ran.

The creature never made it to him. Mabel had leapt into action, jumping onto the beast’s hairy flank and attempting to ride it like a horse. “Giddy up, constellation face!” The creature bucked and she was nearly thrown off. Unfazed, she embedded her golf club into wooden bark. During the creature’s apotheosis she’d been biding her time, awaiting her moment to strike back with full force.

The chimaera stumbled and nearly collided with the Pines’ parents and Merrise. Dipper’s protective instincts kicked in and he pulled his daughter out of the way at the last second. The beast fell onto the pyramid of Kukulkan, splintering it into hundreds of wooden fragments, but quickly sprang back up.

Mabel, who had jumped off at the last second, now rushed between it and the others, striking out with a flurry of light punches and kicks. But the creature was starting to learn, enough to fight back and defend itself. One of its beefy six-fingered hands grabbed Mabel’s leg and swung her around above its head. “Woah woah, dizzy!” She went flying across the course, colliding with the Leaning Tower of Pisa and knocking it straight upright. “Oops.”

Dipper attempted to corral the beast, raising his arms and sending it trotting backwards. “Easy now, you don’t have to fight. We can help you figure out this whole ‘being alive’ business.” At the beast’s flank, Merrise suddenly lashed out with her own golf club. “No, Merrise, stay back.” It was too late, the creature was already off on a gallop towards him. He dived out of the way as it smashed through the fence around the golf course. He got to his feet and watched it riding off along the road, Mabel’s golf club dislodging and clattering to the earth as it went.

He surveyed the destruction. Several of the replica landmarks had been smashed in, and the courses torn up. There were dazed people all around, including his sister nursing a sore back. Merrise ran up beside him. “Dad, what are we gonna do? It’s getting away!”

“One thing at a time, Sixer.” He bent down to pick up his journal. His fingers flinched, scared of being burnt, but the book was cold again. After examining it for after-effects, Dipper slipped it into his jacket. His theories on what had just taken place would have to wait. For now they had to stop this from escalating further. “Mabel, go get the car. We’ve got to go after that thing and make sure it doesn’t do any more harm.”

She stretched her back and grumbled. “Right, no rest for the weary.”

“Come on Merrise.” He held her hand and they sped towards the exit.

“Wait!” his mother cried. Both of his parents were overwhelmed, still boggling at the hole torn in the fence and the surrounding devastation. But they were most disturbed by Dipper’s casual acceptance. He looked to Merrise, who seemed as uncertain how to proceed as he was. “What’s going on, Mason? Please, tell us.”

“That creature,” his father intoned, “you knew something like that was about to happen. And Merrise’s blood, you still haven’t explained.”

Dipper rubbed his arm, knowing they needed to rush off to catch the beast but unwilling to leave this unresolved. “Look, there’s so much we have to tell you but now is not the time. I’ve unleashed that dangerous creature and I have to go after it. I promise, once this is over you’ll understand, but we’ve got to do what we can to stop anyone getting hurt. Please, will you not argue for now?”

His parents shared a look, then his father reached out to clutch Dipper’s arm. “We’d better get to the car. If it’s heading downtown you’ll need someone who knows the roads to navigate.”

Dipper was gobsmacked that it had been that easy to convince them.

“Well,” his mother said authoritatively, “what are we waiting for?”

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While Tanishka’s packaging machines are made to high standards, they are also highly cost-effective. The company aims to provide affordable solutions without compromising on quality. This makes their machinery accessible to businesses of all sizes, from small startups to large corporations.

5. Excellent After-Sales Support

Tanishka Packaging Machines doesn’t just sell packaging equipment; they provide exceptional after-sales service, ensuring that your machines are well-maintained and functional throughout their lifecycle. Their team of skilled technicians is always available to provide guidance and address any concerns regarding machine operation or maintenance.

The Role of Packaging Machines in Today’s Industry

The role of packaging machines cannot be overstated. In today’s competitive marketplace, packaging is more than just a method of storing products — it’s also a key factor in branding, product safety, and consumer satisfaction. Efficient and effective packaging ensures that products are delivered to customers in the best possible condition, which is why businesses invest in top-notch machines to keep their operations smooth and scalable.

Preserving Product Integrity: Proper packaging ensures that food, pharmaceuticals, or other sensitive products retain their freshness and quality until they reach consumers.

Increasing Production Efficiency: Automated machines reduce human error, speed up production, and ensure consistent packaging quality.

Enhancing Brand Image: Well-packaged products create a positive first impression and build consumer trust.

Sustainability: Modern packaging machines are designed to reduce waste and use eco-friendly materials, aligning with the growing emphasis on sustainability.

Pouch Packing Machines: A Versatile Solution

Pouch packing machines are essential for businesses looking to package their products in convenient, easy-to-use formats. Pouch packaging is a popular choice due to its flexibility, cost-efficiency, and ability to maintain product freshness. Tanishka Packaging Machines specializes in designing and manufacturing pouch packing machines that cater to a variety of products, including powders, liquids, granules, and solid items.

These machines are known for:

User-Friendliness: Easy to operate and maintain, making them perfect for both large and small-scale production.

Multi-Functionality: They can accommodate different types of pouches such as stand-up pouches, flat pouches, and zip-lock pouches.

Compact Design: Their compact design saves valuable space, which is particularly useful for companies with limited floor space.

High-Speed Operations: Helps to increase throughput and productivity in large production facilities.

Tanishka Packaging Machines: Serving India and Beyond

Tanishka Packaging Machines not only serves businesses in Jaipur and Rajasthan but also caters to clients across India and internationally. As one of the leading packaging machine manufacturers in India, Tanishka has built a reputation for excellence by offering top-quality machines that help businesses improve their packaging process and reduce operational costs.

Whether you need a band sealing machine in Rajasthan or a full-scale packaging system for your production line, Tanishka Packaging Machines is the right partner. Their commitment to quality, innovation, and customer satisfaction sets them apart in the competitive world of packaging machinery manufacturing.

Conclusion

For businesses seeking reliable pouch packing machines, band sealing machines, and other packaging solutions in Jaipur, Rajasthan, and beyond, Tanishka Packaging Machines offers an excellent range of products designed to meet diverse needs. With their cutting-edge technology, customization options, and commitment to quality, Tanishka is a top choice for companies looking to streamline their packaging operations.

To learn more about their offerings and how they can assist you in optimizing your packaging processes, visit Tanishka Packaging Machines’ website or reach out for a personalized consultation today!

[global-research-report]

Revolutionizing Packaging: A Comprehensive Analysis of the Stand-up Pouches Market

The global stand-up pouches market size is projected to reach USD 48.4 billion by 2030 and is projected to grow at a 8.0% from 2024 to 2030, according to a new report by Grand View Research, Inc. Rising demand for the product from several industries, including food & beverages, pet food, and personal care & cosmetics, is anticipated to boost the market growth during the forecast period.

Factors such as changing lifestyles, rapid urbanization, and rising disposable incomes are anticipated to boost the demand for packaged goods, which is further expected to benefit the stand-up pouches market growth. In addition, several benefits offered by stand-up pouches, including convenience, aesthetic appeal, and availability of various valued-added features such as spouts, zippers, and tear notches is further expected to stimulate their demand.

Stand-up pouches also offer several advantages including greater functionality, coupled with lower shipping costs and also occupy lesser shelf space as compared to several other rigid packaging formats owing to which they are being largely preferred by consumer packaged goods (CPG) manufacturers as well as retailers worldwide. In addition, they also offer marketing advantages and aesthetics, which further likely to increase their demand.

Plastic is the widely used material for manufacturing stand-up pouches owing to the material being cost-effective, lightweight, and durable. However, the growing environmental concerns and stringent regulations pertaining to plastic waste, coupled with growing focus on sustainability, is expected to increase the usage of bioplastics and paper by several key players in the market for the manufacturing of stand-up pouches.

Growing demand for single-serve, smaller portion packs, and ready-to-eat meals is expected to boost the market growth. In addition, the trend towards on-the-go snacking is further expected to benefit the market growth. Furthermore, improving sanitation standards in several emerging countries including India and China are, in turn, expected to augment the demand for various homecare products, thereby having a positive impact on the market growth.

Stand-Up Pouches Market Report Highlights

Plastic dominated the market and accounted for the largest revenue share of 55.0% in 2023. This growth is attributed to the expanding packaged foods and beverages industry, with increasing packaged solutions.

Standard pouches led the market and accounted for the largest revenue share of 55.0% in 2023 attributed to consumers' increasing demand and popularity for single-serve and portable packaging due to standard pouches' ease, convenience, and versatility.

Zipper held the largest market share of 40.1% in 2023 as they are widely adopted for the packaging of food items, including pharmaceutical goods and personal care products.

Food and beverages dominated the market and accounted for the largest revenue share of 54.7% in 2023 pertaining to the rising demand for stand-up pouches to improve the packaging technology of food and beverage products, including frozen food, fast food, and liquid consumables, such as dairy products, ready-to-eat soups, and sauces.

Asia Pacific stand-up pouches market dominated the global market and accounted for the largest revenue share of 33.9% in 2023 attributed to increasing demand for packaged food and beverages, particularly in developing countries such as China and India, driven by rising disposable incomes and changing lifestyles.

Stand-Up Pouches Market Segmentation

Grand View Research has segmented the global stand-up pouches market on the basis of material, type, closure, application, and region:

Stand-Up Pouches Material Outlook (Volume, Kilotons; Revenue, USD Billion, 2018 - 2030)

Plastic

Paper

Metal

Bioplastic

Stand-Up Pouches Type Outlook (Volume, Kilotons; Revenue, USD Billion, 2018 - 2030)

Aseptic Pouches

Standard Pouches

Retort Pouches

Others

Stand-Up Pouches Closure Outlook (Volume, Kilotons; Revenue, USD Billion, 2018 - 2030)

Tear Notch

Zipper

Spout

Stand-Up Pouches Application Outlook (Volume, Kilotons; Revenue, USD Billion, 2018 - 2030)

Food & Beverages

Cosmetics & Toiletries

Healthcare

Others

Stand-Up Pouches Regional Outlook (Volume, Kilotons; Revenue, USD Billion, 2018 - 2030)

North America

US

Canada

Mexico

Europe

UK

Germany

France

Italy

Spain

Asia Pacific

China

Japan

India

Australia

South Korea

Southeast Asia

Latin America

Brazil

Argentina

Middle East and Africa (MEA)

South Africa

Saudi Arabia

UAE

Order a free sample PDF of the Stand-up Pouches Market Intelligence Study, published by Grand View Research.