#the mysterious fathoms below || main ||

[marinerainbow]

The FNAF fan song 'Creepin' Towards the Door' gave me this idea.

Five Nights at Roger Rabbit's Toontown AU

(Please note; I know NOTHING about Fnaf, nor do I plan to go into the series. All I know is that it's got neat character design, something spooky happening, and they're all animatronics. So I apologize if I get lore wrong)

Summary

Set in the 80's, a huge, cartoon themed restaurant was opened, under the name Roger Rabbit's Toontown. By the towns mysterious judge, Mr. Doom no less. Nobody could fathom why a normal man of law would establish such a business, let alone a man like Doom who's attire alone looked like he was ready for a funeral any minute. Especially a funeral he was the cause of.

Nevertheless, Mr. Doom's new gig quickly became quite popular among children and families. From the colorful visuals, the cute and witty cast of oddly advanced animatronic characters. It even brought in more tourists for the town! Which of course, made Doom an even bigger presence in the community than before.

However, no one ever stopped to wonder; how are these robots so advanced for the time? Why did the cruel judge even think about going into the family friendly business? And how do the toony characters seem so... Life like?

No one cared to question it. Neither did Eddie Valient, the new and desperate security guard hired for the night watch. But he's going to see exactly what these animatronics get up to when the curtain draws close...

The Restaurant

Judge Doom is an old soul. Which is a nice way of saying that he's a stuffy, old-fashioned man. And the decor of the place shows his taste. Despite the more toony and child friendly theme, it is definitely a homage to the early 1900s. It even makes history fun! Children can find plenty of interactive attractions around the place that will tell them interesting facts, such as how the first animated cartoon was made in 1908.

The size of the place is also clearly meant to make sure that the 'town' part of the establishments title was not to be taken lightly. Large enough to be considered a mansion, with one huge stage in the center and circled by the countless tables (think Dolly Parton's restaurant Stampede, as seen below), not to mention all of the secret passage ways and vents that allow the cast and staff to either navigate the restaurant without disturbing the show, or quickly make their way to the audience to interact with them and make them a part of the stageplay! Which, each play is on par with your favorite Saturday morning cartoons; wacky, zany, and just a hint of adult humor for the parents.

Eddie and whoever else might be on night watch with him will have quite the hassle keeping track of all the animatronics, when they know the place inside and out...

The Cast

The Humans

Judge Doom: The owner of this fine establishment. A mysterious man with a dark aura. Rumors say that going into the family entertainment business is him trying to turn over a new leaf... Though others believe that the family fun is an attempt to hide something far more sinister...

Eddie Valient: a down on his luck man who just needs something after the untimely and mysterious death of his brother. He can't keep asking his girlfriend for help, he knows she has her own bills to pay- not to mention he already owes her so much. He needs this job, even if those animatronics are freaky...

The Good Guys

Roger Rabbit: The main protagonist and mascot of the restaurant. This cute little rabbit just adores his beautiful wife, loves all of his friends, and offers a helping hand to those in need! Even if those mischievous weasels are out and about... Though sometimes, even heros need someone to save them...

Jessica Rabbit: The wife and secondary protagonist of the restaurant. Although her design is meant to appeal to the more mature members of the audience, she is always right beside her honey bunny and ready to step in when the weasels go too far...

Baby Herman: Oddly, the only humanoid animatronic in the whole establishment- next to Jessica that is. His role on stage is a sort of 'oblivious side plot'; Roger is almost always, for some reason, taking care of the baby and has to keep him out of trouble. Though when everyone goes home, this baby proves just how much of a loud mouthed brat he can be... It's odd how a child character would have such a crass soul deep down, no?

Benny the Cab: Taking the role of Roger's side kick and vehicle, this cab is part of the reason why the restaurant is so huge; to make room for such a huge animatronic, especially one made for chase scenes! Despite being a car, he almost seems a bit human... Though the same could be said for all the other animatronics too.

The Bad Guys

Smartassguy Weasel: The big bad of the whole cast. As the leader of the giggling pack of weasels, he's the one behind most of the nefarious plots against Roger Rabbit's Toontown. Mean, egotistical, and a cutthroat attitude to boot. You don't want to get on his bad side, as Eddie will find out soon enough...

Greasy Weasel: Smarty's perverted right-hand man. With an oily personality, a swift hand, and eyes on Mrs. Rabbit herself, it's a wonder Doom allowed this character to be made for a children's establishment... They should see what he's like when the lights go out.

Wheezy Weasel: This weasel is believed to be the Judges way of teaching children to say no to cigarettes. Quiet, intimidating, and with his glowing red hued eyes, it's odd how Wheezy wasn't chosen as the main villain for the cast...

Psycho Weasel: This animatronic has seemed to take it upon himself to bring a whole new meaning to 'interactive storytelling' in the grimmest sense. Psycho will often pop up out of nowhere and scare unsuspecting patrons, and the few times he speaks is always something... Sinister... Why Doom would think a character this morbid would be fit for family-friendly entertainment is anybodies guess.

Stupid Weasel: The only villain animatronic who seems to fit in the toony theme of the establishment the best. A big dumb brute, who just follows orders. His childish antics shine a more light-hearted light on the rest of his gang, but also make him stick out like a sore thumb... It's almost like he's not where he's supposed to be...

Will the nightguard be able to survive all five nights in Toontown? What do you think?

[ellekhen]

Hand, Hearth, and Home

Chapter 1 - A Warding Bond

Summary

“I… envy you,” Astarion admits. “In your short life, you already seem to have had your share of… experiences,” he smirks at him suggestively for a fleeting moment. “And much of it seems to have been… enjoyable. Willing.” He flourishes a hand. “You know what I mean.”

Church smiles wistfully. “I try my best, but it hasn’t all been perfect. I’ve had my share of… mistakes.” His mouth twists a little.

“I certainly hope I’m not one of them,” Astarion half-heartedly jokes.

Church looks at him earnestly.

“No,” he says softly. “You’re not.”

Astarion flounders for a moment at that.

When Church loves, he loves with the intensity of the sun. His childhood friends know this well. But, when it comes to his lovers, the warlock tends to wield a much lighter, cautious touch… that is, until he begins to fall hard for a certain vampire spawn. In their respective, wary calculations every encounter, Astarion and Church know they very well could be the death of each other. But as the trust between them grows, Church learns to let go of the past that holds him back from embracing the future — no matter how uncertain it may be here at the vampire spawn’s side.

Pairing(s): Astarion x Male Tav (Main); Past OC x Male Tav Rating: Explicit

@lumienyx tagged me in a “why/how did your Tav fall?” prompt, and whoops, it turned into a fic!

Excerpt below:

The rogue and warlock are searching through one of the infirmaries when the tiefling lets out a small, intrigued gasp.

“Oh!” Church murmurs. “It’s the other half of that pair of rings. Remember? We found one on that justiciar’s skeleton.” He pulls out the ring in question from his pouch, comparing the two side by side before passing them both over to Astarion. The rogue examines them as the warlock gingerly retrieves the journal from the withered skeleton’s grasp.

As he begins to read it, his mouth twists. “Oh…” he repeats, albeit softer and more troubled.

Astarion peers over his shoulder. “What is it?”

“The husband’s journal,” Church murmurs. “It tells… a much different story.” He sighs, handing it over to the rogue as well. “Poor bastard.”

Astarion skims through it. Poor bastard indeed — blissfully blinded by love when all the justiciar was doing was using him as a shield. He has to admire that it was clever of the justiciar to deceive the fool into such an arrangement. Although, by the sound of the sorry sod’s journal entries, if his dark bride had simply asked, he may very well have entered the arrangement willingly — warding bond be damned.

At first Astarion scoffs — he simply doesn’t understand people who would thanklessly sacrifice themselves just that.

…but then he thinks — just for a moment.

Does he understand? Just a little?

The more he dwells upon it, the rings’ magic as described between the two texts is certainly fascinating as a concept…

“What’s on your mind?” Church asks him, crouching down to tug a disintegrating blanket over the skeleton, for some reason.

“Well, you know,” Astarion hesitates even as he offers. Why he even offers is a mystery. “Remember… just this morning? Those… things by the river?”

The warlock’s hand flies reflexively up to his neck. “Meazels,” he grimaces.

“…meazels,” Astarion nods, gesturing emphatically. “Anyways. Since you have, hm, a tendency to take hits fairly heavily… why don’t we… you know…” he makes a gesture that would have been lewd under any other circumstances, if not for his sincere expression. “That way, even when you’re far off, I can still protect you? Take a couple hits?”

Astarion never fathomed he would ever offer such a thing to anyone. He had offered to take punishment on behalf of a sibling only once, and Godey and Cazador both made sure that he regretted it more than anything else in the moment. Violet never bothered to return the favor anyways.

But Church…

…misty-stepped right in front of the wretched creature, blasting it away before its claws could reach Astarion. Damn it, the rogue scolded himself, he had gotten sloppy. Then again, none of them expected to be ambushed by such vicious creatures, especially ones that would go straight after their casters to —

He heard a strangled gasp. A meazel leapt out from the shadows, his wire whipping over Church’s neck. Astarion only had a split-second for their eyes to connect before both the struggling meazel and tiefling went hurtling over the edge of the building…

In the present, the elf gives the tiefling a meaningful look. If Astarion has to haul the warlock’s lifeless body from the ground one more time…

“No.” Church says firmly, waving him away.

“Oh, well,” Astarion says, somewhat relieved if a little miffed by how quickly the tiefling rejected the idea. “At least consider the practicality…”

“I am not going to let you be hurt because of my own carelessness,” Church snaps. “You read that journal. It’s a curse, not a blessing.”

“There’s no need for that tone,” Astarion retorts, taken aback by its harshness. “Don’t pretend you wouldn’t do the same for me.”

Church’s mouth twists and he sighs.

“…fine. You’re right — I would. But I don’t want to use these at all. I think we’ve been doing a pretty good job at covering each other’s backs lately, don’t you?” He smiles wanly at his lover. “We’ve been doing this… right, I think.”

Astarion regards him with amusement as he pockets the rings. “Doing this ‘right?’ I suppose if one of us has any idea of what that even means, it’s you.”

Church’s smile is gentle as he shrugs at him. “I’m hardly an expert, Astarion. I just do the same for you as I would for any friend, just with… you know, more…”

Astarion steps close to him, smirking as he tips the tiefling’s chin up in a kiss. Church hums softly, stumbling into him in his enthusiasm.

…it’s followed by a dry crunch.

The warlock startles, gingerly stepping off of the poor bastard in his bedroll. “Shit, sorry,” he mutters unnecessarily.

Astarion watches him, fondly.

“To be honest, I admire how easy it is for you to define what is ‘right’ in an arrangement such as ours. It’s…” he wheedles, “…admittedly not my area of expertise.”

“I…” Church frowns. “We’ve talked about this. I just don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to do. It’s not that hard.”

“You’re sweet,” Astarion smirks. “But it’s not that straightforward for all of us.” He sighs, reluctantly stepping away from the warmth of him. “Although with you — perplexing as you often are — sometimes it is that simple. It’s… refreshing.”

Church glances away a little self-consciously, a little worriedly as the elf continues to study him.

“I… envy you,” Astarion admits. “In your short life, you already seem to have had your share of… experiences,” he smirks at him suggestively for a fleeting moment. “And much of it seems to have been… enjoyable. Willing.” He flourishes a hand. “You know what I mean.”

Church smiles wistfully. “I try my best, but it hasn’t all been perfect. I’ve had my share of… mistakes.” His mouth twists a little.

“I certainly hope I’m not one of them,” Astarion half-heartedly jokes.

Church looks at him earnestly.

“No,” he says softly. “You’re not.”

Astarion flounders for a moment at that.

“Well,” he says with a flustered laugh. “That at least is a relief.” He leers conspiratorially at the tiefling. “Why don’t we brighten this place up? Tell me about the good ones.”

Church frowns at him. “Honestly, I’m not sure how I feel about—?”

“—Oh, come on!” Astarion waves him away. “It’s fine. I’m bored. Humor me.”

Church studies him for a moment longer, before chuckling nervously. “Well… I snuck into a castle one time to visit a duke’s son…”

“I bet Wyll wishes that were him,” Astarion remarks, and the tiefling blushes purple beneath his dusky skin.

“Oh shush,” he laughs. “I had to run out of there for my life, clad only in a chaperon.”

He thinks for a moment.

“There was a half-elf bard in Baldur’s Gate — D’vana, if you’ve ever heard of her during your… nights out? Green skin, white poof of hair?”

Astarion shrugs. He’s not much in the habit of paying attention to the entertainment of his hunting grounds.

“Anyways, I used to visit her whenever I stopped by the city,” Church continues fondly. “We’d…”

“…make music together?” Astarion finishes for him suggestively. The tiefling huffs a laugh.

“We tried once or twice, but as you saw with Alfira, I’m hopeless with a lute,” he says with a sheepish grin. “No sense of rhythm… oh, wait.” He flushes. “That’s… not what you meant, was it?”

“Were you one of those adventurers who had a lover in every city?” Astarion asks in amusement.

“Lovers?” Church laughs. “No, nothing of the sort. Just… moments. Flights of fancy. Good friends,” he concedes, “but nothing more.”

“Well, those all sound like incredibly delicious moments with those friends of yours,” Astarion says lightly.

He waffles for a bit. “So are we… is this the first time you’ve done… something… like… this?” He waves his hand. “Whatever the hells this is.”

Something unreadable flashes across Church’s face as he glances away for a moment. The levity drains from his face even as he smiles softly back at the elf. “Do you mean something recurring? Exclusive?”

“I suppose,” Astarion drawls.

Church looks down, fiddling with the strap to his pouch.

“There were… a few,” he says softly, but then he blinks and straightens up, shrugging. “But nothing ever ended well.”

“Hm, well that doesn’t exactly bode well for us,” Astarion quips. The last word rings in the stale air for a moment.

“Us.” What a concept.

“I…” Church laughs nervously. “I don’t want to think like that,” he murmurs. He looks around to make sure they’re alone before reaching and grasping hold of Astarion’s hand, covering it with his other. He looks up into the elf’s eyes. “If anything, the past has just taught me to treasure each moment I can get with you,” he murmurs. “I… want to make each one last in my mind. I want to make sure…”

He trails off, and laughs a little, nervously.

“We should keep moving, shouldn’t we?” he says. “This… this is hardly the place to let our guard down.”

Astarion catches him before he can move away. The elf peers into the tiefling’s starry, yellow eyes, which struggle to hold his gaze as he stares back at him. Church’s lip quivers for just a moment, and Astarion pulls him into a soft, lingering kiss.

“Don’t tell me I’m the optimist in this arrangement,” he japes quietly. “I… like this, Church. No matter how it ends.”

Read more on Ao3!

[usa-manors-library]

The Mystery Visitor

Breathlessness. I'm not even sure if it could be considered an emotion, but... It felt like one. It felt like one crushing me as I stood in front of the manor. The manor that looked almost unrecognizable after so many years.

It was nighttime. Not a single light illuminated the world, except for the silver rays of the moon, partly obscured by passing clouds.

The sounds the soft wind caused were all I heard other than my heart pounding. They were welcoming noises. The tree branches swaying and the grass rustling reminded me that this was real. That this wasn't a dream.

It almost felt like one. The scene was idealistic enough to be a painting displayed only in establishments as distinguished as the Louvre.

I stared at the house in complete silence. 

I promised myself that I wouldn't tear up. Reminding myself of that, I wiped the trembling back of my hand against my watery eyes and took a single deep, shaky breath. I couldn't fathom what I was about to do...

But I knew I had to get moving before dawn and... well, I was already here. It would be a waste to not follow through with it. With another deep breath, I went forward on my journey.

As stealthy as a hunted mouse, I circled around the house. Anyone and everyone inside the building should be fast asleep by now, but I didn't want to take that chance...

I couldn't quite find what I was looking for. All the windows and doors were locked... It seemed like my mission had run into a wall.

Quite literally, I thought to myself as my gaze traced up the unfamiliar structure. Shaking away my doubts, I began my ascent to the top.

A small smile bloomed on my face as I climbed over the stone garden walls. The rumors were true. New Jersey grew up to love gardening, that much was obvious by the condition of the walled-in paradise. I could see it was cherished dearly, almost as if my little brother dedicated himself to making it the sequel of the Garden of Eden.

After sliding my legs over the top, I dropped down in the soft dirt below quietly, fulfilling my goal to miss the nearby flower bed. The dirt smelled damp and fresh, most likely watered the previous evening.

I took in the sight for a moment more before creeping my way to the main garden path.

It wasn't long before the kitchen door stood before me. I softly wiped the dirt off my shoes as I reached for the handle.

I abruptly paused as my breath hitched.

It was left unlocked.

After all these years, the family still hasn't quite mastered the art of remembering to lock the kitchen door.

A wave of nostalgia washed over me as I processed the fact. It was such a tiny detail, but... it was enough to make me want to tear up again.

I stood in the open doorway, staring into the dark kitchen. My legs were trembling.

I hovered in the doorway for a moment more as I tried to gather my thoughts, my emotions... Myself, essentially.

Swallowing my bitter doubts, I shakily stepped into my old home. Suddenly, the song of the wind outside wasn't enough to convince me that this wasn't a dream.

Feeling as if I were in a trance, I drifted across the floor mutely.

Despite the renovated appearance of the kitchen, everything felt the same. The scratches Virginia's old cat left on the sides of the door of the kitchen were still there, now joined by some new ones. I wondered how many more she owned after the one I knew passed.

Everything was a blur. The rooms, the thoughts, the memories, my eyes... I vaguely realized in hindsight of the ordeal that the blur might of been tears. 

Before long, I was in the dining room. I didn't even know that I walked away from the kitchen until I stood by a chair.

His chair. It was in the center of everything.

I felt my hand trace over the chair and the scratches on it. It was the same one he sat on when he placed me on his knee when I was small. The same one he prayed a blessing over the food from before every family meal. The same one he lectured us about food fights from.

The old portrait of Britain and the even older portrait of England still sat on either side of the dining room's fireplace, although they've since been vandalized. Most likely at a post-Revolutionary War party, considering the messages scrawled on the paintings.

I looked down at the long table. Yet again; it was the same, despite the two new ones joining it looking like they were made more recently. At least more recently than the 1600s.

I pulled Dad's chair out slightly and crouched down. I crawled under the table and looked up at the bottom of it.

Names. So many carvings of names. Familiar and unfamiliar.

I laid on my back and looked up at them. There was my name, right where I left it... There were carvings of flowers around it this time. That was new.

All the new names checked out with the family members that have been added since my departure. Even one that was mostly scratched out read 'Dixie.'

I crawled out from under the table and stood once more.

I don't exactly remember how I got there, but soon I was in Dad's study.

It was the same as always; bookshelves and paintings lining the walls, a nice carpet laying over the wood floor, and two seats facing Dad's dark oak desk, illuminated in the moon's glow by a large window behind his desk chair.

As always, the desk was disheveled. I remembered he always tried his best to keep it neat, but he had trouble with that when he was working.

Folders were scattered, three empty mugs were collecting dust, crumpled notes were tossed to the side...

The only thing that seemed to be in order were the two framed pictures. 

One seemed to be a recent family photo taken on the front steps of the manor, including everyone from the territories to West— Ehm, regular Germany. Getting everyone to pose for that picture must of been quite a feat.

The second was a smaller pencil drawing of all his other children who never had the chance to get in the family photo. Popham, Saybrook, West Jersey, and... You get the idea.

The room smelled faintly of vanilla and smoke. I had no idea if it was recent or not... I wondered if he ever quit smoking.

Quickly and quietly, I tidied up his office for him. I told myself going into this that I wouldn't touch anything, just look, but... I couldn't leave without showing him I still cared, even if he would have no idea that I was the one to clean up.

Softly closing the study's door as I left, there was only one last room I wanted to see before bolting; my own.

I was almost certain they turned it into something new. I couldn't help but be curious on what it might be now.

It was a stressful trip to get there. It was right in the middle of a hallway where some of my siblings' rooms were located, and I had no way of knowing who was there or not. My heart was pounding like a drum as I crept through the dangerous zone. A single noisy floorboard would be this situation's equivalent of a land mine.

Miraculously, I made it without having a heart attack. Resisting the urge to breath a sigh of relief, I turned the handle and entered the room, quietly shutting the door behind me.

I turned around and faced my small, old room. I felt my heart freeze.

I was expecting it to be storage, a sitting room, possibly a guest bedroom...

But nothing could've prepared me for it to look exactly like it did when I left it.

My wardrobe. My bed. My books.

The sight I saw before me was the same sight I saw before running away to save my family's reputation...

Unmoved. Undisturbed. Untouched. 

Almost untouched, at least. There was a fresh vase of roses left on my desk... Someone's been in here recently. 

In addition to that, a piece of paper was peaking out of one of the drawers.

Curiosity overtook me and I went over to the desk, feeling like I was floating in a hazy dream instead of walking in a very real room. I opened the drawer and felt a lump in my throat as I realized what was inside. A smell of paper filled the room.

Dad's written me letters. Hundreds of them.

'Dearest Haven.'

'Good Morning, New Haven.'

'Happy First Independence Day, Haven.'

I stumbled back ever so slightly, unable to control my surprise. 

'The Country Is Split, Haven.'

'God End Me Now, Haven.'

'The World War's Over, Haven.'

I sat at my bed, eyes darting from one random title I saw to another.

'Prohibition Sucks, Haven.'

'Haven You Would Not BELIEVE Which War's Getting a Sequel.'

'You'd Laugh At Me If You Saw Where I Was Now, Haven.'

It was the same thing he did with Poppy... With Saybrook...

'Haven, Pardon My French But Soviet's a Little B**ch.'

'AYYY! HE'S DEAD, HAVEN! :D"

'Happy Birthday, Haven (2022).'

The letters started to blur and swirl together as a heavy feeling of guilt and bitterness overwhelmed me.

He missed me. Gosh, he missed me so much.

I knew he did something similar after Popham and Saybrook died. He must of did the same thing for West Jersey and I.

It was his way of coping. Whenever Dad needed to clear his mind, I would see him writing letters to his deceased kids. He'd write them advice, updates, stories... as if they were still with him.

I felt terrible. I didn't deserve this. I didn't deserve any of this mourning. I wasn't dead. I was only hiding...

I used to be the embarrassment of my family, when I lived with them. A colony without even a mere charter. Easily pushed around by Connecticut's larger forces.

I was ashamed of myself. I hated that I embarrassed my own family's reputation, so I ran.

After a couple of decades and some desperate searching... They finally assumed me dead. 

I didn't show my face to anyone until my colors changed, when I could finally pass myself off as a new person; Connecticut's city of New Haven.

I've been living a lie for years now. The only relative I've seen since is Connecticut, who thankfully can't seem to see past my newly made appearance and mannerisms.

I was a coward. I was a filthy coward, and it resulted in me giving my father extra pain to burden over the years.

I thought he would've been relieved to get rid of the family's weakest link... What now?

I stared at the drawer filled to the brim with letters as dozens of ideas and scenarios rushed through my head.

I could tell the truth. I could go back to my family... My home, which I've longed for since leaving.

But... would they even let me back in?

I've hurt them... My Dad, at the very least. I gave them all this pointless grief. They'd be angry if I came back now, especially when I take back my role of being the family disappointment... Everyone else would be states, territories, federal districts... And what am I? Another random city of my brother's? One that isn't even the biggest? 

I can never face my family now. My return would cause more harm than good.

I love them, though... I love them to the point that it hurts. Watching them grow and flourish on the sidelines has been difficult for me, but I don't want to be selfish and go with the alternative.

I stood from my old bed, eyes locked on the letters. I was itching to take them. At least a single one. I wanted to hear what my Dad would've told me if I was around. It was the closest thing to talking to him in person I'd ever achieve now.

I felt a stab in my heart as I realized I couldn't. He might look back on his letters. One shouldn't be missing or crinkled.

I looked at them longingly as they disappeared into the desk once more as I shut the drawer.

I smelled a single whiff of the flowers (roses; Dad's favorite) before backing out of the room. Yet again; the hallway was barren of other life.

I noiselessly rushed back through the house, pushing down the memories this time. It didn't take long for me to get back to the kitchen door.

I couldn't help it. I started running.

I slammed the door behind me as I practically jumped over the garden wall. I slid off the stones this time. It seems like the clouds covering the moon before had finally started a storm.

The second I was back on my feet, I bolted. Away from the house, away from the memories, away from my family. The ground was slick, but I didn't know if I kept slipping because of the weather conditions or if the night had stressed and exhausted me to the point of my knees giving out.

I raced out the large, unlocked front gate. I raced down the road. I raced and raced until I found my car where I left it; hidden behind some bushes.

I immediately got in, started it, and sped off. The storm raged outside as I took some deep breaths to calm down. I shakily turned on the radio as I drove home.

I had a hard time finding a song that wouldn't make me break down immediately. Fed up with all the lyrics, I switched to a piano station. The slow version of New Home by Austin Farwell filled the car. Not exactly cheery, but... I guess it

With a sigh, I shook my head and drove off into the night.

──────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────

Connecticut had no idea who that shadow of a man was, or what he wanted... But he didn't seem to hurt anything. It was probably just one of his brothers, collecting something he left at the manor after a visit.

Despite agreeing with this conclusion, Connecticut lingered at the window for a while more. For whatever reason, he felt the need to... follow it... As if something precious was escaping him...

He didn't move an inch. He stayed at the window until the mystery visitor disappeared into the rain.

[fromthemouthofkings]

Nanowrimo 2023

aka: let me ramble to you about my nonbinary lesbian polyam mermaid story

Summary:

When misanthropic marine biologist Belle Fischer moves into the cozy seaside town of Hidden Coves, she is reluctantly amused by the town's kitchy charm...and the town's baker, one very charming butch named SJ Ortiz. However, mysterious forces are moving in the deep, and Belle soon finds herself torn between the land and the sea.

The cast of characters:

Belle Fischer: a pretty, punk marine biologist who loves the ocean almost as much as she is afraid of people

SJ Ortiz: a charming, soft butch cupcake shop owner and overachiever, fun aunt, and smooth talker extrairdinaire

Aen: them that the ocean whispers to when it has bad dreams, priest of the old god speedrunning their religious trauma, an actual real life mermaid

excerpt below the cut

Unfortunately, the cozy little seaside town of Hidden Coves was the only fucking place in the world where the endangered Scarlet Bellied Sea Turtle laid its eggs. Not down the coast in sunny Los Angeles, where the UCLA campus could provide easy access to lab space, equipment, and punk shows. Not up in San Francisco, which at least had a subculture, even if it was kind of a tourist trap. No, the Scarlet Bellied Sea Turtle was a picky motherfucker that insisted on laying its eggs in the kitchiest town on the coast of California.

Belle glowered at the faded sign announcing Come find us Fathoms Below at Fathoms Below Deepsea Adventure Park! One spindly, weatherbeaten wooden roller coaster rose uncertainly above the sandy beach, which Belle immediately vowed never to get on. She could bet that the summer tourists were just great for the sea turtles. Noisy, annoying, disrespectful–they came with their giant SUVs and their litter and their dollar signs for the “local economy” and dug and kicked and poked at endangered wildlife and its precarious habitat.

She was not looking forward to getting to know her new neighbors.

She drove on down Oceanfront Drive, keeping an eye out for the conservation center that was to be her home for the next six or seven months. The main street was lined with cute little shops–an antique shop, an ice cream parlor, a little restaurant with a large, smiling taco above the door–the town even had its own cupcake shop.

Continuing on down the road, she came at last to a sign that read Coves Ocean Conservation and Research Center and took a hard right. A curving drive took her to a small, square building set beside the water on a small cove, with a walkway heading down to a stretch of sandy beach. She parked the U-Haul in front of the door and climbed out, surveying her new home.

She didn't hate it. The beach looked quiet and the water sparkled invitingly. It was a bright turquoise in the bay, dropping off to a dark blue further out. She straightened her shoulders and anchored her combat boots underneath her.

“Time to take names and kick ass,” she muttered to herself under her breath, “time to take names and kick ass–” she stomped up the steps to the front door– “time to take names–”

For just a moment before she pushed open the door, she thought she caught a glimpse of something in the water. It was gone in a moment–was it the flash of a fin? The tip of a tail? She hesitated for a moment, straining her eyes. There shouldn’t be anything that big in the bay–could a shark or a dolphin have gotten caught in the shallow waters? Or was it just a trick of the light?

[viscountessevie]

What are your fav pre S2 fics and post S2 fics?

Sanji's Bridgerton Fic Recs

Am I allowed to plug myself? 😂😂 I just never end up on fic rec lists so you know what Imma be shameless and link my masterlist:

I'm really proud of my Kathony one shots (My 10 Things AU is a vibe but I've abandoned it sorry yall 😭) and I think my NB!Sophie fic deserves more love so please if you're interested have a read and let me know what you think 💞

As for the other recs - I'll be honest, I don't read as much fics as I should especially when I have so many amazing writer friends I really feel bad I haven't read or commented enough on their fics! That being said here's all my fave fic writers (literally mainly my friends shsjjsjs cos they're the only ones I trust to get the characters right):

@newtonsheffield aka Molly! She is first fandom friend I ever made in this fandom and the reason I ended up making this blog. I always saw her in the main tag and got really curious about her fics. Then I fell into the rabbit hole that is BSCU which I still need to finish 💀💀. I would rec all of her works tbh she has written something for everyone but my personal faves are the following:

1) Mysterious Fathoms Below - A Little Mermaid Kathony AU that's very soft and hella intimate. I was SUPER hyped for this one and Molly really delivered

2) Through The Wire - This was an intense and angsty AU where Anthony gets amnesia after an accident a little while after dumping Kate when they were getting too serious. It was brilliantly written and I honestly think this is her best work. It's so annoying that the puritans of the fandom gave her so much shit for some of her chapters, they can fuck right off this was my absolute fave fic of hers ever!

3) Royals - Hello we ALL LOVE a Princess Diaries 2 AU! This was such a fun read honestly it's been so long I need to go back and reread. Also watching the movie right after hits different and gives you all the feels

[Ik she has other faves she'd hype up more but I haven't read those yet jshdjjd so I can't really comment on them but oh! Honourable Mention because she's mentioned she loves this AU but it's very underrated and I still need to read it: Post Traumatic. It's a Jurassic Park AU AND Kate is a fight pilot it's iconic]

I would also recommend going through the tags of those fics because she always has fun snippets, edits and playlists for them! It really drums up the hype while you're waiting for it to be updated.

~

Next up we have Lil aka @sharmasandcorgis whose writing I absolutely adore and I think she's hella underrated so please go give her some love on her AO3

1) Leap Year - If you haven't already guessed I go feral for movie AUs I think its a film writer thing lmao. Based on the movie of the same name, it's enemies to lovers EXCELLENCE, with a side of fake marriage we love to see it!!

2) Mornings - It's pregnancy Kathony fic and is so so soft and comforting. I was literally Agnes reading it: IT'S SO FLUFFY I'M GOING TO DIE!!

3) So I need to catch up on her other fics but she's so brilliant I couldn't pick a 3rd I'm just reccing her entire AO3 works!!

~

Zaira aka @jeanvanjer who needs to write more fics for us because her writing is AMAZING, currently only has The Ghost of You up at the moment. Very soft but angsty and sad, get tissues ready before reading.

Look out for her Sugar Daddy Professor Anthony AU at some point down the line.

~

Triv aka @hptriviachamp is my fave Regency fic writer because she's very good with the language of the time, does thorough research for every fic and as a Poli-Sci major, always has a political touch in her fics it sets her writing apart from the rest of the writers and makes her stories so unique!

1) Suddenly A Smile, Shyly Obscene - Johncesca's first meeting fully fleshed out. I watched this fic come to life in our GC whenever we had writing sprints and let me say I'M OBSESSED! She really understands Johncesca and the way she writes John makes me go feral, her John is now Canon John imo.

2) The Courtship of Charlotte Bridgerton - IT'S *THE* NEXT GEN FIC! Charlotte and Clairmont are super compelling especially with how it progresses and no spoilers but there's a suprise on Clairmont's part 👀. It's a really refreshing take on a certain kind of relationship and the characters are just so fun to read about.

3) A Very Bridgerton Diwali - The very first fic of hers I've read. It made my heart sing because it reminded me so much of how my family and I are during Deepavali so it hit close to home in a very soft way.

Author's Pick: Do Not Go Gentle Into That Senior Year (Just Rage) - A Kathony HS AU with all the tropes of a HS au and beats of their story in one fic.

Honourable Mention: I'm Your National Anthem - A very spicy politically charged Kathony Politics AU but it's on the back burner as a WIP and hasn't been posted 😭😭 if it ever comes out please go read it!

~

Belle aka @sophiamariabeckett !! My fandom wife 😍😍. Heads up, we're moving into Benophie territory.

1) Bridgertons' Anatomy - IT'S A GREYS AU!! I was really surprised to hear her tell me this wasn't hyped up more like don't yall love Greys?? AND OFC THE BRIDGERTONS WOULD BE A HIGH POWERED DOCTOR DYNASTY FAMILY!

Of course it's Benophie centric and Ben/Sophie (Baek!! She's Korean yall) are super cute in it but my fave chapter is Nepotism Babies where Anthony and Simon meet for the first time 🥺🥺🥺

Soo gooo read it - Belle also made a lot of edits for it, go give it some love!

2) Fallen Through Time - Outlander AU nuff said, very angsty and just iconic I mean when Jamie and Claire are the blueprint and you apply to Benophie it's just chef's kiss!

3) Author's Pick: Dusk Til Dawn - Violet Bridgerton II's Birth! Another fic that was born in our GC and it is so so soft. Okay but like the way I initially wrote From Dusk Til Dawn til I realised that's a video game 💀💀

~

Last but certainly not least, Michaela aka @minim236 is literally our fandom's Bob the Builder fix-it fic writer. Canon broke it? Michaela can fix it, yes she can!

Her AUs are unmatched! Lots of fun rarepairs but she makes them work and you can see why they fit together. My personal favourite fic is tied between these two so I'll put them in the order I read it:

1) The Marina/Simon Series - An AU where Simon and Marina strike a deal to enter into a marriage of convenience so she won't be ruined and Simon can say Fuck you to his dad by not having any biological kids to take the Dukedom. Also these two deserve better than being ending up with r*pists (Ik Show Phillip didn't since they won't need to consummate their marriage and she doesn't seem to have PPD but still Book Philip can go die.)

I think this was the first ever fic I read from her?? So definitely has a special place in my heart!

2) [Also Author's Pick:] A Papa Sharma & Mary Love Story. My soft spot is Kate and Edwina's parents I WANNA KNOW EVERYTHING and this fic series fulfilled that!! Their love story was so so sweet and we had baby Kate and Mary moments I was sobbing! We also had a moment where Vi was being a ignorant white lady lmaoo it was funny and I lowkey wish she had been called out for it within the narrative hshshs.

Bonus Sequel: Letters Sent & Read

Sorry M I gotta admit I haven't read this one yet but I will soon! The premise is promising and I'm excited to read it 🤗🤗

3) Ruin

He would not ruin her. How could he ruin such beauty? Benedict is an artist without a muse or motivation. Until he is introduced to Sophie Beckett, a guarded ballet dancer who lacks passion and does not want to be his muse. The attraction between them is confusing, especially to her.

I need to read this but it's a monster of a fic and I love that! Hopefully it will be finished by the time I can start it and I'll be able to binge it ehehhe. I will say I always see edits for it and they are amazing!!! So please go give them some love 💞

Also anon I know you asked for Pre-S2 and Post-S2 fics, but I can't recommend any good fics that are canon compliant with S2. I've given up on trying to find good ones without a Kathani jumpscare and I have talked about it on my blog a couple of times (recently talked about it in the comments here) but I hate HATE the trend of Abusive!Sharmas and White Saviour Kathony saving Kate from her 'oh so horrible' family, it's fucked up. Please go read TVWLM and come back with better characterisations of the Sharma Family Unit thanks, we don't claim the dysfunction on the show.

Thanks again for the ask anon and everyone goooo read my friends' work, just absolutely brilliant writers!

[project-feive]

Ranking my versions of my Five based off of her levels of unhinge-ness.

Read more below just because there could be some stuff considered spoilers?

1: NL!Callista Glover. “The Red Soldier” (my own personal AU) This bitch crazy and traumatized. Lived in Red Scorpion Base and was basically a test subject and didn’t meet Team Abel until S9. Do not turn your back on her ever. She will kill with no remorse. Feels everything and nothing all at the same time. Girly is in her Reputation Era and doesn’t plan on getting out of it any time soon.

2. ZR!Callista Glover. “Runner 5” (main series) She isn’t in her Reputation Era just yet but she’s close. Her mind is literally breaking and she’s been traumatized ten times over and her marriage fell apart in front of her eyes. Like girl needs therapy, meds, a vacation, the whole works. She’s approximately two seconds away from snapping and killing everyone.

3: Ista-Glow. “Rookie” (Dystopia Rising) She is a mercenary. What would you expect? Also major parental issues. Has died before and in Dystopia Lore coming back is a horribly kind breaking thing so def has baggage from that.

4. Evangeline Freeman. “Walker” (The Walk) Has mental health issues at the beginning but isn’t really unhinged at the beginning of her story. Slowly becomes more unhinged as the story goes on. Will definitely need therapy.

5. Callista ‘Cal’ Glover. “Rider” (Dragon Flight) This version of Callista is 14. Do you know how unhinged 14-year-olds are? I don’t think I need to say any more.

6. Glass Woman “Five” (Endless Sea add-on story) Poor girl loses her memory and has black glass armor. Doesn’t talk to the aliens on the planet she resides on much and doesn’t let them ever see her in the forest where she lives. If unhinged because she is very casual about breaking and entering into the literal castle of the alien royalty and bossing the king and queen around and getting them to do what she wants. Isn’t super high on the list just because she doesn’t ask for much or anything drastic.

7. Callista Elizabeth ‘Eliza’ Glover. “Apprentice Five” (Abel’s Buccaneers). Literally became Dr. Samuel’s apprentice because her sister abandoned her on the streets of a place she’d never been in because she flew off the rails after her fiancé died. Fell in love with Dr. Samuel because he gave her the tiniest bit of affection. Girly needs therapy. Not unhinged as the others but as some issues she needs to work on.

8. Callista Glover. “Specialist Five” (Venus Rising). Goes on a mission while dying so she can spend more time with her secret bf. When secret bf does she blames the Captain for not doing anything and plots to kill her even while running for her life. Ends up doing so after the last mission of the series. Ironically becomes the last one surviving when she is dying of a terminal disease. Although that last part doesn’t make her unhinged. Everything else though…

9. Callie Morse. “Stoker Five” (Mystery at 4000 Fathoms). Slightly unhinged due to grief. Literally loses it when she can’t find her locket with her late husband’s picture in the beginning. But she does start the healing process at the end of the new adventure.

10. Celeste. “Bellhop” (Hotel Hijinks). Not really unhinged, but does whatever unhinged stuff she’s told to do, like getting into a dumbwaiter to spy on others. This is especially unhinged for Celeste because she’s hard of hearing/mostly deaf so she’d have to peak through and read lips.

11. Quinn (Rule Britannia series). Not really unhinged, although we could say she’s crazy for dealing with so much bullshit for as long as she has. But for the most part is very level headed and isn’t completely murderous.

12. Detective Glover. “Runner 13” (The 13th Runner). The most level headed of them all. Has a brain cells and actually uses them. No inning was unless we consider how the story could end which can go which her going to most unhinged or remaining least unhinged. But during the mission she is not unhinged and is super prepared. Is a bit of a workaholic though.

@catsoutofthebags

[cartoonfun2890]

Marcy Wu The Little Mermaid part 1- "♪ Fathoms Below ♪"/Main Titles Prince Jon the human and his friend Sci-Twi traveling the the high seas looking for Prince Jon's true love

Once upon a time, in the enchanting kingdom of Atlantica, there lived a young mermaid named Marcy Wu. She had long, flowing hair as black as the night sky and eyes that sparkled like the ocean's waves. Marcy was known for her adventurous spirit and her love for exploring the vast depths of the sea.

One sunny morning, as Marcy swam through the coral reefs, she heard a beautiful melody carried by the currents. Mesmerized by the enchanting voice, she followed the sound until she reached a ship sailing above her. Curiosity filled her heart as she peeked above the water's surface.

On the ship, Prince Jon, a handsome and kind-hearted human, stood at the helm, accompanied by his loyal friend, Sci-Twi. They were on a quest to find Prince Jon's true love, as he had been dreaming of a mysterious voice that called out to him every night.

As Marcy watched from below, she couldn't help but feel a connection to Prince Jon. She had always been fascinated by the human world and longed to explore it. Determined to meet him, she swam closer to the ship, her tail glimmering in the sunlight.

Suddenly, a storm brewed in the distance, darkening the sky and churning the sea. Marcy's heart raced as she realized the danger that lay ahead. She knew she had to warn Prince Jon and Sci-Twi about the impending tempest.

With a

[arickaandherfictionalothers]

Little merman AU: mysterious fathoms below-!

(Aricka x Billy)

(Little Mermaid au! Aricka is a princess, Billy is a merman. The story is the same but different.)

It was a beautiful day in the ocean near Westerly Kingdom. Seagulls swarmed overhead, dolphins jumped to and fro, and out of the fog, a glorious ship emerged- Liberty’s Reign, owned by the fair princess, Aricka Munson. She was as beautiful as the sunrise, gentle as a whisper; and as fierce as a hurricane. She longed for adventure in open waters, to explore what might lay beyond the boundaries of her kingdom.

But more than that: she longed for someone who would adventure with her. Oh, her brothers and friends were fine company, but she wanted love. True Love. Like her mother and father shared.

She looked on the deck below, and smiled as she heard the thrumming music of the sailors and her dearest companions, walking down to join them.

“I'll tell you a tale of the bottomless blue-!” She cries; and the sailors join in,

“An' it's hey to the starboard, heave ho!

Brave sailor, beware, 'cause a big 'uns a-brewin'

Mysterious fathoms below!

Heave ho!”

Aricka’s dearest friend, Steve, a merchant by trade and a sailor by heart, walks over and joins her,

“I'll sing you a song of the king of the sea-!” And two of their closest friends- Robin, a servant in Aricka’s court; and Dori, the royal musician- join them,

“An' it's hey to the starboard, heave ho!” Eddie swings in on a rope, landing gracefully by his sister, bowing low as he takes his solo,

“The ruler of all of the oceans is he-!”

And the friends move to their respective tasks, singing as they went,

“In mysterious fathoms below!

Fathoms below, below!

From whence wayward westerlies blow!

Where Triton is king

And his merpeople sing

In mysterious fathoms below!” Aricka’s younger brother, Mike, was not accustomed to the sea life; and was currently leaned over the side, in a most uncomfortable predicament- he was seasick.

“Isn’t this perfection Mikey? Out on the open sea, surrounded by nothing but water?” Aricka asks. Trying to cheer him up.

The boy- well; hardly a boy anymore, at eighteen years her brother was well on his way to being a man- gives her a dry look. “Oh, yes, it’s simply...delightful...” before leaning back over and expelling more of the contents of his stomach.

Aricka runs to the bow of the ship, climbing up the bow-spirit and clinging to a rope as she sings out,

“The salt on your skin

And the wind in your hair

And the waves as they ebb and they flow!

We’re miles from the shore

And guess what – I don’t care!” From the starboard part of the ship, Mike grumbles,

“As for me, I’m about to heave ho!”

“Back to work!” Robin orders, all the sailors heeding her command.

Dori, Steve and Robin lead the next part; Eddie grabbing his sister’s hands as they swing around the main deck,

“I’ll sing you a song of the king of the sea

An’ it’s hey to the starboard, heave ho!

The ruler of all of the oceans is he

In mysterious fathoms below!”

Mike scoffs, “King of the sea? Why, that’s nautical nonsense – nothing but a superstition!” Robin waggles a finger, cautioning,

“The king of the ocean gets angry

An’ when he gets angry, beware!

I’m tellin’ ya, lad, when King Triton is mad

How the waves’ll buck, rock to and fro!” Dori and Steve join her,

“Hold on, good luck, as down you go!” Aricka cuts them off as she hears something- a beautiful, haunting melody, seeming to be heard only by her,

“What is that? Do you hear something?” Mike rolls his eyes,

“Sister, please. Enough sea-faring! You’ve got to get back to court – to honor our mother’s wishes and take up her crown!” Aricka and Eddie share a Look and roll their eyes.

“That’s not the life for me, Mike—There it is again!” She clings to the starboard side, leaning over as far as she could. Steve and Dori exchange a worried look.

“We ought to head back to shore, your majesty.” Steve proposes.

“Indeed, we should!” Mike agreed. Aricka scoffs,

“Not while I’m captain. Now follow that voice! To the ends of the earth if we have to!” Robin and Eddie share a grin before the former replies,

“Aye-aye, Captain!” And the sailers resume their work as the finish their song,

“There’s mermaids out there in the bottomless blue

An’ it’s hey to the starboard, heave ho!

Watch out for ‘em, lad, or you’ll go to your ruin

Mysterious fathoms below!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@astralshipper @rosieshipper @hyperionshipping @yeehawselfshipping @letsgofoletsgo @tsundere-selfship @callsign-revenge

[mcrmaidscales]

sent meme || based on this song || @imbicilite

The sea had been so suffocating. She’d given up her life as a princess, daughter, and sister to find a life that had been denied her by an overprotective father. Of course, she missed them with everything in her heart, but this was the life that she had wished to have since her youth. 

“My father built the castle in Atlantica for my mother and us. It’s a city of gold and shell and it’s so pretty when the sunlight peers upon it through the waves,” she told to the man beside her as her eyes settled upon the small village that seemed to be the most beautiful city she had ever laid eyes upon, “But towers of gold are still too little. These hands could have held the world in Atlantica, but it would never be enough,” a smile played upon her lips as she turned to the human, “I can’t believe I’m finally here.”

[kyberphilosopher]

ᴛʜᴇ ᴊᴇʀᴇᴍɪᴀᴅ

“Anakin knew he had to set her free, this beautiful Sith of a woman.”

word count: 2731

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

jer·e·mi·ad/ˌjerəˈmīəd/  jeremiad

a long, mournful complaint or lamentation; a list of woes."the jeremiads of puritan preachers warning of moral decay"

Anakin couldn’t remember when he first started loving you. He only knew that he had seen you at some point, and at some point became so infatuated, he kept an eye out for you at every turn. If you happened to be passing by while he was speaking to Obi-Wan, Anakin’s eyes were trained on you. If you fought together in battle, he would look to see you on the other side. Curiously enough, when he would get glimpses of you, you were always twirling your lightsaber after a kill. 

Anakin felt an enormous amount of guilt about this. He had been entangled with Padme for some time now, and had even married her after the Battle of Geonosis. He would’ve been foolish not to. Padme was beautiful and kind and diligent, and she would sometimes appear to Anakin in dreams like an angel. He felt an enormous wave of relief wash over him when he would meet his wife at the end of a long mission. 

But he didn’t love her. Not really. He loved you. He wanted to be with you, to snake his hands around your waist in the night. He always made an attempt to spar with you in the temple, or ask about any mission you might’ve been on. Anakin felt like a magnet around you, even though you hadn’t shown much of a mutual pattern in return. Anakin didn’t mind that much though- you were a busy person, he understood. If anything, it only made his desire for you stronger. A woman of few words, Anakin only further imagined what your moans would sound like in place. 

Eventually, however, you were gone. 

As clear and distant as the rising sun, and as quiet and hushed as the moon, you disappeared from the temple and the Jedi alike. There were no more glances to steal at you, no more glimpses of your elegant training to behold. The corner of the archives Anakin often saw you in now seemed empty and incomplete with your form. Even the Jedi council seemed like it was missing something, even though you had refused to be a part of it some years before. 

There were whispers, but none that Anakin ever got the opportunity to fully hear. Part of him knew that if he did hear them, he probably wouldn’t have accepted them. In truth, he refused to think that you were even dead, even though it was the far more likely answer to his questions. Anakin believed that you had suffered from some injury in your endeavors and had most likely become immobilized, instead. He didn’t want to know the truth. 

But did he have some semblance of it? Yes. He was the most powerful, in tune Jedi in the galaxy- he would’ve felt what had happened to you. He just refused to believe it. 

◇─◇──◇─────◇──◇─◇

Sometimes, you would appear in Anakin’s dreams. 

Your two blue lightsabers would be at the ready in your cunning hands. Your most trusted trooper- Commander Nyx- would be at your side, awaiting instructions. Your dark Jedi robes would stand in contrast to the scene ahead of you, which consisted of crystalline buildings falling and gunships falling with green streaks. 

In dreams, Anakin would suddenly get confidence he could never muster in real life. He didn’t know it, but this was out of desperation. He wanted so badly to see you, to feel you if he could, that he wouldn’t mind risking how he appeared to you anymore. He just wanted you to turn around and face him. 

Tentatively, Anakin’s gloved, mechanical fingers would reach out to you. “Y/N?” he’d call out. You would give no reply. Your robes would stay swaying slowly in the wind, offering only a view of your back. Not even Commander Nyx would answer Anakin’s prayer of a whisper. But when the sky of the scene would darken when he drew closer to you, he had received a sort of response. Anakin didn’t care enough to acknowledge it. “Y/N...” 

This prompted you to turn to him. Like poetry, he caught your eyes. Even in sleep, he still felt weak and woozy in his stomach (in the best way, of course) and he couldn’t help but get lost in your orbs like a maze. 

You were still just as beautiful as he remembered, but different. Something was oozing, sinking, blackening your veins like tar and poison. Anakin could see this in the way you held your sabers. He wasn’t sure how, but your fingers seemed more hungry. Your lips were chapped and slightly paler, but no less attractive than he’d always thought. Jaw sharp, skin glowing faintly- your eyes were the main piece. They were so much brighter and more intelligent than he’d thought, although not in a good way. 

You were always a powerful Jedi, and this was common knowledge. You had specialized in the seventh and most deadly form of combat, taken your time to study ancient texts, and had gone head to head with several enemy forces during the War. Anakin could even recall a report of you surviving an encounter with General Grievous and emerging unscathed. But this was different. This was pure and untamed energy, an ultimate corruption as sweet as fine wine. 

In this dream, Anakin was too stunned to say anything. He could only stare in a mix of awe and disbelief. You, however, did not take too long to react. Your hand shoots out. Anakin trips forward, gasping at his own throat as he watches your lightsaber come closer and closer to him. 

And then he wakes up. 

◇─◇──◇─────◇──◇─◇

The day of Kamino’s attack takes everyone by surprise. It had already happened recently, and nobody had fathomed the possibility of the Separatists forming such a similar attack so soon. Anakin, Ahsoka, Obi-Wan, and trusted Captain Rex all rushed to the scene in a gunship, with anxiety drumming in their hearts. 

Anakin’s hand tightened around the rope above. His grip became a hot, white, vice as he stared at the crashing waves below. The storm overhead was unending and surreal, but it did nothing to calm the warning in his heart. 

He hadn’t dreamed about you in a month by this point. He thought about you often, however. Even more so when he was laying by Padme who had her hand placed directly over his heart. He wondered if you were still out there in the galaxy, fighting monsters and exercising a patience he could only imagine. On good days, he could trick himself into believing that you were taking a long term holiday on some distant world. 

But now, it didn’t feel like you were on a distant world. It felt like you were on this one. You felt so impossibly close. Like the universe was shrinking up around the two of you and making his chest feel closed up. 

“Are you alright, Anakin?” Obi-Wan spoke out. His free hand came to rest on Anakin’s shoulder comfortingly, like he was about to pull Anakin out of something. 

“Yes Master,” Anakin promised in return, even though it was a blatant lie. Still, he managed to keep his voice steady, and that had impressed him enough. “I just worry what Commander Nyx will tell us when we meet him.”

Anakin knew Obi-Wan was unconvinced. He could feel it in the air and see it in the older man’s eyes. Regardless, Obi-Wan removed his palm from Anakin’s form and opened his mouth to spit the normal analytical nonsense. “Nyx and his men are already inside the main structure. They’re searching for our intruder while clearing a way.”

“I thought you said Grievous had already been seen,” Ahsoka questioned. 

“I did,” said Obi-Wan. “But that does nothing to help confirmed reports of a second party present.”

Anakin squinted at the water. Determination filled him up like it always did before a battle, but there was also an unquenchable need to make sure you weren’t this ‘second party’. He knew it would’ve been ridiculous to even consider that possibility- you were off on holiday! But something inside of him just wanted see it. It was probably just that witch, Ventress again. She did have the hobby of inconveniencing Anakin’s life more than you  ever had. 

◇─◇──◇─────◇──◇─◇

Anakin was wrong. 

He rounded the corner with his lightsaber in his hand. His breathing came out evenly, just as he had trained it to do. Raising his right wrist to his mouth, he said the magic words. “Obi-Wan, I’m locking in on the targets location. No signs of Nyx anywhere.”

After a high pitched beep, blaster fire could be heard in the background of Obi-Wan’s scene. “Be ready, Anakin.”

With that, Anakin doubled down his speed and spurred himself forward. His brown eyebrows furrowed together, his fingers clutching the hilt of his weapon selfishly. There were people counting on him- the Clones and snips and Obi-Wan, even Padme. But more than anyone, he felt that you were counting on him. He just wanted to silence the anguish he was feeling. It was eating him alive. 

Anakin stumbled into a dark, circular room. It was empty, except for the bodies in white armor that littered the floor. He could sense other things too- two presences in the middle. He didn’t need to be so gifted in the ways of the force to know that, though. He could hear the little whimpers from the center in a voice he had heard thousands of times. It was identical to that of Rex and Cody and Bly, and that scared him somewhat. 

“Y-you can’t!” the voice pleaded. Anakin would’ve surged forward and saved the clone, if not for the silencing of him all together. With the swiftest of movements, the figure pulled both of their arms to their sides, and something heavy dropped to the floor.  The Crimson color of the blades answered a few of the Jedi’s questions. The face of the mystery killer, however, created more. 

It was you, in all of your glory. Your eyes piercing and calm, your features were striking. You, as always, were immensely beautiful to Anakin. You were like something that he would never see again if he looked away, and the fact that it was all too true was saddening. Although your skin had paled somewhat, you were entirely recognizable. The thing that had changed the most about you was your lightsabers, which had of course transitioned from pale blue to blood red. 

Anakin’s eyes widened as he looked at you. You. What kind of sick, twisted joke was the Maker bestowing upon him? This was the thing he had wished against more than anything else. It was terrible enough imagining himself fighting Obi-Wan, but this wasn’t Obi-Wan. This was the woman he had watched from afar, silently admiring and memorizing. And now the woman was a Sith- the thing he had sworn to fight against. 

“Master Skywalker,” you said coolly. You twirled one of the sabers in your palms just as Obi-Wan and other Jedi had done to loosen up their grips. It felt distant. “I had hoped you’d be the one to execute me.”

Anakin swallowed, but it didn’t help the feeling in his throat. “Y/N?” he asked hoarsely, almost like a beg. He wished so badly that you were Ventress, or even Count Dooku for that matter. 

You didn’t give him a straight answer, you were never known for that. “If you want me to be.” You looked the man up and down, taking him in. You could recall seeing him around the temple, fighting along side him. You couldn’t place any real conversations or formal meetings, although you would be damned before letting yourself forget the name Anakin Skywalker. He always had been the most fascinating specimen. “Shall we fight, then?” 

You poised yourselves on your toes. Your prey could never see when you did this, which gave you the element of surprise in combat. You knew that you were better than many of the Jedi in the Order. You had bested Luminara Unduli on multiple occasions, along with that Kenobi and Kit Fisto. You were never one to flash this, however, instead choosing to mask your growing contempt further and further. But Anakin Skywalker was not any of those Jedi. He was the most powerful force user alive. You were not entirely sure you could beat him. 

“What are you doing here?” Anakin asked. His question partially caught you off guard, but you were polite. 

“I’d like to think that defeats the point,” you quipped. 

Anakin opens and closes his mouth multiple times. Like a glitch, he can’t seem to find or form the words. “We- you were a peacekeeper! And now look at you!”

Your eyes narrowed at him. Anakin noticed this, but you were too much of a demanding sight to ruin his current view of you. He didn’t want to fight you. What if he killed you? What if you killed him? 

“Look at yourself,” you challenged. Anakin’s heart broke in his chest. You could see his eyes widen, and immediately a pang ran through you. It was the most of any emotion you had felt in a while- years, maybe. You didn’t know what it was, because it seemed to be a mix of guilt and anguish and longing. 

Slowly, like a scared child, Anakin presses the switch on his emitter and takes his fighting stance. His blue streak of light roars to life softly. The shade reminds you of your own weapons, before you had made them bleed and turned them red. The shade reminds you of many other things, however, like Anakin’s brilliant eyes and all the neon planets you had traveled to. 

Anakin doesn’t want to fight you. He doesn’t know if you can tell, because your demeanor is just as cold as always. His insides feel unnecessarily hot, and the hair on his arms stand on end with electricity. He’s only felt this way when he’s becoming intimate with Padme, but never like this. This is unsettling, uncomfortable, and he would even dare to describe it as traumatic. 

“I’d always hoped you’d be the one to come here,” you said. In that moment, Anakin jabbed his blade forward cleanly. The sky blue glow extended across the room, even shadowing itself onto your face and created purple against the red. You positioned yourself back on instinct, waiting for the weapon to enter through your chest cleanly. 

But it didn’t. 

Anakin tried to keep his face stern and angry, but he couldn’t. It kept falling short and returning to one of heartbreak. This made your eyes features fall. Anakin wasn’t going to kill you, and you weren’t going to kill him. You had never wanted to. 

“I have to take you into...” Anakin’s breath fell short. You had the opportunity to kill him right then, and you were doing nothing. How incredibly foolish of you. 

You pressed the switch on your blades. Both of them came to a close, leaving both of you drowned in the blue light and the blue light only. There was no competition anymore. You truly weren’t going to kill Anakin. 

Anakin lowered his own weapon as he looked at your face. You looked so much softer now. He memorized everything he could about you again, like he was seeing you for the first time, whenever that may have been. 

You took a single step backwards. Anakin did nothing. Another step followed. You had been ordered to kill both Anakin and Kenobi, should you stumble across them. Instead, you would cover for the man. You would tell Dooku and the other Separatists you had not encountered Skywalker. 

Similarly, Anakin did not follow you in your steps. He did not chase you as you turned and left the room. He only watched your form, wondering if he was truly going to let you go again. The answer, of course, was that he would. He would tell Obi-Wan he had no conception of this hidden enemy, and that by the time he had located Commander Nyx’s squad, they had already been dead. 

Still, the both of you dissipated into your respective nights, knowing your debt was settled, and wondering if it would ever return. 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Taglist: @omg-we-really-doo​

[lailoken]

The Coblynau

“Under the general title of Coblynau I class the fairies which haunt the mines, quarries and under- ground regions of Wales, corresponding to the cabalistic Gnomes. The word coblyn has the double meaning of knocker or thumper and sprite or fiend; and may it not be the original of goblin? It is applied by Welsh miners to pigmy fairies which dwell in the mines, and point out, by a peculiar knocking or rapping, rich veins of ore. The faith is extended, in some parts, so as to cover the indication of subterranean treasures generally, in caves and secret places of the mountains. The coblynau are described as being about half a yard in height and very ugly to look upon, but extremely good- natured, and warm friends of the miner. Their dress is a grotesque imitation of the miner's garb, and they carry tiny hammers, picks and lamps.

They work busily, loading ore in buckets, flitting about the shafts, turning tiny windlasses, and pounding away like madmen, but really accomplishing nothing whatever. throw stones at the miners, when enraged at being lightly spoken of; but the stones are harmless. Nevertheless, all miners of a proper spirit refrain from provoking them, because their presence brings good luck. They have been known to

Miners are possibly no more superstitious than other men of equal intelligence; I have heard some of their number repel indignantly the idea that they are superstitious at all; but this would simply be to raise them above the level of our common humanity. There is testimony enough, besides, to support my own conclusions, which accredit a liberal share of credulity to the mining class. The Oswestry Advertiser, a short time ago, recorded the fact that, at Cefn, 'a woman is employed as messenger at one of the collieries, and as she commences her duty early each morning she meets great numbers of colliers going to their work. Some of them, we are gravely assured, consider it a bad omen to meet a woman first thing in the morning; and not having succeeded in deterring her from her work by other means, they waited upon the manager and declared that they should remain at home unless the woman was dismissed.' This was in 1874. In June, 1878, the South Wales Daily News recorded a superstition of the quarrymen at Penrhyn, where some thousands of men refused to work on Ascension Day. This refusal did not arise out of any reverential feeling, but from an old and wide-spread superstition, which has lingered in that district for years, that if work is continued on Ascension Day an accident will certainly follow. A few years ago the agents persuaded the men to break through the superstition, and there were accidents each year-a not unlikely occurrence, seeing the extent of works carried on, and the dangerous nature of the occupation of the men. This year, however, the men, one and all, refused to work.' dealing with considerable numbers of the mining class, and are quoted in this instance as being more significant than individual cases would be. Of these last I have encountered many. Yet I should be sorry if any reader were to conclude from all this that Welsh miners are not in the main intelligent, church-going, newspaper-reading men. so, I think, even beyond the common. Their superstitions, therefore, like those of the rest of us, must be judged as 'a thing apart,' not to be reconciled with intelligence and education, but co-existing with them. Absolute freedom from superstition can come only with a degree of scientific culture not yet reached by mortal man.

It can hardly be cause for wonder that the miner should be superstitious. His life is passed in a dark and gloomy region, fathoms below the earth's green surface, surrounded by walls on which dim lamps shed a fitful light. It is not surprising that imagination (and the Welsh imagination is peculiarly vivid) should conjure up the faces and forms of gnomes and coblynau, of phantoms and fairy men. When they hear the mysterious thumping which they know is not produced by any human being, and when in examining the place where the noise was heard they find there are really valuable indications of ore, the sturdiest incredulity must sometimes be shaken. Science points out that the noise may be produced by the action of water upon the loose stones in fissures and pot-holes of the mountain limestone, and does actually suggest the presence of metals.

In the days before a Priestley had caught and bottled that demon which exists in the shape of carbonic acid gas, when the miner was smitten dead by an invisible foe in the deep bowels of the earth it was natural his awe-struck companions should ascribe the mysterious blow to a supernatural enemy. When the workman was assailed suddenly by what we now call fire-damp, which hurled him and his companions right and left upon the dark rocks, scorching, burning, and killing, those who survived were not likely to question the existence of the mine fiend. Hence arose the superstition—now probably quite extinct—of basilisks in the mines, which destroyed with their terrible gaze. When the explanation came, that the thing which killed the miner was what he breathed, not what he saw; and when chemistry took the fire-damp from the domain of faerie, the basilisk and the fire fiend had not a leg to stand on. The explanation of the Knockers is more recent, and less palpable and convincing.

The Coblynau are always given the form of dwarfs, in the popular fancy; wherever seen or heard, they are believed to have escaped from the mines or the secret regions of the mountains. Their homes are hidden from mortal vision. When encountered, either in the mines or on the mountains, they have strayed from their special abodes, which are as spectral as themselves. There is at least one account extant of their secret territory having been revealed to mortal eyes. I find it in a quaint volume (of which I shall have more to say), printed at Newport, Monmouthshire, in 1813. It relates that one William Evans, of Hafodafel, while crossing the Beacon Mountain very early in the morning, passed a fairy coal mine, where fairies were busily at work. Some were cutting the coal, some carrying it to fill the sacks, some raising the loads upon the horses' backs, and so on; but all in the completest silence. He thought this 'a wonderful extra natural thing,' and was considerably impressed by it, for well he knew that there really was no coal mine at that place. He was a person of undoubted veracity,' and what is more, 'a great man in the world-above telling an untruth.'

That the Coblynau sometimes wandered far from home, the same chronicler testifies; but on these occasions they were taking a holiday. Egbert Williams, 'a pious young gentleman of Denbigh- shire, then at school,' was one day playing in a field called Cae Caled, in the parish of Bodfari, with three girls, one of whom was his sister. Near the stile beyond Lanelwyd House they saw a company of fifteen or sixteen coblynau engaged in dancing madly. They were in the middle of the field, about seventy yards from the spectators, and they danced something after the manner of Morris-dancers, but with a wildness and swiftness in their motions. They were clothed in red like British soldiers, and wore red handkerchiefs spotted with yellow wound round their heads. And a strange circumstance about them was that although they were almost as big as ordinary men, yet they had unmistakably the appearance of dwarfs, and one could call them nothing but dwarfs. Presently one of them left the company and ran towards the group near the stile, who were direfully scared thereby, and scrambled in great fright to go over the stile. Barbara Jones got over first, then her sister, and as Egbert Williams was helping his sister over they saw the coblyn close upon them, and barely got over when his hairy hand was laid on the stile. He stood leaning on it, gazing after them as they ran, with a grim copper-coloured countenance and a fierce look. The young people ran to Lanelwyd House and called the elders out, but though they hurried quickly to the field the dwarfs had already disappeared.

The counterparts of the Coblynau are found in most mining countries. In Germany, the Wichtlein (little Wights) are little old long-bearded men, about three-quarters of an ell high, which haunt the mines of the southern land. The Bohemians call the Wichtlein by the name of Haus-schmiedlein, little House-smiths, from their sometimes making a noise as if labouring hard at the anvil. They are not so popular as in Wales, however, as they predict misfortune or death. They announce the doom of a miner by knocking three times distinctly, and when any lesser evil is about to befall him they are heard digging, pounding, and imitating other kinds of work. In Germany also the kobolds are rather troublesome than otherwise, to the miners, taking pleasure in frustrating their objects, and rendering their toil unfruitful. Sometimes they are down- right malignant, especially if neglected or insulted, but sometimes also they are indulgent to individuals whom they take under their protection. ‘When a miner therefore hit upon a rich vein of ore, the inference commonly was not that he possessed more skill, industry, or even luck than his fellow-workmen, but that the spirits of the mine had directed him to the treasure.'

The intimate connection between mine fairies and the whole race of dwarfs is constantly met through- out the fairy mythology; and the connection of the dwarfs with the mountains is equally universal. God,' says the preface to the Heldenbuch, 'gave the dwarfs being, because the land and the mountains were altogether waste and uncultivated, and there was much store of silver and gold and precious stones and pearls still in the mountains.' From the most ancient times, and in the oldest countries, down to our own time and the new world of America, the traditions are the same. The old Norse belief which made the dwarfs the current machinery of the northern Sagas is echoed in the Catskill Mountains with the rolling of the thunder among the crags where Hendrik Hudson's dwarfs are playing ninepins.”

-

British Goblins

Wirt Sikes, 1880

[stxrrywildflower]

WONDER || ONE

from germany to france to the states, it was always in the stars for you and tara

MASTERLIST -> PLOT EXPLANATION

meeting tara was something out of luck, though it felt like the universe was secretly rooting for you.

if one thing had changed, even something as small as your dad being late for army training one day, you would never have lived the life you were living.

it was such a strange sequence of events that it felt like if you were pinched, you would wake up, almost as if it was too good to be true.

you and tara held each other together, less like glue but more as yin and yang.

it was a balance, seeing each other in both your worst and best moments. without her, you couldn’t even fathom where you would be. she was your rock, and the same the other way around.

you would lay your life down for her if it came to it, and it did; only once and it was a close call, but you didn’t regret it for a second. tara always joked about being in ‘internal debt’ to you but you brushed it off.

did you love her? absolutely. though you weren’t quite sure if it was more platonic or in fact romantic.

that wasn’t something you realized during your teenage years when you were still young and naive. it carried into your adulthood; you often found yourself longing for the intoxicating presence tara had when she was around you.

any chance of a relationship had crumbled away as you grew apart. besides, you never really knew how tara felt either.

it was a blessing to have tara in your life, she was truly something special. if miracles did exist, tara certainly was one.

︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽︽

virginia, 1982

you were less then happy when your dad broke the news to you that you would be moving.

4,228 miles, that’s how far you would have to travel.

your dad got relocated to germany of all places. in just days you would be leaving your rural home in virginia and traveling to what you were told was an urban apartment right in the heart of berling.

moving away from home, flying eight hours, and leaving your friends for the forseable future felt like hell.

you wouldn’t know where to go, you wouldn’t know the language, and you wouldn’t even know anyone. you were six, almost seven, and barely knew anything past your basic education.

a week notice was given for you and your dad to pack up everything you would need for the move, your house and selling it would be taken care of by some agent assigned to you.

you got to say goodbye to your friends, childhood home, and virginia as a whole before you left for the airport. it did thankfully bring you some comfort.

germany was scary to say the least, it was full of unfamiliar people from both the airport and just those on the streets. sure most seemed friendly enough, but an eight hour flight you barely slept on wasn’t helping.

everything just felt wrong.

places were either too hot or too cold. the buildings in the city towered over you and everywhere you went, there was barely as much as a houseplant. the tallest thing you had to deal with in virginia was a telephone pole.

the usual serene sounds of your former home were replaced by a multitude of things; street vendors, conversations between groups of people, and cars. public transportation was big in the city, you had never been on so much as a bus.

your townhouse was even more different. three stories, four bedrooms, and even a slanted roof you could climb out of a window to sit on.

your room was even more simple. white walls, a full sized bed, and huge windows to view the streets below. your dad quickly reassured you that you could decorate it once you settled in.

but something was missing. it didn’t feel like home.

“i don’t like it here,” you admitted one day while unpacking with your dad.

your dad kneeled down to match your height. his hands moved up to rest on your shoulder. his mannerisms meant one thing, you were about to have a deep talk.

“i know you don’t y/n but trust me, you’re going to love it. you’re going to make a lot of new friends at your school and i’m sure of it. plus, there’s a few other military families here. we’re actually going to meet with one tonight,” your dad spoke. “do you remember me talking about mr. lewis back home?”

you nodded along, mind slowly rolling back to the stories your dad would tell you about his ‘companions’ as he worked with them during training. mr. lewis was always one of them.

you had never met the man, but from what you were told you gathered that him and your dad were close.

“well him and his family moved here as well, they live just down the block and have invited us over. can you do me a favor and go get ready?” you dad asked.

you headed to your room after that, picking out one of your favorite outfits from your half-unpacked suitcase. it sat in the corner of the room by itself, you weren’t ready to unpack it yet. unpacking meant the move was solidified.

despite your age, you were fairly self-sufficient; growing up with it being only you and your dad did that to you.

once dressed, you met your dad back in the main living room.

“y/n,” your dad greeted. “are you ready to go?”

“yes dad.”

as your dad adjusted his tie in one of the mirrors, you took a seat on the couch. the last thing you wanted to do right now was go out. meeting a mystery family in an unfamiliar state was one of the last things you wanted to do.

“i know you don’t want to be here y/n but i promise, this will be good for us,” your dad offered. “i still don’t like it,” you informed him. “and i’m not asking you to right away. just please try and be nice during dinner. that’s all i ask.”

you nodded at that, it was the least you could do.

“now come on, the lewis’ have invited us for dinner. and i know they have a daughter your age.”

[snowbellewells]

Captain Swan Movie Marathon: “Carolina Moon”

Here is my second submission to the @captainswanmoviemarathon event!! This one is a modern au of the Nora Roberts tv movie (adapted from one of her novels) Carolina Moon. The main female character in the movie is psychic/clairvoyant (I’ll admit, I’m not too sure on the distinction between the two) and I thought her visions and what she goes through in connection to them made a nice real world parallel to Emma’s magic. (There’s also a scene in here where the male lead says something that I could so perfectly see Killian saying to Emma… I just cannot wait to get to that point!)

Anyway, I hope you will enjoy this romantic thriller with some murder mystery elements.  There are some instances of abuse and violence in here though - which I feel like I should mention, since that’s a little darker than my typical style. Most of them are in flashbacks of Emma’s past, or in visions she has of victims, more than in the actual present day plot, still I wanted to make people aware before we got too far.

Please enjoy! (I’d love to hear what you think.)

Chapter One

July 1993

The water at their hideaway always feels so good. She could sink into it until her head slips below the surface and never, ever want to come up for air. It’s cooler, more luxurious than even the rich, satiny sheets on the trundle bed those rare nights she gets to sleep over at Rose’s. Emma Swan’s gangly, 13-year-old limbs slice through the murky water as if the constant humidity and sultry air of Storybrooke, South Carolina can’t penetrate here in their little haven. She knows, of course, logically, that the real world isn’t all that far away. The shaded pond she and Rose discovered two summers ago is just a short trek into the woods at the furthest edge of Rose’s family’s boundless acres. Still, it feels removed enough to bring Emma a sense of peace and contentment she gains nowhere else.

Looking over her shoulder to the large, smooth boulder jutting up out of the pond at the bank where they left their flip flops and cutoff denim shorts, she can see her best friend stretched out with her new book where they had spread their towels on the rock’s surface, just in the wash of warming sunlight that streams through the tree branches overhead. Her friend’s flawlessly creamy pale skin is prone to burning, but at the moment Rose seems willing to take the risk for the benefit of lazing cozily to read as she dries in the sun after taking a quick dip. Shaking her head, Emma plunges back under, happy to stay in the chilly water a bit longer herself. She knew as soon as they’d met outside Rose’s house that afternoon and Rose had held the newest entry in her favorite mystery series in her hand that she wouldn’t be able to resist burrowing into those pages for long.

It’s funny, Emma supposes, but that’s exactly what bonded she and Rose in the first place. They might seem different on the surface, but in the end, neither of them quite fit with everyone else, and so they gravitate to each other, and have ever since Emma first arrived in Storybrooke as an eight-year-old orphan. They’re willing to give each other at least one other person who takes them as they are and with whom they won’t have to pretend. Emma doesn’t care if Rose wants to read quietly and tell her about the stories she’s already finished instead of picking out dresses for the next cotillion class or preening in front of the mirror to practice batting her eyelashes to charm boys or bragging to Emma about which ones she intends to kiss. Her sister Ruby, who shares the same thickly shining, burnished mahogany hair and pretty pink lips but little of her fraternal twin’s calming, gentle personality, does enough of that for the both of them. Their mother, a former debutante and southern belle, delights in the one daughter’s traditional coquettishness, and despairs of the other’s shyness, a true throwback to another time who wants nothing more than to see both daughters marry well and retain their places atop the social ladder. In turn, Rose doesn’t mock Emma for her thick, dark-framed glasses or secondhand clothes, nor does she cringe away from the “fits” that sometimes take hold of her friend, making strange, disturbing scenes Emma can’t understand flash across her mind with such intensity they sometimes knock her off her feet. Emma knows Rose’s mother and sister find her an unsuitable and embarrassing companion for Rose, but she is eternally grateful her friend seems able to see the best in anyone - even a lost girl nobody else wants - and so blithely acts as though she has no idea of the rest of her family’s opinions.

Cringing even while still submerged in the pond’s depths and practically invisible, Emma tries not to think of her unwanted visions. Her strict, hypocritical, and more than a bit deranged foster father claims she’s possessed - and more than once has taken her episodes out on her hide. The man swears he’s beating the devil out of her and putting the fear of God in Satan’s place when he takes the thick leather strap to her shoulders, back and legs until she bleeds, but Emma has already lived long enough in a cruel and unfair world to know that his violence and “discipline” have less to do with parenting and concern for her soul, and more to show for his own twisted mind and overindulgence in the bottle. She wants to hide her spells from him, but when they come on her so abruptly and with such power, they are impossible to miss. She can’t fathom how a person like him was deemed fit to take in and care for a child, but it seems to be her lot, and so she simply grits her teeth and survives.

It’s different when the spells happen around Rose; the slight brunette merely rests a cool, steadying hand on Emma’s forehead or her arm until it passes, helps Emma stand until she feels in control again, listens as she attempts to make sense of whatever she’s seen, and most importantly… believes her. If only she could stay in the huge house Rose’s family calls home. She’d cook, clean, do chores, and stay in the servant’s quarters, Emma isn’t picky. It would still be a far sight safer than the situation she had in the rundown shack with the monster who’d been deemed her caretaker. Barring that, she would honestly rather live wild in these woods and survive off the land. She knew which plants and berries were safe to eat, Graham, her friend and a fellow orphan now happily adopted, had taught her how to fish; it wouldn’t be easy, but she’d get by, and at least no one would lay a hand on her again.

This afternoon, those eerie images she sometimes had seem far away as she splashes up out of the water, trying to arc playfully like a mermaid as she breaks the surface. Drawing in a big gulp of air after staying underwater so long, Emma startles at the sound of teasing laughter, and whirls to see three figures on the bank where she and Rose left their shoes and shorts. 

“Well, look here,” calls out a taunting voice that never fails to set Emma’s nerves on edge. “It’s the baby beached librarian and her drowned rat friend!” none other than Emma’s nemesis Killian Jones crows from his vantage point on dry land.

Rose sits up ramrod straight, book still in hand and annoyed scowl on her face at the quiet of their sanctuary being interrupted. She isn’t genuinely angry, though; for all that she and her sister shared little in common, she and her two years older brother are affectionately close. “Shut up, Killy!” she shoots back, throwing in the childhood nickname they all know he hates. “Who asked you to come looking anyway?”

The boy standing next to Killian speaks up next, making Emma scowl just as playfully as Rose had moments before. Graham Hunter might as well be her big brother; he’s the closest thing she’d had to family since her parents were lost in a car crash and she was thrown into the foster care system. Be that as it may, he and Killian Jones are thick as thieves, and he’ll give her a hard time for all he’s worth in while in the presence of his buddy. “We just wanted to swim,” he calls across the water to the two girls, smirking at Emma, now standing in the water with one hip jutting out and hands planted on her waist. “How were we supposed to know you two were infesting it?”

“Ha!” Emma jeers back, the affront plain in her voice; despite the fact that the entire routine is like a practiced girls-versus-boys exchange they’ve all engaged in countless times. There isn’t much else to do for entertainment in their sleepy little one-horse town. “You idiots know this is Rose and I’s hideaway, fair and square!”

“Well, Rose’s anyway,” a third voice cuts in snidely.

The cruel jab reminds Emma once more that she is just a charity case, quite possibly only included in anything at all because of her friend’s kind heart, and causes her gaze to cut sharply to the third member of the boys’ little crew, hanging back slightly in the shadows behind Killian and Graham as he always does. Her green eyes narrow to slits in genuine dislike and suspicion. Where before her animosity was largely for show, when they land on Walsh Ozman it is all too real.

She has never understood why the other two boys - jokers and annoyances though they may be, but good guys when it comes right down to it - hang out with Walsh at all.  Where Graham and Killian are much more cut from the same cloth - athletic, outgoing, well-liked and pleasant - Walsh is a splindy, sniveling character, complaining and whining whatever their little trio gets up to. He lives not far from Emma’s foster father’s cabin with his single mother - a bushy-haired redhead who seems strangely overprotective and attached to her only child. Most people give the property a wide berth, except when high schoolers teepee it the whole month of October, and the general town consensus is that Zelena Ozman might be a witch and to steer clear. Still, beyond all of that, Emma might have been able to look past the boy’s circumstances and see him for himself - she of all people knew the gift it was not to be judged by where a person came from - if Walsh hadn’t simply given her “the willies”. Even standing too close to him made the fine hairs at the nape of her neck stand on end - and not in the way that nearness to Killian sometimes did; an altogether much more pleasant tingle, even if she was just as unable to explain one as the other.

“We could just take their things,” Walsh suggests, holding up the threadbare, faded jeans Emma had left on the bank. “Make them walk back in their skivvies.” The wicked smile on his face makes Emma’s stomach turn over sickly.

Something sharp flashes in Jones’ eyes, his nostrils flaring slightly and his head giving a subtle shake of dissent that Emma can see even at the distance she stands away from him. Protectiveness, chivalry, or maybe the honor of a southern gentleman passed down to him through generations of his impressive family line, whatever it is, it sparks to life in his eyes at that moment as he quashes Walsh’s mean-spirited suggestion in no uncertain terms. “That’s my little sister you’re talking about Oz,” he growls, smacking the worn material from the smaller’s boy’s hands, even if the article of clothing isn’t Rose’s at all.

Emma feels her breath rush back into her lungs, though she continues to watch the guys warily for whatever they might do or say next. Before long, they grow bored of standing around and move on, hollering out age old taunts of “Bye, losers” and “Hey, smell ya later” to Emma’s derisive snort and Rose completely ignoring them to flip open her book again.

However, even with the intruders gone, it seems as if the perfect comfort of their retreat has been shattered by the unsettling interruption.  Soon, Emma wades to the shore and Rose clambers down from her perch, to dress once more and return to the world outside. For a moment, as she refastens her jeans around her skinny waist, Emma feels a strange prickling along the fine hairs on her arms… like they’re being watched. She jerks around, searching the surrounding trees and brush, but can’t see or hear a thing.

Rose’s small hand takes hers, snapping Emma out of the moment. “What is it?” she whispers, only true caring in her voice. “Did you sense something?”

Emma nods, but can’t give her suspicions voice. Usually her vision are clearer than that - this had just been heavy breathing and like looking at herself and Rose through another person’s eyes, outside her own body.

Rose stooped to grab the little canvas bag she’d bought along with water bottles, towels, and a second book in it. “Hey, don’t worry, okay?” she offers, hopeful and kind as always. “You’ll figure it out. Wanna meet back out here tonight? Secret Sister bonfire?” she winks mischeivously. “I have to get to dinner now. You know how Mama hates it if I’m not washed up and properly attired for the evening meal - or a second late. But we can talk some more then, maybe you’ll remember more and it will be clearer.”

Emma nods gamely. “The stars’ll be beautiful by midnight,” she suggests. “And we’ll definitely have the place all to ourselves.”

“Since we were so rudely interrupted,” Rose chimes in with a giggle and roll of her eyes.

“Shake on it, pinkie swear,” they say together in practiced unison, executing a complex handshake that ends with their pinkies hooked together and wide, matching grins on both their faces.

“Thanks Rose,” Emma whispers sincerely, trying to speak around the lump in her throat as if it’s no big deal. “I’ll be out here as soon as I can sneak away.”

Rose, for her part, wraps her taller, golden-haired friend into a tight, momentary hug. “Hey, we’re Secret Sisters! You can count on me.  I’ll see you then!”

They part ways at the edge of the forest, Emma heading to the rundown cabin that serves as her nightmarish version of a home and Rose to the pristine, Jones mansion standing tall over all the surrounding land. Rose looks back over her shoulder with a smile and wave that bolsters Emma, and the memory fades back into the haze of the past…

Eighteen years later….

September 2011

The blaring of the horn as a sports car whizzed by, barely missing the nose of Emma’s beat-up yellow VW where it had begun to edge out into the country intersection jarred her back to the present with a gasp and painful jolt to her chest. Panting for a moment as she gripped the steering wheel, Emma tried to clear her head and calm the pounding of her heart at the near-miss.

‘Get it together,’ she berated herself. It might have seemed like only yesterday as she remembered that sunny afternoon at the swimming hole, but that day had been nearly two decades ago. She was a grown woman, had made a way for herself, fighting tooth and nail for every step forward, and she answered to no one. She had learned to stand up for herself, to control her visions and use them for good, and was a special consultant for the NYPD. But, more than all of that, she had come back to this place to find peace, to lay to rest the ghosts that followed her everywhere else she’d gone in the years between, once and for all. If she expected other to leave the past in the past, she’d first have to manage it herself.

She’d had no way to know as she and Rose parted that afternoon with promises and plans for later that it would be the last time she would ever see her friend. Emma had harbored the pain and the guilt and the unanswered questions ever since. Finally, it was time to meet the gazes of all of those who’d stared at her in suspicion before she’d been packed up and moved away once more, and it was time she found answers. She wasn’t the scared, whipped, mistreated adolescent she had been at 13. What she had lived through then wasn’t her fault, nor was what had happened to Rose that muggy July midnight. 

And if she had to return to Storybrooke, South Carolina to lay that burden down… well, it was long past time she did.

Tagging: @captainswanmoviemarathon​ @teamhook​ @revanmeetra87​ @lassluna @kmomof4​ @searchingwardrobes​ @jennjenn615​ @hollyethecurious​ @stahlop​ @winterbaby89​ @lfh1226-linda​ @therooksshiningknight​ @thejollyroger-writer​ @artistic-writer​ @resident-of-storybrooke​ @darkcolinodonorgasm​ @tiganasummertree​ @xsajax​ @spartanguard​ @laschatzi​

[goldeneyedgirl]

JaliceWeek20 Day 4

Hand in Hand

JaliceWeek20 Day 4: Domestic Bliss

Notes: Another day, another very, very loose interpretation of the theme because I enjoy being contrary. This is kind of a post-script to the Angel/Demon prompt, Afterglow. 1.5 to go! (oh my god, am I actually going to finish every prompt?)

Word Count: 1,554

--

If you had told him back in the Wars that one day he’d be sitting on the porch of an old Victorian in Maine with an actual Angel on his lap, eating a cookie the size of her head and explaining the significance of Dior’s New Look to him from a magazine that he suspects weighs more than she does, well, he would have thought you touched in the head and destroyed you on sight.

Especially if you included the fact that he loved her more than anything in creation - past, present, and future. And she loved him just the same.

But that is exactly how he finds himself on that late summer afternoon.

She looks up at him with a guilty smile. “You don’t care about this at all,” she murmurs, closing her reading material.

He chuckles at her. “Of course I do.”

“No you don’t,” Alice looks down at the magazine, her fingers stroking the cover. “It’s silly.”

“It’s not silly, and I do care, because you do,” he says, covering her hand with his. “I’m glad you’ve found a passion.” Esme has begun teaching her to sew, to draw up simple patterns, and Alice has been a quick study. Even now, the pretty green dress she’s wearing is one that she sewed herself, complete with daisies embroidered on the hem. He remembers the rank grey rag she was wearing the day he found her. She was beautiful then, too, but this dress, this life, it’s all what she deserves.

He is rewarded with a beaming smile. “Tell me about your day,” she asks, tucking her hair behind her ear. It’s been years since he found her, and whilst her hair has grown somewhat, it has never grown longer than her chin, delicate, shiny little waves he loves to stroke.

It’s been several months since he finally accepted the inevitable and kissed her, admitted he loved her, and let her convince him that the only person who decided the worthiness of the man at her side was her, and she had always thought him plenty worthy of her attentions. The family had reacted as expected when their courtship was revealed - Carlisle had been smug but overjoyed for both of them, and Esme’s delight had filled the room. Edward had been mostly disinterested, though Jasper was sympathetic when he felt the boy’s cold loneliness in a house full of couples. Emmett had high-fived Alice - apparently the man had been privy to Alice’s very patient and tolerant pining, whilst Rosalie shook her head but quietly said something to Alice that made her smile.

Their courtship has been slow - Alice’s memories from before he met her are mostly lost; she still has no idea how she came to be in Philadelphia, who or where her family were, anything that came before. She remembers a few little cultural things from angels - a little of the language that she claims are mostly insults and swears, and a couple of songs - but nothing substantial. Which is to say, any possible love affairs are utterly forgotten, and in her mind, he is her first (and only and true) love, and her very first kiss. And whilst he is, frankly, impatient to get to other ‘firsts’, he lets her set their pace.

They have all the time in the world.

He tells her about school; contemporary mathematics remained illusive when the school year officially ended, so twice a week he goes to the high school to catch up on those classes - with Emmett in tow, just in case. The whole thing is an exercise in futility - one class, and he was already caught up, but the act is important. And he tries not to be too dismissive, when Alice remains locked up tight in the house, too inhuman to be allowed at school just yet when she is so desperate to be apart of the world, to be hand-in-hand with him at every moment of the day.

Her wrist catches his eye, and he pauses in his story to inspect it closer. The celestial tattoos that adorn both her arms from wrist to elbow have settled into a silvery-grey colour, and are adorned with a tangle of flowers and stars and symbols. But one thing he noticed, and she already knew, is that they change - fading and twisting and reforming, to tell a new story. There were columbines dotted over both arms when they first met, but now they are all but gone. Today’s addition is another rose - but whilst the other rose on her arm is a blossom in full bloom, this one is the flower and stem complete with thorns, curved around the blooming rose, the iris, and the carnation.

“Another new one?” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to it.

“One I am grateful to receive,” she says mysteriously. She’s never offered an explanation or a translation to the markings, despite blatant hints from Carlisle, but she seems to remember, or at least understand. He knows it’s a proper language, or some kind of map - he figures he might be able to decipher it all if he ever gets a proper peek at the rest of the tattoos - he knows of the ones that sit on her along her collarbone, and run down the length of her spine. He’d very much like to get the opportunity to memorise those ones.

She flits inside not long after, ostensibly searching for food - she had shocked them all with her odd feeding habits when they first arrived, going for days with nothing before eating the entire contents of the fridge in six hours. Her obsession with sugar that once lead to Esme being quite shocked to discover her sitting on the kitchen table, drinking from the honey jar. He thinks it’s adorable, the rest of them think its funny - Emmett almost always has a lollipop or candy bar on hand for her.

He watches the sun sink below the horizon, listening to the hum of voices inside the house, and he thinks back through the years. Back to before the Cullens, before Alice, before Philadelphia. To his misery and loneliness and total lack of purpose. That hollow space has long since been filled - with the love that he shares with Alice, the affection and respect that he has for the Cullens, and for the mental peace hunting animals has brought him. But he doesn’t forget where he came from, how long and hard that road was.

There are the familiar light footsteps as Alice returns, her magazine and cookie both missing, but her lips stained with some kind of berry juice. Her tongue darts out to lick it off as she delicately leaps back into her place in his lap with feline grace and certainty.

“You’re out here all alone,” she says, her arms threading around his neck. Night has begun to settle in, and the weather is comfortable - she notices it more than he does, so he’s become intensely aware of the temperature to make sure she doesn’t get too cold or too wet or too warm. She laughs at him, but he can’t help it. Being able to take care of her like that is a gift he will never be worthy of. “Unless you want to be alone?”

The rest of the Cullens are aware of how… mercurial he can be, and are careful not to crowd him without the certainty they will be welcomed. Alice is more attuned to him, his gift carefully looped around her so that they are always aware of the other, of how they are feeling. Jasper will never admit to anyone but himself, when they are curled together and she is sleeping, that it’s a wonderful feeling, to know and have her like that. But that link is enough for her to know, and Alice never resists just asking him what he wants.

“Never,” he swears, pressing a kiss to her cheek that makes her beam - she smells like the warmth of the kitchen, and fresh fruit, and clean cotton and a million different things. Some are human things that should repulse him, but instead he just revels in the memory of Esme’s joy of baking for someone, and Alice’s delight in each cake and cookie and muffin. “There’s not a single moment I can think of that cannot be improved by your presence, darlin’.”

“Sweet-talker,” she grins, but the slight blush on her cheeks tells him the flattery has done its work. It’s true, though; he looks forward to the times in the future when they will be together more often, when he won’t have to leave her behind every day, but instead go hand-in-hand together.

And as she settles back against him, a familiar warm weight tucked against him with her head on his shoulder with faint strands of sleepiness, contentedness and affection drifting to him, he catches a glimpse of the markings on her collarbone, of a Texas bluebonnet woven around a magnolia, and he really cannot fathom how he manage to deserve this fate - to be allowed to be this peaceful, this happy…

This loved.

And so, he sits there and watches the night pass them by, as his angel sleeps on his shoulder. A good night, a good life indeed.

[descendantofthesparrow]

Encore - Harry Hook x reader - part 13 - Sofia and Booboo

@musicarose​

=

You smacked your palm into your forehead, Harry really had the worst timing, didn’t he? Three days after meeting dove, now Sofia Carson and booboo Stewart stood in your aunt's bakery.

Sofia had her palm pressed to her mouth, looking at harry up and down, while booboo and harry just stared at each other.

Your aunt sighed and told you she would be in the back, you nodded and leaned on the counter, “sooo” you started, Sofia turning to you. “china, Thomas, or dove?”

“Thomas” booboo muttered “he blabbed during a voice chat with all the main actors”

“so” you groaned, laying your head down on the counter “everyone knows?” “Everyone knows” Sofia repeated turning to you and giving you an apologetic smile. “but the internet still believes hes a Thomas doppelganger so you won't have fangirls at your door”

You groaned, smacking your head on the counter “fuuuuuu-“ you banged your head a couple of times before Harry's hands gently cupped your cheeks and lifted your head.

“stop,” he said softly “don’ hurt yerself” his thumb gently rubbed against your forehead, and you groaned again and grabbed his jacket, pulling him against you and burying your face in his jacket.

“This is stupid” you grumbled turning your face sideways to look at Sofia and booboo, Sofia was smiling softly at you and harry. “so the entire group knows?”

Sofia nodded “from Kenny to the smee twin actors” you made a fart noise and pulled away from Harry.

“How the hell are we gonna keep this on the down-low without harry never going out again?” Harry pouted.

“But I don’t wanna be stuck in one place” he whined, you patted his arm.

“im not saying that hooky, im trying to figure out something where we DON’T do that” harry huffed and leaned on the counter, glaring down at the floor.

=

Two hours later and Sofia and booboo had finally left the bakery, and your aunt had let you off early for the day “go get some rest love, its been a busy week for you”

And now you were in Harry's room on the lost revenge, laying on his chest and very close to falling asleep.

Then the twins burst in, gil stumbling in after them “AUNTIE (Y/N), UNCLE HARRY!” the leaped onto the bed, landing directly on top of you, causing you to squeal and tumble off Harry's chest, almost falling off the bed if it wasn’t for Harry's arm wound tightly around you.

“yeh, little brats” harry scolded “we were tryin’ ta nap” the twins ignored him, attempting to climb up and around him and you, babbling about their day and what they wanted to do.

You groaned and shook your shoulder a bit, knocking skippers knee off your neck. “guys its been a stressful week” you said in the nicest way possible, with your level of done everyone's shit “It would be awesome if we just had a couple hours of alone time, that okay?”

Sterling seemed to get the idea, realizing you guys weren’t in the best mood to play with them and dragged his brother out of the room.

You sighed and slid into the crook of Harry's side, tossing a leg over his hips and wrapping an arm around his torso, pulling yourself as close as you could.

Harry snorted and strongarmed you onto his chest, letting you lay yourself full onto him “aren’t I heavy?” you sleepily asked, rubbing your cheek on his chest.

“nah” he muttered back, burying a hand in your hair. You snorted and took a deep breath, the sent of harry filling your senses.

Saltwater, metal,  and woodchips.

=

 “I'll tell you a tale of the bottomless blue. And it's hey to the starboard, heave-ho. Look out, lad, a mermaid be waiting for you, In mysterious fathoms below” you sung as you tied down one of the rope ladders to the mainmast, harry was on the wheel guiding the lost revenge through the waters of the sea just outside of Auradon.

You heard the crew around you hum along, some singing out loud with you.

“Fathoms below, below. From whence wayward westerlies blow, Where Triton is king and his merpeople sing, In mysterious fathoms below!” uma stepped out from her quarters, hands on her hips as she examined the crew.

She smiled and nodded, joining harry on the higher platform with the wheel.

“Hey (y/n)!” bonny yelled at you from the other side of the ship, you turned and raised your brow “you know where we’re goin?”

You shrugged “I think uma just got sick of being in the same place so we’re just sailing to sail”

Bonny nodded, satisfied with the answer, and continue to tie down the cannons.

Harry turned to uma, eyes glazing over the landscape of Auradon “so where do yeh think the best place ta do it would be?” uma hummed closing her eyes and letting the wind brush across her face.

She opened them, a slight glow disappearing as soon as it started, she nodded towards an island “that one, its got an amazing waterfall and a secret lake, no big predators, lots of birds and plenty of beautiful plants and trees, it's perfect”

Harry smiled to himself, thumb spinning his mothers ring around his right-hand ring finger “then that’s where ill do it”

“good, she’ll love it, I promise” uma smiled up at her oldest friend, gaze lowering to find you, tugging at a loose rope

You turned, sensing eyes on your back, seeing uma and harry smiling down at you, you grinned and waved, laughing as harry turned red and waved back shyly.

Uma cackled and punched his shoulder, you snorted as he yelped and pouted at her. You shook your head and turned back to your work.

You had a good feeling of the month to come

---end of part 13---

permtaglist

@queer-cosette​

@lunanight2012​

@sephiralorange​

@daughter-of-the-stars11​

@random-thoughts-003​

@amorathegamingkitsune​

[thegreatobsesso]

OC Intro: Digvastra Akash

“Aha, but the Bible was written by men,” Dig countered. “Flawed creatures as they are, and even if you remove any bias from the equation, even if you assume they heard the actual word of God, you have to understand even they were translating. Even if they did their best there would’ve still been interpretation involved, and then the Bible got translated from one language of men to the next to the next.”

“Well, if you don’t believe anything the Bible says what’s the point of even being a Christian?”

Dig looked at her with a distinct twinkle in his eye that reminded her he was actually twenty years older than her, or something close. It was easy to forget that, with his weird-colored hair and the way he always smelled like pot.

“I love that question,” he said. “I don’t know the answer and I’m not about to try and pagansplain Christianity to you. All I know is, my husband’s God loves him, despite all his flaws. And He loves me too.”

“And you believe in Him?” she asked, stunned. “In God?”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Dig said, swooping up his cards with a tinkly jingle of his sleeve, “I believe in all the gods.” He winked. “They don’t give me much of a choice in the matter."

Name: Digvastra Akash (But he prefers you call him Dig.)

Age: Like 55 ?

Magic: Focused Divine. 

(Which, some people say, isn’t a real thing. Dig used to get fired up about it when he was younger, but now, he finds himself pretty dang untroubled by it. He knows his own reality and that’s good enough for him.)

Dig’s Story:

Dig’s very conservative, successful parents were not so much concerned about Dig being gay as they were the magic business. A gay son could still find a loving partner, get married, and go on to be a blazing success in the field of his choice, hopefully medicine like his father or academia like this mother.

It was when he announced his intention to leave home and go on a vision quest that things got... well, uncomfortable.

Dig can see Spirit’s intention for him like a shining gold thread, weaving and winding into the horizon in the direction he’s supposed to go.

Sometimes.

And when it happens, it doesn’t always make the most sense. It took him his whole childhood to learn to trust it. 

Regardless, the shining gold thread took him a lot of kooky places. He actually did end up in academia, albeit a sort of academia his mother never quite imagined. He taught at Nazindah for a decade plus, one of the six main magic schools. 

(Nazindah is [for me, The Great Obsesso] a utopia and an unabashed exercise in wish fulfillment. It’s a magic school rooted in a single principle: that magic comes from a higher power. It doesn’t get one iota more specific about which higher power that is, exactly, and magicians of ALL faiths exist harmoniously within its walls, practicing their faiths in peace and a mutual understanding in and appreciation of each other.)

While there, he met his husband. A non-magician, Jake was just coming to visit his sister, also a teacher there. A golden thread unfurled at the sight of him, swirled around Jake and sunk into his chest. It bound him and Dig, and Dig knew in that moment what their future would be.

But then he had to play it cool, you know. You can’t just walk up to someone and tell them they’ve just entered into an arranged marriage organized by Spirit. He let it unfold exactly the way it was supposed to.

(Except that one night, four or five years in, where he kinda spilled the beans when he was very, very high. He doesn’t remember doing this, Jake only told him about it the next day, and he’ll deny it to anyone else but his husband.)

Dig and Jake came to Delaney together because of pure geography - Delaney is closer to Jake’s family but Dig and his highly specialized skillset can still get a job there. Years into his tenure at Delaney School for Magicians, Dig is granted a mentee - a young man, and powerful telepath, in the middle of a crisis Dig can hardly begin to fathom.

Dig meets Simon under these circumstances - Simon’s just lost his best friend, and the current headmaster, Dorian Page, thinks it best to keep him close.

Simon’s got a million paths of light coming off him, the likes of which Dig’s never seen, and so does the alleged murderer who’s vanished without a trace. The two of them are practically bound together, and based on nothing else, Dig knows this guy’s gonna need someone in his corner for what’s to come.

Personality:

Dig’s the kind of dude who’ll throw down some runes and clarify your deepest issues but then forget it’s the weekend and show up to work. He is perpetually barefoot despite the terrain, uses magic to infuse his dark hair with different colors, and will occasionally spout prophecies in the middle of department head meetings.

He’s chill as hell and capable of diffusing almost any tension with sarcasm or silliness. He’s calm and wise, even when he’s not channeling. He’s fond of reminding people he’s merely a vessel and he doesn’t own any crystal balls, thank you very much, but someday he plans to, purely for Dat Aesthetic™.

♫ Dig Playlist: Spotify ♫

Veridia - Mystery of the Invisible

MC Yogi - Heaven is Here

Imogen Heap - Minds Without Fear

Wendy Rule - From Great Above to Great Below

Loreena McKennitt - The Mystic’s Dream

Abbi Spinner McBride - Behold

S.J. Tucker - In the Name of the Dance

Omnia - Alive Until We Die

MC Yogi - Shanti (Peace Out)