#then he sees something swoop overhead and he books it but it chases him and lands in front of him

[rexscanonwife]

Tbh I don't know if I'm just tired or busy but I don't have a ton of specific thoughts to share about my ship with Luigi, I'm just rotating him in my mind atm

[lizbotw]

Oikawa, Akaashi, Kuroo, Kenma, and Nishinoya With a S/O that Has a RBF and Can Be Moody

Anonymous said:

Hi! Can you do Oikawa, Akaashi, Kuroo, Kenma, and Noya with an S/o that has a resting bitch face and gives off a strong “dont talk to me” aura when moody or tired?

hey! these took me a while to finish so i hope you like them ♡

Oikawa Tooru

He’s used to people praising his personality, all sweet words and thoughtful gifts. What he wasn’t used to was someone other than Iwaizumi blowing a fuse in response to his actions, especially if it was over something miniscule.

You had forgotten your water bottle in the gym after your daily P.E. class, but with your lunch period having already passed, you had no choice but to wait until the end of the school day to go pick it up, lest you get scolded by a teacher for “skipping class” and going to do something deemed “unnecessary” during their precious class time.

And so you impatiently waited out the last few classes of the afternoon before you hurried to the gym, hoping that no one had moved your bottle. (If you had to go run to the lost and found because someone had placed it there, you swore you would just about scream—you were tired and wanted to go home, plus the extra time spent going on a wild goose chase for the object meant you might actually miss your ride home if you didn’t hurry).

You shoved open the gym doors unceremoniously—after-school sports clubs were already gathering in the room for their pre-practice warmups—and you kept your eyes focused on the area in front of you, wanting to get in and out quickly.

You squinted a little at the familiar shape in your line of sight. Ah! There it is. In the distance you could make out your water bottle resting upon the same bench you had left it on, and you jogged over to it, swooping it up and slinging your backpack down and off of your shoulders in one movement. Your bag landed on the bench with a thump and the hiss of the zipper when you tugged the main compartment of the bag open were all you were focused on.

While you were shoving around a few books in your bag, trying to make room to squeeze the water bottle in, you failed to notice the intense stare you had earned from one of the very sports players you had ignored on your way in.

“Hey! Can I help you?” A chipper, smooth voice was the culprit.

You whirled around at the sound, water bottle half shoved into your already overcrowded bag.

Just your luck. The infamously chatty Oikawa Tooru had been the one to seek your company the one time you were actually in a rush. Resident pretty boy and captain of the volleyball team—of course you knew who he was.

His smile was charming and even in his normal workout clothes, you had to admit he still looked good.

And you also had to admit that while any other day this would have been a great conversation to have, right now you were so over it.

You ignored his attempt at conversation and focused on finishing up here and leaving, turning back to your bag and silently praying for the water bottle to just go in.

He was taken aback by your lack of response, but, never one to give up, he tried again.

Next to you on the bench, he gently placed down the small towel he had slung over one shoulder, along with his own water bottle, looking at you out of the corner of his eye as he set them down—he kept his grin on, although it was beginning to waver at your lack of reaction.

“This is the volleyball bench, so that’s why I was wondering if you needed something. We don’t usually let people stay and watch us practice, but you know, I’m feeling generous today so if you want to-”

You straightened up, backpack now firmly placed over your shoulders and water bottle secure inside. Your eyebrows had furrowed into an annoyed expression out of habit and thus an involuntarily glare was given to the captain. “Yeah, no thanks. I’ve got to go,” you mumbled, barely feeling like talking—seriously, how could someone have so much energy after school?

Oikawa watched as you left the same way you had come, confused and slightly appalled by your behavior. It took Iwaizumi giving him a firm punch to the arm and an order to “get back to stretching, dumbass, I’m not dealing with you pulling a muscle later and whining, I fucking swear,” to get him to go back to work.

Your interactions were minimal much of the time, but as though fate drew you together, you found yourself having many more similar interactions with the captain, much to your dismay. You didn’t hate him per say, but you definitely couldn’t stand his radiant, flirty personality when you already felt half-asleep after a long day.

First it was your friend leaving their water bottle in the same place you had and them begging you to go get it and give it to them first thing when you saw each other tomorrow because they had to go home right after school today for some reason.

Next it was someone forgetting their phone and you offering to go get it because they had done you a favor that one time a few weeks ago and you wanted to return it.

Then it was a whole textbook (what are you even doing with a textbook in the gym anyway?).

The cycle went on and on, and each and every time Oikawa was there, you used to his cliche conversation starters by now. It became a sort of routine, a game, and when your brain was clear from the throes of sleepiness later, you would mull over the interactions and realize that you actually enjoyed them.

It was quite the shock for Oikawa when he ran into you during lunch one day and you were bubblier than he had ever seen you (you were still filled with energy after a long night’s rest and school hadn’t sapped all of your vibrancy for the day just yet—plus you were excited that it was lunchtime), even being greeting him enthusiastically with a “Hey, Oikawa!” and waving to him when he had called out to you (he expected you to ignore him so he was frozen in shock for a moment at your display).

At some point, lunchtime hangouts between the two of you became the new routine, and from there the routines slowly continued to change and evolve until you two were miraculously dating. (The new routine was now stopping by the gym after school, even if you hadn’t forgotten anything there, to give him a goodbye kiss and a “Good luck with practice, babe!” before you headed home. The alternative routine was that you finally took up that offer he had made on that very first day about you staying to watch practice, and afterwards he would walk you home, you two stopping in a convenience store to buy ice cream before you got far. You both seemed the enjoy the latter a lot more.)

Oikawa, observant as he is, figured out that you become “pouty” when you were tired (you were sitting on his bed and doing homework with him when he announced that as though it was some sort of profound realization, and you hit him overhead with a pillow because why did you just described it like that, Tooru???).

He’s pretty good about giving you space when you need it, although most of the time, even if you’re sleepy or upset and don’t want to deal with anyone, he’s still liberal with the affection he gives you, knowing that you secretly love the attention. He just has to look past your sharp words to see what you really want and at this point you’re pretty sure he’s a mind reader.

When you’re not feeling tired and overworked, he knows you can actually be pretty sweet, so if he sees you staring off into the distance, your not-so-neutral resting face on, he’ll absolutely annoy the hell out of you because once you crack that million dollar smile? He’s done for (but he likes the pain of his heart beating wildly around you so it’s okay).

He’s just an absolute sucker for how angry you look most of the time but how you’re simultaneously the most supportive person he’s ever met underneath it all (in some ways it reminds him of Iwaizumi, although you’re less… prickly than Iwa seems to be much of the time; that and you don’t throw volleyballs at his head whenever he messes up a play during practice—most of the time that is).

Akaashi Keiji

The literal calmest couple ever that simply likes to stick to themselves—that’s the initial impression many have of you two.

That couldn’t be further from the truth though. Despite your outward appearance, you were quick to crack smiles around just about anyone (you got along well with Bokuto for this very reason), and Akaashi had proven to be unexpectedly playful at times as well (it was mostly around you and his team though, so that side of him was relatively unknown).

Akaashi wasn’t put off by how you appeared at all—that sort of thing didn’t really matter to him—and the faithful pairing up of you two together for a group project finally gave you the opportunity to talk.

He’s generally good with dealing with just about anyone, so while he was surprised once you started talking his ear off about the project, outwardly he didn’t so much as bat an eye, simply listening to you ramble on and responding when appropriate.

Once you two are together, quiet evenings become common, you most likely laying on his chest and scrolling through your phone while he holds a book above his head, the only noise being the flipping of the pages. Evenings like those are exactly what you need when you’re feeling overworked and want to snap at just about everything, and Akaashi is quick to soothe you—with even just a few words from him you can already feel yourself feeling better.

He secretly takes pride in the fact that others may look at your moodiness and intimidating appearance and shy away, meanwhile he’s able to actually understand you (also he has experience with Bokuto so literally just hit him with all you’ve got).

Together you two can seem pretty intimidating and unapproachable, but you also look cool as hell walking through the hallways side by side so it’s a necessary sacrifice.

Akaashi picked up the habit of taking pictures of you when you’re not looking because you look amazing with your neutral face and fierce expression, but also when you’re joking freely with him, eyes screwed shut and mouth open as laughter spills out, you’re simply stunning. He likes the duality and sees something poetic in it because of course he does.

He loves looking through his camera roll sometimes and just scrolling and seeing you simply minding your own business and looking out the window in one picture, but then getting up to all sorts of trouble in the name of fun in the next.

He’d probably be embarrassed if you found out, although he quickly realized that he also likes to show you the pictures sometimes so you can see yourself exactly how he sees you, and you have to admit that some of the shots are breathtaking with how he seems to capture you in the perfect way (the lightning, background, and of course you all look amazing because he’s Akaashi and to him every detail should be just right, especially if it involves you) and when the pictures are paired together with the others, the contrast jumps out and you have to smile at that.

Kuroo Tetsurou

A mostly empty hallway, the two of you being the only ones there, was where it all started. An entire open hallway and of course, he still managed to bump into you somehow. (To be fair, you were tapping away on your phone, complaining to your friend over text about how you just wanted to go home already and take a nap because the test last period had been exhausting, and not paying attention to where you were going at all).

To his credit, he was quick to apologize, turning over his shoulder so you would catch his words, seeing as you two were walking in opposite directions. “Ah… sorry, I guess I wasn’t paying attention.” A light chuckle on the end tied up the apology nicely by adding a charming casualness to it.

You looked up from your phone with an annoyed expression, eyes narrowed, and sighed to yourself before you turned around to reply to him. “Maybe work on that next time,” you snapped. You were clearly exasperated and Kuroo was left blinking in bewilderment at the interaction.

You two were in the same class and although you knew of each other, you weren’t exactly friends—more like acquaintances, although Kuroo was wondering if he had missed the memo on when that title had switched to sworn enemies.

He decided to test this theory and tentatively bid you “good morning” when he got to class the next day. He had almost chickened out because you looked absolutely terrifying, almost as though you were going to bite whoever so much as glanced in your general direction.

Although you seemed confused at first at the fact that he was even talking to you, you gave a small, “Good morning?” back. (It came out as more of a question, but you know what? He’ll take it.)

Okay, so… you didn’t hate him? Or at least not as much it seemed?

And so Kuroo kept this up, always the first one to say “good morning” to you each day—it was sort of like a science experiment, him trying to gauge what you thought about him and test out his hypothesis (the mystery of that interaction in the hallway is what kept him at it, even as silly as it seemed).

You asked him at one point why he suddenly started talking to you and he quickly deflected the question, afraid you would catch onto his little research experiment, even as outlandish the possibility of that happening was.

Those were the first few interactions you two had and even now when Kuroo looks back on it he has secondhand embarrassment for his past self—what was he even doing?

Nowadays, now that you’re finally dating, he doesn’t question your moodiness, knowing that everyone has off days. He has also finally figured out that you two were never sworn enemies in the first place (although he thinks that this love story would have been way more interesting if that had been the case).

Whenever you’re staring off and looking serious, Kuroo loves to pinch your cheeks to snap you back to reality and even as often as he does it, you fall for it every time and honestly he can deal with the death glare you give him because then the small smile you can’t conceal comes out right afterwards (what he can’t deal with though is you withholding kisses from him because you said he didn’t deserve them after pinching you three times in the span of two hours, so after that one time you learned that that punishment was horribly ineffective because so clingy throughout it).

If you’re looking tired, simply down on your luck and annoyed at life, he doesn’t let it affect him and knows not to take it personally, slipping you a cup of tea to help you calm down and clear your mind, and sitting across from you at the kitchen table and watching you as you sip at the drink, ready to talk whenever you want. His affection is quiet in those moments, but you welcome it as much as you do his grand gestures of love—he always brings each type of support out at just the right moment and you find it hilarious that he had ever thought that you could hate him (you could never, not when he was like this).

Kenma Kozume

The fact that the first impression he had of you was that you weren’t in-his-face hyper was jarring enough—he was used to his teammates and their high energy shenanigans, so you were an anomaly in his eyes.

He wouldn’t exactly make a first move, or at least not for a while, but in class when he’s bored, head in his palm, elbow on the table, and drumming his pen against his desk absentmindedly, he would watch you out of the corner of his eye.

You confused him. You had tons of friends, Kenma knew that much about you, and he always overheard people talking about how much fun you were to talk to, yet here he saw none of that rumored playfulness. You were stone-faced as the teacher droned on, rigid in your movements as you copied down the notes from the board robotically.

Watching you write reminded him that he should probably do the same, but even as he went back to trying to focus on that day’s lesson and stared down at his notebook, you stayed on his mind.

He knew that not everyone always outwardly showed their entire personalities, but he had been watching you for what felt like forever and you never so much as cracked a smile. Surely that was unusual?

Kenma found himself itching to just walk up to you and say something—he hated not being in the know and… you seemed approachable enough. Even when he came to the conclusion to stir up a casual conversation with you to finally put his mind at rest, he was still surprised with himself when he actually did it.

He was even more surprised when you instantly brightened up when he talked to you, polite in your responses, yet not stiflingly so, the conversation flowing easily as you two jumped from one topic to another—he wasn’t even exactly sure what you two discussed, just that the words kept flowing out of him as he followed your lead, and for some reason he didn’t want it to end.

He’s not sure how it happened, but that one time conversation soon turned into multiple conversations and he found himself getting strangely attached to you, your excitable personality growing on him as time passed.

Kenma found it endearing how you could be upbeat and ready for an adventure most of the time, but that those times when you simply got tired or weren’t in the mood, you were the complete opposite, either wanting to talk to no one, or claiming that you wanted to talk to no one and secretly actually wanting someone to let you rest your head on their shoulder and just hold you (that’s what he was there for).

If he can tell you’re not in the mood to socialize, he won’t force you to do anything or talk about it if you don’t want to. He’s good at picking up the little cues you put out and you love him all the more for it.

Kenma knows what it feels like to just want some alone time, so it’s common for you two to just hang on in one of your bedrooms on weekends, each of you doing your own thing and not bothering one another. Sometimes one of you will just get up and move closer to the other person, cuddling up under their arm, and no words will be exchanged the entire time. (If you’re sitting between his legs while he plays a video game, he likes to lean down and give you a quick kiss on the forehead whenever he feels like it—come on, you’re right there, how could he possibly resist?)

Nishinoya Yuu

He’s used to Kiyoko outright ignoring him, and even any harsh words from her have him running to go tell Tanaka the “good news” about their latest interaction, so he wouldn’t be put off by your seemingly cold demeanor at all. In fact, he may be even more intrigued. He likes the chase after all.

You were sitting in class one day during a break, spacing off and simply watching your other classmates mingle around the room, and Nishinoya saw this as the perfect opportunity to talk to you, bounding over to you with a spring in his step.

He leaned down close to you, a mischievous smirk matching the playful lilt in his voice. “Hey, (Y/N)-”

He stopped short though when you turned to him smiling and returned the greeting without missing a beat. Wait, what?

In class you always looked bored out of your mind, or just plain angry to be here, unamused look in your eyes and the corners of your mouth downturned. He hadn’t seen you out of the classroom that much, or if he had, you had never been with your friends (so he had missed all the times when you joked around with them), either standing in the hallway alone waiting for someone and on your phone, or walking out of the school after class to head home and looking like you would absolutely fight anyone who prevented you from doing so. Even during group work in class, you were closed off—you had spoken the bare minimum during the majority of that one time that he had been paired up with you.

But now? You were a literal ray of sunshine. Nishinoya blinked at the sight, eyes wide, like a deer caught in headlights—and then a giant grin spread across his face. He liked this.

His constant high energy is a great contrast to your sometimes “just done with everything” appearance (also school was absolutely tiring, so it was more likely to catch you in one of your sleepy, unenthusiastic phases than not during particularly high stress weeks).

He’s amazing at dealing with the times you just don’t want to interact with anyone besides him, never forcing you to speak if you’re tired and instead filling up the empty space in the air with his own words while you lean against his chest, you two on his couch and watching a movie during the weekend.

He thinks you’re absolutely badass and the fact that people are easily intimidated by you at first glance is just awesome to him like yes! That’s his baby right there! You should be scared! (But then, of course, people come to realize you’re actually a giant teddy bear inside.) He may or may not ask you to give Asahi some confidence pointers because you both can give off the same energy at times.

Even when you’re in a bad mood, Nishinoya is as vibrant as ever and has an infinite amount of energy and love to devote to you. Sit down with him and just vent all of your frustrations and he’ll make you feel better about everything, hyping you up if you display any sort of worries, and actually racking his brain for solutions to your problems if you ask for his opinion on what you should do (it’s adorable when he sits there with his thinking face on, going full on serious boyfriend mode).

[ducktracy]

185. porky’s hero agency (1937)

release date: december 4th, 1937

series: looney tunes

director: bob clampett

starring: mel blanc (porky, emperor jones), tedd pierce (gorgon, assistant), sara berner (porky’s mom)

the final porky cartoon for 1937, and what a busy year it’s been for him! hard to believe he had an entirely different voice, look, and demeanor just 8 months prior. even then, his character still had much to explore, as we see here—in this cartoon, he’s cast as a child again. curiously, bob clampett is often credited as the one who refined his personality into the one we know today (he did give him his iconic suit and tie), but, like everything else, it was more of a collaborative exploration by all of the directors.

the title card is one of the more interesting title cards in the warner bros. repertoire—it’s a photo of a porky statuette! bob clampett would make several statues during his time at WB and distribute them to his top animators. while the statue in the credits is painted over, you can view an unpainted model here!

here, porky dreams of the wonders of ancient greece, prancing around as the mythological messenger parkykarkus. however, a gorgon has her sights set on turning him into stone, and it requires some quick thinking from porky to weasel his way out of this mess.

bobe cannon animates the expositional sequence, with porky propped up in bed, sucked into a giant book full of greek myths. his mother (offscreen) tells him it’s time to go to sleep, but porky objects, protesting that he was just at the exciting part. cannon’s animation is easy to spot with his trademark buck teeth, yet the gestures he gives porky--finger points, turning the page, etc.--give him a nice dose of youthful energy as he recaps the story, telling tales of gorgons and “great great great” greek heroes.

nevertheless, a disembodied hand turns out the light, dismissing porky’s protests. he heaves a resigned sigh, lamenting how he wishes he could be a great greek hero. 

the cartoon doesn’t make any attempts to keep the dream sequence a surprise--instead, the face of the book’s cover takes up the entire screen, the pillars emblazoned on the front melting to life as we fade into ancient greece. and, as to be expected, our favorite porcine hero proudly stands in front of the building, proudly advertising “HERO FOR HIRE AGENCY -- PORKYKARKUS PROP.”

porkykarkus is a play on parkykarkus (”park your carcass”), a character on eddie cantor’s radio show “the chase & sanborn hour”. truck into porky’s services as he narrates over the specials:

“has anybody any eh-deh-deah-deah-dragons you want seh-seh-sleh-slay-slaye--rubbed out? or maybe ya have some, uh, fair meh-mai-meh-maide--honeys ya want rescued! it’s a peh-pleasure. is your daughter safe? phone eh-peh-porkykarkus at olympia 2222!”

porky’s narration, as always, is fun to listen to, and the physical advertisement has its own charm and appeal, with discounts and deals on certain rescues. not only that, but it’s a damn smart way to save money, having just the narration over the still frame. smart thinking!

conveniently, porky gets a phone call, sparking the tried and true “gear up for a big sprint but merely tinker on over to your destination” gag. as porky answers the phone, filling us in by repeating the hidden dialogue from the other line, we find out it’s the emperor--he wants one hero to go.

chuck jones’ layouts stick out quite strongly throughout this cartoon, especially in the human designs. porky’s statue of mercury is no exception--the bulbous nose and rounded body construction are all surefire trademarks of his work. porky grabs the messenger’s hat and winged shoes from the statue, never once taking a beat to stop as he hobbles along, dressing as he prepares to head out. woodblock sounds simulate the sound of his hooves clopping, but also add an extra jaunty jive to the merry score of “have you got any castles?” in the background, the cartoon’s motif. it would also be a merry melody courtesy of frank tashlin not even a year later.

with that, porky takes off, soaring in the skies like a pro with his winged shoes. if the scene wasn’t appealing enough with the overhead layouts, the animation of porky steadying himself is wonderfully smooth and fun--the cherry on top. he circles the palace where the emperor is located, swooping down to his destination. complete with airplane sound effects, of course.

“howdy, empy!” another bulbous-nosed jones character silences porky from behind his armchair. emperor jones (boy, who could that name reference, i wonder?) speaks in a ridiculously hilarious dialect, completed with a thick accent: “shh! i’m making a fireside chat with my sheeps!” his voice then slips into a rooseveltian draw as he coos “my friends, grecians and customers, this is emperor jones speaking...”

pan to the audience, which consists of a sea of smiling statues. this entire speech sequence is wonderful--not only is his terrible grammar terribly amusing, (”statistics show... what last season at this time was population in greece from 6,000 with 500 with 54 people, with 17 statues.”) but little touches such as one of the audience statues roasting marshmallows and later a hotdog over the fireplace, the emperor making his audience clap by pulling on ropes tied to their arms, and so forth make the entire charade highly amusing with lots of details to look out for. porky standing idly in the background, awkwardly fidgeting as he tries not to intrude is a great little piece of character animation as well.

the emperor gives the skinny, all while chowing down on a hotdog: a gorgon has been turning more and more people into statues, and they need a hero to steal her life-restoring needle in order to turn all of the statues back into humans again. the hero he has in mind is, of course, porky, who bashfully accepts the offer. when the emperor asks those in favor to raise their right hand, he pulls on a lever that causes all of the statues to raise their hands in unison, including a hand on a nearby clock. with a handshake, empy concludes “it’s a deal!”

one of the most impressive pieces of animation in the cartoon (i actually dedicated an entire drawing to it!) is when the emperor sends porky on his way, who waves goodbye as he flies through the air with his winged shoes. just as he tips his hat, he knocks into a pillar, which sends him tumbling upside down, but still airborne. the wings on his shoes form hands as they shake their fists in the glory of the good landing, with porky flashing a cheeky grin to the audience before spiraling lower in the air, regaining his balance, and barreling onward towards a smoldering volcano. the animation is full of life and character--though porky is consistently jolly in the B&W clampett cartoons, the grin towards the camera as he prides himself in his save is a great little touch of personality. slowly but surely, bits of character are now becoming more defined.

a gag that took me just now to recognize it--porky swoops into the heart of the volcano, where we spot the source of the black fumes pouring out the top: the gorgon statue factory. a merry score of “you’ve got something there” serves as some easy listening as we’re treated to a sign gag:

outside of the factory is a human picket fence, comprised of familiar faces: statues of bobe cannon, norm mccabe, john carey, bob clampett himself and chuck jones surround the area. directly outside of the factory is the frozen statue of a salesman with his foot in the door--the joke is not only amusing, but the pose is quite strong and readable, too. though nowhere near the dynamism of frank tashlin’s poses in the mid ‘40s, clampett’s poses in this cartoon are quite defined and exaggerated for the time period. this is especially sharp in the scenes with the emperor.

porky knocks on the door held ajar by the ceramic statue’s foot, holding out an envelope. “telegram for the guh-geh-gee-geh-gee-gor-geh--” a hand snags the envelope out of porky’s grip, causing him to mutter “aww, nuh-neh-nee-nuh-neh-neh-nut--shucks,” a phrase he echoed in clampett’s previous entry, rover’s rival.

we transition to the inside of the factory, where we see the gorgon herself, positioned in front of a camera, awaiting to take “pictures” of her models. tedd pierce voices the gorgon, whose vocal stylings are a parody of tizzie lish, bill comstock’s character on al pearce and his gang. interestingly, the cartoon before this, the woods are full of cuckoos, featured a caricature of lish as well, also voiced by pierce. 

clampett and pierce’s comedic timing is sharp--not nearly as sharp as tashlin’s timing in the woods are full of cuckoos, but abundantly amusing nonetheless. the gorgon asks for a boy--”a sorta young-ish one”--and in comes a decrepit old man who can hardly hold himself up. the gorgon waits for the man to assume his position on the podium where his picture will be taken, singing a pitchy rendition of “am i in love?“, another homage to the characteristics displayed by lish’s character on the radio.

the gorgon snaps her photo, which turns the shaky old man into a stone statue at once, cheekily labeled “ANTIQUE --  $60,000 (P.S.: 000,000)” before he’s yanked off of the podium with a cane. 

“now let’s try a group picture.” you know it’s a ‘30s cartoon if the three stooges come waddling in--they made their caricatured, cartoon debut in the 1934 film the miller’s daughter, notorious for being chuck jones’ first animation credit. as expected, they all beat the tar out of each other while on the podium, rendered immobile only through the power of medusa’s camera. they turn into the three wise monkeys, labeled “3 MONKEYS OF JAPAN -- MADE IN GREECE”. 

norm mccabe’s animation is easy to spot in the next scene with porky, characterized by his signature double eyebrows. porky knocks on a door, parroting a favorite catchphrase from the al pearce show that frequented many a clampett cartoon: “i hope she’s eh-eh-at home, i hope, i hope, i hope, i hope, i hope...”

porky shakes the hand of the assistant, unfortunately a blackface caricature (save for the voice, who is just tedd pierce speaking in a deep, suave voice) as he greets “welcome, stranger. won’t you come in?” before porky has time to answer, he’s yanked through the iron bars of the door and placed neatly in line for the photoshoot, where he peeks through the door to see the action inside.

a pile of men form a pyramid, where the camera turns them into a literal statue of a pyramid, with some slight imperfections. “aw, shucks!” laments the gorgon. “you moved!” she approaches them with her life restoring needle, allowing the men to form into the proper position, maintaining good balance. she gets her “genuine egyptian statue”, quipping “ought to make a handy paperweight!”

the assistant informs porky that he’s next. porky backs up anxiously, echoing a short-lived catchphrase of his from the joe dougherty era: “nuh-neh-no! eh-nn-nee-no! a-a thousand times no!” the decision to make his thoughts visible (his head is slapped onto that of a piggy bank’s) is playful, and also reflects just how big of an influence comics had on bob clampett’s work: comic artists such as milt gross and george lichty have been cited by clampett as inspirations. the george lichty influence is definitely noticeable in rod scribner’s animation under bob clampett, as we’ll discover in the coming years.

in the midst of his panic, porky backs into a statue of "dick a. powello” (dick powell and apollo), causing it to break. but, rather than fuss over the mess, porky uses the opportunity to hatch an idea instead.

in comes strolling porky, concealed by powello’s upper body and a blankett hiding his hooves. the triumphant score of “he was her man” and the gorgon’s smitten woos makes the scene hilarious as is, but the blanket falling off and revealing porky’s pudgy little hooves is the icing on the comedic cake.

porky perches himself on a conveniently placed couch, where the gorgon approaches him. “pardon me, is this seat taken?” she doesn’t wait a wink before snuggling right up to him, a heart symbolizing her affections popping in the air. though clampett would play with typography at times and maintain an overarchingly jovial mood to his cartoons, it’s an odd thing to see him play with comic-like visuals in this manner, such as porky physically envisioning himself as a piggy bank or the heart from the gorgon. i wish he had done it more in this nature!

with the gorgon too close for comfort, porky uses this as an opportunity to grab the gorgon’s life-restoring needle, dangling from her neck and lying against her body. it wouldn’t be a clampett cartoon without sexual innuendos--porky reaches aimlessly around for the needle, prompting the gorgon to let out a shriek, cooing “why, mr. a POWELLo!” 

she smothers the ceramic head in kisses, giving him a nice lipstick finish to boot as she pretends the statue has given her a ring. her ecstasy is hilarious and WONDERFULLY conveyed through strong, rubbery poses worth freeze-framing. picturing porky’s befuddlement is another humor within itself. 

finally, porky’s disguise is revealed when the gorgon literally crushes the statue in an embrace, stone crumbling around him as he desperately slips out of her grip. as the gorgon makes threats to call the cops, reciting the WB favorite catchphrase of “calling all cars! calling all cars!”, porky makes with the needle and jabs it in various statues, warning them “uh-geh-uh-get goin’! i-i-eh-it’s the guh-geh-geh-eh-geh-gorgon!”

as the gorgon chases porky with her camera, he continues to revive a barrage of statues: the antique, the famed discus thrower (who throws himself out of the scene rather than the discus), the man from the end of the trail statue, who exits riding his horse like a merry go round (a nod to friz freleng’s sweet sioux), a woman who marches off with popeye’s forearms--note the bobe cannon statue in the back here--and a mermaid who unzips her fin and makes a run for it. the highlight of the entire montage is when porky approaches two temples (the two of them together labeled “shirley temple”) and injects the needle into them, prompting the temples to use their pillars as legs and run for the hills.

the chase reaches its climax as the gorgon pursues porky with a movie camera, turning the crank ferociously as she runs. her plan works--porky slows down, freezing in mid-air as the gorgon cries “hold it!” thus, the gorgon pins porky to the ground, who tries his hardest to fight back, but ultimately flailing around as she commands him to open his eyes.  

we melt into the present, where we find porky’s mother in place of the gorgon, telling him softly to wake up. he does so, after she pries one of his eyes opens. relieved that it was all a dream, he embraces his mother, prompting a happy end and an iris out.

this cartoon has a soft spot in my heart--it was one of the first LT cartoons i saw on this whole venture. i thought i was the smartest person alive, understanding the three stooges, popeye, and shirley temple references. who knew just how much i had (and still have!) to learn! though even without my sentimental biases, this still stands as a very good cartoon.

as i mentioned previously, the poses in this are full of elasticity and energy, especially in the emperor and the gorgon. porky does a very nice job as well--little pieces of animation such as him fidgeting awkwardly while the emperor rambles on, swinging from side to side as he’s offered the job to be a hero, etc. etc. are full of charm and character. while his personality isn’t the most electric in comparison to characters like bugs and daffy, it’s the little things like these that really make porky stand out. with him, a little subtlety goes a long way, and that’s why he’s one of my favorites. he’s so reserved in comparison to such a wild cast of characters that his timidness actually shines through and sets him apart! (though, on the other hand, he can still have quite the personality, as we’ll discover!)

personally, the only gripes i have with this cartoon is the blackface caricatured assistant (which, in comparison to some cartoons we’ve seen and still have yet to see, is relatively mild, but uncomfortable nonetheless). the jokes, while corny at times, still hit, the animation is full of life and vigor, and the short as a whole has a lot of charm, whimsy, and personality. it has my seal of approval! go check it out!

link!

[maaaddiexo]

Chapter Two | Peter Pevensie

[Red Series Book Two: Ribbons]

Rosemary returned to England to find things just how she left them - her father and brother missing and her mother drinking in her bedroom. But Rosemary wasn't going to give up this time. She took charge of her family as the Pevensies took charge of a country.

But it's been a year since all five of them returned to England, and when they are called back by Susan's magic horn, they return to a completely different Narnia. Magic has been dormant for centuries and men now rule Narnia but with brute force and terror.

The Pevensies know why they've been called back to Narnia but Rosemary is once again left in the dark. And with Aslan making himself sparse, the five kids are left to their own devices to answer their own questions.

Do they trust the exiled prince? Can they save Narnia again, and this time without Aslan swooping in to save them? And in Rosemary's case, why was she called back?

[Chapter Three] [Series Masterlist] [Masterlist]

Another day, another fight. Peter Pevensie seemed to have a collection of bruises these days, most of which were on his hands. Fifteen years in Narnia had many benefits, one of them being excellent combat skills. Though Peter no longer fought with a sword, he still rarely lost a fight.

His latest one had occurred in an underground train station and he was on the verge of losing it when the police stepped in. Now he and Edmund - who had stepped in near the end of the fight in hopes of assisting Peter - were sitting on a bench with Susan and Lucy as Susan berated them. Well, more Peter than Edmund.

"Playing the Hand of Justice again, are we? What was it this time, Peter? Did he bump you?"

Peter rolled his eyes, aggravated. He'd stopped explaining his actions to his siblings weeks ago because they didn't seem to understand. That particular group of boys had recently selected Peter as their new target, despite not always winning the fights. They'd knocked his lunch onto the floor and purposely shoved him, but this time, they actually deserved it.

"He insulted me."

"So you hit him?" Lucy wondered.

"No. After he insulted me, I told him to take it back. When he didn't, that was when I punched him."

"Really?" Susan sighed but kept her voice even. "Is it that hard to just walk away?"

Peter wanted to scream. Since they had returned to England a year ago, his anger had gone unchecked and yes, he could admit - but only to himself - that some of his fights were pointless. But this one wasn't, though he kept the reasons to himself. "I shouldn't have to. Don't you ever get tired of being treated like a kid?"

"We are kids, Peter," Edmund reminded.

"Well, I wasn't always. We weren't always kids."

Once upon a time, they weren't. But that was in the past and they had to act their age. Edmund recalled Peter telling him to grow up and now the situation was entirely the opposite with Edmund telling his brother to 'grow down'.

Lucy, Susan, and Edmund shared sad looks with each other. They understood their brother's frustration and grief over leaving Narnia. But unlike Peter, they had accepted that their return to England was permanent.

Peter slumped back onto the bench between Edmund and Lucy. "It's been a year. How long does he expect us to wait?"

"I think it's time to accept that we live here," Susan said gently. "It's no use pretending any different. And I know you miss Rosemary - we all do. But she said in her last letter that things were finally calming down on the farm and she would come visit us soon. Let's look forward to that."

Peter didn't say a word in return. He didn't want to talk about Rosemary. He crossed his arms and hunched forward, staring at the dirty tiled wall on the other side of the tracks.

Susan let out a defeated sigh and looked around for something to distract her while they waited for the approaching train to pull in. She wished she hadn't looked. "Oh, no." Coming their way was the irritating boy from the newspaper stand. "Quick, guys. Pretend like you're talking to me."

"We are talking to you," Edmund - once again - reminded his sibling. Like he'd been titled by Aslan, he was just. He was logical, clear-minded, and serious way too often. Any childishness in him was chased out of his body from fear due to his time as the White Witch's prisoner.

Susan gave Edmund her signature unimpressed look but her line of sight was cut off by Lucy jumping up with a yelp that echoed through the station.

"Quiet, Lu," Susan hushed.

"Something pinched me!"

Nobody believed her for a moment until Peter jumped up too. "Hey, stop pulling!"

"I'm not touching you," Edmund defended.

The train came barreling in through the station and it didn't seem to be slowing down. Loose  papers whipped through the air as the other two Pevensies stood up.

"What is that?" Susan yelled over the roar of the train. She failed to keep the hair out of her mouth as she spoke.

"It feels like magic," Lucy noted.

"Quick, everyone hold hands," Susan directed, grabbing Peter and Lucy's hands.

Peter held his hand out to Edmund who shook his head vehemently. "I'm not holding your hand!"

Peter rolled his eyes and snatched Edmund's hand before he could pull it away again. They stood hand-in-hand as the train rushed by. Slowly, their surroundings seemed to melt away and time seemed to slow down around them. They watched as the tiles on the walls were ripped away by the wind to reveal solid rock underneath and the roaring of the train turned into crashing waves.

When the wind finally settled down, they stared ahead of them from the mouth of a large cave. Beyond the cave was white sand and crystal blue waters. The beach was quiet and peaceful, something they could never experience back in London.

Lucy turned to Susan, smiling brightly before they laughed and raced off towards the water. Without stopping, they shed their jackets and kicked off their shoes.

Edmund turned to Peter. "I'll race you."

Peter felt joy fill his body for the first time in a year and shoved Edmund behind him, yelling over his shoulder, "Shame you're not as quick as me, Ed!"

"Last one in is a rotten egg!" Susan taunted.

The sun was warm and the water was gentle. They laughed and played for what felt like hours, drenching their clothes. Susan's hair was no longer pulled back and Peter's hair was sticking to his forehead.

Edmund laughed happily, letting out a loud whoop as he looked up to blistering sun and clear blue skies. No birds flew overhead in the cloudless sky and he briefly wondered where all the birds were before something else caught his eye.

Susan turned to her brother, noticing he was no longer playing in the water with them. Instead, he was standing in the water and looking up at the cliff. "Ed?"

"What is it?" Peter asked.

"Where do you suppose we are?"

"Where do you think?" Peter laughed.

"Well, it's just - I don't remember any ruins in Narnia."

The others stood up and followed Edmund's line of sight. At the top of the cliff, the ruins of a large building remained, overgrown with grass, trees, and vines. During their fifteen years of reign, they had explored every inch of Narnia, and not once did Edmund recall seeing ruins.

"Let's go check it out!" Lucy exclaimed. She collected her discarded shoes and cardigan before looking for a way to the top. It was covered in dirt and grass, but there was a cracked and chipped staircase leading from the beach up to the ruins.

"That's convenient," Susan muttered.

"I'm not complaining," Peter chuckled. Even with stairs, it took almost fifteen minutes to reach the top.

The stone that was once white had been stained green and brown with time. There were cracks in the walls and what remained of the floor. Nature had surely overtaken where the building had once stood in place.

They explored the ruins separately, giving Peter time to himself. He looked all around, running his fingers over the walls and plucking an apple off a nearby tree. Parts of arches and pillars and the bottoms of staircases were all that remained of this once grand building.

"I wonder who lived here," Lucy said as she watched the waves crash against distant cliffs. Oh, how she had missed Narnia.

"I think we did," Susan replied, bending down to pick something up.

"What is that?"

"It's a chess piece...made of gold."

"That's mine," Edmund said, appearing around a corner. Peter wasn't far behind. "From my chess set."

"Which chess set?"

"I didn't exactly have a solid gold chess set in Finchley, did I?"

"If we lived here, then what happened?" Susan wondered sadly. From beside her, Lucy was looking at something beyond them, muttering under her breath. "Lu? What is it?"

"It can't be," Lucy said. She grabbed Peter by the hand and pulled him behind her. They raced up a few steps and she positioned her siblings side-by-side in the center of the stage. "Okay. Imagine walls. And columns there and there. And a glass roof."

"Cair Paravel." Peter looked out and an image of the castle in all its glory came back in a flash. He recalled running through the halls with Edmund and his sisters, watching Tumnus teach Lucy how to play the double flute, and falling asleep with Rosemary in a spare room. It was heartbreaking when he woke up and she was gone, but he was glad to have spent her last moments alone with her.

"What happened when we left?"

Peter turned to Lucy. "Let's find out."

•

They didn't split up like last time. Instead, they stuck close and looked around in different directions. Slowly, they walked away from the ocean and towards the woods. They were able to figure out what remained of Cair Paravel, recalling memories of what still existed, like sliding down the stone banisters and galloping through the woods.

"What's that?" Lucy pointed to the edge of the woods, breaking away from the group.

"What do you see?"

"They look like...gravestones."

"But the graveyard is by the sea," Edmund replied. They fought many more battles after defeating the White Witch and built a graveyard for the fallen men and women at the edge of the cliff, where the land overlooked the sea. So that they could watch the sun set, Lucy had said.

"There are only three," Susan commented. "Beaver, Mrs. Beaver, and Tumnus."

Lucy felt tears well in her eyes. "They're gone?"

Peter kissed the crown of his sister's head, something their father used to do. But since their father had been killed in the war, Peter now did it every chance he got. And the smile his sister gave him in response made the pain of remembering his fallen father worth it.

"These carvings are fresh." Edmund ran his fingers over their late friends' names. "Somebody else is here."

"Well, who else would-" Susan's eyes met Peter's the moment she realized who would make headstones for those three people.

"Rosemary."

[Chapter Three] [Series Masterlist] [Masterlist]

[sirius-archive]

Chaos Theory Part 11

Pairing: Cedric Diggory x Reader, Harry Potter x Reader, Draco Malloy x Reader,

Warnings: Swearing

Word Count: 6383

A/N: We are finally at the Yule Ball guys!! Quite a lot of fluff happens in this chapter, and I had a lot planned, so I had to split it into two chapters. I’m already working on Chapter 12 :) I also decided against writing Fleur’s accent because a) it’s too hard and b) it disrupts the flow of the story. Sorry? 

***

Chapter 11:

Winters at Hogwarts are the type of winters you find the most beautiful.

The school seems to sparkle from the ground up, blanketed in luxurious clouds of soft, fluffy snow and sprinkled with snowflakes that drip from the sky like angel tears. Sometimes, the winter chill can permeate through your clothes and skin and scrape an icy finger down your spine, and it’s on these days when you prefer to stay curled up beside a log fire with your nose in a good book. But most times, the snowy days and winter nights are a warm reminder of the upcoming festivities. It's these days - when your veins gush with eggnog and butterbeer and the air is perfumed with the scent of warm, sweet cinnamon - that you welcome like an old friend and embrace with all the enthusiasm that the Christmas spirit can muster.

Today is one of those days.

The day had started with presents. A state-of-the-art writing kit from Hermione, an extra large assortment of all your favourite sweets from Ron, a bottle of stupidly expensive perfumed oil from Luke, a very large and itchy scarf from Hagrid (you supposed it would match the deep blue sweater Mrs Weasley knitted for you this year), and a tiny, cute plant from Neville. Your friends at the Newsroom had also bought you small gifts including a photo frame from Colin and a water-coloured painting of Nightshade from Dean.

After the excitement of unwrapping your Christmas presents, you and Hermione met up with Harry and Ron in the common room and head down to the Great Hall for breakfast. Ron, who proudly wears a paper crown, softly pats your head in greeting and drapes a skinny, freckled arm over your shoulders as the four of you step out of the portrait hole.

You pass the Fat Lady, who giggles gleefully with her friend, Violet, already tipsy and stuffing chocolates into their mouths.

“Isn’t it a little early for that?” Ron mutters as the four of you stroll down the hallway.

You shrug, “It’s Christmas, after all.”

Ron shrugs as you both continue to amble lazily down the hallway. Closing your eyes, you sink into the moment, allowing the excitement bubbling up inside of you to overflow. There’s just so much to be happy about; you’re surrounded by your best friends, it’s Christmas and tonight is arguably the most exciting night of the school year; the Yule Ball.

Your eyes flutter when you open them, your lips cracking into a giddy grin as you glance at Harry. He’s murmuring with Hermione, one hand in his pocket while the other fidgets with his glasses. He spots you staring and clears his throat, scratching awkwardly at the nape of his neck. Hermione and Ron glance at each other and Ron unhooks his arm from around your shoulders.

“We’ll catch up with you in a moment,” Harry says to Hermione as she and Ron walk ahead of you.

“What is it, Harry?” You ask, smiling softly.  Harry dips his hand into his pocket to fish out a small box.

“I wanted to give you this myself,” Harry explains, cheeks brushed an adorable shade of pink. He looks so cute like this, all boyish nerves, sheepish and bashful.

Beaming, you take the box from his hand and eagerly unwrap the gift, littering the ground with wrapping paper in your excitement. Harry swoops down to collect the pieces of paper, twisting it nervously as you remove the last of the wrapping paper, revealing your gift.

You gasp, smiling down at a beautiful, diamond pendant, a perfect fit for your charm bracelet. The pendant resembles a snitch, with small golden wings attached to a round diamond that winks up at you, sparkling between your fingers like a morning star. It feels ridiculously expensive in your grasp, gilded with gold and flaunting a pure, white diamond.

“This is...” you trail off, admiring it in the morning light, “Harry this is far too expensive. I-I can’t accept something like this!”

“I want you to have it,” Harry insists, wrapping his hand over yours and curling it around the pendant, “Besides, I’m a millionaire, (Y/N). The youngest in the UK, according to Witch Weekly.”

“You actually read those?” you giggle, arching a mocking brow at him. 

“I kind of dug that hole myself, didn’t I?” Harry chortles, eyes shimmering, “Promise not to tell?” 

“I’ll do you one better,” you smile, raising your free hand and extending your pinky finger, “Pinky promise.” 

Harry hooks his pinky finger around yours and you both laugh, his laugh so carefree and gentle, lips curling into that smile, the one that rearranges the sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of his nose. His touch lingers on your hand, like he’s not quite ready to let you go, holding onto the moment with warm, loving hands. You’re amazed at how perfectly your hand fits in his, like two pieces of a puzzle sliding snugly together to create a perfect image in your mind.

“Thank you Harry,” you beam, finally pulling away from him, “This-this is absolutely beautiful, I’ll cherish it forever...”

You trail off, staring down at the pendant in your palm. It had been a clear, sparkling diamond before, but now, it’s beginning to change colours; a rich, ruby shade of red bleeding into the white.

“Huh,” Harry frowns down at the pendant, “I didn’t realise it changed colours.”

“Even better,” You grin as you clip your new pendant to your bracelet, rubbing it between your fingers comfortingly. Warmth surges through you at the feeling of the pendant against your skin, a reminder of the boy you love so dearly.

“I’ll think of you whenever I see it,” you beam, kissing Harry on the cheek and looping your arm through his.

Resting your head on his shoulder and sighing, the two of you follow Ron and Hermione toward the Great Hall for breakfast, a contented silence forming between the two of you. The pendant on your bracelet feels slightly heavier than the others, a special weight to it that you can’t quite describe. It makes your heart sing with joy and fills your lungs with sunlit warmth as you soak in the moment, Harry’s presence feeling welcoming and safe.

“I’ve got to ask,” you say, breaking away from Harry’s side as the two of you walk down the stairs, “Why a snitch? I mean, it’s so beautiful and I love it but I’m just curious...”

Harry pauses for a moment, looking thoughtful, as though carefully stringing a reply together. He doesn’t quite meet your eyes when he answers, his hand flying through his hair in that awkward, adorable sort of way that leaves his hair even messier than before.

“Because you’re my golden snitch,” he explains, slowly, “I see you and I’m so close and you’re right there but...but when I reach out to grab you, you dart away. Sometimes, I feel like I’ll be chasing you forever, close but not close enough to catch you. And then... other times... I look at you and I think...maybe one day...”

Harry gazes at you, silently studying you.

“I’m not that far away,” you murmur, taking his hand and interlacing your fingers, “I’m always here for you. I always have and I always will.”

Harry flashes a sad smile that makes your heart ache, “I know. Just...not in the way I’d hoped.”

Harry untangles his fingers from yours and jogs down the stairs, leaving you with a strange pang in your chest, like one of your heartstrings snapped in half; a violin string straining beneath an invisible weight. Did Harry mean that he couldn’t approach you? That you weren’t supportive enough?

Suddenly, a cold, prickle of dread threads itself across the top of your scalp, crawls down your spine, settling over you like a curse, a spell, a bad omen. Your breath hitches, caught in your throat, frozen in your lungs.

Someone is watching you.

You spin around, eyes darting as you scan your surroundings, but you can’t spot anyone or anything and the feeling slips away like a ghost in the night, leaving you feeling paranoid and delirious. You swallow thickly and turn, shoving the anxiety that’s rotting your lower belly into a dark corner in your mind as you try to focus on the Yule Ball.

Fiddling nervously with your bracelet, you proceed down the flight of stairs, passing milling students and smiling weakly as they cheerily wish you a ‘Merry Christmas’.  

Are you going insane? Is this little investigation that’s currently come to a dead end the little shove that pushes you over the edge of sanity? It had felt so real and the fact that you had felt it twice before seems to be a strange coincidence.

Because it’s not a coincidence. Someone had been watching you, and then they hadn’t, like shadows crawling across a wall. Someone who moves quickly and silently, stealthy, someone who has been doing it for a while. Invisible? Maybe.

You begin stockpiling mental notes, clipping them in your mind and saving them for later. Right now, you really don’t want to think about a potential stalker. You just want to think about Cedric and your mother’s wedding dress and the Yule Ball.

“Everything alright?” Ron asks you when you sit down next to him, his large hand softly patting your head.

“Yeah,” you shrug, pushing aside your feelings of unease, “I’m fine, just hungry.”

As you begin to pile food on your plate, a loud whoosh of beating wings rolls over the Great Hall, dimming the excited chatter and the scraping clang of cutlery against plates. Overhead, owls swoop down to deliver letters, hooting and snapping their beaks expectantly. 

“Wow, look at that one,” someone nearby whispers in awe, followed by another murmur of admiration. A few moments later, you spot the owl they’re admiring.

A very large, very beautiful Eagle Owl soars overheard, wings shimmering in the morning light. Unlike most Eagle Owls, this owl is mostly black with droplets of gold dripping over its feathers. It’s beautiful, for sure, majestic and strong and flaunting itself as though it knows it’s beautiful.

And then it makes eye contact with you and dives rather quickly, stopping just in front of your breakfast.

“Wow,” you whisper in awe, reaching out to stroke his feathers, “You’re a bit of a show-off, aren’t you?”

He - you realise he’s a male - puffs his chest in response and nuzzles his head into your hand. You check the note attached to his foot, untangling the thread and gently pulling it free. Instead of flying away, he clips his beak and cocks his head, large, auburn eyes gazing at you almost lovingly.

You bite your lip as you read the note, scribbled in a familiar, elegant cursive.

Dear Belle Fiore,

It’s about time you received your first owl. As soon as I saw him, I knew he was meant to be yours. He’s very intelligent and has a bit of an ego, but he is also very loyal and an excellent flier.

Take care of him, and he’ll take care of you.

Merry Christmas, my sweet fiore.

All my love,

Papa

“He’s mine,” you grin, folding the note in half again and shoving it into your pocket, “My father bought him for me!”

Hermione and Harry share matching grins as they pat your new owl. Ron looks a little jealous, and you can almost hear his thoughts as he compares Pig to your owl. But you know Ron, to his core, sometimes better than he knows himself and you know that Ron is just as loyal to Pig as Pig is to Ron.

“What are you going to call him?” Harry asks, tickling your owls' feathers.

You stare at your new owl, at his distinct colourings, unique to every other owl you’ve seen, and the name comes to you in a low whisper.

“Atlas,” you beam, and Atlas hoots happily, almost in agreement.

“Atlas,” Hermione echoes, thoughtfully, “I like it!”

Grinning, you feed Atlas chunks of bacon and pieces of toast, patting his feathers gently, your father's written words coming back to you.

Take care of him, and he’ll take care of you.

***

Atlas remains by your side for most of the morning, even as you sit in the snow watching Hermione build a snowman, he’s perched on your arm, careful not to cut you with his sharp talons as you feed him little treats.  

But Atlas, as beautiful as he is, can’t distract you from the paranoia leaking down the ridges of your spine and the daunting feeling of dread you’d felt when you had sworn someone was watching you. The thought makes your stomach churn with worry, haunting you, as though the eyes hadn’t taken their silent, ominous gaze off you.

“Okay, what’s wrong?” Hermione asks, seriously. You shrug nonchalantly and Hermione pins you with a stern look, “There’s something wrong, I know there is.”

You lower your arm to the ground and Atlas hops off, digging his talons into the snow and giving a low hoot of disapproval, “Earlier today, I could have sworn someone was watching me...”

“When?” Hermione asks, anxiously.

“When Harry gave me his Christmas present and told me I was his ‘golden snitch.’”

Hermione blinks, “His what?”

“His snitch,” you reiterate, cheeks uncomfortably warm, “He bought me a charm for my bracelet and it was a snitch and I asked him why he chose a snitch and - well - he told me that I was like a snitch; close but never close enough for him to catch.”

Your gaze strays toward Harry, who is currently trying to shield himself behind a tree from Ginny’s barrage of snowballs. As if sensing your gaze on him, Harry turns to you, a goofy grin tugging at the corners of his lips, and as you make eye contact, the smile fades. The two of you glance away from each other quickly, blushing.

“But that's beside the point,” you say, quickly, “After he left, I felt someone’s eyes on me and it was...it was frightening...”

“That’s...interesting,” Hermione mutters, brows creased in thought, “How long did the feeling last?”

“Just a few seconds,” you reply, reaching out to scoop a handful of ice and plaster it onto the snowman.

“Hmm. Maybe it was Peeves? He’s been known to do that, he enjoys creeping people out.”

You blink, relief mingling with your worry. You’d never thought of Peeves. It would explain why you wouldn’t be able to spot him and how he moves so quickly. 

But the image doesn’t quite fit with that horrid, icy feeling that had crystallised your veins completely. Still, it’s the only logical explanation, and you bury that uncomfortable, sloshing swirl of anxiety beneath a relieved sigh.

“Yeah, it must have been,” you mutter, non-committal. Right now, you really don’t want to dwell on stalkers or anxiety, all you want to do is think about the upcoming Yule Ball, and your lips split into an excited smile, “Anyway, enough about that. Have you spoken to Victor?”

Hermione flushes, “Yeah. He...bought me some flowers earlier today.”

“Really?!” You gasp, grinning and poking her in the shoulder, “Hermione! You’re supposed to tell me these things!”

Hermione bites her lip sheepishly, cheeks stained a deep, crimson red, “I know, I was going to show them to you! But then...”

Hermione trails off, staring at something behind you. You straighten, dusting the snow from your gloves and glancing over your shoulder.

Luke strides toward you, hands in the pockets of his thick coat, his thick hair poking out from beneath a woollen beanie, and a wicked grin hooked across his lips.

“Lulu!” He calls out to you, breath turning to mist on his lips as he waves at you, “Hey! Looks like you got Adrien’s owl alright...”

When he approaches you, he ropes you into a one-armed hug, his body a furnace of heat as he holds you to his side. Atlas cocks his head and snaps his beak angrily, fluttering up to your shoulder and gripping you possessively.

“Looks like he’s jealous,” Luke laughs, as you extend your arm. Atlas slowly climbs down your arm, careful not to hurt you as you scratch his head reassuringly.

“You don’t have to be jealous,” you whisper, smiling, “You and my cat, Nightshade, are the babies of my heart.”

Atlas hoots happily and leaps off your arm, though not without glaring at Luke. When he hops away, you turn back to Luke, brows raised in mild surprise.

“You knew about Father’s present?”

“Yeah,” Luke shrugs, “He asked me what I think you’d like. I said an owl and he shocked us both by actually listening to me for a change.”

“Wow. You actually had a conversation with our dad without getting into an argument,” you pat Luke’s shoulder, smiling.

“Oh, fuck no. No it ended in a screaming match, it always does when I ask about...” Luke cuts himself off with a sharp intake of breath, swallowing the words on the tip of his tongue.

“Oh, Hermione,” he greets with a nod and a wink, “Sorry, I’m being rude. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, Luke,” Hermione smiles softly at him, “Enjoy your morning?”

Luke nods, “There was an intense game of wizard chess between myself and Aiden Zabini in the Slytherin common room. The loser had to skinny dip in the Black Lake and touch the Giant Squid.”

“Judging by the lack of water, I’d say you won,” Hermione says, and Luke feigns mild offence.

“Of course I won, Hermione. Your lack of confidence in me is depressing.”

Hermione rolls her eyes and you nudge him in the ribs.

“So, did you just come to annoy us or do you have an actual reason to be here?” You tease, darting away from Luke as he reaches out to ruffle your hair.

“I just wanted to see what you were doing and I wanted to meet your owl,” Luke answers, eyes drifting to the snowman standing still behind Hermione, “Are you two going to introduce me to your new friend or are you both going to continue to be rude?”

You take Luke’s gloved hand and lead him closer to your snowman, “Luke, this is a snowman. Snowman, this is my stupid, older brother.”

“Wait, he doesn’t have a name?” Luke gasps, scandalously, “Every snowman has to have a name!”

“Well, What should we call him?” Hermione asks, a small smile flirting around the corners of her lips, “Since you suggested it...”

Luke bites his lip and stares at the snowman in silent contemplation. It’s then that you realise there’s something not quite right with Luke, different somehow. He seems...energised, bouncing on the balls of his feet as though his shoes were stuffed with springs. Like he could leap off the Astronomy tower and float away.

“So, Luke,” you begin, feeling the way your smirk spreads, “Are you the lucky bloke that scored Cho Chang as your date?”

Luke’s smile falters at its edges and he doesn’t meet your eyes when he answers, “Nah,” he shrugs, “No, I’m going with someone else.”

“Who?” Hermione pries, grinning teasingly.

Luke raises a challenging brow at her, “Guess.”

Hermione folds her arms over her chest and squints. Luke doesn’t tear his gaze away from her, smirking devilishly. Atlas lands on the snowman’s head, scratching curiously.

A look of realisation dawns on Hermione’s face and Luke nods, as if to confirm her silent question. He turns back to the snowman just as Hermione opens her mouth.

“How about Icesiah?” He suggests with a grin, “You know, instead of Isaiah?”

Hermione closes her mouth, lashes fluttering. You roll your eyes and chortle.

“Creative.”

Luke shrugs, “I try.”

“So you didn’t say who you were going to the ball with,” you pry, poking his chest, his shoulder, his cheek. Luke laughs and bats your hand away.

“I told you to guess.”

“You told Hermione to guess,” you giggle as Luke tries to grab you. Atlas hoots protectively and dives between you and Luke.

Luke juts his chin at Atlas, “He should really be up in the Owlery. Owls are nocturnal, y’know.”

Atlas gives an offended hoot at Luke’s suggestion.

“He’s obviously not tired yet,” you snip and Luke shrugs.

Now you can definitely tell what’s different about Luke; The light in his eyes is different, as though his pupils have been sprinkled with flecks of silver and gold. You watch with mingled curiosity and concern as those same eyes, shimmering bright with mischief and something you can’t read, drift to something just past you.

“Looks like someone’s waiting for you,” Luke nods at someone behind you and you follow his line of sight, spotting Cedric standing near the castle, waving at you. You wave back.

“I’ll be right back,” you murmur over your shoulder, leaving Luke and Hermione behind.

The snow crunches beneath your boots, as you approach Cedric, leaving depressions to mark your path. You shrug your coat around you a little tighter, shielding more than just the cold. Your breath crystallises in front of you, plumes of dainty, soft mist, and the air burns when it hits your throat. But you smile anyway when Cedric meets you halfway, beaming as he trudges through the snow toward you.

“Hey,” he murmurs, softly.

“Hey,” you breathe, heart soaring.

Golden sunlight streams through his hair, lighting the crown of his head like a halo, an angel of the morning, an angel with no wings. You feel drawn to him, to the way his eyes sparkle, like light dancing on the ocean.

A wingless angel...

“Come for a walk with me?” He asks, offering you his arm.

You bite your lip and glance over your shoulder. Hermione and Luke chat happily as he helps her build Icesiah, one arm bent behind him as the other one pats Icesiahs head. In one fluid action, he smoothly dumps a handful of snow down the back of her coat and Hermione shrieks a surprised laugh.

Nearby, George and Ginny are chasing Ron and Harry, snowballs careening through the air. Harry meets your eyes from across the grounds and there’s a pinch to his mouth and a muscle ticking in his cheek and he doesn’t look jealous, not exactly, just...disappointed, perhaps a little sad. His words from earlier seem to echo in your ears, rattling something deep in your chest.

Sometimes, I feel like I’ll be chasing you forever, so close but not close enough to catch you...

You quickly glance away, flashing Cedric what you hope is a warm smile. Sliding your arm under his, you let Cedric take the lead.

(You’d let Cedric lead you just about anywhere)

Atlas fixes Cedric with a warning glare before giving you an affectionate peck on the ear and flying off your shoulder, flapping his large wings deliberately, as though trying to show off to Cedric and Luke.

“So,” He starts, smiling softly as he watches Atlas soar through the air, “Atlas is the newest addition to the Arden family...how is Nightshade feeling about it?”

You bite your lip, “She doesn’t know yet...I hope she doesn’t get too jealous. She’s prone to jealousy.”

Cedric laughs, a burst of warmth that melts the ice in the air, “She should know by now that she’s irreplaceable.”

“I think a part of her does,” you chuckle, “Anyway, how was your morning?”

“Pleasant, actually. My friends and I smuggled a heap of pastries from the kitchens so the whole common room smelt like a French bakery.”

You hum, imagining the rich, sweet scent, “Nice. You guys have the best common room.”

Cedric chortles, “Yeah, we really do.”

The two of you stroll past the Black Lake playing your usual game of twenty questions, laughing and soaking up each other’s company. Somehow, the conversation turns into a snowball fight, though you’re not sure when and how it changed so dramatically (That is - of course - a lie; you don’t think you could ever forget the look of sheer surprise that crossed Cedric's face with you smeared a handful of snow on his head)

And it’s just like a black and white movie, romantic and dreamy, being chased through the snow while Cedric trails close behind you, his Quidditch strength propelling him through the snow as you laugh at him teasingly. And then his arms hook around your waist and he’s spinning you in the air, holding you close, and the orchestra swells into a crescendo and this is the part when the lovers kiss, when they fall into one another when they vow to love one another for all eternity.

But that doesn’t happen.

Instead, he carefully places you on your feet and you step away from him, back pressed up against the bark of a very large, very old Weeping Willow, biting your lip as he steps closer, closer, closer, tantalisingly close, cheeks flushed a rosy pink and eyes dancing and lips, chapped and soft, bent into a loving smile.

‘Pretty boy’ someone - Luke, maybe - had once said, and yes, he certainly is handsome but Cedric Diggory is so much more than just that and it shows in the way that he gazes at you like you’re the only star in his sky.

“Um,” Cedric hedges boyishly, glancing shyly at you, “I have something for you...”

You smile up at him in surprise as you accept the box, the cool silver biting into your gloved fingertips. The box alone is stunningly beautiful; an intricate, floral design carefully carved into the glinting silver, like something stolen from an Emily Bronte book. You slide your fingers over the smooth, cool surface and open it.

You gasp.

Sitting inside the silver box, cushioned on velvet, is a beautiful necklace. A small fire lily hangs from a delicate white-gold chain and in the centre of the petals is a small sapphire, winking up at you. The sentimentality of the pendant doesn’t go by unnoticed; the first time you met Cedric, he had tucked a fire lily behind your ear in an effort to cheer you up.

“Cedric,” you whisper, faintly, “This is...stunning...”

“You like it?” Cedric asks, ducking his gaze to catch yours.

“I love it,” you correct, launching yourself into his arms, hugging him around the neck and breathing in the scent of sandalwood and rich honey and Cedric, like you can inhale him and trap him inside your lungs forever.

Cedric laughs in surprise before his arms fold around your waist, holding you flush against him, lips pressed to the crown of your head. You close your eyes and sigh, nestling into him, his arms a crystal-clean oasis in the middle of a thousand-mile desert, and you don’t want to let go, not now, not ever.

After a long moment, Cedric breaks away, his smile lighting up the sun. You bite down on a grin, giggling with joy and holding the necklace up.

“Would you mind...?” You trail off, tongue sliding across the tip of your canine tooth as your lips break into a smile.

“Of course,” Cedric grins, gently taking the necklace as you turn your back to him, sliding off your coat and shuddering against the cool wind.

There’s a sense of hesitation lingering in the air as he steps toward you, his breath hot and silky on your shoulder, and your breath hitches, frozen behind your tonsils as you feel the flutter of his hand, warm, gentle and unassuming. His finger trails up the bend of your spine like following the roads on a map, tickling the hair at the nape of your neck as he drapes the necklace around your neck. His fingers ghost across your collarbone, touch dancing on cool skin, as though he were carefully connecting constellations on your skin.

Clamping down on your quivering bottom lip, you slowly turn to him, showing off the necklace hugging your neck.

“Thank you,” you whisper, fingers reaching up to slide a gentle finger over the pendant. Cedric flashes a radiant smile and his eyes dip to your fingers, following a path down your chest and up again.

“Beautiful,” Cedric breathes, drinking you in like milk and honey, his tongue flicking over the cushion of his lower lip, “You are absolutely beautiful.”

Your cheeks glow with warmth at the intensity of his gaze, like he’s admiring a piece of fine art. There’s something contagious in the way he stares, something that splutters in your lower belly, molten-hot and warming your entire body.

Static crackles in the air.

Laughter echoes in the distance.

And - just like that - Cedric shakes himself out of his thoughts, that strangely magnetic and equally disarming hunger swallowed up by the Cedric you’re so familiar with.

“You must be cold,” he states, rushing to wrap your coat over your shoulders. His arm brushes against yours and your breath catches in your throat.

“Thanks,” you murmur, glancing at him through your lashes.

If there is one thing that you learned today, it is that you love Cedric Diggory in any shape and form, but especially when he’s hungry.

***

You suppose there is a bit of humour in the fact that everything you’re wearing right now has been given as a gift to you.

Cedric's necklace, sitting pretty around your neck, sparkles and winks at your reflection. Your mothers' wedding dress cascades off your skin, waves of tulle and silk pooling around your feet. The warm glow of the dormitories candlelight glints off the white diamonds planted carefully in the centre of soft petals, shimmering like the dressmaker had stolen stars from the sky and stitched them into the skin of the dress.

You and Hermione had to make adjustments to the wedding dress, as the train was two metres long and there were several layers of tulle that probably would have frightened Cedric into believing he was actually marrying you. And, though you had entertained that fantasy in a million different scenarios, scaring your date off was not something you wanted to do for your first ball.

Anticipation climbs up your throat and inches itself across your lips into a smile as your hands grasp a handful of the delicate fabric of your dress and rub it between your fingers.

“You look beautiful,” Hermione coos, beaming at you. She looks as though she may cry.

You bite down on a girlish giggle, fingers playing with Cedric’s necklace as you turn to face Hermione.

“Don’t you dare cry,” you warn, pointing a shaky finger at her, “If you start crying, I’ll start crying and we’ll both be a snotty mess.”

Hermione snorts a laugh, shaking her head as you gather the delicate material in your hands and step toward her, looping your arms around her and hugging her.

“You look so gorgeous, Hermione,” you whisper into the shell of her ear, “You’ll be turning heads and breaking hearts for sure.”

The two of you break away and she laughs.

“Me? You’re the prettiest girl in school. If anyone is going to turn heads and break hearts, it’s you.”

You playfully nudge her shoulder with your own, rolling your eyes and barely managing to smother the flush of warmth crawling up your neck.

“We both look fucking sexy,” you grin, raising your chin and unfurling your spine, “Lets knock ‘em dead!”

Hermione throws her head back in a laugh and the two of you loop arms, gliding down the stairs of the girls dormitory toward the common room.

“You’re meeting Victor outside the Entrance Hall, yeah?” You ask and Hermione nods, giving you a questioning look.

“Same,” you breathe, nervous energy suddenly spilling into your lower gut. You sigh, breath trembling on your lips.

Hermione squeezes your hand.

“You look beautiful,” Hermione murmurs, flashing you a reassuring smile, “He’s going to love you even more than he already does. Trust me.”

You chew anxiously on your bottom lip, taking a deep breath in and exhaling shakily, faintly, as you enter the common room and step out of the portrait hole.

People stop to stare when you and Hermione walk past. It’s strange, unnerving, grating - really - gapes and whispers following you as you and Hermione head toward the Entrance Hall. It makes your stomach curl in mingled self-consciousness and embarrassment and maybe a little bit of pride because yes, this is your mothers dress, and yes it was as beautiful as she was, as though she had taken some of her beauty and stitched it into the gown and a part of you is anxious about what Cedric will think but the other part - the other part that knows him, that loves him - is excited.

Finally, you and Hermione arrive at the top of the stairs to the Entrance Hall. You spot Cedric and Victor chatting in light conversation and Hermione bleats a nervous laugh.

“Well, here it goes,” she chuckles and you squeeze her hand one last time before letting go.

Taking one careful step at a time, the two of you slowly descend the stairs. Cedric slants a glance at you and then he does a double take.

His eyes widen, jaw-dropping.

Your heart flutters, takes flight, soars.

Cedric gazes at you as though he’s just stepped into a daydream, caught in a trance, his eyes never leaving yours. He seems to have forgotten how to breathe, feet rooted to the spot, like a moonstruck groom at the end of the aisle, watching his blushing bride glide toward him. And - maybe ten years from now - this exact scenario might unfold but in a different setting. For now, all you can focus on is this moment, this very important bookmark in time. 

He meets you at the base of the stairs, rushing forward as though pulled to you by some invisible, magnetic force.

“Wow,” He murmurs, eyes sweeping over you hungrily, not sure where to look first, “You look - I mean - you are - absolutely s-stun-beautiful. Angelic.”

Warmth flares in your cheeks, “It’s the dress...And the necklace.”

Cedric licks his lips, shakes his head, “No. it’s you. You are...you are exquisite.”

Your tongue laves across your bottom lip, and that same hunger leaks into Cedric's eyes as he follows the movement and it’s thrilling and it’s disarming and it’s so unlike the Cedric the world knows and maybe that’s what makes it so damn beautiful.

“(Y/N)?”

You’re yanked out of your trance by a familiar voice and you turn, finding Luke standing behind you.

“Holy shit,” he curses, standing back to admire you, “You-you look...” a pained expression flits across his face, eyes misty, “...you look like - like her. Like mum.”

Eyes welling with tears, you throw yourself into Luke’s arms and he holds you close for a long moment. You break away, blinking back the tears wanting to roll down your cheeks and Luke beams proudly at you.

“She’d be so proud of you, y’know,” he murmurs, voice husky and low.

You nod, lips pressing together to stop yourself from crying, “She’d be proud of you, too.”

“Excuse me, but who are you?” A French, frilly voice snips sharply from behind you. You break away from Luke, finding Fleur Delacour standing behind you. Her arms are crossed over her chest, silvery hair flowing over her shoulders. She looks beautiful, even though her expression is pinched into a look of slight jealousy.

“Oh, right, you two haven’t officially met,” Luke says, shaking his head, “So, Fleur, this my little sister, (Y/N). (Y/N), this is Fleur, my date.”

Your eyes widen in disbelief, “Your date?”

Luke furrows his brows, “Don’t sound so shocked, you’ll offend Fleur. She’s more than worthy to be my date.”

Fleur rolls her eyes and prods him in the ribs with the sharp edge of her elbow, “I’m doing you a favour.”

Luke bends down and kisses her cheek, “And I’m just joking, of course. I feel like the luckiest boy in the world right now.”

“That’s because you are,” you retort, earning a chortle from Fleur. She smiles, and it seems to glow as though she’s bathed in moonlight. 

“So, you’re Luke’s little sister,” Fleur says, her eyes glittering.

“Unfortunately,” you tease in French, the accent rolling off your tongue, and Fleur gives a surprised laugh.

“I have a little sister too,” she replies in French, and you can tell she’s trying to fight back a proud grin, “She’s back in France.”

“Do you think she’ll come over for the second and third task?”

“I hope so,” Fleur sighs, just as Professor McGonagall claps for everyone’s attention.

Students begin to stream into the Great Hall, leaving just the four champions and their dates. Realising what’s going on, you turn back to Fleur, who’s startling blue eyes are already on you.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, (Y/N),” she smiles at you, taking Luke’s arm as he finishes a murmured conversation with Cedric.

“You too, Fleur,” you grin, already imagining Ron’s face when you tell him you’ve actually had a proper conversation with Fleur Delacour.

Fleur tugs Luke away by the elbow, who seems reluctant to end his conversation with Cedric. As you wait for them to finish up, you spot Harry stealing glances at you and your breath hitches. He seems to be struggling to keep his eyes off you, fighting hard with a jelly-like resolve. You flash him a small smile and wave and Harry turns away.

When Luke and Fleur leave to line up in front of the procession Professor McGonagall ordered, you cock your head at Cedric and give him a careful slide glance.

“What was that about?” You whisper, sliding your arm under his, and Cedric shakes his head dismissively.

“Nothing,” he reassures, though there is an adorable, moon crescent furrow in his brow.

“Alright, is everyone ready?” Professor McGonagall asks.

There are a couple of nods and murmured answers and Professor McGonagall spins on the clunky heel of her Mary Janes, striding toward the large, wooden doors.

You shoot Hermione a nervous glance over your shoulder, to where she stands behind you, and she grins nervously.

Professor McGonagall pushes the doors open.

Your breath hitches.

***

@marauderskeeper @weaselby418 @acciorinn @hervench @depressed-octopods-art @steph-fowlie @lilulo-12 @randomfangirl117 @asofslytherin @seunlight @thebesteleganttrashyouseen @elsie2018 @polkadotfairyposts @hylianhighlander @dracosdoves @siriuswitches @bernadineisreborn @lousimusician @randomoutsiders @smolldork @danidomm @xrosegoldwolfx @ashkuuuu @sly-vixen-up2nogood @tchalland @lucifersnipnips @notorious-fiction @peppermintspecks @sleep-i-ness @reducto-bitch @who-said @mhftrs @whimsicalangels1234 @kneekoteen  @steve-thotgers @qrangr @valiantlynervouschaos @klaudia-deer @bennie-badeend @gryffinclxw @steph-fowlie @acciorinn @fallern618 @alyenaaa @dammit-scamander @kararanae23 @myhopeisinfinite @blaised-zabini @poppykoke @swansong321 

[a-robin-among-thorns]

In The Shadows Of The Rising Sun Chp 10

Chapters 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7 , Chapter 8, Chapter 9

I know this has been forever and for that I am very sorry. And for everyone still interested in this fic please know that it means the world to me that you enjoy and support my writing :)

Chapter 10: Silver Linings

Word Count: 2,388

Reina stumbled into the living room where young Chise sat dressed and ready for school with her nose buried in a book. She was confused for all of twenty seconds before remembering that she didn’t particularly care about the brat one way or the other. Sleep still thick in her eyes, she rubbed her cheek and trudged to the bathroom with all the grace of a decrepit zombie. Quick work was made of the grime on her face and aftertaste in her mouth before emerging clean and pristine. A bun so tight her forehead was stretched like a taut wire sat atop her head as she slipped into her business casual skirt and blouse. 

She fumbled with her keys when Chise called out, “Have a good day.” In autonomous response she answered “You too.” and exited out the door.

Chise sat in silence, lungs burning on bated breath, for one minute. Two. Five. Ten.

“Coast is clear.” 

Elias emerged with his jaws stretched wide in a tactless yawn. He had not been happy at the prospect of waking even earlier and would have taken the opportunity to lie asleep in the shadow a bit longer. But with his time with Chise limited, and the threat of being woken by the screaming of her caretaker, it was a more than necessary sacrifice. 

After a short breakfast they were on their way to school, Chise in the sun Elias in the shadows. 

It was most certainly not her imagination, walking to school was pleasant. The sights, the smells all fresh and new and yet so familiar. Warm sunshine hugging her skin as cool air filled her lungs. For once as she walked into school her back stood straight. She was certain that students stared at her even more scornfully thanks to yesterday's incident but she was hard-pressed to care. Even the class periods, that normally took eons to endure, came and went with little interruption. 

During lunch, she once again slipped out of the classroom to the secluded grove under the tree branches. The second her bottom met the grass Elias emerged with his hands presented to her. His mouth parted eagerly as he shoved his cupped claws up to her, “Here.” 

Blinking, she placed her tray sidelong and peaked down. Sitting in his bowled hands were coins and bills of various sizes and prints. Chise blanched in shock her heart growing erratic at the not unlikely possibility that he had stolen them. She met his face again, that had somehow grown even more pleased than before. “Where...where did you get these?”

“People had dropped them and some were on the ground.” 

Her body slumped in released tension, thankful he had not slipped shadows into pockets and bags. But…

“Why are you giving me these?” 

“You need them.”  He said simply. His shoulders began to sink in light of her reaction being distinctly not as he had hoped. She thought for a second. They did need money if he was going to eat enough and Reina had certainly noticed their indulgence over the weekend. They had needed it, and so he got it. The simple throughline of thinking brought to mind the image of a child accidentally shoplifting at the supermarket. 

Much of his logic ran through that childlike throughline now that she was consciously thinking of it. His decision to celebrate his birthday, how to help her during the storm, striking the boy that knocked her down...oh that was right. 

She smiled in indulgent patience. “Elias I appreciate that you got this for me and you are right that we do need it.” His shoulders rose in the face of the praise. “But, you’ll need to be careful about getting this money. Even if they weren’t around it does still belong to somebody.” He cocked his head. 

“But...they dropped it and didn’t return for it.” He said in a slightly wondering tone. 

“I know, and that sometimes is ok,” She poked around through the bills pulling out a five thousand yen note and pointing to the number. “But this is a lot of money, they will notice if it's missing and they might not get to eat if they can’t find it.” 

His shoulders sank again. “I see. I’m sorry.” 

She smiled again. “It's ok, you didn’t know and you were trying to help. Just promise me you’ll only pick up the ones on the ground and only take the coins.” 

He nodded. “Ok.”

“And one other thing. I know you were angry yesterday when that boy hit me but you should not hurt them. They might suspect something.”

“I was...angry?” His nose pointed down, an unseen obstacle placed before him. “How would I know that?”

Chise blinked, the obstacle now stood in her path. How did she put the feeling of anger into words? And why did she need to? Did it matter or should she just answer his question and leave it at that? She chose the latter mentally sorting through words like she would the keys to her apartment. 

“Well, um, your heart beats very fast and it becomes hard to think clearly.” She stumbled for breath her eyes meeting Elias’ intense curiosity. “Your body will sometimes feel hot and you’ll want to make whatever is making you feel this way stop however you can.” She hoped this would provide sufficient explanation. If not, it gave Elias plenty to consider as he remained silent for several seconds. 

“So then,” He began slowly, “I should not act when I feel...angry?”

“Well, you should try not to until you feel calm again. Otherwise, something you might regret later might happen.”

This one seemed to confuse him but he nodded in agreement.

Chise took the money from his hands and separated out the coins placing them in the small side pocket of her bag hopeful that the close contact would discourage jingling. She took the three bills and frowned. “Do you remember where you found these?” 

He shook his head no. She thumbed a thousand yen note before handing the ten thousand and five thousand back to him. “Just put these somewhere out of the way in the hall. I doubt we can get them back to their owners and the principal would think I stole them but I don’t feel right taking them.” He nodded and they continued on with lunch without interruption.

As final period rolled around Chise was primed and ready. Before the math teacher had even reached his desk Chise presented her papers, her hands vibrating with barely contained excitement. He accepted without a word and vaguely gestured for Chise to sit. A cautious optimism bubbled in her chest at the rare possibility of a good grade. Well, half a good grade. She wouldn’t know until the end of the week, but she found herself oddly hopeful. Before she knew it the class was finished and they found themselves on the trek home. 

Once again Chise felt as though she was traveling the path for the first time as her senses delighted in the world around her. Her breath whistled deeply throughout her lungs, bringing with it the sensation of something heavenly. A sweet busy scent begging to be enjoyed. On the adjacent street corner sat a young street vendor happily attending his umbrella-topped grill. 

The temptation of fresh sweets and the newfound burning in her pocket was just too much. 

“Thank you, come again!” The vendor said with a somewhat artificial but still pleasant smile. Chise nodded through her awkward blushing and hugged her taiyakis and soda to her chest before securing them in her pack.  

So many nice little things greeted her in the form of previously unnoticed beauties of the city on her walk home, she found herself wishing it wouldn’t end. The thought of the cramped apartment brought tension in her stomach that was strong enough to force her mouth and gaze downward. Her feet came to a halt as she ground her teeth in frustration. She huffed a sigh, forcing herself to take in the surroundings one last time in an attempt to improve her mood. As chance would have it, she had come to a stop right at the spot near the unmanaged ditch. 

The same ditch leading to where her life had changed in the span of a minute.

The grass had corrected itself and the rain erased all traces of the chase given days earlier. Sun-soaked air circulated her nose and with no input whatsoever from her brain she found herself once again descending into the forest heart. She trekked long, uncertain if she had since passed where they had met, finally coming to a halt once the city’s murmur could no longer be heard. 

She glanced down to Elias. It was a funny thing, a shadow peering around looking perplexed. Chise nodded in encouragement. His skull emerged up from the blackness like a dolphin jumping from the water as his body resettled into its solid shape. Away from the school and apartment, he was able to assume his full stature. 

“Why are we here?” He asked. 

“W-well,” Chise stuttered, struggling to summon the boldness that led her to that spot, “Reina doesn’t really care if I’m home before dark, so we can spend some time together out here.” 

Despite his shadowy appearance, his entire demeanor brightened with her words. Before she could protest his arms swooped her in as he settled against a tree nestling her onto his lap. Startled though she was she couldn’t help the contented sigh the spilled out in conjecture with his. 

They ate their taiyaki, crumbs spilling overhead Chise to the forest floor, and sipped their soda as Chise attended her homework. Elias attentively watched her proceed through Japanese to English translation, asking questions as they went along. Once she came to the dreaded algebra, she breezed through the problems thanks to her helpful tutor. Her coursework went more smoothly than she could ever recall even with a constant shower of crumbs overhead. She silently thanked her cheeks for the service of containing food they blessed her with. With their bellies full as they contend basked in the evening sun their yawns slowly dissolved into a full-fledged nap. 

When the dusk sun drew into her lashes Chise’s eyes slowly fluttered open. She stretched gingerly to avoid waking Elias when something rustled at their side. She shifted to see. 

In a circle stood a group of tiny creatures. Their bodies were translucent like raindrop cakes bearing two black dot eyes and pointed noses. Their heads wore acorn caps and small leaves draped their shoulders like cloaks. They were picking at the crumbs of their snacks from earlier, in a few of them she could see the crumbs in their translucent bellies. 

Curiously, Chise plucked a crumb from the foliage. The little spirits pipped in surprise as their clear bodies disappeared letting the leaves and caps flutter to the ground in tiny heaps. “It’s ok.” She urged in Japanese presenting the crumb between her fingers. The closest spirit rose under its cap, it’s head lifting the acorn but leaving its leaves flat. It’s black eyes looked her over before its body returned raising its leaves. Stumpy clear hands stretched out and took the crumb. It shoved the whole crumb into a mouth that opened up in its clear body and squealed happily. The rest of the little spirits arose from their fallen leaves hopping close and hugging her fingers. 

She laughed lightly as Elias’ skull sunk into the corner of her vision.

“They’re cute.”

“Yes, but you should still be cautious with neighbors.” His words rumbled against her back as his arms wove more tightly around her. “Small cute things can be just as dangerous as the large scary ones.”

“Even so, with you here, I’m safe right?” Chise replied. Elias hummed approvingly, eyes forming semicircles. “Are these little..." She searched her mind, "donyurei dangerous?”

“Donyurei?” 

“Acorn spirits,” She shrugged, “I don’t know if that’s what they’re called, but I think it fits.” 

“These spirits have taken a liking to you. They are too weak to be harmful but that doesn’t necessarily mean they can’t be helpful.” 

Chise’s smile faltered. “How would I know when they’re safe or not?”

Elias hummed. “There are rules of thumb that mages can know, but even those have exceptions or can be unique to their region of origin. It is likely that much I know of Lapland is useless here.” 

He reached for one of the spirits, extending his forefinger. The spirit sniffed then hopped on. Elias brought it close and whispered to it. He lowered it back down and spoke in a language Chise didn’t recognize. The spirit glowed a soft blue and swept its arms forward. The earth before it glowed and shifted until a small sprout wriggled up from the soil. The sprout twirled and budded opening up to a tiny white flower like on the oaks in springtime. The spirit plucked it and presented it to Chise with a smile crinkling it’s dot eyes. 

“Thank you.” Chise accepted smiling in turn.

“The only way to truly understand neighbors and their magic is to study and practice. The way of mages is to know the ways of the magic around them. To sense it and utilize it. Accepting the world as it is and learning how to interact with everything around you.” 

One the spirits had nestled itself in her palm nuzzling her thumb. 

“I never really had the chance to appreciate it before.” This new perspective of the world around her as a haven instead of an enemy had brought forth something that had lain dormant inside her. “Knowing now that not all of it was dangerous.” A quiet but steady hunger to see and experience more of the world. “I... I want to learn about it. The magic around me.” She would heed Elias’ warnings about performing the art of magic. But she could no longer just sit idle.

If Elias had sensed this shift within her was impossible to say. But whether because of an unconscious detection of her conviction or something beyond her knowledge he took in the significance of her declaration. 

The forest felt alive as Elias repositioned his arms possessively around her waist. “Then we should begin soon.”

[pandoraborn]

        One minute he’s on the roof, getting ready to grab at the pole threatening to crash down on the building he’s standing on, and the next minute, Jackie’s being flung to the ground. It’s with a sickening crash that he lands, skids across the pavement, and stops in a mess of rubble and dirt, and he’s pretty sure he’s bleeding.

         Pressing a hand to his forehead, Jackie can feel a sort of wetness, and a flash of the color red. For a brief second, he’s not even sure what that means. It means you’re hurt, dumbass.

         Trying to sit up only results in Jackie feeling nauseous, like he’s about to spew all over himself and the ground, but nothing’s coming out. He has to get back up, he has to rejoin the fight. Off in the distance, Jackie can make out a dizzying blur of blues and greens, which means Marvin is using his magic to try and help out. Jackie can barely remember what Marvin is helping out with.

                         There’s a storm, for sure.

                                           But there’s someone else.

           Some asshole, who built some sort of weapon that comes straight from the comic books. This ass has rocket powered boots and he’s been flying around, destroying buildings and knocking over power-lines. Said asshole’s also been yelling some things about wanting revenge for ‘something Jackie did in the past’, and even now Jackie can hear him; the prick is actually gloating about Jackie not getting back up. Why can’t Jackie get up?

                            Oh, right. His head.

         “I’m not done yet, you prick,” Jackie snarls. His tongue feels too thick for his mouth, and he has the brief mental image of a Hulk-like figure doing jumping jacks on his skull. Everything aches too much, and he’s sure that if he isn’t going to pass out, he’s going to vomit, and neither of those things sound all that entertaining to him.

          Again, Jackie tries to force himself to his feet. He’s not making much progress, which means this stupid comic-book hero is going to move to a new target. Unfortunately, the only other one in plain sight is Marvin. The magician is beginning to tremble from his efforts. The ‘villain’ is flying circles overhead, staring down as if just thinking about what to do next.

         Jackie can ignore the blood streaming down the side of his face, nearly getting into his eyes. He can ignore that his left shoulder is dislocated. Jackie can even ignore that his right knee is probably broken as well. He’s definitely bleeding from more than one place, but that doesn’t matter right now.

          This jackass is about to hurt Marvin, and Jackie’s absolutely not going to stand for that. Marvin himself looks about as exhausted as Jackie feels, and the shield Marvin has up, along with the magic he’s using to repair the power-lines, HAS to be taking a toll on the magician.

         “Jackie!” Marvin’s shouting over the sound of rain. When did it start raining? “Get up! Hurry, I can’t keep this up much longer!” He dares sneak a glance over his shoulder, looking in Jackie’s direction. That one glance results in his shield faltering long enough for the flying asshole to swoop in and press his building-destroying weapon right to Marvin’s chest.

                             Oh, hell no.

         Jackie’s not thinking anymore. He can’t remember when he actually got to his feet, but he’s running now. He can see this unfolding in slow motion (or is that just his concussion talking?), but the rocket-man is about to press the trigger, and Marvin is trying to dodge out of the way. Too slowly.

         Jackie jumps on the ass’s back, wrapping one arm around his neck, and stretching his other arm in front, trying to pry the weapon out of his hands. “RUN!” Jackie yells to Marvin. The magician waves his hands around, re-conjuring his shield. He’s actually sweating, and Jackie can’t blame him. With how long Marvin’s been continuously using his powers, it’s no wonder that he’s not at his best right now.

         Jackie is pleased with himself though; his distraction is causing this idiot to fumble around, losing control of the rockets that keep him in the air. They’re spinning, tumbling, and almost too late, Jackie realizes they’re about to crash; his second time–

         They crash through a window.  The glass breaking and the walls inside cracking are enough to knock the man out. Jackie, somehow, is left standing. He’s covered in blood, he has a piece of glass protruding from his collarbone, and he’s pretty sure somewhere during this mad fight he’s lost a tooth or two. He’s not surprised; the villain is an ordinary human using weapons to power up. Jackie has super strength – not too many people can take the same beatings and remain standing.

         He calls the police and lets them know the criminal is unconscious and being watched over by the people inside. Jackie’s not sure what kind of employees they are. Some casual business, he’s sure. A bakery? It smells like a bakery. He jumps back out the window and nearly crumples to his feet right in front of Marvin, who’s still trying to repair everything. Even Marvin looks like he’s about to pass out.

          Jackie tries to think of something witty to say. He gets as far as a smile before another pair of hands is pulling him back, pushing him to the ground. Vision blurring, Jackie tries to push the hands away, but he’s too weak by this point to anything more than a feeble slap. With a slow blink, he vaguely recognizes Henrik and Chase. Chase is saying something to Jackie, but his voice is lost in the rising wind. Jackie doesn’t even try to understand, since it’s getting darker and darker all around him. It’s not long before Jackie can’t see or hear anything at all anymore.

[bheithann]

          ONE MINUTE HE’S ON THE ROOF,   getting ready to grab at the pole threatening to crash down on the building he’s standing on, and the next minute, Jackie’s being flung to the ground. It’s with a sickening crash that he lands, skids across the pavement, and stops in a mess of rubble and dirt, and he’s pretty sure he’s bleeding.

          Pressing a hand to his forehead, Jackie can feel a sort of wetness, and a flash of the color red. For a brief second, he’s not even sure what that means. It means you’re hurt, dumbass.

          Trying to sit up only results in Jackie feeling nauseous, like he’s about to spew all over himself and the ground, but nothing’s coming out. He has to get back up, he has to rejoin the fight. Off in the distance, Jackie can make out a dizzying blur of blues and greens, which means Marvin is using his magic to try and help out. Jackie can barely remember what Marvin is helping out with.

                          There’s a storm, for sure.

                                            But there’s someone else.

            Some asshole, who built some sort of weapon that comes straight from the comic books. This ass has rocket powered boots and he’s been flying around, destroying buildings and knocking over power-lines. Said asshole’s also been yelling some things about wanting revenge for ‘something Jackie did in the past’, and even now Jackie can hear him; the prick is actually gloating about Jackie not getting back up. Why can’t Jackie get up?

                             Oh, right. His head.

          “I’m not done yet, ye prick,” Jackie snarls. His tongue feels too thick for his mouth, and he has the brief mental image of a Hulk-like figure doing jumping jacks on his skull. Everything aches too much, and he’s sure that if he isn’t going to pass out, he’s going to vomit, and neither of those things sound all that entertaining to him.

           Again, Jackie tries to force himself to his feet. He’s not making much progress, which means this stupid comic-book hero is going to move to a new target. Unfortunately, the only other one in plain sight is Marvin. The magician is beginning to tremble from his efforts. The ‘villain’ is flying circles overhead, staring down as if just thinking about what to do next.

          Jackie can ignore the blood streaming down the side of his face, nearly getting into his eyes. He can ignore that his left shoulder is dislocated. Jackie can even ignore that his right knee is probably broken as well. He’s definitely bleeding from more than one place, but that doesn’t matter right now.

           THIS JACKASS IS ABOUT TO HURT MARVIN,    and Jackie’s absolutely not going to stand for that. Marvin himself looks about as exhausted as Jackie feels, and the shield Marvin has up, along with the magic he’s using to repair the powerlines, HAS to be taking a toll on the magician.

          “Jackie!” Marvin’s shouting over the sound of rain. When did it start raining? “Get up! Hurry, I can’t keep this up much longer!” He dares sneak a glance over his shoulder, looking in Jackie’s direction. That one glance results in his shield faltering long enough for the flying asshole to swoop in and press his building-destroying weapon right to Marvin’s chest.

                              Oh, hell no.

          Jackie’s not thinking anymore. He can’t remember when he actually got to his feet, but he’s running now. He can see this unfolding in slow motion (or is that just his concussion talking?), but the rocket-man is about to press the trigger, and Marvin is trying to dodge out of the way.   TOO SLOWLY.

          Jackie jumps on the ass’s back, wrapping one arm around his neck, and stretching his other arm in front, trying to pry the weapon out of his hands. “RUN!” Jackie yells to Marvin. The magician waves his hands around, re-conjuring his shield. He’s actually sweating, and Jackie can’t blame him. With how long Marvin’s been continuously using his powers, it’s no wonder that he’s not at his best right now.

          Jackie is pleased with himself though; his distraction is causing this idiot to fumble around, losing control of the rockets that keep him in the air. They’re spinning, tumbling, and almost too late, Jackie realizes they’re about to crash; his second time-- 

          THEY CRASH THROUGH A WINDOW.  The glass breaking and the walls inside cracking are enough to knock the man out. Jackie, somehow, is left standing. He’s covered in blood, he has a piece of glass protruding from his collarbone, and he’s pretty sure somewhere during this mad fight he’s lost a tooth or two. He’s not surprised; the villain is an ordinary human using weapons to power up. Jackie has super strength -- not too many people can take the same beatings and remain standing.

          He calls the police and lets them know the criminal is unconscious and being watched over by the people inside. Jackie’s not sure what kind of employees they are. Some casual business, he’s sure. A bakery? It smells like a bakery. He jumps back out the window and nearly crumples to his feet right in front of Marvin, who’s still trying to repair everything. Even Marvin looks like he’s about to pass out.

           Jackie tries to think of something witty to say. He gets as far as a smile before another pair of hands is pulling him back, pushing him to the ground. Vision blurring, Jackie tries to push the hands away, but he’s too weak by this point to anything more than a feeble slap. With a slow blink, he vaguely recognizes Henrik and Chase. Chase is saying something to Jackie, but his voice is lost in the rising wind. Jackie doesn’t even try to understand, since it’s getting darker and darker all around him. It’s not long before Jackie can’t see or hear anything at all anymore.

[kyberled]

Mindscape/Landscape, whichever you wanna write sweetheart, from Cody - itspersonalforus

Send me “Mindwalker” for my muse to enter your muses’ mind. || Accepting

Or, send me “Landscape” for your muse to enter my muses’ mind. || Accepting

MINDWALKER: 

The sound of thunder rumbled in the distance. The air seemed to shudder with the noise, thick and heavy with the weight of the approaching storm as it settled around his shoulders. He shivered, drawing his cloak more tightly around his shoulders. Looking up, though, showed no visible mass of clouds; Only a light grey sky, with blotches of darkness dripping in like clouds of ink in water - polluting the air and dispersing only seconds later into billowing nonexistence. He frowned as he cautiously stepped forwards, eyeing the strange laboratory that stretched to either side of the durasteel walkway he was on. The ink-drop clouds barely brushed the tops of the bacta-tank-esque contraptions, lined up in rows and rows that faded into a sterile white eternity. In each tank was a mirror, and no matter where he stood, they all seemed to be directly facing him. Most were simple rectangles, but a few were oblong, or had rounded edges, cracks, spatters of some kind of inky black substance or smears of a sickly deep red. He inched curiously to the guard rail that ran along the edge of the walkway, peering down to the equally blinding white substance that constituted a floor, a few meters below. Dark tubes ran out of the tanks and down through the floor, which seemed to ripple like water around the points of contact. The closer he leaned, the easier it was for him to hear a sort of muted whispering– No, not whispering, that was absolutely somebody speaking, no, shouting, no, many people shouting, just far away and distorted. 

Braig frowns as he leans a bit closer, peering into the unbroken surface of the liquid floor and seeing his bewildered expression looking back. He drew a breath, and the air’s sterile-ozone bouquet changed to something more like brine and weapons polish. He wrinkled his nose and stood up, looking to either side. Ah, there - a few paces down the walkway, a narrow ladder descended into the floor, with the white liquid lapping up at the rungs. As he drew closer, he noticed the rungs were wrapped in barbed wire. That would complicate things. As he reached out to grab one of the rungs, the wire slithered away from his hand. He blinked, took his hand away, and watched as the wire moved back into place. He slowly trailed his fingertips along the bars, and the wire never once came close to touching him. How curious. With a shrug, he climbed down the ladder, placing one hand after the other as he got closer and closer to  the white ‘floor’. He heard a faint squeak as he descended, and clutched the rails tightly as he turned to see what it was. 

Every mirror had re-adjusted itself as one, turning to face down the walkway again. 

Braig didn’t wait to find out why. Taking a deep breath, he plunged into the water.

…

It took him less than a second to realise he could still breathe. Though passing between the surface had indeed been wet and cold, emerging on the other side put him over a large battlefield, full of yelling and shouting and gunfire. His face took on a serious expression as he prepared to leap from the ladder, but he instead found himself impacting hard on some sort of invisible surface. He rolled on instinct, coming to his feet and dusting himself off before staring intently down at… Whatever he was standing on. It didn’t look like anything other than air, but a few curious steps saw that it was indeed solid, and a smooth, flat surface. He pulled his journal out of his robes, eyeing the battle that raged down on the ground. He was tempted to throw the entire book, but only for a moment; Instead, ripped a corner of paper off, and dropped it. It fluttered to the ground. He jumped; Still stuck in the air.

“You may be taking this a bit far, Cody,” he sighed, but walked on. There was nothing for him, here.

The sound of battle faded as he walked on, and eventually came to a dark durasteel door. It wasn’t set in any wall; Just standing there. He stepped through it with only a moment’s hesitation, stepping out into a long, dark hallway, bringing to mind the Coruscanti barracks, with doors just like the one he had just passed through. Each had a simple label printed in large white Aurebesh. The one in front of him was ‘Tactical Training #1′. Turning around, he read the title of the door he’d just passed through aloud.

“Early Combat Memories.” He hummed to himself; Yes, this was a very Cody thing to do. He ventured further down the hall, passing doors with such labels as ‘Cadet Training’, ‘Drills’, ‘Tea Blends’, ‘Vod’, and so on. He glanced at each as he passed, but none of them seemed to stick out until he came to one that was open, soft light spilling into the hallway. He frowned as he peered in - At a table in what appeared to be  sat Obi-Wan, and Cody, and himself, which was rather disconcerting. Just as off-putting was the fact that another Cody was watching them talk. Braig approached cautiously, and though the three at the table took no notice of him, the Cody who stood off to the side turned and smiled.

“I was wondering when I’d see you here, Bra’ika.”

LANDSCAPE:

There was someone here. Someone here? Yes.

Made no sense.

The skyscrapers loomed overhead, a brooding durasteel grey like storm clouds solidified, their shining transparasteel windows gleaming like the eyes of a thousand salivating predators, shining in the dim light and vanishing into the wispy clouds overhead.

Someone is here, the wind seemed to whisper; A friend? the long, soft green grass rustled in return. Its gently pointed blades caressed the imposing metal, leaving steadily growing gouges as it dutifully eroded the metal goliaths. A few had long since crumbled, rusting to sunset shades of red and orange as thick wreaths of violets and daisies swaddled their hollowed-out skeletons in a thick carpet. (Even as the thought came to him, the defeated buildings gave a rasping sigh, like the shifting of great sand dunes, and began melting into a shape not unlike a titanic rib cage, a colossal arm reaching and digging skinless fingers into the dirt, a row of teeth ripped open in an eternal yet soundless scream).

He stood, slowly, remarkably scruffy and filthy in contrast to the oddly pristine landscape. His feet tread upon the dirt trail, lined on either side with a more modern durasteel guardrail, though what it was keeping on the path (or off of it), he had no idea. (Dark, amorphic shapes dragged themselves into existence, growling low in the grass and gnashing teeth against the metal posts.)

As he walked, the shadow of an air speeder whizzed by overhead. (Or, perhaps it was a reptavian, or a fighter ship; its shape seemed to contort in its own uncertainty before it once again settled on air speeder.) More of its kind swooped down from above, filling the air with their familiar drone as they raced off into the distance. The flowers seemed to turn to watch them go, then eased off of the ground to creep forwards and wind themselves around his ankles. They wrapped tightly, twisting around like shackles. His steps became more difficult as he trudged forwards to find the newcomer. Every few paces, the stems would snap, disintegrate into black ash, and new vines would begin to take their place. The Force gave his attention a tug, and as his eyes shifted to where they had been directed, the colour everywhere else seemed to fade. (Or perhaps the colour there grew more intense; it was hard to tell.) He hummed to himself, a curious frown flitting across his face. He turned, easily hopping the tiny guardrail and paying little mind to the snapping shadows, the grabbing gardens, the superhuman skeletons that made their homes in the silent field he now walked through, a stark contrast from the gloomy city behind him. The light was still dim, though spots of sun dapple the ground around him. Passing through them is warm and buttery and reassuring. Brighter flowers bloom in the spots, which grow larger and more frequent the farther into the field he walks, and an array of colourful dragonflies and butterflies flitted in and out of the blooms, fading to moths and nymphs as they exited the warm light. The sunspots grew in both size and frequency the farther he went. As he ran his hand over one of the sun-kissed blooms, it let out a tiny chime, as though a small bell were attached to its stem.

Every little while, a deep, vicious fissure would be carved into the earth, surrounded by dead grass and sand flecked with ash. Though the gashes themselves were blacker than pitch, every now and then an explosion would roar from somewhere far below, splashing orange light up along with the sounds of distant screams. He tried to avoid those cracks; Sometimes, they would stretch out towards him, chasing him with the sound of crumbling pottery as their edges lapped at his shadow. Whenever they got too close, he could hear the sounds of blaster fire, marching feet, and heavy artillery.

He tried to walk faster.

As he stepped into the sun, he finally came upon the visitor. (He didn’t get many visitors, here.)When he recognised who it was, his face split into a grin, and he ran forwards, forgetting about the cracks, and the skeletons, and the growling things to instead focus on launching himself into the visitor’s arms. 

“I’m so glad you’re here, Cody.” 

[russianspy24]

Devils in the Windy City - Chapter 1

Summary: Elijah travels to Chicago, led by a vague prophecy about a girl who could be the Mikaelson family's salvation. Klaus soon confronts him, and later Rebekah is drawn into another case of family drama. However, this trip to the Windy City turns out to be longer than a short stint. The Mikaelsons discover that their lives may change forever. Including every other vampire's.

Word Count: 5,184

Author’s Note: This story is posted on FF.net and AO3, and since I’m on Tumblr, decided to post it here. ‘Bout time I’d say. Hopefully you read and enjoy!

Warnings: Rated M

Next chapter

Chapter 1: A Message from Beyond

He had not returned to Chicago in quite some time. The city didn't hold as much importance as New Orleans, a city which his family had practically built, but Chicago was a place that Elijah Mikaelson certainly enjoyed. He truly saw, for the first time in his long life, how special it was in the year 1893. And like many who had flocked to the city then, he saw how, like a phoenix, Chicago had risen from the ashes after the Great Fire had destroyed much of it just 22 years before.

There was an almost tangible "Chicago spirit," which Elijah felt when he and Rebekah had arrived. 1893 was the year of the Chicago World's Fair. He had never experienced such a thing with New Orleans—perhaps because the southern city's own soul never truly welcomed the Original family.

The World's Fair was held in celebration of the 400th anniversary of Christopher Columbus' arrival in the New World. It was probably one of the most memorable events in Elijah's long life. It was hard not to let years fly by, the decades, too. Some centuries moved far faster than others. And more often than not, he'd been busy chasing after his younger brother, Niklaus, trying to yank him back onto the correct path. Or, Elijah was busy just trying to keep his family together in general.

Rebekah had woken up a little over five years earlier. She'd been in her coffin for 52 years, and to say that she was furious with Klaus was an understatement. Which is why Elijah had swooped in to reintegrate her into society himself. The early 19th century was very different than the latter part. There were too many advances to count—in fields like science and art.

And so, in order for her to help keep her mind off of their brother and Marcel, the man whom Rebekah wasn't going to get over any time soon, Elijah stuck by his fair sister's side quite closely. Five years went by more like five days, and wanting to change their scenery, Elijah took his sister north to Chicago.

The Fair was a welcome distraction. Among new inventions like the long-distance telephone, which had transmitted the sounds of a live orchestra all the way from New York City; to things that might seem unimportant now, like the first zipper, or that gum called Juicy Fruit, and that beer, which had won the exposition's top beer award—none other than Pabst Blue Ribbon.

Silly little marvels like the locomotive made of spooled silk, the suspension bridge built out of Kirk's Soap, and the giant map of the United States made of pickles helped improve Rebekah's mood. Besides the Fair, she and her brother even had a chance to visit the hotel, which was later dubbed "Murder Castle," and mess with America's first serial killer—certainly a one of a kind experience.

Since 1893, Elijah had been back to Chicago a few times but never for a prolonged stay. He hadn't had a reason to. Now, present day, he did, and he was in search of a girl.

When he found her, he didn't make himself known immediately. That was not how he did things. He thought his decisions through, step by step, never simply rushed in, not like Niklaus did. The original hybrid had no idea that his older brother was in the Windy City—and it was going to stay that way. For now, at least. This was very important.

This girl was apparently important. How exactly? Elijah had no idea. Why? That too was unknown. And if her importance held any truth behind it? That was uncertain as well, for the person who had told him of this girl was the young, up and coming psychic named Benjamin Henry.

Until a little over a week ago, Elijah had no idea who the kid was. He didn't watch TV. It was the one human invention that had never interested him. Books had always been the type of entertainment he preferred. So Elijah definitely had no idea of the show "Tinseltown Medium," which aired on E!.

Benjamin had called Elijah in the middle of the night on a cell phone that the vampire kept reserved only for callers who were close to him, such as his siblings, or the few people who were probably considered his friends.

So, it was strange that this boy had called Elijah. But even crazier was the fact that Benjamin claimed a ghost had given him Elijah's number and had insisted that the young psychic call this Mr. Mikaelson. As soon as possible.

So Benjamin didn't dillydally.

This hadn't happened to him before.

The legend of the Mikaelsons, the first vampires, particularly Klaus, never passed by Benny's innocent ears. He had had his gift since he was quite small, and he'd always known that there was a dark side to the supernatural world, but he never tried finding it. Benny kept to the light, to the great Spirit, and strove to do good, to help people.

As worried as he was, that's the only thing he sought to do. To deliver a message to this "Elijah."

###

The boy lived in a nice condo with his mother in West Hollywood, Los Angeles. The success of his show was slowly propelling him upward within the industry. He was still a deer in headlights, green as they came, awed by every gift basket and every perk that included free clothes and free passes to that party or that movie premiere.

But Benny was the real deal, despite rumors and conspiracy videos on YouTube about how he might’ve been a fraud.

He’d given readings to none other than the Kardashians and to other famous names, such as Carmen Electra, Matt Lauer, Chad Michael Murray, Meghan Fox, Kristin Cavallari—the list went on.

He knew that there were a lot of people who thought that his show's episodes were craftily edited, but the kid had a legit sight. It was just that Benny wasn't yet a master of honing his spirit-sensing antenna.

One critic called the kid a "grief vampire." So, it was going to be ironic when later Benny would find out that the spirit, which had woken him up in the middle of the night, had him call an actual vampire.

The best place to meet someone in L.A., someone that you've never met before, was at a coffee shop, a public place. Cafes were a go-to. It made Benny feel marginally more relaxed as opposed to meeting somewhere like a park, or some other place that would have had fewer people. This Elijah guy—who had caught an immediate flight from somewhere else—thankfully hadn't insisted on any other meeting spot.

The boy sat outside on the bustling patio of the Urth Caffé, which was on Melrose. He always sat outside, anyway, and he figured that today it was a good place to bolt from if he had to. No doors that would he'd need to shove his way through.

With black Raybans on, his light red hair catching a ray of sun that slipped past the edge of the green umbrella overhead, Benny waited, his hand around his cold taro smoothie. He couldn't get himself to drink it. His stomach was doing flips. His freckled face was sweating.

His mother had driven him there, and he told her he was meeting a client, a non-celebrity client but an important one. Although his mother was his manager and knew of every appointment he had, insisting that he was going to meet said client there at the cafe was enough for his mother to trust him and drive off, promising to be back whenever he called her.

Benny was a naturally nervous boy, still working on the calm confidence that was expected out of most psychics, but this wasn't a normal client meeting. Ghosts didn't contact him by themselves regularly, especially not about random people across the country. Yet because he knew his ability was true, he knew that this was real. Elijah Mikaelson didn't have any social media, but that didn't mean ghosts usually pranked Benny either.

"Hello."

He heard the voice behind him and jumped, gasping, a hand to his heart. The boy had been expecting to see Elijah come toward the front entrance of the cafe, off of the street, which the boy sat facing. Startled, he watched the man in the crisp, dark gray suit and dark red tie walk around the table to the chair opposite of him. Benny quickly took off his sunglasses and put them down.

He smiled wide in his nervousness and said, "Mr. Mikaelson?"

"Benjamin, I presume?" Elijah said smoothly, extending a hand. Benny took it with his own clammy one, received a brief squeeze, and then the man was sitting down.

Elijah might've been a producer, or a CEO, judging by his appearance. He wore designer from his shiny shoes to his glinting cufflinks. He would've fit right into Beverly Hills, that was for sure. Benny just wore a hip, plaid button-down and skinny jeans, and felt very underdressed.

He tried so hard not to look jittery, but the smile on his pink face was strained. His hand immediately went back to his lap and his other held the taro drink tighter. "Call m-me Benny."

"Benny then," Elijah said. His face was unreadable, his dark eyes especially. "Call me Elijah, please." He was completely unaffected by the anxiety that emanated from the skinny boy. Judging by how he'd sounded on the phone, Elijah already had an idea of what to expect before he'd arrived.

Benny cleared his throat. "Do you want something to drink before—"

"No, thank you," Elijah answered coolly.

"O-OK." The boy finally let go of his smoothie and pushed it aside. The light purple contents were already melting, separating at the bottom of the plastic cup. The man never broke eye contact with him. "Were you, uh, in Chicago?"

"Chicago? No," Elijah said. He shifted slightly to lean forward, one hand, in a weak fist, on the round table. "Why don't you repeat what you told me on the phone? All of the details."

"I, uh—" Benny's blue eyes danced around, paranoid, but no one was paying attention to them.

Slim-bodied, fit actors and actresses gushed about auditions, or bitched about bad ones, over cold press juices; hipsters with handlebar mustaches raved about the new purple diesel strain of weed available in some dispensary, while eating veggie burgers; men, who were casually dressed as the guys with Hollywood connections, bought lunch for green, pretty young girls, new to L.A. The reality was that these men were all talk, and the poor ladies had no idea.

"All right. S-so—" Benny lowered his gaze. Elijah hardly blinked. Benny couldn't look at him while he spoke. His tone was so quiet, he was practically whispering, but Elijah appeared to hear him despite the chatter and the noise from the busy street.

"I woke up in the middle of the night. And-and just did what I was asked to, uh, do—to call you."

"Was the spirit malevolent?" Elijah asked.

"Oh, no. No, no." Benny glanced up at him in a fraction of a second. "Just...persistent. So I couldn't go back to sleep. It gave, um, it gave me your number, I wrote it all down and told me to call you. And then it told me some stuff about your family so that you would believe me if you asked."

Elijah was silent and that prompted the boy to continue. Benny stared at one of the cross hatches in the surface of the table.

"Your younger sister, Rebekah. Your young—younger brother Nik—uh—Nikalus?"

"Niklaus," Elijah corrected.

"Right. Niklaus. And you have a couple of other siblings, but...the spirit said they weren't around... Um, they passed away?” He spoke quicker. The man didn't confirm this. Benny hurried on. “The spirit told me you're from Sweden or—I mean, Norway, and you guys have "been around a long time," or something. I don't know what that means." Another quick glance.

"Just go on," Elijah said. He was patient but didn't want to waste time.

"So, it said I had to call you and tell you something, but I had to tell you in person."

Elijah leaned an inch forward. "What is it?"

Benny instinctively leaned back. But then he was digging in the pocket of his jeans to pull out a piece of paper that was folded neatly several times.

As he unfolded it, the words rushed out of his mouth. "It told me that there was this person, this, uh, girl, I don't know if you know her, but she's in Chicago, and you should find her, because she's got something to do with your family, I don't know what exactly, only that she's, like, OK this is going to sound weird," Benny gestured with a hand, lowering his voice, as Elijah took the paper and looked down at it, "the spirit said that she's got to do with "your family's salvation" or something?" Sounding unsure, Benny narrowed his eyes and shook his head.

The paper had scribbles that were barely legible—the message that Benny had written down:

Elizaveta Belova. Chicago. Salvation. Save—scratched—help the Mikaelson family. Condition. Medical? Disease. Event?

"Or something?" Elijah said, finally some sort of color entering his voice—that of minor exasperation. "That's it? That's all it said?"

"Yes, that's it," Benny insisted, his eyes jumping from the paper to Elijah's face, back and forth, swiftly.

The man started to scoff, and that prompted Benny further.

"Look, it doesn't work like...texting someone, or calling them. Most of the time I don't even get words. It's just feelings, or images. I don't think this spirit was…" A pause.

"What?" Elijah looked at him with such intensity that Benny raised his hands as if to shield his face.

Then he lowered his head to whisper again. "This...spirit was from another country. I'm pretty sure. And spoke in a language I don't understand, so I did my best...to interpret with what I was receiving. I am pretty sure that it said something...was wrong with your family like, uh, like, uh," Benny looked away, lowering his hands and gesturing to himself with a grimace, "like something genetic, or something with your blood. I don't know. Maybe—"

"A health issue?" Elijah offered cryptically.

"Yes!" Benny answered. "That was the feeling I was getting. So, it said that this girl could help, or something. And that's all I got. So, if you want to find her, go ahead. The spirit wanted you to. I only got a name and a location, so that's all I can give you. I really hope this doesn't turn freakier than this already is."

Elijah looked down at the paper once more. It had the name, Elizaveta Belova and Chicago underlined several times, the pen strokes hard.

"I've met many psychics in my life, but none as young as you, Benny," he drawled, his dark eyes narrowing slightly, his thoughts elsewhere.

Benny was silent for a moment, holding his breath. "I'm not going to, uh, charge you or anything. But if you...uh, want an actual session..."

There was a stirring from a table nearby. Elijah glanced in that direction and then he was standing up, cutting Benny off.

"I'll be in touch." He put the paper away inside his suit jacket. "Thank you. I would like you to not mention this to anyone, Benjamin. Unless you already have."

Sensing a warning, Benny waved his hands, looking up at him. "Nope. Nope. I swear. My mom just knows I'm with a client. I see clients all the time. Feel, uh, feel free to call me any time—"

"Oh my God, are you Benjamin Henry?" someone called to Benny's right. It was a woman, maybe a tourist, judging how un-L.A. she looked, dressed in an I love Cali t-shirt. She was with three more people, one of them a man with a fanny pack.

"I saw you on TV!" another woman said.

"Uh, y—yeah!" Benny said, unable to recover from the distraction as the group flocked to him, clearly huge fans. It threw him off completely. "But, one second, I'm in the middle of a session with—with a client."

"Oh my God, I am so sorry," said the first woman.

"Wait, what client?" said the second.

Benny looked back at Elijah. Only the man was no longer there. The boy rose in his seat, quickly scanning the cafe's patrons, the people on the sidewalk, the other side of the street. The strange, suited man was nowhere in sight.

The boy couldn't help a chill that ran down his arms, in the form of gooseflesh, and he swallowed hard. He didn't pay attention to one of the women, who asked next: "Do you...think we could get an autograph?"

###

Presently, Elijah was right across from Adagio Teas, much like a stalker, but no one really noticed him, as he watched the girl inside the little shop. She wore an apron and tended to a few customers who were buying said tea. There were locals and tourists. Tourists who had the big pockets. There wasn't a moment of pause in business, not until the day started to wind down.

Elijah had dinner at an Italian place called Osteria via Stato, on its front patio, across the street. The early spring breeze was a bit chilly, but he didn't mind at all, even though the waiter turned on the heat lamp for him.

There was nothing remarkable about the girl, not at first glance, anyway. She was just a girl, who was in her twenties, he hazarded a guess. His sister Rebekah was beautiful and fair. This girl had a different sort of prettiness—of course, she was human. All vampires had a different quality, an unearthly one. Humans had a natural warmth to them because they were, well, alive.

Elizaveta appeared of his sister's height, maybe a bit shorter, had long, light brown hair, which was tied back in a half ponytail, and those slightly round, high cheeks that were a characteristic of eastern European women.

There were other particular features, but Elijah didn't have that great a look despite his superb vampire senses. Cars passed up and down State St, and by the time it neared 7 o'clock, when the shop would close, traffic was in full swing. Cars obscured his sight and honks muffled his hearing.

He watched until the sun started to go down. A homeless man or two meandered past and asked for change, and Elijah ignored them. It was a group of teenaged girls, who were whispering him—staring off like that, vacantly—who jarred him. He heard them quite clearly without having to look, annoyance slipping onto his pale, angular face, and he took it as his cue to finally get the check and make his way across.

The long building had other shops to either side, and Elijah vaguely remembered that the structure had been there in 1893. He was sure that it had shops then too. But instead of bulky cars that drove by now, it was horse-drawn carriages back then.

As much as he missed that old Chicago, he enjoyed the clean lines of the modern era. During the end of the 19th century, there was still gas-powered illumination and a perpetual smog throughout the city. Elijah remembered how the streetlamps made the smoke glow yellow at dusk. Now, there was an electric light bulb as he looked up at a lit lamp.

A jingle sounded upon his arrival.

There was a couple there, shopping for tea. The girl was helping them. An older lady, who was in her 50s, despite her bright attire, was seemingly searching in the stockroom in the back, the door wide open, while a few other customers waited on her to the other side of the shop.

"If you're looking for a gift, these are nice…" he heard the girl say, saw her leading the couple to a display stand that had different tins stacked, each with a different zodiac sign, which had a type of tea. "Do you know what sign your friend is?"

Elijah nonchalantly strode to the closest wall, left of the entrance, where neat packages of tea hung in rows, the orange labels reading Black upon closer inspection. There were dozens upon dozens of black teas. The man busied himself with seeing all the types.

He was most definitely a tea drinker. He did enjoy black tea, but he usually stuck to one type that he brewed very dark, without sugar or milk, so the amount of flavored here ones was amusing. He sighed. Oh, Americans.

Reaching for one called Earl Grey Moonlight, he took it and inspected the label. Then, seeing a glass sample jar on a shelf above, he stepped closer and took it. Was he supposed to smell it? As he did so, after removing the lid and taking in notes of vanilla, he heard footsteps approaching.

"Can I help you find something?"

It was a rehearsed, neutral question, the female tone slightly husky, not high or too girlish. It had a mature sort of quality.

As Elijah set the jar down and turned, he smiled at the girl. "This one smells quite lovely," he said, lifting the package in his hand.

The way he said that caught her off guard briefly, and her brows, which were faintly arched, drew together. She had a somber expression on her face.

"Oh, that's one of my favorites," she said coolly, holding his gaze for a moment. Hers was equally dark, but not black. It was very dark brown.

His own eyes squinted the slightest, curiously, and that was when she looked away. He studied her for a split second, taking in other details. Her nose was long and slightly sharp and had the smallest of bumps. There was a faint accent in her voice, so faint that he was sure most people rarely noticed. But he wasn't most people. There was also a barely-there sheen of red in her hair, as the setting sun streamed past tall buildings and into the windows of the shop. She was cute.

Her name tag said Liza.

"I'd recommend the Earl Grey Bravo, and the one with the lavender. If you like Earl Grey." She was stepping down the wall, pointing. "Are you looking for any kind in particular?" She paused and looked back at him.

Elijah's smile remained. He spoke with a warmth that came easily. He was a naturally charismatic, but in a way that Niklaus never was. He was a gentleman. "This is my first time here. So I have to see what you have to offer. There is a lot to choose from. Would you be so kind as to recommend more?"

The way he spoke stunned her again and this time her glance at him was quick and had her shyly looking down. She failed at suppressing a more natural smile and clasped her hands before her. Taking in a breath, she straightened, stretching her neck a tad, as if prepared to unleash a wealth of knowledge about tea.

"Do you like green tea?"

Elijah took in all of her reactions, her sudden timidity not going unnoticed by him. "Yes, I do," he answered cheerfully and looked around to see where said green tea was.

Liza took several more steps. "All our green tea is here," she said leading the way, gesturing.

Elijah paused, silent for a moment or two, while she waited patiently, hands still together in front of her apron. He had his eyes narrowed as he scanned the types. Meanwhile, other customers paid at the register. The door chimed as someone else walked into the store, the sound of the Windy City very loud for a moment. Then it dulled once again as the door closed.

"What do you think of this one, Liza?" Elijah chose one and held it toward her. "Gyokuro?"

Liza nodded, stammering only slightly, for it was very obvious to her that this guy was not from around here. Employees all had name tags, but most who entered the shop hardly addressed her and her coworkers by their names, let alone sounded so polite. Unless of course a customer was complaining and wanted to report one of them to the GM—then they used their names. Few ever displayed such manners.

Her physiognomy eased. Elijah knew that he was skilled at producing such an effect on people.

"Uh, Gyokuro is Japanese. It's a really good one. It's actually not as harsh and grassy as you'd expect from a green tea," she said, adopting her matter-of-fact, professional tone, looking between him and the tea package. "It has a sweetness to it, and uh, it's quite soft. I like it."

"Then I'll take it," Elijah said at once.

Liza licked her lips and gave another nod. "Okay. Great. If you get three more, you can get another one free." She pointed to a sign that said this and took a step back. "And our Oolongs and Herbals are on the other side of the store."

"Please lead the way," he said and gestured wide with his other hand.

The girl quickly turned her back to him, mostly to hide her face, which her coworker saw. The older woman’s own name tag read Pam. She saw the nicely-dressed man whom Liza was guiding, and raised her eyebrows, but Liza didn't acknowledge whatever look Pam was giving her. Liza steeled her own expression while Pam made an obvious face that said, Geez look at that young male specimen. Little did Pam know that Elijah was far from young.

He followed around the sample stations, and other displays of tins and packages on small, round tables. There were a few types of honey out, and several types of steeping tools. And mugs and tea sets galore. But he didn't need any of those things.

He saw how, simply by the way her shoulders straightened, Liza was once again solemn, which he found interesting, especially when she finally turned back around to show him the Oolongs. He saw that her previous smile was replaced by that same expression she'd first approached him with. She looked at him, her opinions hidden, for he was just a customer. She sold tea to countless people, after all. It made sense.

After he decided on more, including that free last one, he was led to the register and the girl rang him up. She'd been patient thus far, yet her stony expression slipped through to reveal how tired she was. It was in those deep, dark eyes of hers. It was probably a long day of being on her feet.

There was really nothing more that the vampire could do or say. Liza suspected nothing about him, not that he thought that she would. By the time he was leaving, she appeared a million miles away, looking up at the clock to the far wall, and didn't watch him go.

An hour later, around 8, Liza finally left. She had to do some tidying up of products and cleaning here and there. Elijah watched, pretending to intently check emails on his smartphone. Her co-worker closed the shop, they said goodbye to each other and went their separate ways. It was very close to dark by now. Headlights filled the street. There was still traffic, but not as bad as before.

Walking quickly, her old, leather messenger bag over her shoulder, Liza produced a pack of light green Marlboros and lit a cigarette as she moved. She followed the pedestrians before her and crossed the street. Going south down State Street, she was making her way to the Grand Street Red Line stop—the EL, as people called Chicago's subway.

Other citizens, heading home, exhausted, were going the same way. Businessmen and women; those who worked in retail and those in the service industry; college students, too. The air had grown chillier and Liza pulled up the zipper of her dark green leather jacket.

The smoke from her cigarette drifted away, behind her, and Elijah slowed to a stop in the small crowd as his nostrils flared from the smell. He wasn't a fan of smoking. And while it was none of his business, he was surprised that a young woman like her would have such a habit. She could've seen the man as she rounded the escalator that led underground but she didn't look up. As she moved quickly down the metal steps, she also had earbuds in her ears.

Elijah had to step aside as a random man rudely told him to get out of his way i. Elijah barely uttered an apology before the man trudged past. When the vampire looked back to the train entrance, the escalator, that girl was long gone.

But that was quite all right. He knew where she lived, and his way of getting around was far faster than that of the subway, especially in rush hour. So, one moment he was there, to the side of the passersby, and then he was gone in a blur that no one had noticed. Most of everyone's attention was riveted to the smart devices in their hands.

[hogwarts-is-our-destiny]

Hogwarts Is Our Destiny 1.1

Rosanna Crane sat on the balcony of her family’s vacation home in Wales, reading a worn copy of The Hobbit that belonged to one of her fathers. Her cat, Sherlock, was curled up next to her, his chin resting on her leg as he slept. When she turned the page, she would sometimes pause to reach down to pet him, and he would stretch before settling back into sleep. Some people seemed to think that black cats were bad luck, but they were mostly just adorable and fond of cat naps. Or at least Sherlock was.

Ro was just getting to the part where Thorin and Company happen upon the trolls when something large swooped at her from overhead. Ro startled, nearly losing her place in her book, and the movement jolted poor Sherlock from his slumber. The cat paused mid-yawn, his sleepy gaze turning into feline curiosity, as he eyed the large bird now perched next to them on the balcony railing. 

It was a large horned owl and in its beak was a crisp envelope held shut with a red wax seal. The owl dropped the letter into her lap, and then it swiftly took flight, disappearing past Ro’s line of sight after a few moments.

Ro turned the letter over and found it addressed to her in emerald green ink.

Ms. R. Crane

2nd Bedroom, Vacation Home, Wales

Odd that they--whoever “they” was, as the envelope was missing a return address--knew exactly where she was and which bedroom she was staying in at the vacation home. Curiosity getting the best of her, she broke the seal and opened the letter.

“Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry” read the top of the page in fancy calligraphy.She quickly skimmed the first paragraph, not expecting what she found. “We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted...”

Impossible.

Cecil, her adoptive father, who had once graduated from Hogwarts, always claimed she too would receive her acceptance letter...despite Ro not having shown any signs of magical ability. Carlos, her other adoptive father, a scientist in what her other father referred to as the “Muggle World,” assured Ro that she would be loved no matter what happened. Ro sometimes wondered if that was why her true parents had abandoned her in that orphanage...if they somehow knew she would grow up without magic of her own.

But here it was, her very own Hogwarts letter, telling her she was accepted for study! She was nervous, but also excited. 

Clutching the letter she got up from her seat and reentered the vacation home through the sliding glass door. Sherlock followed close at her heels, chasing after the laces on one of her shoes that had come untied.

“Dad!” she called out to both of her dads. “You need to see this!”

Both of them came out of the bedroom they shared, where it seemed that Cecil was in the middle of deciding which of his traveling cloaks he wanted to wear to go out and get fish and chips. A rather important decision, if you asked him.

With eager anticipation, Ro handed her parents the letter.

“I knew it!” Cecil immediately cried out in jubilation, only needing a cursory glance to recognize what it was. He handed the letter to his husband, Carlos, and then he rushed to envelop his daughter in a warm hug.

Carlos smiled once he realized what he was holding. “Congratulations, my dear!”

Cecil abruptly let go of Ro, placing his hands on her shoulders as he looked her in the eyes, a brief look of panic in his eyes.. “There’s so much to do! We have to get your school supplies--and your wand! Carlos! Forget fish and chips! We need to go to Diagon Alley!”

Cecil rushed back into the bedroom and could be heard rummaging through his traveling cloaks again.

Carlos stood next to Ro, pulling her close with an arm across her shoulders. Both of them watched Cecil from the main room, while Sherlock continued to play with Ro’s shoelace. “We’re proud of you no matter what, Ro. Always remember that,” Carlos said with a smile.

Ro didn’t say anything, but instead smiled and leaned into his embrace. She was looking forward to what this unexpected adventure might bring.

[next chapter]

[lightwatchers-blog]

Session 1: A Case of the Lundys

Lundy [Village, Poor, Oath(Ormkirk), Resource(Raw Silk Thread)] is a small village nestled in the foothills of the Razorback mountains. Locals either live off the land or work in the Silk Caves.

Lundy’s silk is sold in nearby Ormkirk [Town, Moderate Wealth, Watch(Captain Orminster), Craft (silk-making, fine clothing)] where it is processed into silk cloth and fine clothing. No deliveries have been made in two weeks. One week ago, Duke Orminster of Ormkirk sent his son, Captain Orminster to investigate but he has not returned.

When things go afoul and mystery is afoot, the world calls on heroes. Duke Orminster has engaged the Lightwatchers. They must:

Reestablish the flow of silk from Lundy

Recall Captain Orminster to Ormkirk for debriefing

The Lightwatchers travel a tightly packed dirt road as it traces the bank of a shallow river. The occasional thwack! from an axe and wisps of smoke slipping from the treetops mark the end of their journey. Lundy proper features a General Store and a few log structures. Most of the residents live in nearby homesteads.

A young man, Rattle, stands in front of the General Store. He snaps to attention when he sees the newcomers as if standing guard. His eyes are sunken and he is unkempt. He looks tired. Rattle wears leather armor emblazoned with the crest of Ormkirk on his chest, the crossed Sewing Needle & Canon.

“Halt! What is your business in Lundy?” Rattle affects an authoritative tone. Ajax, a hardened Fighter, immediately realizes the boy is aping behavior he has seen modeled by more seasoned authority figures. He is green and nervous. 

Ajax moves forward, “We are here on the authority of the Duke. Where is Captain Orminster?”

“Duke? Which Duke?” Rattle eyes Ajax’s massive battleaxe wearily. He’s never seen anything quite like the four adventurers in front of him. His hand moves to the hilt of the sword on his hip.

Lupin Crowsong, the halfling Bard strides up to Rattle confidently, “Duke Orminster, the very same man who sent you here. We are here to help.”

Lupin Defies Danger with his Charisma

He repeats Ajax’s question, “Where is the Captain?” and he places his hand on Rattle’s shoulder disarmingly.

A flicker of trust flashes across the guard’s eyes as he considers Lupin’s words. In an instant, Ajax expertly removes Rattle’s belt and scabbard from his waist. He is The Fighter and able to perform this martial feat on a distracted and unskilled opponent easily.

Trust gives way to terror, Rattle is now cornered and defenseless. He falls to the grass and scoots back against the front door of the store. “I don’t know where he is, man. Captain Orminster told me to stand here, okay? I’m to guard the General Store. That’s all I know.” The party gets the distinct impression the Captain left him here as a fool’s errand to keep him out of the way while he completes his investigation.

The human Paladin Fox speaks up from within his hood, “How long have you been here?” 

“Two... three days? I don’t know. I’ve been standing guard and sleeping here.” Rattle points to a hay-stuffed pillow in the dirt nearby. “Bryant in the shop has been sharing jerky with me. Listen, I’m just trying to do my job, okay?”

Ajax tosses Rattle’s sword belt back to him and it lands on the ground by his feet. The Fighter enters the General Store with Lupin, leaving Fox and Mogilou with the guard out front.

Two woodsmen sit inside, sipping something from tankards. Bryant, the burly shopkeep greets the duo, “Welcome to Lundy. Mead?”

Lupin nods yes excitedly. Ajax is all business, “We are here on behest of Duke Orminster to investigate the silk shortage and recall Captain Orminster. Have you seen anything strange in town the past few weeks?”

Bryant fills a tankard from a spout on a huge wooden barrel and hands it Lupin. “You two are the strangest thing I’ve seen here in a long time.”

Ajax is a strong human with a built physique. He has dead eyes that have seen one too many battles. His skin is tough and calloused, apart from the shine of his bald head. On his back rests a two-handed battleaxe of ancient design. It is covered indecipherable runes of power. His battered armor has seen better days, but he strikes an imposing figure.

Lupin is a fit halfling in a traveling cloak. His expressive eyes flicker and his fiery hair dances with his movements. A golden fiddle is secured around his shoulder. Halflings are rarely seen on the road and never in Lundy. 

They are a strange pair indeed.

Bryant continues, “I mind the shop and my customers. I don’t know about much other than tha--” his sentence is punctuated by a distant scream. Ajax turns and runs out of the store. Lupin climbs into a chair and gulps at his mead greedily.

Outside, Fox bolts off towards the scream and Mogilou gives chase. Ajax grabs Rattle by the arm and yanks him to his feet as they run toward the noise just behind them.

Crashing through a moderately wooded area, Fox and Mogilou reach a clearing. A woman lies on her back, bleeding, screaming, and protecting her face with her arms. A faint blur of blue bioluminescence illuminates a segmented flying creature. It swoops and claws at the woman.

Mogilou makes a fist and looks above into the darkening sky. She mutters words in an enigmatic language and her hand glows a brilliant white. The Wizard thrusts her hand toward the creature and blinding light spirals from her outstretched fingertips. 

Mogilou casts Magic Missile

The spiraling light strikes the creature solidly, knocking it from the sky. It skips across the ground and rolls before leaping back into the air and charging towards its attacker.

Fox rushes ahead of the Wizard and brings his halberd down in a long overhead swing as the bug moves in. 

Fox Hacks and Slashes

The bladed weapon slices the monster clean in two, splattering Fox with the blue glowing goo as it crashes to the ground on either side of him.

Lupin, having rejoined the party after finishing his drink, consults his Bardic Lore of A Bestiary of Creatures Unusual and identifies the creature as a Silk Moth, noting that this glowing and aggressive behavior are both quite unusual. 

-- session end --

GM Notes

This was a short session because it began with character creation. We spent a good amount of time learning about DW as a game and discussing the role of the players and the GM. These are the notes I prepared for the introductory part of the game:

What is DW? [from SRD]  Dungeon World is a world of fantastic adventure. A world of magic, gods and demons, of good and evil, law and chaos. Brave heroes venture into the most dangerous corners of the land in search of gold and glory.

Why play DW [from SRD] First, to see the characters do amazing things. To see them explore the unexplored, slay the undying, and go from the deepest bowels of the world to the highest peaks of the heavens. To see them caught up in momentous events and grand tragedies.Second, to see them struggle together. To gather as a party despite their differences and stand united against their foes, or to argue over treasure, debate battle plans, and join in righteous celebration over a victory hard-won.Third, because the world still has so many places to explore. There are unlooted tombs and dragon hoards dotting the countryside just waiting for quick-fingered and strong-armed adventurers to discover them. That unexplored world has plans of its own. Play to see what they are and how they’ll change the lives of our characters.

Collaborative story Think of it like a movie in our heads. We all contribute. Your focus is on portraying exceptional people doing cool stuff. We will learn more about these characters as we go on. As we play try to enter the mind of your character. How do they feel? What are their ambitions? Their instincts? What are they most afraid of?

My focus is presenting obstacles, rewards, and color. From time to time I will ask you for help flushing out our imaginary world. We get to decide together what this world looks like.Your characters know each other. You may or may not be friends, but you work together for a purpose. We will talk more about this purpose once we've created the characters. Let's do that now. 

I will read the descriptions from the book for each class. [READ class descriptions from SRD]

[Hand out playbooks based on interest]

If you've played other games like this you may be worried about party synergy. There are no wrong choices here. Play what seems most fun to you.

[Build characters]

I will talk in terms of "fiction" and "mechanics." In DW the fiction comes first and the mechanics follow. What that means is that you tell me what your character does and says and that fictional action may trigger a mechanical rule. These rules are called moves. Moves are always triggered by the fiction. Simple or inconsequential actions do not typically trigger moves--they just happen in the fiction. We all contribute to noticing when a move is triggered. You will see how that works as play advances. For now, just remember that this is our movie. Your characters are the stars. Let's watch them do some cool shit.

I wanted to get the party into the action as quickly as possible. In retrospect, I should have skipped the interaction with the guard and Bryant and opened on the clearing. Originally I intended to wrap up this entire mission in one session. We just wrapped session 4 and have not finished.

In the future, start very small and fast. I always tell myself this but I overestimate the wind-up time for new players and settings. Throw them into the action immediately. I cannot stress this enough.

[readbookywooks]

‘No,’ said Nijel.

He was trembling with rage, or possibly with cold, and was nearly as pale as the glaciers that rumbled past below them.

Conina sighed. ‘Well, just how do you think-’ she began.

‘Take me down somewhere a few minutes ahead of them,’ said Nijel.

‘I really don’t see how that would help.’

‘I wasn’t asking your opinion,’ said Nijel, quietly. ‘Just do it. Put me down a little way ahead of them so I’ve got a while to get sorted out.’

‘Get what sorted out?’

Nijel didn’t answer.

‘I said,’ said Conina, ‘get what-’

‘Shut up!’

‘I don’t see why-’

‘Look,’ said Nijel, with the patience that lies just short of axe-murdering. ‘The ice is going to cover the whole world, right? Everyone’s going to die, okay? Except for us for a little while, I suppose, until these horses want their, their, their oats or the lavatory or whatever, which isn’t much use to us except maybe Creosote will just about have time to write a sonnet or something about how cold it is all of a sudden, and the whole of human history is about to be scraped up and in these circumstances I would like very much to make it completely clear that I am not about to be argued with, is that absolutely understood?’

He paused for breath, trembling like a harpstring.

Conina hesitated. Her mouth opened and shut a few times, as though she was considering arguing, and then she thought better of it.

They found a small clearing in a pine forest a mile or two ahead of the herd, although the sound of it was clearly audible and there was a line of steam above the trees and the ground was dancing like a drumtop.

Nijel strolled to the middle of the clearing and made a few practice swings with his sword. The others watched him thoughtfully.

‘If you don’t mind,’ whispered Creosote to Conina, ‘I’ll be off. It’s at times like this that sobriety loses its attractions and I’m sure the end of the world will look a lot better through the bottom of a glass, if it’s all the same to you. Do you believe in Paradise, o peachcheeked blossom?’

‘Not as such, no.’

‘Oh,’ said Creosote. ‘Well, in that case we probably won’t be seeing each other again.’ He sighed. ‘What a waste. All this was just because of a geas. Um. Of course, if by some unthinkable chance-’

‘Goodbye,’ said Conina.

Creosote nodded miserably, wheeled the horse and disappeared over the treetops.

Snow was shaking down from the branches around the clearing. The thunder of the approaching glaciers filled the air.

Nijel started when she tapped him on the shoulder, and dropped his sword.

‘What are you doing here?’ he snapped, fumbling desperately in the snow.

‘Look, I’m not prying or anything,’ said Conina meekly, ‘but what exactly do you have in mind?’

She could see a rolling heap of bulldozed snow and soil bearing down on them through the forest, the mind-numbing sound of the leading glaciers now overlaid with the rhythmic snapping of tree trunks. And, advancing implacably above the treeline, so high that the eye mistook them at first for sky, the blue-green prows.

‘Nothing,’ said Nijel, ‘nothing at all. We’ve just got to resist them, that’s all there is to it. That’s what we’re here for.’

‘But it won’t make any difference,’ she said.

‘It will to me. If we’re going to die anyway, Iii rather die like this. Heroically.’

‘Is it heroic to die like this?’ said Conina.

‘I think it is,’ he said, ‘and when it comes to dying, there’s only one opinion that matters.’

‘Oh.’

A couple of deer blundered into the clearing, ignored the humans in their blind panic, and rocketed away.

‘You don’t have to stay,’ said Nijel. ‘I’ve got this geas, you see.’

Conina looked at the backs of her hands.

‘I think I should,’ she said, and added, ‘You know, I thought maybe, you know, if we could just get to know one another better-’

‘Mr and Mrs Harebut, was that what you had in mind?’ he said bluntly.

Her eyes widened. ‘Well-’ she began.

‘Which one did you intend to be?’ he said.

The leading glacier smashed into the clearing just behind its bow wave, its top lost in a cloud of its own creation.

At exactly the same time the trees opposite it bent low as a hot wind blew from the Rim. It was loaded with voices - petulant, bickering voices - and tore into the clouds like a hot iron into water.

Conina and Nijel threw themselves down into snow which turned to warm slush under them. Something like a thunderstorm crashed overhead, filled with shouting and what they at first thought were screams although, thinking about them later, they seemed more like angry arguments. It went on for a long time, and then began to fade in the direction of the Hub.

Warm water flooded down the front of Nijel’s vest. He lifted himself cautiously, and then nudged Conina.

Together they scrambled through the slush and mud to the top of the slope, climbed through a logjam of smashed timber and boulders, and stared at the scene.

The glaciers were retreating, under a cloud stuffed with lightning. Behind them the landscape was a network of lakes and pools.

‘Did we do that?’ said Conina.

‘It would be nice to think so, wouldn’t it?’ said Nijel.

‘Yes, but did-’ she began.

‘Probably not. Who knows? Let’s just find a horse,’ he said.

‘The Apogee,’ said War, ‘or something. I’m pretty sure.’

They had staggered out of the inn and were sitting on a bench in the afternoon sunshine. Even War had been persuaded to take off some of his armour.

‘Dunno,’ said Famine, ‘Don’t think so.’

Pestilence shut his crusted eyes and leaned back against the warm stones.

‘I think,’ he said, ‘it was something about the end of the world.’

War sat and thoughtfully scratched his chin. He hiccuped.

‘What, the whole world?’ he said.

‘I reckon.’

War gave this some further consideration. ‘I reckon we’re well out of it, then,’ he said.

People were returning to Ankh-Morpork, which was no longer a city of empty marble but was once again its old self, sprawling as randomly and colourfully as a pool of vomit outside the all-night takeaway of History.

And the University had been rebuilt, or had rebuilt itself, or in some strange way had never been unbuilt; every strand of ivy, every rotting casement, was back in place. The sourcerer had offered to replace everything as good as new, all wood sparkling, all stone unstained, but the Librarian had been very firm on the subject. He wanted everything replaced as good as old.

The wizards came creeping back with the dawn, in ones or twos, scuttling for their old rooms, trying to avoid one another’s gaze, trying to remember a recent past that was already becoming unreal and dream-like.

Conina and Nijel arrived around breakfast time and, out of kindness, found a livery stable for War’s horse.[25] It was Conina who insisted that they look for Rincewind at the University, and who, therefore, first saw the books.

They were flying out of the Tower of Art, spiralling around the University buildings and swooping through the door of the reincarnated Library. One or two of the more impudent grimoires were chasing sparrows, or hovering hawk-like over the quad.

The Librarian was leaning against the doorway, watching his charges with a benevolent eye. He waggled his eyebrows at Conina, the nearest he ever got to a conventional greeting.

‘Is Rincewind here?’ she said.

‘Oook.’

‘Sorry?’

The ape didn’t answer but took them both by the hand and, walking between them like a sack between two poles, led them across the cobbles to the tower.

There were a few candles alight inside, and they saw Coin seated on a stool. The Librarian bowed them into his presence like an ancient retainer in the oldest family of all, and withdrew.

Coin nodded at them. ‘He knows when people don’t understand him,’ he said. ‘Remarkable, isn’t he?’

‘Who are you?’ said Conina.

‘Coin,’ said Coin.

Are you a student here?’

‘I’m learning quite a lot, I think.’

Nijel was wandering around the walls, giving them the occasional prod. There had to be some good reason why they didn’t fall down, but if there was it didn’t lie in the realms of civil engineering.

‘Are you looking for Rincewind?’ said Coin.

Conina frowned. ‘How did you guess that?’

‘He told me some people would come looking for him.’

Conina relaxed. ‘Sorry,’ she said, ‘we’ve had a bit of a trying time. I thought perhaps it was magic, or something. He’s all right, isn’t he? I mean, what’s been happening? Did he fight the sourcerer?’

‘Oh, yes. And he won. It was very … interesting. I saw it all. But then he had to go,’ said Coin, as though reciting.

‘What, just like that?’ said Nijel.

‘Yes.’

‘I don’t believe it,’ said Conina. She was beginning to crouch, her knuckles whitening.

‘It is true,’ said Coin. ‘Everything I say is true. It has to be.’

‘I want to-’ Conina began, and Coin stood up, extended a hand and said, ‘Stop.’

She froze. Nijel stiffened in mid-frown.

‘You will leave,’ said Coin, in a pleasant, level voice, ‘and you will ask no more questions. You will be totally satisfied. You have all your answers. You will live happily ever after. You will forget hearing these words. You will go now.’

They turned slowly and woodenly, like puppets, and trooped to the door. The Librarian opened it for them, ushered them through and shut it behind them.

Then he stared at Coin, who sagged back on to the stool.

‘All right, all right,’ said the boy, ‘but it was only a little magic. I had to. You said yourself people had to forget.’

‘Oook?’

‘I can’t help it! It’s too easy to change things!’ He clutched his head. ‘I’ve only got to think of something! I can’t stay, everything I touch goes wrong, it’s like trying to sleep on a heap of eggs! This world is too thin! Please tell me what to do!’

The Librarian spun around on his bottom a few times, a sure sign of deep thought.

Exactly what he said is not recorded, but Coin smiled, nodded, shook the Librarian’s hand, and opened his own hands and drew them up and around him and stepped into another world. It had a lake in, and some distant mountains, and a few pheasants watching him suspiciously from under the trees. It was the magic all sourcerers learned, eventually.

Sourcerers never become part of the world. They merely wear it for a while.

He looked back, halfway across the turf, and waved at the Librarian. The ape gave him an encouraging nod.

And then the bubble shrank inside itself, and the last sourcerer vanished from this world and into a world of his own.

[maaaddiexo]

Chapter Thirteen | Peter Pevensie

[Red Series Book Two: Ribbons]

Rosemary returned to England to find things just how she left them - her father and brother missing and her mother drinking in her bedroom. But Rosemary wasn't going to give up this time. She took charge of her family as the Pevensies took charge of a country. 

But it's been a year since all five of them returned to England, and when they are called back by Susan's magic horn, they return to a completely different Narnia. Magic has been dormant for centuries and men now rule Narnia but with brute force and terror. 

The Pevensies know why they've been called back to Narnia but Rosemary is once again left in the dark. And with Aslan making himself sparse, the five kids are left to their own devices to answer their own questions.

Do they trust the exiled prince? Can they save Narnia again, and this time without Aslan swooping in to save them? And in Rosemary's case, why was she called back?

[Chapter Fourteen] [Series Masterlist] [Masterlist]

Rosemary watched as Miraz dropped and heard Lord Sopespian scream treachery. She knew the Telmarines wouldn't keep their word but never thought it would mean murdering their own murder king.

Peter and Edmund, who had been walking back to the How in victory, spun to see what was happening, shocked to see the arrow sticking out of Miraz's torso. "What the..."

"They shot him!"

"Be ready!"

Bodies tensed as sides prepared for battle and a few Narnians scurried into the How to get into position for Plan B. Rosemary gripped her bow tightly but didn't nock an arrow yet. She had to wait for Susan's command. A stray Telmarine rushed Peter but was messy in his attack and Peter was quick to separate his head from the rest of his body. Peter looked back at the Narnians and then found Rosemary at the top of the How. It might be the last time he saw her. "Go!"

["Is this what I missed? Fifteen years of Peter telling people what to do? He already does that?" Rosemary laughed under her breath, earning chuckles from Trumpkin and Susan.]

Yelling erupted from the field as Telmarine soldiers screamed for justice, raising their weapons to the sky. The first row of soldiers charged as catapults were loaded and discharged. Narnians scurried to dodge the boulders but remained standing.

From up above, Rosemary watched the cavalry surge forward as one. There must have been a thousand men on horses running at them and thousands more on foot, waiting for their command. She had faith in Peter's plan and the people of Narnia, but she was still feeling overwhelmingly outnumbered.

"Archer's to the ready!" There it was. Rosemary reached back in unison with the rest of the archers and pulled an arrow from her quiver, nocking it with practiced ease. She watched as Caspian and Glenstorm turned away from Peter and Edmund and galloped down into the How. They would lead the underground team, who would slow down the incoming Telmarines.

"Come on," Rosemary muttered under her breath. The Telmarines were approaching fast and the ground still hadn't broken. She began to count. "One. Two. Three. Four. Five Six."

"Take your aim!"

"Eight. Nine. Ten." And just like that, the ground crumbled underneath the cavalry's feet and the horses stumbled. Some men were thrown off while others were trapped beneath their fallen horses.

Cries of pain mixed with commands being shouted and the Narnians watched on with hard faces as the Telmarines struggled to get themselves out of the crater. As Rosemary's father would have said, 'you mess with the bull, you get the horns'.

"Now!" Rosemary's fingers loosened around the bowstring and the arrow flew through the air with a hundred others. Men who were on the verge of climbing out of the crater were thrown back by the impact of arrows and Rosemary nocked another arrow.

"Charge!" On Peter's command, the Narnians on the ground rushed forward and the ones underground reappeared by way of trap doors. They came from behind, surrounding the Telmarine cavalry.

Flacons flew overhead carrying dwarves who shot and aimed at the incoming Telmarines on foot. But they were shot down by crossbows the same size as the catapults. As the Telmarines continued to approach, Peter changed tactics and instructed the Narnians to retreat to the How. The catapults continued to launch boulders at the How, shaking the ground beneath the archers' feet. The How crumbled and quickly blocked the way, trapping Narnians inside.

Rosemary desperately looked around, hoping to see Lucy the Valiant riding on Aslan's back and save them but they were nowhere to be seen. Something cracked behind her and she watched a tree fall, knocking Susan off of the ledge.

"Susan!" Rosemary and Trumpkin lunged to grab her free hand. She dangled for a moment before slipping through their sweaty hands and onto a lower platform. Knowing she was safe, Rosemary looked out to see Telmarine troops surrounding the Narnians. Slowly they moved in and cut them down.

That's it, Rosemary thought. She jumped down to where Susan was and they scrambled down the collapsing How and joined Peter, Edmund, and Caspian at the stone square. Off to the right, Rosemary could spot Miraz's body, the arrow still sticking out of his body. She looked over at Glenstorm for permission and he nodded, kneeling down so she could mount him.

When she was situated on Glenstorm's back, Peter raised his sword and rushed forward with a war cry. As Glenstorm cut down men closeby, Rosemary aimed for those further away. Together as a team, they were untouchable. She heard Glenstorm grunt with every slice, stab, and block he made and in return he heard her 'ha' every time she watched a soldier drop by her arrows.

Around her, both Narnians and Telmarines were dropping. The only difference was that more Telmarines kept coming, creeping in closer. She watched Susan use her bow as both a bow and a hammer, striking Telmarines over the head with it before nocking an arrow and letting it fly.

Rosemary looked around again for her friends. Peter and Edmund were still fighting, and she spotted Caspian and Trumpkin fighting together. They only had a hundred feet left of fighting space.

"Come on, Lucy," Rosemary whispered, firing off another arrow. Glenstorm had her dismount and she did so without voicing her question but watched as Glenstorm charged at a troop of Telmarines and jumped over the barrier of shields. "Glenstorm!"

Without an aerial advantage, it was difficult for Rosemary to find the Pevensies in the crowd. A Telmarine rushed at Rosemary and she fired an arrow without thought, not waiting to see where it landed. She spun and ran, looking for the signature red jersey and a head of blonde hair. Peter was fighting off two Telmarines while slowly being backed into the crater. Rosemary ran forward and shoved her foot into the nearest soldier's side before shooting an arrow into his neck. With the other temporarily distracted, Peter quickly disarmed him and then brought his sword down in a grand arc. The soldier went down and didn't come back up.

"My god, I thought I might not see you again," Peter breathed, pulling Rosemary in for a tight hug.

"Can't get rid of me that easily."

"Still not letting you out of my sight. Come on, Caspian's in the crater." They ran together and searched for Caspian in the crater. "There!" They rushed to the east and Peter reached down to help the prince.

"What's that?" Rosemary lookedat Peter, feeling the ground beneath her feet rumble and shake. She looked behind her and gasped at the sight. The trees had come to life and were advancing on the soliders but only targeted the Telmarines. "Nevermind."

"She did it," Peter smiled. "Lucy did it."

"This is what Narnia was like when you were here last?" Caspian looked at Rosemary. "This is terrifying."

Rosemary laughed and watched as the trees passed by them and chased after the retreating Telmarines. They hadn't won yet, but things were looking up for the Narnians. A tree nearby was knocked down by catapults and she pulled Caspian and Peter out of the way as another drove its roots into the ground, disrupting the dirt as the roots ran all the way to the Telmarines and shot up around a catapult, pulling it down to the ground. "Don't mess with Narnia and you'll be fine."

The Narnians cheered and Peter raised his sword. "For Aslan!"

With the trees, the Narnians chased after the retreating Telmarines all the way to the river. The cavalry ran across the bridge while the rest dove for the water. Neither would cross.

Lord Sopespian led the group across the bridge but pulled on his horse's reins upon seeing Lucy Pevensie waiting on the other side.

From the shore, Rosemary watched beside Peter. Hundreds of soldiers prevented them from moving forward but they didn't try. They just watched on as a familiar lion emerged from the trees and came to stand beside Lucy.

"Charge!" Lord Sopespian cried. They only got halfway across the bridge before Aslan's roar had them stopping in their place and turn to the river. The water beneath the bridge retreated to the bend in the river and a tidal wave swelled in size before crashing down the river. Before it reached the river, the water changed and a figure emerged. He hovered over the bridge and watched as Telmarines jumped into the shallow water. He surged forward and destroyed the bridge, throwing men off in the process. When he reemerged, he was holding a piece of the bridge, a single soldier on the wood.

Lord Sopespian stared up in fear at the River God. The bridge tilted and even though the horse tried to back up, it fell forward. Lord Sopespian waved his sword in front of the River God but it didn't do anything. The River God opened his mouth and swallowed the man and horse whole. From the beach, Rosemary watched with awe as the god then disappeared into the river and washed away the bridge.

The war was over. The Narnians had won.

[Chapter Fourteen] [Series Masterlist] [Masterlist]

[readbookywooks]

‘No,’ said Nijel.

He was trembling with rage, or possibly with cold, and was nearly as pale as the glaciers that rumbled past below them.

Conina sighed. ‘Well, just how do you think-’ she began.

‘Take me down somewhere a few minutes ahead of them,’ said Nijel.

‘I really don’t see how that would help.’

‘I wasn’t asking your opinion,’ said Nijel, quietly. ‘Just do it. Put me down a little way ahead of them so I’ve got a while to get sorted out.’

‘Get what sorted out?’

Nijel didn’t answer.

‘I said,’ said Conina, ‘get what-’

‘Shut up!’

‘I don’t see why-’

‘Look,’ said Nijel, with the patience that lies just short of axe-murdering. ‘The ice is going to cover the whole world, right? Everyone’s going to die, okay? Except for us for a little while, I suppose, until these horses want their, their, their oats or the lavatory or whatever, which isn’t much use to us except maybe Creosote will just about have time to write a sonnet or something about how cold it is all of a sudden, and the whole of human history is about to be scraped up and in these circumstances I would like very much to make it completely clear that I am not about to be argued with, is that absolutely understood?’

He paused for breath, trembling like a harpstring.

Conina hesitated. Her mouth opened and shut a few times, as though she was considering arguing, and then she thought better of it.

They found a small clearing in a pine forest a mile or two ahead of the herd, although the sound of it was clearly audible and there was a line of steam above the trees and the ground was dancing like a drumtop.

Nijel strolled to the middle of the clearing and made a few practice swings with his sword. The others watched him thoughtfully.

‘If you don’t mind,’ whispered Creosote to Conina, ‘I’ll be off. It’s at times like this that sobriety loses its attractions and I’m sure the end of the world will look a lot better through the bottom of a glass, if it’s all the same to you. Do you believe in Paradise, o peachcheeked blossom?’

‘Not as such, no.’

‘Oh,’ said Creosote. ‘Well, in that case we probably won’t be seeing each other again.’ He sighed. ‘What a waste. All this was just because of a geas. Um. Of course, if by some unthinkable chance-’

‘Goodbye,’ said Conina.

Creosote nodded miserably, wheeled the horse and disappeared over the treetops.

Snow was shaking down from the branches around the clearing. The thunder of the approaching glaciers filled the air.

Nijel started when she tapped him on the shoulder, and dropped his sword.

‘What are you doing here?’ he snapped, fumbling desperately in the snow.

‘Look, I’m not prying or anything,’ said Conina meekly, ‘but what exactly do you have in mind?’

She could see a rolling heap of bulldozed snow and soil bearing down on them through the forest, the mind-numbing sound of the leading glaciers now overlaid with the rhythmic snapping of tree trunks. And, advancing implacably above the treeline, so high that the eye mistook them at first for sky, the blue-green prows.

‘Nothing,’ said Nijel, ‘nothing at all. We’ve just got to resist them, that’s all there is to it. That’s what we’re here for.’

‘But it won’t make any difference,’ she said.

‘It will to me. If we’re going to die anyway, Iii rather die like this. Heroically.’

‘Is it heroic to die like this?’ said Conina.

‘I think it is,’ he said, ‘and when it comes to dying, there’s only one opinion that matters.’

‘Oh.’

A couple of deer blundered into the clearing, ignored the humans in their blind panic, and rocketed away.

‘You don’t have to stay,’ said Nijel. ‘I’ve got this geas, you see.’

Conina looked at the backs of her hands.

‘I think I should,’ she said, and added, ‘You know, I thought maybe, you know, if we could just get to know one another better-’

‘Mr and Mrs Harebut, was that what you had in mind?’ he said bluntly.

Her eyes widened. ‘Well-’ she began.

‘Which one did you intend to be?’ he said.

The leading glacier smashed into the clearing just behind its bow wave, its top lost in a cloud of its own creation.

At exactly the same time the trees opposite it bent low as a hot wind blew from the Rim. It was loaded with voices - petulant, bickering voices - and tore into the clouds like a hot iron into water.

Conina and Nijel threw themselves down into snow which turned to warm slush under them. Something like a thunderstorm crashed overhead, filled with shouting and what they at first thought were screams although, thinking about them later, they seemed more like angry arguments. It went on for a long time, and then began to fade in the direction of the Hub.

Warm water flooded down the front of Nijel’s vest. He lifted himself cautiously, and then nudged Conina.

Together they scrambled through the slush and mud to the top of the slope, climbed through a logjam of smashed timber and boulders, and stared at the scene.

The glaciers were retreating, under a cloud stuffed with lightning. Behind them the landscape was a network of lakes and pools.

‘Did we do that?’ said Conina.

‘It would be nice to think so, wouldn’t it?’ said Nijel.

‘Yes, but did-’ she began.

‘Probably not. Who knows? Let’s just find a horse,’ he said.

‘The Apogee,’ said War, ‘or something. I’m pretty sure.’

They had staggered out of the inn and were sitting on a bench in the afternoon sunshine. Even War had been persuaded to take off some of his armour.

‘Dunno,’ said Famine, ‘Don’t think so.’

Pestilence shut his crusted eyes and leaned back against the warm stones.

‘I think,’ he said, ‘it was something about the end of the world.’

War sat and thoughtfully scratched his chin. He hiccuped.

‘What, the whole world?’ he said.

‘I reckon.’

War gave this some further consideration. ‘I reckon we’re well out of it, then,’ he said.

People were returning to Ankh-Morpork, which was no longer a city of empty marble but was once again its old self, sprawling as randomly and colourfully as a pool of vomit outside the all-night takeaway of History.

And the University had been rebuilt, or had rebuilt itself, or in some strange way had never been unbuilt; every strand of ivy, every rotting casement, was back in place. The sourcerer had offered to replace everything as good as new, all wood sparkling, all stone unstained, but the Librarian had been very firm on the subject. He wanted everything replaced as good as old.

The wizards came creeping back with the dawn, in ones or twos, scuttling for their old rooms, trying to avoid one another’s gaze, trying to remember a recent past that was already becoming unreal and dream-like.

Conina and Nijel arrived around breakfast time and, out of kindness, found a livery stable for War’s horse.[25] It was Conina who insisted that they look for Rincewind at the University, and who, therefore, first saw the books.

They were flying out of the Tower of Art, spiralling around the University buildings and swooping through the door of the reincarnated Library. One or two of the more impudent grimoires were chasing sparrows, or hovering hawk-like over the quad.

The Librarian was leaning against the doorway, watching his charges with a benevolent eye. He waggled his eyebrows at Conina, the nearest he ever got to a conventional greeting.

‘Is Rincewind here?’ she said.

‘Oook.’

‘Sorry?’

The ape didn’t answer but took them both by the hand and, walking between them like a sack between two poles, led them across the cobbles to the tower.

There were a few candles alight inside, and they saw Coin seated on a stool. The Librarian bowed them into his presence like an ancient retainer in the oldest family of all, and withdrew.

Coin nodded at them. ‘He knows when people don’t understand him,’ he said. ‘Remarkable, isn’t he?’

‘Who are you?’ said Conina.

‘Coin,’ said Coin.

Are you a student here?’

‘I’m learning quite a lot, I think.’

Nijel was wandering around the walls, giving them the occasional prod. There had to be some good reason why they didn’t fall down, but if there was it didn’t lie in the realms of civil engineering.

‘Are you looking for Rincewind?’ said Coin.

Conina frowned. ‘How did you guess that?’

‘He told me some people would come looking for him.’

Conina relaxed. ‘Sorry,’ she said, ‘we’ve had a bit of a trying time. I thought perhaps it was magic, or something. He’s all right, isn’t he? I mean, what’s been happening? Did he fight the sourcerer?’

‘Oh, yes. And he won. It was very … interesting. I saw it all. But then he had to go,’ said Coin, as though reciting.

‘What, just like that?’ said Nijel.

‘Yes.’

‘I don’t believe it,’ said Conina. She was beginning to crouch, her knuckles whitening.

‘It is true,’ said Coin. ‘Everything I say is true. It has to be.’

‘I want to-’ Conina began, and Coin stood up, extended a hand and said, ‘Stop.’

She froze. Nijel stiffened in mid-frown.

‘You will leave,’ said Coin, in a pleasant, level voice, ‘and you will ask no more questions. You will be totally satisfied. You have all your answers. You will live happily ever after. You will forget hearing these words. You will go now.’

They turned slowly and woodenly, like puppets, and trooped to the door. The Librarian opened it for them, ushered them through and shut it behind them.

Then he stared at Coin, who sagged back on to the stool.

‘All right, all right,’ said the boy, ‘but it was only a little magic. I had to. You said yourself people had to forget.’

‘Oook?’

‘I can’t help it! It’s too easy to change things!’ He clutched his head. ‘I’ve only got to think of something! I can’t stay, everything I touch goes wrong, it’s like trying to sleep on a heap of eggs! This world is too thin! Please tell me what to do!’

The Librarian spun around on his bottom a few times, a sure sign of deep thought.

Exactly what he said is not recorded, but Coin smiled, nodded, shook the Librarian’s hand, and opened his own hands and drew them up and around him and stepped into another world. It had a lake in, and some distant mountains, and a few pheasants watching him suspiciously from under the trees. It was the magic all sourcerers learned, eventually.

Sourcerers never become part of the world. They merely wear it for a while.

He looked back, halfway across the turf, and waved at the Librarian. The ape gave him an encouraging nod.

And then the bubble shrank inside itself, and the last sourcerer vanished from this world and into a world of his own.