#this is insane life changing information tome

[helenofblackthorns]

just saw a screenshot of Ty's page in the new flower card book and his second family name isn't unknown anymore????? we actually have Eleanor's maiden name?????? and it's ******** too like shut the fuck up actually

[evolutionsvoid]

For the centuries that the Church of Divine Wealth has existed, its growth has been a thing of legend. From the simple four who started it all, to the thriving empire that now rules this land. It has grown, shifted, changed and consumed over the years, spreading its influence and assimilating other groups into its own mass. And from all this time and conquest, it has gained much. Be it wealth, power or followers, the Church has certainly amassed quite the hoard. But not all of it is treasure and faith, as from it comes one of the most valuable blessings of all: knowledge. Be it discovered in ancient ruins, gained from a master swearing allegiance or the raiding of a foe's library, the Church of Divine Wealth has accumulated an incredible amount of knowledge and information. While they do boast vast libraries, and great golden tomes sharing these gifts to the faithful, there is still simply too much to put in temples. If one were to try and cram every scrap of information the Church had into its shrines, then there wouldn't be room for even a drop of humor to fit. Thus, only a sampling of their wondrous knowledge is put on display for the public, while the rest is stored away in safety. However, where this massive library is is no secret, as any person could tell you. It is common knowledge within the Church where to find the answers to any question. Look upon the horizon, and see the great black spires that practically pierce the heavens. It is there, within the place known as Akavedah, the Towering Archives. And within its dizzying heights works one of the four pillars of the Church: The Scholars of the Black.

The Towering Archives of Akavedah is where all knowledge and information of the Church is stored, every detail and tidbit eventually winding up within their Black Bile crystals. There is simply so much of it, that it must be consolidated somewhere, and in a way where it is actually feasible to find. It is a never-ending task, of taking in new information, distilling it, comparing it to current records, updating it and storing it away within the countless spires. While many would find such a mission maddening, the Scholars of the Black take on this role with silent fervor. Their sect is one that loves only two things: knowledge and termites. The holy animal tied to Black Bile, the humor of knowledge, is one that inspires them. It is said that the obsidian spires created by this insects is what inspired the use of Black Bile crystals for storing information, as folk witnessed the intricate carvings of their tunnels and nests. The Scholars have taken this fact and built it into their entire culture, which is made obvious by Akavedah's cathedral of spires and mounds. And within this great black castle, are countless libraries, study rooms, crystal chambers and vaults. These archives hold such an insane amount of books, scrolls and crystals that it is said if someone devoted their entire life to reading every single one, they would pass away from old age before they even got out of the foyer.

And amongst all these pages and shards work the Scholars, always on the move and always working. It would seem their love of termites has crept into their own work ethic, as they never seem to stop. Outsiders who catch a glimpse of them in action would certainly see the comparison between these Scholars and the river of termites that flow within their tunnels. Information is constantly trickling into Akavedah, from Church messengers, copied tomes, found scrolls and returning intel gatherers. It is said that every piece of paper that finds its way into the Church's hands is copied and sent immediately to the Towering Archives. And once it reaches these obsidian halls, the Scholars get right to work assimilating it into their own expansive system. They strive to keep their institution up to date, perfectly organized and easily accessible. Which can be a challenge with so many papers and shards, but that is what the Scholars aim to fix.

The major task of Akavedah is to convert and condense all the knowledge they possess into smaller denser forms. Their rooms filled with tomes and manuscripts is impressive, containing more paper than an entire forest could make, but highly impractical for those who want all the info. Without consulting a Scholar to guide you through their labyrinthine archives, outsiders could get lost looking for a single book. Humorous tales even claim that somewhere in this endless crystalline castle is a tiny civilization of lost students and guests who somehow fell so deep into the archives that they can never find their way out again. So with the desire to condense it all, the Scholars work to convert all their information into Black Bile crystals. This is done by filtering the knowledge through their bodies and into a crystal, typically done through reading. And with so many books and only so many Scholars, their task is seemingly without end. Some say that even without their masks, one would never be able to see the face of a Scholar because it is always buried in a thick tome. They seem to always have a book in one of their hands, and have the incredible ability to do everything else while still reading and converting the pages. Scholars and their workers are capable of moving through their halls with such speed and coordination, while absorbed by their books, that it is very much like a bustling termite colony. They don't run into each other, they don't miss their their turns and they always wind up precisely where they want to be, all while still going through the current manuscript. Foolish guests have learned long ago not to even try walking through such busy sections, as the Scholars move so quickly and tightly that you would be crushed and no one would even stop to notice.

While they convert information into Black Bile crystals, the other major duty they have is researching into purer strains of such structures. Black Bile can only hold so much depending on its purity, design and density. Crude crystals are good for holding maybe a few pages, while the finer stuff can hold multiple books worth within. But we are talking thousands of tomes and scrolls, and information that is in the mind rather than the page. Even when they seek to condense it all, the result calls for so much Black Bile and such big spires that it adds a new impracticality to it. Their special carved slabs can contain a lifetime's worth of knowledge, but it isn't good enough. Thus they must continue in their research to find better designs for these archival crystals, all while dealing with a ceaseless flow of new information to sift through. Yet they soldier on, even more so now that the war has broken out. Because now this preservation has become more crucial than ever before...

When the civil war within the Church grew beyond brief skirmishes and protests, the Towering Archives of Akavedah quietly closed their doors and fortified their walls. Without declaration, they divested themselves from this violence, as such war of emotions was pure nonsense to them. They would not take part in such idiotic fighting, it went against all logic. Instead, they would follow the belief they had held since the beginning: knowledge must be preserved at all cost. Thus the walls must be impenetrable, the gates sealed tight and those within ready to fight off any invaders. The knowledge within these spires is priceless, and the war has already destroyed so much. Thankfully, the Church had equipped the Towering Archives with incredible defenses, fearing this day as well. Unfortunately, the Church didn't imagine their Scholars using these very same weapons against them. Because in a great war of many factions and countless foes, the Scholars have no choice but to see everyone as an invader. Anyone capable of scaling their walls or sneaking in will be treated as an enemy, and the soldiers of this great colony will make short work of them.

While the world burns down outside their walls, the Scholars work even faster than ever before. Their devotion to the cause has become obsession. Protect the knowledge and ensure its survival. This has practically turned them into the very insects they adore, as they go about with an almost mindless sense of duty. Protecting, converting, condensing. All of it done for their new ultimate goal: the Microcosmic Star. A theoretical form of pure Black Bile crystal that has been refined and constructed in such a perfect way that all the knowledge of the world could fit in a obsidian jewel that could sit in your hand. Achieving such a perfect condensed state seems utterly impossible, as the Scholars have come nowhere close to even a fraction of such a thing. Yet, their research and theories claim that it can be done, and thus they work for this great belief. Before the war broke out, they wanted to create such a thing to make the archives portable and thus everlasting. With only a few of these black stars, the information of all civilization would be preserved forever, able to be transfered to all. But now, as the war rages on and society crumbles around them, the Microcosmic Star has become the final word of all of humanity. For the Scholars wish to create these jewels and launch them into the cosmos, where the entire record of mankind can survive as all perish in this doomed world. Knowledge must be preserved at all cost, and that is what they will do.

However, for the people still very much alive and fighting for this maddened land, they would really prefer if the Scholars didn't act like they were already dead.

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

"Scholars of the Towering Archives"

Another pillar of the Church revealed! Termite inspired mages who love reading! And I will say right off the bat: yeah, I don't have all the castes drawn up yet. So you'll be waiting a bit for the full line up! It is just that I can't hold this back any longer!

[pondering-gales-left-orb]

Once again I'm asking you guys to be fucking normal about the Qunari and Qun

I keep hearing "the Qun is a prison the Qun is poison the Qun followers the Qunari are evil"

Which makes me really sad, people are not thinking about why the Qunari are the way they are especially now that we know a little more about how they came to be

So please stop for a second and think critically with me (spoilers from DATV will be mentioned below)

With everything we know about how the Qunari came to be it gave us a small window into how the Qun came to be too: this is my theory and headcanon ofc nothing official

What we know is that the Kossith were running from something so terrible so terrifying and impossible (the devouring storm) that the only way out someone could come up with is to mix their blood with dragon blood to create the Adaari

Read that again the only way to stay alive and be able to face this evil is to mix their blood with the biggest scariest monster known to Thedas: a Dragon

How terrified were they? How insane was the threat they were running from? how does facing such Events change a person? In my opinion, it would stay with them forever and change everything about how they live, everything they are, and all their senses evolve to become a tool to prepare for the inevitable day that terrifying threat finds them again. I see it as the same as how human senses have evolved long ago to be attuned to many aspects of nature like our field of vision the position of our eyes our sensitive hearing and how we can "sense" danger and get Goosebumps and so much more, all evolved and became fine-tuned tools to help us survive whatever threat that we faced and whatever was hunting us

I think the Qun was written by a petrified Koslun, scared of what they saw and in disbelief at the fact that they survived, his entire being became how to help his people prepare for this threat, it is why he is Ashkaari Koslun, or "the one who seeks or thinks".

Let's think together though, seeks what exactly? Think of what? In the Warden's case they are called Ashkaari because they were able to seek Asaala in all of fereldan and bring it to Sten, and then Iron bull was called Ashkaari because he always thought of a way to get out of following the rules

So what about Koslun? The most direct answer is "well he thought of the Qun duh!" but i partly disagree, the Qun is the answer yes but my thing is he didn’t "think" of the Qun, he didn’t just write it one night while pondering or something , my thing is he actually "sought" the way of the Qun, he sought out a way to help his people, newly transformed people survive, prepare and change in order to be able to stand against the devouring storm, and not become erratic like the dragons. He traveled far and wide and meditated for a way out of this fear.

now you see where the idea of balance and soul come in in order to keep their soul calm and continue preparing for the devouring storm they must all find a purpose of their soul and nurture it, accept nature as it is a force that gives and takes, because in my opinion, Ashkaari Koslun thought that if any of them started wanting more from life, that mirrors the dragons desire to hoard and devour which puts his people at risk of losing sight of preparing for this evil, he thought if they lost focus they won't see it coming and will be lost forever, that is what the Qun is to me, the conclusion a terrified Koslun sought in the world on how to overcome the devouring storm.

And now (to me at least) it makes sense why the Qun is so strict and military like and why to lead them you have to be strong willed enough to step up and say you want to lead

And now the Qunari we know, they have inherited their ancestors fear, they don't know what they are scared of anymore that information was lost and locked behind tablets that are only unlocked by Adaari fire, the tome of koslun being in orlais for a long time and the Adaari being kept a secret, that knowledge is lost but it's still there in their bones and its why they don't allow any interference from the outside to change them (until now)

In DATV the shock of losing most of the Antaam akin to losing a part of their soul, I'm pretty sure re-awakened that deep primal fear, that qunandar was now without a protector but the loss it also kind of woke them up and shocked their system and made them see past their fear making them accept the return of the Qunari who left and promising they will not reprimand them etc. This is a good start for them to move on

Idk what the next game will be about (or if it's ever made) and i don't trust EA or the Writers not to continue being extremely racist towards the Qunari But i truly believe if they do it right we might finally see what actually happened and how this whole thing came to be and what that terrifying threat that drove them to a strict distraction free life is, i know i want to know at least and i cant help but be hopeful i just really love the Qunari okay

[dungeonsanddragonsfifthedition]

HEYO for dnd character asks: how about pick One of your favorite guys right now, and then answer 1, multiples of 10, and then 69?

let's go with aelwyd bc she's been on my mind this week, given that she is fucking insane.

what drives them? what’s their ultimate goal?

she wants to be free of her past, and, even moreso, she wants to become more powerful than the forces which try and lord her past over her. she's also driven by the pursuit of information--it's her job, after all!

what inspired this character’s creation?

so. a few things. buildwise: i've been futzing A LOT with druid multiclasses (especially with monk) for years now, and i went for a build very similar to this one for a oneshot in 2020, while wildfire druid was still in ua and when i was less versed in 5e grit than i am now. so i wanted to try that build again, but this time, optimizing the hell out of it and explicitly avoiding my habit of dumping charisma. for characterization... honestly, i just wanted to shake things up. the upbeat/charismatic/hotgirl element is definitely me mourning ionel, my recently departed character, but aelwyd's morality and past are me kind of. trying to subvert what's expected of me bc i have played with all of the other ppl in the campaign before :-)

what attracts them to someone—platonically and/or romantically, anything counts.

aelwyd craves empathy and intimacy deep down, but ultimately, she's drawn towards people who are confident and powerful, and towards people who appreciate the finer things in life.

how do they handle confrontation?

her first step is to deny, and if that fails. well. she kind of habitually kills people and destroys the evidence.

if you had to remake this character right now, how would you change them?’

i'm v happy with her build for the game she's in! but if i was less focused on optimization, i think she'd be a hexblood (or a homebrew race, probably nymph or dryad or smth) instead of a satyr, and her monk levels would be replaced with warlock (archfey, tome) levels.

do they have a go-to beverage, alcoholic or nonalcoholic?

alcoholic, she's a sangria girl; non-alcoholic, she goes for fruit juices and nectars. she has a serious sweet tooth.

what do they have faith in? what keeps them believing?

aelwyd has faith in the power of information. she believes in it because she sees proof of it in every interaction.

what’s one secret they don’t want getting out?

lots of them! but a fun freebie is: she is not a researcher. her work involves research, but that's just an element of it.

[carnihell]

((I’m gonna let you in on a very fun secret with Carny Pentious. One about how he got his powers and everything, because I feel it’s important to stress two things with the fact that this is Sir Pentious, effectively, in the “role” of Alastor.

1. It has nothing to do with Voodoo or Hoodoo or any related practices. Pentious is a white man, at least in my interpretation, so it would be insanely inappropriate to make him dabble in a closed religion that is already butchered and misconstrued to hell and back and make it seem even more so since this version of Pent has spooky evil powers that he uses to terrorize and enslave people. At best, the only occult religion he really got into when he was alive was Spiritualism, and even then, it was the excuse he used to hide it when performing his very real magic capabilities for everyone to see on stage.

2. It is a highly kept secret that canonically, barely anyone knows in Carny Pent’s own universe and no one would know at this point and time in this “new universe” (this website) that he has arrived in. Unless you have a very good reason why your muse would know (they’re a Ars Goetia or literally Lucifer himself, or some other supremely powerful being that has a reasonable excuse for why they can sense human souls), then none of your muses would canonically know this information at all. If you feel like your muse would know about it, please bring it up with me first so we can work out the potential ramifications of that first.

Now, as for how Carny Pentious got his powers and fell into Hell and became so strong as he is now, it’s actually quite simple. The carnival that he had joined as a young man, Cirque Vrai Roi, was in fact a cover for a Hellish cult to hide within the depths of 1800’s France, one specifically dedicated to worshipping a demon of the Ars Goetia in exchange for power, wealth, and prosperity among their own cult. They specifically worshipped the demon Purson at the time, a King of the Ars Goetia who is noted to be able to peer into the past, present, and future, and when Pentious had been accepted into the cult, Purson took intrigue in the young man, seeing his potential, and gifted Pentious by bringing his shadow to life, and shaping it into the appearance of a serpent, meant to watch over him and be a protector to any who may try and harm him.

This ended up sparking quite the fanatic devotion in Pentious for such an act, and became dedicated and devoted to not just Purson, but the whole of the Ars Goetia in their entirety, keen on learning everything about them that old tomes and texts could reveal, while also working on improving his own magical abilities, something that he gained when participating in rituals himself and earning Purson’s favor. When he went onto take the title of cult leader for himself, he then worked to change up the cult’s dynamics, shifting their focus to not just worshipping Purson alone, but the whole of the Ars Goetia altogether, which lead to many, many bloody rituals of unspeakable proportions that the cult pulled off, not only to gain the attention of their 72 demonic masters, but also to gain their favor and to show their loyalty. One of these rituals, funny enough, included human cannibalism, which Pentious found himself a fan of.

Pentious’s own devotion had grown so great that he had actually sought to devote his own soul to the whole of the Ars Goetia altogether, and while normally such a thing wouldn’t be accepted and his soul could only be claimed by one of them, he managed to negotiate enough of a proper deal that was enough to satisfy all of them. In essence, he would allow each and every member of the Ars Goetia to take a single piece of his soul, the size of each piece being around that of a pebble, and in the end, when he would die, that single piece would then belong to the demon that was assigned such a piece. That way, he can all gain the power of each boon from the Ars Goetia in exchange of them owning a portion of his soul, and in return, they can all claim and own him in an equal measure, free for them to use him in any way they wish, equally. After all, in the end his soul will belong to them all anyway, so what’s the point in fighting over one measly human soul?

So yeah, this version of Sir Pentious fell into hell a supernaturally strong demon because of a soul pact he made with all 72 of the most powerful of demonic royalty that exist within Hell, and proudly (but secretively) acts as their equal servant for anything they may desire from him, be it an assassination for a lower royal they feel may be trying to push into their position, sent to put a stop to a subterfuge plot, a simple request for a thousand virginal blood sacrifice to liven up a party, or something more…carnal. Anything that they wish, Carny Pent is more than happy to do, for the sake of pleasing his masters, and it is a role he takes an absolutely absurd amount of pride in, a sort of devotion he is keen on spreading around to the other demons that he keeps within his Carnival, be it staff that were welcomed with open arms, or thralls that were enslaved and properly broken.

And on that note, if any of my mutuals happen to have a Goetia muse, be it Stolas, Stella, Paimon, or any other muse that fall under the AG umbrella, I would be happy to plan something out if you would be interested because I am positively itching to write this fucker interacting with one of the many demons that have claim to his soul.

[annaritali]

SEGUE

She gives Malfoy three full days to think about it, and, true to her words, she thinks it over too. She considers the possible consequences (awkwardness, weirdness, embarrassment) and Malfoy’s motive with offering (future blackmail material, to fuck with Harry, mudblood fetish), and decides the benefits still outweigh the risks.

She’s well aware of his reputation, cannot count how many nights during fifth and sixth year she had to endure Lavender and Parvati gossiping about the Slytherin sex god. So yeah, it might not be so bad that at least one of them has experience. He’s the last person she had ever envisioned having sex with, but perhaps that is perfect too.

It’s reckless.

Probably a little insane to have sex with a former bully, but she likes this version of herself that can do this kind of stuff. It’s the same witch that trapped Skeeter in a jar and created the jinxr that punished Marietta Edgecombe when she snitched. She doesn’t let her out to play that often, her friends tend to be uncomfortable by her somewhat grey morality, but yeah, she’s missed that bitch.

But mostly, it’s her stubborn streak that won’t let her change her mind.

So the wizard is not the one she wanted or planned for. Well, so what? She can be agile, adapt. Isn’t that what the media keeps honking on about; one’s success in life being dependent on the individual's ability to be resilient and flexible.

She wants to do this, so she will.

She tracks him down in the library Wednesday before dinner, and just watches him for a minute from the bookshelves in the transfiguration section.

He is sitting by himself, studying an ancient tome, a quill behind his ear. An unconscious habit she had begun to notice. And it wasn’t the only thing.

Over the past couple of days, she’s been noticing him more, taking note of things about him that her eyes slid over in the past. He’s ceased to be just Harry’s arch enemy and a pureblood heir with daddy issues and has turned, instead, into a boy she might sleep with.

With that possibility in mind, Hermione is struck by just how thick his hair is, and the fact he never slicks it back like he used to, how it tends to fall into his face in a way that’s not exactly unattractive.

She is struck by his hands, by the calluses between forefingers and thumbs, by the length of his fingers and the striking delicacy of his wrists. She notices his shoulder beneath his robes; she notices where his slacks sit on his hip; how lean he looks with just his shirt on.

She doesn’t necessarily think of him differently, but the way she sees him has been altered.

There’s nobody else studying in this section of the library, so after watching him for a minute, she decides to do her homework at a nearby table. If Malfoy notices her, he doesn’t show it.

Which is good.

He hasn’t treated her differently since their conversation and that somehow pleases her. No weird glances or hints that he had propositioned her. Or that she had said yes to giving it up to him.

It hasn’t been strange, just business as usual. They are still Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger, in opposite houses and reluctant study partners this year.

This lack of reaction, or perhaps his level of discretion, is exactly what she wants. Malfoy can keep a secret, and that is exactly what she wants for this project. Secrecy.

She settles into her seat and takes out her reference books and a new set of parchment, her ink pot and starts the delicate tasks of sharpening her favorite quill.

Malfoy’s busy with charms homework now, his brows furrowed in concentration, as he mutters under this breath, while he practices the correct wand movement.

She starts with an outline of her essay.

After a while, Hermione pushes her chair away from the desk, leaning back in. She's trying to write a paper on the correct use of aconite in wolfsbane and its potential use in other healing potions, but she’s so bored by Slughorn's limited imagination for assignments that it’s turning out terrible (is she missing Snape? No, not possible).

She sets her palms on her shoulders and digs her fingers into the back of her neck, trying to ease some of the built-up tension there. There’s a knot of muscle on her right side where neck meets shoulder, and she just needs to press it hard enough, to grant her some form of reprieve. She twists her neck from side to side. .

Completely uninterested in resuming her efforts to write her potions essay, she glances over at Malfoy.

Perhaps she does want him to react.

She wants to bring up their potential mutual project, but the boldness of that idea prevents the words from forming in her mouth. Instead, she decides to tiptoe closer to the topic, to give him more facts to consider – Hermione is, above all else, a believer in making informed decisions.

So she says, “Hey, Malfoy?”

”Hmhm?” he replies, squinting slightly as he looks at the heavy tome in front of him.

“Just so you know, I’m taking a muggle contraceptive.”

He sits up straight so quickly that his elbow knocks his inkpot to the floor, the black ink starting to pool into the carpet. When he looks at her, there is a lot of amusement, a hint of frustration, and something else she can’t pinpoint in his expression. He jabs his extra quill in her direction.

“You need to learn the art of a good segue, Granger.”

Hermione glances down and then looks back up at him through her lashes. “Sorry.”

He is cleaning up the spill, siphoning the ink back into its pot and placing it back on the table.

Looking curious, he asks, “how, exactly, do you get muggle medicine into the school?

She shrugs. “I have my ways.” She doesn’t need to tell him that the little hormonal regulation is useful if she wants to moderate what the healers at St Mungo’s euphemistically calls her fragile emotional stability. She lets her eyes flick over his face.

“So… don’t worry about that. If you were.”

“Noted,” he says, nodding slowly. He must see expectation in her face, because he answers her unspoken question, “I’m still thinking.”

“Okay,” she whispers softly.

“I mean“ Malfoy turns in his chair to face her fully. “No one needs to know, it can be a secret, I just-”

Read chapter five of The Memories of Motels on Ao3

[joonkorre]

@drarrymicrofic prompt: remake

not gonna say much on this. yall should find out what's going on yourselves :D. ao3

“What do you think, Mr. Malfoy?”

Draco doesn’t need to think; he’s done enough of that in the past two months, since the day he opened his front door to see the strange woman’s sharp smile. But he thinks anyway, one last time before he answers.

He’d have to leave the wizarding world behind. Of course, it doesn’t have to be that drastic. However, if he doesn’t want his frequent disappearances to catch the Ministry’s attention, then it’s best to withdraw into the Muggle world altogether, as far from its control as possible. Mother has Aunt Andy, Teddy, and friends from her book club now, she’ll be fine with him visiting only a few days each year.

Other than that, there are no downsides. He has nothing to lose except maybe his life somewhere down the line, but everybody dies at some point, don’t they?

He lifts his gaze to the buzzing light on the ceiling, its shine cold and apathetic. To the mahogany bookcase, filled with tomes upon tomes full of ancient rites and rituals, of creatures considered ‘cryptid’ even to wizardkind. To the bookend that is shaped like a crow, which flaps its wings when its beak is tapped five times, unlocking the hidden safe behind the bookcase. The safe that stores all the actual research and data he’s collected, jealously and fearfully hoarded.

He doesn’t know everything, but he knows enough. He knows enough to be aware that the lore Pansy snorted at when he first mentioned them, the creatures Mother dismissed as another of her bored rich son’s new obsessions, are the same ones Unspeakable Granger narrowed her eyes at when she walked past his table in the canteen and caught a glimpse of his notes. He had a feeling then that he shouldn’t even make any indication that he was interested in these things, which was proven to be correct when Ministry personnel started loitering outside his office more after that day.

He doesn’t know everything, but he knows his findings are not safe in anyone’s hands but his. The Ministry still repeats its tendency to care more about itself than the common people. The Department of Mystery, practically its own entity due to how even the Minister is forbidden from accessing most of its files, has motivations he can’t comprehend, which means motivations he can’t predict. There is no way to know if his colleagues are truly interested in “that old wife’s tale, that Bigfoot, Cthulhu shite Malfoy’s into” or will report him to those who know how to deal with him, to Unspeakable Granger, to the Department of Mysteries. His findings are not safe in anyone’s hand but his.

But if he says ‘yes,’ they are.

Draco dips his quill in the ink bottle the woman—“Dr. Stewart,” she’s introduced, calm and sure—provided him and signs his name on the contract and its related documents. No hint of anything other than indifference is shown on her face, and he wonders how many others before him has she recruited.

Once his thumbprint has been collected, the last step of the process, he Vanishes the ink on his finger. Dr. Stewart raises a brow but says nothing more. She stands up, holding out a hand.

“Welcome, Dr. Malfoy. The SCP Foundation is glad to have you with us.”

Shaking her hand, Draco feels something slide into place at his new title. He smiles politely, heart thundering in his chest.

“Have you worked with wizards before, Dr. Stewart?” Draco asks as he starts packing the valuables at his work desk into his briefcase. Dr. Steward has come to the Ministry by Floo, and though she seemed a bit disconcerted after stepping out of the Ministry Public Floo #13, she didn’t hesitate to follow him to his office. Thus, seeing her reaction to a simple Vanishing spell has certainly been a bit strange.

Dr. Steward gathers the documents to secure in a folder.

“My colleagues have—some of them have Muggleborn and Halfblood relatives—but not me personally,” she answers. “My apologies, I still need to get used to seeing magic in… this way. Ironically, we have more luck with magic users from other dimensions than from our own, especially with what happened in recent history.”

The Second Wizarding War ended barely a decade ago. Its victims, both people and nature, still bleed. “I can see why you aren’t very keen on interacting with us up-close these days,” Draco nods, careful.

“Precisely,” Dr. Stewart says. “So, believe it when I say you’re the exception.”

Draco stiffens. “Thank you. I’m sorry, it’s still a bit hard to, ah, believe that.”

“You are the exception,” she says. “We need professionals in the occult, especially those who dabbled in the Dark Arts along with other types of magic. Not many wizards of your kind in Great Britain remember the Original Gods and Old Magic, but you have that link, whether it be through honest religious belief or just intensive research.”

She crosses her legs. “We’ve had our eyes on you for a while, Dr. Malfoy. We need someone who’s willing to look for the oddity in the mundane, and when our people heard rumours of the infamous Malfoy heir having a—highly accurate, by the way—fixation on conspiracy theories and cryptozoology, visiting various parts of the world in pursuit of those ‘tall tales,’ we knew we need your intellect.”

Draco doesn’t quite know what to say. He was sure everybody thought him unhinged; even Luna seemed off around him these days instead of enthusiastically rallying after his theories like she usually would, gradually gravitating toward Granger whenever they’re in the same room.

“Our goals are different; the SCP Foundation wants to keep humanity safe and alive, you want knowledge and just knowledge. But I hope you find yourself in your element while working with us, finally having access to all the information you’ve been working so hard to find out.”

She tilts her head just so, and Draco can tell she knows he likes what he’s hearing. His thirst consumes him, makes him risk, makes him sin. He has to go insane to stay sane. Despite the small price of most likely dying from working with dangerous anomalies at the Foundation no matter how pretty Dr. Stewart advertises it, every cell in his body sings at the chance to know what is lurking beyond the folds of reality.

He thinks of Mother, of Aunt Andy, of little Teddy, of Pansy, of Blaise. The vision of them killed, maimed, snapped from existence because he didn’t do anything to help makes his gut twist, his throat parched. He’d kill himself from the guilt, a well-casted Sectumsempra. He decides.

His goal is no different than the Foundation’s from now on, and he has no qualms about that. With this opportunity, he is free at last, free to do the work he knows is important, to help and change without outside interference.

He is reborn.

Draco’s back straightens, and he moves his wand this way and that, orchestrating a cacophony of tomes and devices to levitate from the heavy bookshelves to the duffle bag he brought along.

“Dr. Malfoy, did I not tell you where you’ll be stationed?”

Draco halts the objects’ action mid-air, staring at Dr. Stewart.

“I was under the impression that I am to be working at Site-91,” he says, “in Yorkshire?”

“As I thought, I forgot something,” Dr. Stewart sighs, the first sign of human imperfection leaking through. She searches through her briefcase, long nails clicking through the files. “Sit down, please, and there’s no need to pack up your belongings.”

Sending the objects back to their original places, Draco takes his seat, brows furrowed. He toys with his wand, a tick he hasn’t been able to be rid of ever since Potter’s returned his wand after years of what seemed to be perpetual emptiness without it.

“There we go,” Dr. Stewart says and flips open a thick, stapled stack of paper. “You are to stay here for the duration of your first assignment. Count yourself lucky, starting work right away.”

“Stay here? But—”

“There is an anomalous individual working here,” she says, hard lines etched on her face. “You will act like you’ve not changed your career and continue to ‘work’ in the Ministry. Because of your proximity, we expect you to gather as much information as possible about him. You can use any method, as long as you stay alive and well to report back to us and receive your salary. Not to worry, we will assist you as this individual is, like most of what we deal with, deadly when pushed.”

She slides the file toward him and settles back against her chair. Draco is admittedly no less surprised than before.

“Wake up and get ready by 6 AM this Saturday, for we’ll come to get you at your house and go to Site-91. There are other information and protocols you need to know, and you’ll also get the equipment suited for this assignment,” Dr. Stewart adds.

Draco has a few questions, but from the way she ends with a close-mouthed smile, he reckons any at all would be regarded as idiotic. Well, at least she told him something.

With a slight sigh, he opens the file. The peculiar layouts and code words fly past him—he’d have to ask for a manual of some kind, Muggle science-y terminology has never been his best suit. However.

“What,” he breathes, leaning close to the file, eyes wide, “what is he—what is—”

However, there are two words he can’t mistake, no matter how sleep-deprived he is or how blind. A name, in fact.

“What is Harry Potter doing in this file?”

“Isn't it obvious?” Dr. Stewart asks, lacing her fingers on her lap. “Think. His lifelong exposure with the Dark Arts and artifacts, how volatile and explosive his power is, and most importantly, how dangerous he is even to the brightest magic users. There’s a reason why we don’t meddle with your kind. You already have the means available to contain certain anomalies, but Potter is different, and we have to step in this time.”

Draco stares at her, then at the name in the file, at the picture attached, slack-jawed.

“The oddity in the mundane, Dr. Malfoy,” Dr. Stewart leans forward, a knowing look on her face. Draco's legs feel like wooden trunks, sunken into the ground. "Get used to it, and get focused. Because if left unchecked, Harry Potter might very well get powerful enough to become a reality bender."

[phoebehalliwell]

Piper/Kyle, except it's an AU where Kyle's parents were never killed by demons, so he lived a perfectly normal, happy childhood and grew up to follow their footsteps into teaching and Kyle's a normal, maybe even a little boring archaeology professor who secretly dreams of having his very own Indiana Jones moment - up until the day he opens some dusty old chest and unleashes a demon that tries to kill him, and he barely gets away only to run into this petite brunette woman who proceeds to blow the demon the fuck up, and Kyle's never believed in love at first sight before, but he's pretty sure he can make an exception for Piper

wait omg mentally stable kyle au okay wait i gotta wrap my head around this kyle but not absofuckinlutely insane whatta picture omg. okay. i feel like he’s still gotta have this belief in the supernatural i feel like that’s a large part of the charm in literally any kyle dynamic with the sisters is Witch Who Gets It and Man Who’s Only Got Raw Data. there’s an appeal to that. seeing things from different angles all that. so we can say kyle ever good at puzzles has taken his parents notes and everything he knows and various texts and kinda pieced together okay magic does exist. but in this au he’s a professor and not an fbi agent so he can’t just walk around saying Magic Is Real because um he needs this job. also he’s never seen it. but like. the data does not like. like. like it’s real man like are you kidding me. and we’ll say he has one normal friend because he’s normal in this au and he’s like okay here me out tho magic is real and his friend is like ......okay. because like. it could be, i guess? i’m not gonna fight you on this. and kyle also definitely read a lot as a kid he reads a lot now and he’s always kinda like. like you know wondered what it might be like to be a man of action not someone stuck behind a desk all day seeing the world through books. so when he starts to see markers of the gathering storm,,, well. these are the times that make a man. he can either be a pussy about it and keep living his life through paper and ink, or he can follow his intuition. blah blah blah this leads him to get kidnapped by pirates which like. excuse me??? and kyle’s kinda kicking himself because he Wanted to be like a character in an adventure book and well like bada bing bada boom you get what you ask for. which. all due respect on his part. is smart enough to outwit them and escape. he might have dropped his wallet there tho. but when he goes back the same route wandering through the thick fog, all he finds is a solid wall of rock. so i guess he’s fucked in that regard. whoops. but!! magic is real. so that’s a dub. digs a little bit more into the blackjack cutting lore, maybe finds the x marks the spot on where their main hideout was, road trip to. seattle? i guess? port city that isn’t san francisco but is more reasonable to drive to that like. nola or boston. and lo and behold he finds it and find their documentation of the gathering storm accidentally trips a booby trap and jesus fucking christ pirate skeletons with sword which - respectfully - kyle is holding his own for the most part, not getting immediately worried, but there’s no way that would have lasted had the three skeletons not been blown to pieces. and he looks over and sees three brunettes and the one in the center is like who the hell are you? to which kyle really feels like He should be the one asking that question but after stammering out some kind of response about how he’s a professor and he was just looking for some soil samples something generic archaeological because hey. he doesn’t trust these women. he doesn’t know what side they’re on. and he’s not just gonna sacrifice the information he has on the gathering storm. and it’s obvious they don’t believe him, but they don’t kill him either. instead, the one in the center just says be more careful where you leave your stuff and tosses his wallet back to him.

and later at the manor paige is like we just let him go?? and phoebe’s like yeah how to we know he’s not a demon? he wouldn’t be the first to pose as a mortal in the mortal world (because phoebe went to the university to return kyle’s wallet because like it has is ID in it employee id all that under the guise of like. giving a lecture to some of the student’s there as the bay’s leading advice columnist oh hey is there a kyle brody here yeah haha he’s a friend of a friend anyone seen him no he’s on vacation right now? left real abruptly? and then immediately went into his office and touched every surface trying to get a premonition (au in which phoebe didn’t get her powers stripped) and concluded that he’s just Some Guy. like he like has friends and a nine to five and an apartment. so a guy). but piper’s like we don’t know. but we also don’t know what he’s up to or what his connection to the pirates was, which is why i cast a tracking spell on the wallet. and both phoebe and paige approve and in this au again phoebe didn’t get her powers stripped so in styx feet under it’s her and paige on mission and as paige is the one who cast the protection spell and as paige is also very stubborn and also refuses to let innocents die she is the one who gets to become death. she also has a very compelling relationship with death because like. she watched her parents die. and she’s prue’s replacement. the replacement for the dead girl. also fun paige/prue parallel! meanwhile right Should state in any piper/kyle au we just extend pleo’s divorce era by having him remain an elder and keeping that early s6 vibe. so piper’s definitely like a bit more neurotic than normal because you know things haven’t gone great for her and those pirates were warning about the gathering storm and honestly that better not be something that’s gonna hurt her boys because she really could not bear to lose another family member so she’s doing some digging which begins to imply that kyle knows more that he let on so where is he now? the university? great.

and kyle’s you know minding his own business in his office when the same woman practically kicks down his door and is like alright i’m gonna ask again who the hell are you and this time you better answer me honestly. to which: wow. like wow. she’s. she’s a force to be reckoned with and also kinda immediately gains points in kyle’s book for like a) kinda confronting him about knowing more because he’s pretty good at covering his tracks all that so if he’s been Found Out it’s by someone good and b) she also disintegrated evil pirate skeletons so like. 👍. But. he does not trust her for shit. no. absolutely not. he has no reason to. but piper’s not yielding blasts a hole in the wall near his head like quickly now or next time i won’t miss but kyle’s so fuckin stubborn he’s like 🤐 and piper’s. i mean, she can’t kill an innocent. she doesn’t know if that’s who he is, but she can’t run that risk. and kyle’s not saying shit, so she leaves.

then it’s the guardian angel episode where the charmed ones are there on instruction (though they don’t know what they’re looking for. maybe they were just scrying for information) and kyle’s there on a hunch and piper and kyle see each other and it’s um. mac charlie see each other from across the room reaction image. both like. what the fuck are you doing here? and in this one paige is still the one to get her guardian angel stolen and piper’s immediately on high alert because you know big sister/mom mode activated. but they don’t know what they’re looking for and kyle’s like it’s her guardian angel. and piper once again snaps to him firey look in her eyes but kyle’s really just trying to place nice here so he’s like guardian angels. they’ve been going missing being stolen whatever. he’s got the research on it. and piper doesn’t want to trust him but paige is really in grave danger. so, as the sister with the offensive power, she’s going with kyle, and phoebe has to make sure paige doesn’t like. pull a grams. (which for the record i do not accept prewitched as canon but like the elders definitely killed grams <3)

so blah blah blah piper’s now and kyle’s place which is ten times worse than his office because this is where he does his real work and he’s got all the guardian angel shit up and out and is explaining it to piper and it’s making sense but what catches her eye is something on the gathering storm that kyle left out now they’re talking about that they’re starting to realize they’re on the same side. blah blah blah save paige. next episodes what werewolf episode. skip. then!! idk paige still runs magic school right so she’s in the library and she calls piper and she’s like hey remember when you told me to keep an eye out on the gathering storm? and piper’s like yes yeah what is it? and she’s like well we’re inventorying the library and we have books on them and piper’s like that’s good news ! ? and paige is like yeah but we’re missing one. book five. in this something something series. and piper knows Exactly where that book is because she fucking saw it on kyle’s kitchen counter. so now she’s barging into kyle’s place which is getting to be a common occurrence at this point and kyle kinda wants to complain but this is by far the most interesting his life’s been ever and honestly? he’d be kinda bummed if piper stopped kicking down his door. wait actually scratch that you want my book no fuck you changed my mind. to which piper’s like look we’re looking for the same goal here right so give me the book because i have the rest of the series and this could be the missing puzzle piece and kyle’s like okay fine i’ve read the book cover to cover give me the rest of the series and i’ll get you your answers and piper’s like okay let’s get things straight here i’m the witch you’re some two bit archeology professor so when it comes to the handling of sacred magical tomes i’ll be taking the reigns here and kyle’s like fine then you won’t be taking the book. and piper’s like wanna bet and the next think kyle knows he’s hearing the door slam his book’s gone and he’s hearing tires peel out onto the street and he has no idea how she did it. 

back at the manor piper’s got her reading glasses on an volume one open and god this fucking sucks. so she makes phoebe take a stab at it and she hates reading it too. paige also starts it and is like respectfully no. piper’s the only one who did the reading in high school. this is her turf. but my god she cannot make it through all eight of these fucking books. So. she calls kyle. he has to come to the manor because there’s no way she’s giving him the books and there’s no way she’s letting him in magic school so. hi. welcome to the house. but!! by a contrived plot device!!!! a gnome has been shot in magic school this book was the only thing at the scene and paige wants to investigate further but she can’t just leave it out there so she brings it back to the manor she’s gonna cast some spell to find out if there are already spells on the book how to reverse it she just needs to find the spell first and like. there’s no way in hell paige ever wears an outfit with big enough pockets to keep the book on her. so she leaves it on the table. to which kyle asks how this is relevant to the collection. to which piper says don’t open that!! whoops. see, this is why i said we don’t let two bit archeology professors near magical books! piper/kyle charmed noir..............

[lovehugsandcandy]

Mermaid Magic (ColtxMC, RoD)

A/N: Apparently, if you want something done, you better do it yourself (note: not done well. just done). Based off the amazing idea where MC is a mermaid and Colt is an idiot from @escanorelyon, here. Thank you for letting me write this and for coming up with such a delicious concept. Anyone, if you want to put your own spin on the idea, I would love to see what you come up with! Tag me!

Pairing: Colt x MC, ROD

Length: ~3,000 words

Rating/Warnings: PG-13 (Swearing?)

Summary: Is the surprise that there’s a mermaid? Or is the surprise that it takes him so long to figure it all out?

The plunge is weightless, terrifyingly familiar, and his swift reentry to earth, via splash into the Pacific so deep his ears roar with the pressure, never fails to take his breath away. As Colt kicks back to the surface, salt water around him churning with every stroke, he can almost pretend it has taken his stress away, a complete distraction from the rationale behind his trip to LA.

He emerges and shakes the sea from his hair, swiping at the water dripping from his nose and tonguing at his tingling lips. It’s peaceful here, tranquil, miles away from the confrontation he knows awaits. The cliff had always been the opposite of his home life, peace instead of strife, calm instead of stress, and the trips had always been a respite from the turmoil of his youth. After being forced to make the leap time and time again, he came to see this place as a haven of solitude, where he could be alone and process whatever shithole situation he was currently in.

A sudden splash to his left makes him realize his thoughts of solitude were ill-informed.

“Hello?” He spins, water rippling around him, eyes darting around the surface to assess whatever danger lay beneath.

But it doesn’t look like danger as a face slowly comes into view, chestnut hair slowly rising through the sea. She blinks at him, eyes glowing almost otherworldly in the sunlight, and she purses her lips. She looks wary, scared, as if he was the one who impinged on her peaceful time. “Hi.”

“How the hell did you get here?” He cranes his neck up at the cliff; there were no other cars there when he arrived and he sure as hell would have heard someone else diving into the water. And it’s inaccessible from the sides, cliff towering over them, steep rock jutting out in treacherous points, against which the Pacific crashed in rhythmic pulses booming into the sea air. “This is my spot.”

Her plush lips fall open. “Your spot?” she sputters incredulously. “Are you kidding me?”

“I’ve been coming here since I was eight.”

“I’ve been coming here forever. You don’t own this spot, you utter buffoon!” She swims closer, glaring at him, and, had he less experience in dealing with the rage of others, he might have stood down; however, her anger only fuels his.

“How did you even get here? I was swimming here first.”

“You don’t own the sea and you were not here first!” Her movements are choppy with anger as she gets closer, but Colt doesn’t retreat, treading water and glaring defiantly back. “I’ve been here…” Her diatribe fades into the surf as he notices that she is being followed, graceful teal fin swimming after her, flapping over the water.

“Umm, “ he interrupts, “something’s behind you.”

“What?” She spins, and the tail does too, swirling around her, too close to be a normal fish. It doesn’t look like a normal anything, swaying just over the waves, matching her every motion movement-for-movement.

His heart stops and, before he can think, he ducks under the water, eyes stinging as he forces them open. It has to be a trick of the light, some weird fever dream. Maybe he died leaping from the cliff. Maybe he isn’t even in LA, instead still lying in his dorm room having talked himself out of this adventure of paternal reunion. Because anything would make more sense than what he was seeing. 

For, in front of his eyes, there is a fucking tail where her legs should be, swirling gracefully and leaving tiny ripples in its wake. The scales glisten, catching the sunlight filtering through the ocean, and it is strangely compelling: unnatural, alien, gorgeous. He opens his mouth and swallows a gulp of salt water, sputtering to the surface to hack and cough and try to get air to his lungs.

When he can finally see again, she is gaping at him, eyes wide, breath coming in uncertain pants. “Wait…” she murmurs weakly, “I can explain-”

“Oh my God.” He can barely believe his eyes but, at the terrified look on her face, he realizes he wasn’t seeing things. “You’re a mermaid.”

~~~~~

The plan had been simple: get to LA, go to the sideshow, have the requisite argument with his father, probably punctuated by a screaming match at the garage, and then fight his way into the crew and prove his worth.

But everything had changed after his leap into the water, when he had met a goddamned mermaid, a fucking sea creature, floating outside the PCH like she belonged in California, not in the dusty tomes of some piece of shit folklore.

Make no mistake, he still wanted to fight his way back into his father’s good graces (assuming Teppei possessed good grace, Colt would be content with begrudging acceptance instead). But now, he was desperate to solve the mystery. He had begged her to stay, voice dipping into embarrassingly weak pleas, but she had panicked and leapt into the waves, tail flitting behind her in a merry farewell as she fled.

He couldn’t let that be the last time he saw her; he had to talk to her again. He was so distracted, wandering around the sideshow with his mind on the sea, that he almost walked straight into a couple, wandering the cars side-by-side and meandering through the crowd.

“Watch where you’re going,” he shot out, halfheartedly, more instinct than conscious thought. 

“You watch where you’re going.” The kid turned, swinging his hair out of his eyes to size Colt up. He rolled his eyes. Did this punk really want to start something here? Of all places?

The girl in front of him stops short as well but, as soon as she turns, she flinches, damp hair settling in haphazard waves around her fine features as she gawks at him, eyes wide. They gleam, large in her face, an almost otherworldly glow from the dance floor strobe lights, and she looks terrified. Colt scoffs; he might rough up her man, but he wouldn’t lay hands on this tiny brunette. He’s not that much of a prick.

She stares at him and takes a deep breath, exhaling loudly as she studies him. He blinks back, waiting, never dropping the gaze. Finally, she speaks. “Ummm....Hi?”

With the sour intensity painting her features, he expected a better opening line. “What? Cat got your tongue, sweetheart?” She’s still staring at him in terror, eyes glassy, face pale. 

“What? Ummm… you don’t…” Her tongue pokes out to wet her trembling lips and he follows the movement before remembering the asshole perched next to her. “You don’t know who I am?”

“Sorry,” he scoffs, already bored. “I don’t pay attention to every single pair of losers that has the audacity to get in my way.” He shakes his head and stalks off, mind already returning to the waves and the shadow of a tail underneath the surface.

~~~~~ 

He is absolutely, completely, world-endingly obsessed.

Colt is no stranger to obsession (motorcycles, video games, reclaiming his place as rightful heir through fists and sweat and blood) but his desperate need to see the mermaid is bordering on insanity. He leaps from the cliff, again and again and again, varying hour of day and day of week based on a detailed spreadsheet he drafted to give him the best probability to see her again. The middle of the day is fruitless, depths of the sea a brilliant reprieve from the sun sweltering overhead, but he doesn’t even notice, feeling only dismay when she doesn’t appear. The middle of the night is no better, moon lighting a solemn path through the trees as its glow echoes softly over the lapping waves, but still no mermaid.

He is starting to lose hope, despair seeping its way into his heart, when he spies a familiar head of hair in the evening sunset.

“It’s you,” he breathes and swims closer, drawn to her in a way that he doesn’t want to examine too hard.

“Hi.”

“I’ve been trying to find you, I’ve been coming here almost every day.”

She rolls her eyes. “Is that where you’ve been going?”

“What?”

“When you take off….” she opens her mouth and closes it again, eyes scrutinizing him as if he were a puzzle to be deciphered and conquered. “This is where you go?”

“What?”

“When you…” she trails off before shaking her head, dismissively. “Never mind. You are an idiot.”

He ignores the insult as he takes her in, the water tracing gentle paths down her features, the tail glowing luminescent behind her, reflecting the waning rays of sun dipping over the ocean. “Who are you? How did you get here? Where are you from?”

“You are really curious about me.” She smiles sanguinely and her tail flips behind her. Colt feels lightheaded.

“You have no idea.” 

“I’m from LA obviously,” she giggles and the tilt of her laugh pulls him closer, legs kicking out until he is treading water directly in front of her.

“What, a secret coven of mermaids hidden in the Hills?”

She laughs and his fingers twitch, aching to reach out and touch the droplet heavy on her cheek. “Covens are for witches.”

“Do you mean the mythical kind? Do they also live in LA? Or are you referring to the lady who runs the bodega on 92nd cuz she is a real witch?”

She laughs again and he would do anything, absolutely anything, to hear the sound again. “I’m sure you may have instigated something there.”

“Maybe…” The smile still plays on her lips; there is so much he wants to ask, so much he needs to know. 

“I can’t believe there are mermaids. Damn.” A sudden thought hits him; he considered this his secret but maybe it wasn’t just his. “Does anyone else know about you?”

“What? I guess…My dad…” She looks past him, gazing far away at something only she can see. “He knows but he…he doesn’t understand what it’s like. What I’m like.”

Her eyes suddenly water with something more painful than the sea and Colt is stuck by the fact that even mermaids have human problems. “Yeah, I get that.”

“I know you do, Colt.”

“Wait...How did you know my name?”

She rolls her eyes, and the sadness vanishes, replaced by the familiar teasing grin, the sense that she knows some secret that he can’t comprehend. “You are a goddamn…It’s mermaid magic, Colt. Mermaid magic.”

~~~~~~

He spends less and less time at the shop.

He’s sure his father is delighted, but he’s also sure Pop harbors secret, unnecessary concerns about his whereabouts. The crew seems the same as when he was shipped out east, as bumbling as ever, but now when he desperately escapes from the crowd, it is with purpose. He yearns to catch yet another glimpse of the girl, tail fleeting in the water, smirk on her face as they banter back and forth.

He isn’t interested in anything but the mermaid. 

Except maybe one thing. One person.

The girl from the sideshow, Ellie, has somehow integrated herself into the crew. At first, he was doubtful, wondering how a careful valedictorian could fit in with a group of hardened thieves, but she seemed to integrate seamlessly into the group, her intelligence a compliment to a crew that was severely lacking.

And apparently even he found it hard to reject her, her toughness and drive reminding him of himself. She’s fast on her feet; they have traded almost infinite barbs, various interchanges and insults, her quick wit keeping pace even with his own. He's also caught her glancing his way, peeking glances from across the shop, interest and confusion painting her face. He looks at her as well, more than he would admit, and he tells himself it is solely curiosity. Sure, she's attractive, but she's also rejecting her cozy home for a shadowed existence in a crew on the edge. Of course, he's curious.

Which is how he finds himself escorting her to her driver’s test which, obviously, she passed with flying colors. Beaming with pride, she insists on using her new paper permit to drive them back to the garage, hands confidently gripping the steering wheel as he watches the highway fly by.

“You know you’re an idiot, right?”

He gapes at her. The insult is familiar; it’s far from the first time she called him that, but it seems rather random this time. “Pot, meet kettle,” he huffs.

“You are just so dumb.” She only smiles wider. “You don’t see what’s right in front of your face.”

“I see another idiot who is gonna waste twenty minutes if she misses the off-ramp.”

”Whatever,” she sighs and dutifully puts her blinker on, plush lips pursing at him. “You think you’re so smart, with your stealthy getaways, your little secret. You’re nowhere near as smart as you think you are.”

“What are you-” His voice fades away as his mind races. How did she know-? She couldn’t know. Right? He hasn’t told anyone about the mermaid, about his trips to the cliff, about flying though the air to find her, waiting for him, wet skin glowing in the setting sun.

“I know you have a secret…” She glances over then quickly averts her eyes to the road. “Maybe I do, too.”

“Ha. Your secret is that you got mixed up in a life of crime.”

“And your secret is even more insane.”

He stares at her, trying to figure out what exactly she knows, but she only winks at him, throwing her car in park. “What are you…” he trails off.

“What’s the one thing you want more than anything?” Her lips play in a sly smirk and he can’t help but incline his head towards her. Colt wants, God, he wants all the time. He is a perpetual raging ball of want, desperate for things he can’t have-access to his father’s life, a place in the crew, the trust of a mermaid-all of it swirling in his mind but, right now, the one thing he wants is to lean even closer, to capture Ellie’s lips in his own and bite at her snarky smile until his name on her lips is the only thing she herself wants.

He inhales, sharp, the desire pulsing through him sharp as a splash of water over his face. He is suddenly as cold as the sea.

“You’ve almost got it,” she inches closer and her eyes positively gleam, brilliantly reflecting the dashboard indicators, and she gives him one last smirk before pulling away, springing out of the seat and slamming the door behind her.

Now that she has moved, Colt feels like he can finally breathe, air rushing into his lungs. It smells slightly of salt, as if the sea breeze had made it all the way to Gramercy Park, even through the closed windows. Strange.

~~~~~

“You are an idiot,” she sings, voice high over the surf.

They splash together in the waves and he peppers the mermaid with questions, most of which she answers in between diving under the surf to pop up behind him, hair swirling as he stutters. Every time they meet up, he has more questions, and she indulges him with a small grin. He has learned that unicorns don’t exist, she has never seen an actual sea monster, and, apparently, her overprotective father is so worried about a human finding out about her that he used to put a GPS locator on her phone.

“But how do you have a phone?”

“Idiot!!! How are you so-urgh!” She blows bubbles through full lips and laughs. “Everyone has a phone.”

“What, you just have a pocket in your tail?” He dives, reaching out to slowly caress the scales under the surface. They are smooth to the touch, like sea glass or river rocks, glowing incandescent in the water. She swats at him, tail flicking playfully, and he swims after it, giving chase until his lungs burn and he needs to emerge, sucking in oxygen.

“I told you, I’m not always a mermaid.”

“So you go to school? Like normal?”

She blinks slowly at him, eyes imploring. “I’m in high school. A senior. I’m gonna be the valedictorian of my class.”

“That’s why you think I’m an idiot, because you’re a nerdy smartypants.”

She rolls her eyes. “Nope. Not why I think you’re an idiot, Colt.”

“Will I ever get to see you as a human?”

“Ummm…” She swallows, hard, and a flash of terror crosses her face. His stomach swoops, deja vu hinting at something in his mind, but she continues before he can examine the sensation. “I don’t know. Can I trust you?”

“I’ve kept your secret so far.”

“You have,” she avers with certainty, nodding to herself. “You have.” She looks around at the ocean, deep in thought and chewing on her lips, before she looks at him resolutely. “Ok. Let’s do this.”

“Now?”

She nods again and ducks under the waves, swimming out in front of him, slowly, so his clumsy human feet can follow her to a shadowy cove hidden in the cliff side. He walks out onto a small strip of sand as she pulls herself up, arms propelling her forward as her tail glistens and picks up damp granules of warm sand.

“Wait here. Close your eyes.”

“Fine,” he huffs but dutifully listens, hearing her slither behind a rock. There’s a quiet rustling, movement, fabric draping over wet skin; he can almost imagine her behind the rock, skin wet from the ocean, salt clinging to every inch his tongue could chase. He swallows the flash of heat down.

“Ok.” Her voice trembles and she sounds intensely nervous, though Colt can’t figure out why. “You can open your eyes.”

He does and, standing right in front of him, the mermaid is clad in jeans and a tank top. Her dark hair is sopping wet as she rings it out, strands tangling over her fingers and draping over her shoulder. He steps closer in shock. “You have legs!”

She blinks at him again, dumbfounded. “You are as dumb as these rocks.”

He is about to retort when she reaches down to grasp a sweatshirt, sliding the familiar blue over her head, rocking back on her heels and crossing her arms right below where the white lettering spells out LANGSTON. 

“Holy shit-”

“I told you you were an idiot.”

“I am so stupid. I am so fucking stupid.”

“Wow, we actually agree on something.” She smiles and he can’t stop his fingers from reaching out to grasp her hips, Ellie’s human hips.

When she kisses him, she tastes like the sea.

.

Tags

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ROD @omgjasminesimone @mskaneko @lovemychoices

Colt

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[mfingenius]

Harry starts with small things.

“Malfoy,” he greets, as they’re passing. To his surprise, instead of insulting him or sneering, Malfoy

merely blinks dazedly and murmurs, “Potter.”

Harry doesn’t know what has changed. When Narcissa Malfoy had showed up at his doorstep asking him

to protect Draco, he’d been convinced she’d gone insane.

There is no way, he’d told her. Malfoy hates me. He’ll never let me help him.

No, Narcissa had said. He doesn’t.

Harry had pointed out that, even if Narcissa were right – which she’s not – he'd never let Harry help him.

She’d agreed, and only said, leave that to me.

Harry has no idea what she did, but the mere fact that Malfoy isn’t jumping at the chance to hex him or

ridicule him means she did something right.

A few weeks into the school year, Harry asks Malfoy if he wants to study with him. Malfoy doesn’t agree,

but he doesn’t laugh at Harry or even question the nature of his actions. He’s been looking odd, lately,

dazed. Harry wonders if his mother put him under an Imperio.

His worry is only increased when Malfoy accidently gets in Ron’s way, Ron says ‘move’, and Malfoy does.

Harry’s not stupid enough to send Narcissa Malfoy an irate letter to Malfoy Manor, but he’s nearly angry

enough to do it.

She sends weekly reports on what has happened at the manor – I'll pass on information, she’d promised,

in exchange of your protection to my son – that set themselves on fire after Harry has finished reading

them. Harry’s not supposed to write back, so he doesn’t.

He focuses, instead, on Malfoy.

Crabbe, Goyle, and Parkinson don’t hang around him anymore. The only person who still hovers

uncertainly is Zabini, and Harry assumes that they’re the only ones who were actually friends. He sees

the worry carefully disguised on his face, how he puts more food on Malfoy’s plate when Malfoy’s

distracted.

“Potter,” Malfoy says, blinking heavily. “What are you doing here?”

Harry’s carrying four tomes on mind-controlling spells – he wants to find exactly what Narcissa Malfoy

used on her son – and standing uncertainly in front of Malfoy’s table.

Befriend him, Narcissa’s voice rings in his head. Convince him he’s safer away from the Manor.

“Can I sit here?” Harry asks. He shuffles uncertainly, but is greatly assured by the fact that Malfoy

doesn’t immediately tell him to go to hell. “This table has the best lighting.”

Harry has no idea if that’s true; it’s just some rubbish Hermione has been repeating for the last six years,

and Malfoy and her are more alike than either of them would like to admit, which is why Harry thinks

that Malfoy’s reason for liking this table is the same as Hermione’s.

“It does,” Malfoy agrees mildly. Then, “Alright.”

Harry sits down.

“What are you reading?” Malfoy asks, looking down at the books Harry’s put on the table. Harry tries to

hide his surprise at Malfoy willingly starting conversation. “That’s... a pretty questionable choice of

topic.”

Harry flushes. “I’m not trying to use it on somebody. I’m just...”

“You want to be prepared,” Malfoy tilts his head in agreement, and Harry nods, relieved at having an

excuse outlined for him.

“Yes,” He says. “I don’t want to have any of these used against me.”

“There’s not going to be anything good there,” Malfoy says. His own book – a heavy tome on fixing

malfunctioning spells – is open on his lap instead of the table. “If you want to know the sorts of things

You-Know-Who is using, you’ll need things from the Restricted Section, not something a first year can

check out.”

“I’m not quite... looking there, yet.” Harry says carefully. He wants to think that whatever Narcissa used

on her son is relatively harmless. “I want to be as informed as I can on the subject.”

Malfoy hums and goes back to his reading.

They don’t say a word for the rest of the afternoon, but Harry counts it as a win.

*

Harry makes sure to study with Malfoy at least three times a week. He doesn’t do it every day because

he doesn’t want to scare Malfoy away – if that’s even possible in the mellow, distant state that he’s in –

and hopes no one catches on that there’s something different.

Of course, that’s a crappy plan. He should’ve really gone to Hermione before starting this.

“What the fuck do you want with Draco, Potter?” Zabini’s wand is drawn but it’s not yet pointed at

Harry. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you watching him, or hanging around him.”

“I want us to get along,” Harry says mildly. It's not a lie.

“You’ve never been interested in that before.” Zabini says. “You want something from him.”

���No, I don’t.” Harry says. “And I don’t see why I can’t suddenly be interested in him.”

Zabini frowns. “Do you want to fuck him? Is that it? Because believe me, Potter, Draco has much more

important things to worry about than you and your prick-”

“No!” Harry says, horrified. “I don’t want to fuck him. I wouldn’t - that’s not – no.”

Zabini snorts. “Sure, Potter, keep telling yourself that.”

*

Harry can’t stop thinking about Zabini’s question. Does he want to fuck Draco? He doesn’t think so. At

least not yet. But he can’t deny that Draco’s attractive, and, now that he’s not insulting him, he’s quite

nice to be around.

He begins hanging around Draco – because he’s Draco now, and it’s something Harry never thought

would happen – more often, and they develop a fragile sort of friendship. Malfoy still won’t tell him any

personal stuff – so Harry hasn’t brought up running away from the Manor – but he doesn’t seem to find

Harry’s presence odd anymore, and he’s even smiled because of something Harry has done or said

twice.

It’s very big progress, Harry thinks.

They’re in November when Draco first tells him anything real.

“I want to go,” He whispers. They’re sitting in the Quidditch pitch after a match, and it’s all but emtpy. “I

want to leave.”

“Leave?” Harry asks. “To your dorm? Are you tired?”

Draco nods. “I’m so tired.”

Harry doesn’t think they’re talking about the same thing.

“Of what?” he asks, carefully.

“This. All of it.” His voice lower and he sounds young, like a child. He is a child. They both are, they’re

only sixteen. “I want to - I'm scared, Harry.”

“Of what?” Harry presses.

“You-Know-Who.” Draco says. “What he’s going to do to me.”

He doesn’t say anything more on the subject, and Harry doesn’t push.

*

There’s a definite change after that. Draco trusts him a lot more, and Harry finds himself trusting him,

too. They actually talk about things and Harry doesn’t mind Draco’s wit anymore. In fact, he misses it. He

hates the vacant, distant haze that Draco’s being kept in.

He floos Narcissa Malfoy about it. They set the time and place properly so that she won’t get caught,

and Hary doesn’t even say hello before saying, “What did you do to Draco?”

Narcissa raises a brow. “I wasn’t aware you were on a first name basis with my son. And I thought you

didn’t care for him.”

“You told me to befriend him.” Harry says. “I did. Did you Imperio him?”

“Do you think I would use an unforgivable on my son?” Narcissa asks.

Harry doesn’t know what she wouldn’t do, if she thought it were for Draco’s wellbeing.

“It’s not an Imperio.” She says, when Harry doesn’t answer. “It’s a potion. On the chocolates I send him.”

Harry doesn’t know if that’s worse.

“You should stop putting it in them.” Harry tells her. “We’re friends now. I can convince him of leaving

without the potion.”

He’s not certain he can, but he doesn’t think he can take the dull edge on Draco’s eyes anymore.

“Are you certain?” Narcissa asks. “You should take this decision knowing that both your life and my

son’s hang in the balance. If you fail...”

Harry knows what will happen if he fails. He read up on Unbreakable Vows before he agreed to

Narcissa’s plan.

“I’m sure.” He says.

*

The change is noticeable. Draco’s sharp edges come back – the sneers, the glares, the wit – but it’s not

as it was before. Even though he’s not on the potion anymore, he remembers everything that happened

while he was, and he treats Harry like a friend. He trusts him.

There are no more slurs, no more biting insults. The sarcasm, the glares – they're playful.

Harry loves it.

And then comes the anxiety.

He’d researched the potion after Narcissa had given him the name, and he knows that it kept Draco in a

compliant state, mellow and mild where nothing really mattered and everything was grey. Now that it’s

gone, the stress of everything that’s happening seems to be crashing down on him. He stops eating and

he stops sleeping and Harry can see the worry on Zabini’s face more clearly now and he knows it’s

mirrored on his own.

He needs to find a way to make this better, now.

*

He doesn’t come up with the plan until after the winter holidays. Draco comes back from them looking

hollow and distant, and it’s not because of a potion. Harry knows it’s an emergency.

“What are we doing here, Harry?” Draco asks. He's fidgeting anxiously, and Harry fights the urge to place

his hands on his waist to still him. That's another thing that’s changed. Ever since Narcissa stopped

putting the potion in his food, he began being him again, and now Harry’s entirely certain he has a teeny

tiny crush.

Okay, a little bigger than tiny. A lot bigger than tiny.

“We,” Harry says. “Are not doing anything. You are going to sleep.”

Draco huffs and rolls his eyes. “I don’t have time for this-”

“Yes, you do,” Harry says, firing a locking spell at the door of the room of Requirement. Draco raises his

eyebrows at him, unimpressed. “You need to sleep, and I'm not letting you leave until after you’ve taken

a nap.”

“I’m not a child,” Draco says petulantly.

“If treating you like one is what keeps you alive,” Harry says with a pointed look at Draco’s ribs. They've

been showing more lately, and there are dark bags under his eyes. Harry hates looking at them. “Then

it’s what I'll do.”

Draco huffs again and crosses his arms. They have a staring contest, and Draco looks away first. He huffs

again but uncrosses his arms, crossing the room to lie stiffly on the bed there.

“There,” he says, glaring at Harry. The effect is greatly undermined by the relief showing on his face, the

way his hair fans out on the pillow. “Are you happy?”

“Not until you sleep.” Harry says.

Draco makes a complaining noise on the back of his throat and turns away from Harry. After half an

hour, he turns back to him again, looking frustrated.

“I can’t sleep.” he complains.

“Why not?” Harry asks from where he’s sitting, fiddling with his wand. “You look ready to drop.”

Draco scowls and stays quiet for a while.

“I - have nightmares.” he admits quietly. “I can’t sleep because I don’t want to - I can’t - I don’t want to

have them again.”

Harry immediately softens. He has his fair share of nightmares about Voldemort, and he’s never lived

with him.

“Would it help if I stayed here with you?” he asks.

“You’d be willing to sleep with me?” Draco looks at him with a guarded expression that doesn’t quite

conceal the hopefulness of his tone.

It wasn’t what Harry meant, but he nods. “If it would help.”

“We can – we can try.” Draco says. “I’d like to try.”

So they do.

*

Naps in the room of requirement become a common occurrence. Harry doesn’t want to admit it, but he

sleeps better with Draco in bed than he has in years. The summer is getting closer, and he knows he has

to mention to Draco the idea of running away before it’s too late.

“I want you to come with me.” He blurts with no preamble.

“What?” Draco asks, frowning. He’s staring down at his book, but he’s not reading. He seems to have

been lost in thought for a while now.

“I want you to come with me.” Harry repeats. “In the summer. You’re not safe at the manor, and we can

stay in Grimmauld place, and-”

“Harry,” Draco interrupts lightly. “I want that. More than anything.” Harry’s chest swells with happiness.

“But I can’t abandon my mother at the manor.”

“She’s not defenseless.” Harry points out. “She’s protected you for this long, hasn’t she?”

“Protected me?” Draco asks.

Fuck.

“You’re alive.” Harry says. “I assume she has a lot to do with that.”

“She does,” Draco admits. “But it’s mutual. If I – if I don’t do as he says, he’ll kill her.”

“But if you go back there it’ll be a cycle!” Harry exclaims. “You do as he says, he lets you live a little

longer. Then there’s another task, or another order, and eventually there will be something you can’t do

and that’s it!”

“I can’t focus on that.” Draco says, swallowing. “I have to focus on surviving right now.”

“But isn’t there something-” Harry begins, frustrated.

“No!” Draco says. “You’re not listening. He’s - there’s no way out of this unless I’m dead. That’s it. That’s

the only way.”

Harry freezes.

“Did you hear me?” Draco asks impatiently. “There’s no way.”

“There’s a way.” Harry says. “But I need you to believe in me. Do you trust me?”

Draco nods without hesitation.

*

Draco Malfoy dies the day before they go back home for the Holidays. It’s a showy ordeal, if Harry’s

quite honest. A cursed gift, given to him during dinner. There's not even a body.

Narcissa Malfoy is beyond herself in grief, it is said, and so is Blaise Zabini.

When Harry last sees him, Zabini knocks his shoulder into Harry’s.

“Take care of him,” he murmurs.

Harry will.

*

“Finally,” Draco drawls, when Harry walks through the door of Grimmauld. Hermione and Ron are close

behind him, and they both stare with wide eyes. “Honestly, Harry, I was about to start setting things on

fire with how bored I was.”

Harry hums. “I don’t think that would be the best way to cope with boredom.” He grins. “After all, you

are dead now. I think bored comes with the job description.”

Draco scowls, but he can’t quite manage to hide his relief. “Ha-ha, funny.” he shifts nervously. “So, it

worked then?”

Harry nods. “Everyone believed it.”

“And my mother?” Draco asks nervously.

“I warned her, before.” he says. “She knows.”

“Harry?” Ron squeaks. “What is this? Why is Malfoy here? Is he a ghost?”

Harry grins.

“Nope,” Draco drawls. “Alive and well, Weasley, as much as you’d like me otherwise.”

“Harry, what’s going on?” Hermione asks, voice hilariously high.

“We’ll explain.” Harry says.

He starts from the beginning.

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

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[pandoraashes]

Yo to the past from future Dax! Damn it’s been a wild ride, still surprised I survived it all. I know you have a lot of questions but since present Dax has no fucking clue what’s going on, I’m writing from the future after I figured it all out. Strap in!

So, its February 14th 2001, when yours truly was born as Daxion Karlos! Magical right? Nah I’m joking, I won’t go into that much detail. The important thing you need to know is that my parents were into the dark arts. Two total humans, not a drop of demon blood in them, but they were hardcore into the dark shit. I was conceived (gross) during some ritual they were performing with their coven. I was born into it, praying to the coven’s gods and goddesses, performing rituals and spells, dressing the part. I loved it; it was my life. Until Sayla was born in November 2006. That was when it all changed, my new purpose in life was to keep her safe and happy.

All through school I was the weird creepy witch boy which became the weird punk emo kid in High School. Dressing in all black, threatening to curse people, listening to Avenged Sevenfold and Asking Alexandra and Black Veil Brides, and being every one’s bad boy crush. If their lucky it becomes more than a crush. But I’m not here to list my conquests, which is a lot.

Anyway, what was I saying? Right, Sayla! She is a total cutie, bright blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes, a little bundle of sunshine in my life. I dedicated my life to protecting her! I made her protection charms, threatened to curse any boy that talked to her, sent curse bags to her bullies, and asked the demons to help her whenever I wasn’t around. She loved it, being a dark princess was her dream. And I treated her as such, spoiling the shit out of her. Of course, my parents did as well, the whole coven treated her like a goddess come to life.

Years pass and I’m 19 off at college, approved by the coven, and Sayla is 14 going into High School. I get a panicked call from her, telling me there’s a boy at school that is obsessed with her. He’s leaving creepy notes in her locker, sending her pictures of himself and of her at home, and won’t leave her alone. I quickly make my way back home and have a meeting with the coven. They agree that he is messing with a vessel of a dark goddess and must pay.

We grab the old ritual tome and find a summoning spell for a protection demon. The ritual is set up on the next new moon, Sayla is placed in the center and I am the caster, with our parents and the rest of the coven assisting. I recite the old texts, lighting the candles, and cuts into my palm and Sayla’s, sealing the bond. Suddenly the room fills with smoke, coming from the symbols we painted onto the floor. All the candles go out as I grab Sayla to protect her. None of the rituals or spells I’ve ever seen done have reacted like this! Sayla starts screaming and pointing, when I follow her finger, I see a grotesque demonic form climb up out of the floor. “Where is my prey?” It growls into the room.

The cut on my hand burns and I fall to the ground screaming in pain. The demon grins at me, then attacks. My body is locked up, unable to move, I couldn’t even close my eyes. I was forced to watch…watch the demon I summoned to protect my sister…maul my parents to death…then rip Sayla apart, dropping her head at my feet. It starts laughing and painting the walls with blood. A rage I never felt before filled my entire being, body and soul. I screamed, somehow broke the hold it had on me, and ran at it! Grabbing up the ritual knife and stabbing into the demon. It growled and turned on me, claws ripping into my flesh, but I didn’t care. I kept stabbing as it clawed me, but neither of us knew the consequences of a summoned demon killing its summoner.

As I felt my life leaving my body, a red flash of light came from the demon. It burst into flames and melted away. I smiled, thinking I had taken it out with me…but I couldn’t be that lucky. The red light, instead of going out, drifted into my body. My body burned! It burned like a thousand fiery suns! My body changed then…I became something called a Soul Demon. An extremely rare form of demon, when a dead demonic soul occupies a dying human body it mixes together into one creature. A chain with a lock appeared on my neck, locking me into this fate.

The madness of the demonic soul and the rage that was my last moments as a human collided into pure Hell. I still don’t really remember my time in the darkness of that day, but I know I caused a massacre. Every member of my coven died at my hands, and once that was done, I moved through the town just killing anyone I saw. Finally, a group of Hunters stopped me and locked me up to face execution. In that cell I was able to calm down and I came to, with no memory of who I was and what had happened.

Those Hunters told me I was a murderous demon and asked my name. All that came to my mind was Dax Sin. I mean I was close, Dax Sin…Daxion…almost had it. I hung there for hours feeling absolutely insane and trying to figure out my existence. Then the doors opened and a man in a red coat appeared. I assumed he was there to finally kill me. He said his name was Al Wolfguard, a 1000 and something year old wolf demon and he knew what I was. Surprisingly, he was right, he knew I was a Soul Demon and that the breed is rare. He didn’t know how it happened, but he was willing to help me find out. I agreed to leave with him and that was the day I joined The Wolf Pack.

The Hell didn’t end there though because I couldn’t be that lucky. Little did I know at the time Sayla had been chosen by the Guardian Angels to become one of them. I was a threat to them, and they wanted to send her to watch over me. But Sayla didn’t know their real plan, for her to drive me to kill myself. Sayla visited me one night, coming into my dreams and putting images there. The images tormented me for weeks until finally pushing me to an intense panic attack. The Wolf Pack did their best to help me, true friends they were. But these images of this girl didn’t make any sense to them either, nor the nightmares I was having, or the flashes of this girl I would get around corners and at the edges of my vision. I was just slowly going insane.

Don’t blame Sayla for this please, she didn’t know what she was doing. She wanted to help, she wanted us to be together again. But I can never get that lucky. You’ve been with The Wolf Pack 5 months now Dax, still a baby demon in their eyes and you are just descending further into madness. But they are your lifeline, they will stand by you and do their absolute best to help you. Trust in them and Kenway, for your own sanity please…ignore the callings from the darkness…for Sayla’s sake…don’t break that lock.

(This backstory is for Dax Sin a character from my TikTok’s for the JAHunters universe, check the tags, for more information about Dax Sin check his bio)

[androzapetaro]

— && guests may mistake me as ( arón piper ), but really i am ( leandro 'andro' zapetaro + male + he/him/his ) and my DOB is ( 10/31/1997 ). i am applying for the ( hr ) position as part of the EHP and would like to live in suite ( #220 ). i should be hired because i am ( + ambitious, organized & perceptive  ), but i can also be ( - loud, vulgar & confrontational ) at times. personally, i like to ( read, play cards, street race & practice martial arts ) when off the clock, but that won’t interfere with work. thank you for your consideration!

tw: knife mention, minor religious mentions, drugs, drug overdose, death 

hello my lovelies, it’s jess, back with another kiddo for ya’ll to love on. 

i also am fully aware there is a lot of information about andro’s brother in here, but it’s important to his character development. also i love to ramble. 

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

leandro zapetaro was born in brooklyn new york on halloween of 1997. he was a bit of a surprise to his parents, enrique and catherine, who already had two children, lucia and manuel, who were 10 and 8 respectively when he was born, but that didn’t mean he was loved any less. his parents are still together to this day, and they have a very happy healthy relationship with each other (even through the tragedy that happened to the family when leandro was 13).

enrique and catherine met while catherine was on a mission trip to el paso with her church, and in a whirlwind of a romance they were married within three weeks of meeting. leandro has always thought of his parents story as slightly insane, but it’s worked for them for this many years, and he doesn’t question it at all. for the first five years of their marriage, enrique and catherine lived with their two young children in del rio, texas. enrique worked in the booming housing industry while catherine worked as a secretary in a health care office. the family made it work through financial struggles but when enrique was offered to oversee a new apartment building development in brooklyn, the salary was too good to turn down. so within a year the zapetaro family was moving nearly two thousand miles to start a new life in a city none of them had ever been in. 

just another year later, leandro was born, he was a pleasant surprise to his parents and siblings (lucia was eight and manuel was six at the time). growing up he did lots of following his brother and sister around, wanting always to be in their business and asking them to play with him constantly. 

life was good for the family in brooklyn, they were doing very well in their new home in the city. the kids and catherine and enrique were making friends, it truly felt like brooklyn was the place the family belonged. they really were thriving. 

on a trip to the grocery store, catherine and leandro met elena and nico delgado. the two five year olds hit it off quite quickly in the aisle while their mothers talked their mom talk. catherine invited elena and her son over for dinner and after that they were apart of the family. leandro and nico became best friends, near inseparable all throughout their childhood and schooling. despite their children not being in brooklyn anymore, catherine and enrique still have elena over for dinner once a week, there’s no getting rid of family dinner for the zapetaro’s. 

the years went on without much turning south for the family, a job change for catherine, their daughter becoming a teenager with a bit of an attitude, but it all leveled out for them. they were counting blessings every day for the move they’d made to the city, how it’d helped them and made them all closer. 

tw: drugs

when leandro was twelve, though, when his sister started dating jett tomes. being eighteen at the time, lucia didn’t care what her parents thought of her dating a twenty five year old, it was her life and she was going to be with the person she wanted to. unfortunately, the person she wanted to was a heavy drug user, hard drugs; cocaine, heroine, any kind of prescription pills he could get his hands on. jett was also involved in some crime sprees around brooklyn; breaking and entering, vandalism, robberies; needless to say her parents were far from thrilled about her involvement with jett, and the fights absolutely blew up in the home. lucia would be gone for days on end without coming home, only worrying enrique and catherine further. the last thing they wanted for their daughter was to watch her go down any of the same paths jett had gone down. still, despite the arguments and the pleading, lucia continued her involvement with jett. 

leandro, being so young, did his best to stay out of any fights the family had, he would call nico on the phone while they argued or watch tv, whatever he had to do to drown out the fighting, he would. it didn’t make sense to him. he didn’t fully understand what jett was doing, but he knew if his parents asked him not to do something, he’d not do it, so it confused him that his sister continued to rebel the way she did. 

manuel, on the other hand, was a soft spoken boy, not nearly as loud or excitable as his two siblings and he absolutely adored his older sister. he wanted her to be happy, and if jett made her happy he didn’t understand why his parents wanted to take it away from her. so, manuel made an effort to speak to jett, talk to him when he could. it was casual, nothing out of the ordinary until jett text messaged him out of the blue while lucia was at work to as if he wanted to hang out. manuel had never spent time with jett alone, but it didn’t feel like a bad thing to do, maybe he could get to the bottom of whatever his parents didn’t like about the man, right? 

after that, jett and manuel grew closer. manuel liked jett, he thought jett was nice and funny, and it really did confuse him as to why his parents were so against this man. jett became somewhat of an older brother to manuel, too, and manuel was blind to the manipulation that was going on. jett really thought if he got in good with their son, the zapetaro’s would lay off him and their daughter. 

which did not happen. 

tw: drug overdose, death

one afternoon while manuel and jett were hanging out, jett finally brought the drugs out. he’d been itching for a fix all afternoon, and while he never did the drugs in front of the younger boy, manuel knew that jett was an addict, and didn’t particularly care as long as nothing happened to his sister. shooting himself up with herion, jett vedged out on the couch while manuel sat next to him. he wasn’t uncomfortable, but he felt like maybe he was missing out on something. asking jett what it felt like to be high was the first step, and before he had time to really even process what was going on, a needle was going into his arm. herion. and a lot of it was injected into manuel’s body and it immediately reacted, in his cloudy state, jett had basically doubled the amount of drugs he’d usually inject into his own body into manuel’s, forgetting that the sixteen year old did not have a tolerance for it the way he did. 

manuel’s body was limp on the couch when his sister showed up at jett’s apartment. jett was making spaghetti o’s. lucia immediately called 911 and sobbed on the phone to the operator that her brother had overdosed. but the phone call to her parents was even harder. 

leandro was left at nico’s home while his parents rushed to the hospital for their son. 

manuel was in a coma for four days before he passed away. 

watching his brother be buried in the ground changed something inside of leandro. he decided that first of all, he would never, ever do drugs. then he decided that he was going to live his life to the absolute fullest in honor of his brother. he wouldn’t let a minute slip by unnoticed, he would be happy, and that was the promise he made to manuel before he walked away from the casket in the ground. 

after his brothers death, two things happened. first; lucia left brooklyn in favor of her home town of del rio. though her parents didn’t blame her for manuel’s death, she carried the guilt of it so heavily on her shoulders she couldn’t look at her parents. she hasn’t spoken to them since. and second; catherine and enrique became very protective of leandro. he had a strict curfew and wasn’t allowed to go pretty much anywhere where there wasn’t adult supervision. he understood, but as a teenager who was doing his best to live life to the fullest, it was a bit frustrating. he respected his parents, but still longed for college and the freedom that came with it. 

graduating from high school leandro was happy to stay in new york, being accepted to hunter college in manhattan, it wasn’t too far from his family and friends, (specifically nico who he was keeping a close eye on after the bell tower) and there was still the level of freedom he was looking for. he began going to parties at frats and homes in the area and actually found he didn’t like it as much as he thought he would. he didn’t mesh with the party scene, it was a little too superficial for him. 

it was because he didn’t like parties that he found a different group of people he did enjoy, he did feel like he fit in with, he’d heard about a street race happening on the far side of the city, and without thinking about it, he went. he loved cars, he had since he was a little boy. he thought they were fascinating, so a street race was practically heaven for him. it started with him just going to the races, yelling and cussing from the sidelines until he decided to find a way into the actual action. for three months he worked his ass off to save up for a dump of a car to fix in a friends shop. he was basically being paid in labor to fix up other customers cars and be able to fix his own on his down time, and he was perfectly okay with that. 

when his car was finally ready, and it was time to race, he stalled at the starting line and lost his first go around. from there on he decided he was going to be the best. he took another four months to fix up his car again, adding details and extras that would help him win, and when he raced again, he won. and that twelve thousand dollars went right into more modifications for his car. 

after that second race, he kept winning, he traveled to surroundings states and races that were happening and he won every single one of them. the money he saved went into buying a car that was already race-ready, and for that he was thankful. he added a few extras in the autobody shop himself, but the car was ready to go by the next race in new york. 

he’s won thirty two races since he started. and also won roughly four hundred thousand dollars too. and most of it is in his savings. 

still, while he was racing and working at the autobody shop, leandro was keeping up with his classes and getting good grades doing so. he wasn’t one to half-ass anything. and he wanted to graduate early, four years felt too long when he could be doing something else. he went to school year round, getting his degree officially in december of 2019. while human resources wasn’t his first choice and he’d been going for a business degree knowing there was so many things he could do with it, hr fell into his lap. he found he was more interested in the subjects involving employee relations and timekeeping, information he wanted was skipped over and he wound up switching majors in his freshman year of college. 

upon graduating, he was placed in an office as an human resources assistant at a law firm in manhattan. he liked it enough, but most of his co workers were older, wanted things done in ways they’d been done before and leandro was looking for an excuse to find another job. 

the excuse came in the form of his best friend calling him to convince him to move to chicago, that the hr position at the hotel he worked at had opened up and he was going to put in a good word. that was enough for him. 

he gave his two weeks, settled things with his parents at home and got his life together, moving from new york for the first time in his life. 

he arrived in chicago on june 3rd, 2020. 

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

his brothers death is something that has seriously impacted his relationships with people. he wishes he could have gotten to know his brother more and just like his philosophy with life, he doesn’t waste time with people

he works in hr, but he’s probably a little too vulgar and crass for it. he can absolutely handle employee relation matters delicately, he has no problem with being sensitive and ethical, but in every day conversation with other employees he will drop many, many cuss words

he is a car boy. he can hear an engine rev and almost always accurately guess the year the car was made, and occasionally it’s body type 

he speaks spanish regularly, especially to his parents and nico 

he is bisexual

leandro is an avid smoker, his father also smokes so it’s just something he grew into as he got older. marb reds are his go to because “vapes are for pussies”. 

he’s a fucking bottomless pit, put food in front of him and he’ll eat literally all of it, and literally whatever it is. his only dislike is raw onions. cooked onions? sure. onion rings? absolutely. but not raw onions. 

he’s very loud. i don’t think this man ever learned what a whisper is. you want to be nosy about an employee relations matter? go right ahead the door might be closed but you can hear at least half of the conversation. 

he carries a pocket knife on him at all times. 

he still occasionally hears from his sister, they talk every few months and he’s in the process of trying to convince her to talk to their parents again

speaking of his parents he is still close with them and respects them like crazy. still thinks their relationship is a blessing while being the most wild story in the world. 

he has “always respect women above anything” energy 

he drinks casually, but not excessively. he likes to keep himself aware of his surroundings so catch him at the bar capping himself at a beer and a mixed drink. 

he’s got pretty bad vision and wears contacts every day for work but will wear his glasses casually, too  

he reads before he falls asleep every night

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

wcs ;; i’m still sort of working out my wcs for him but here’s a few

someone he runs into at a race casually? 

car buds - just another person who loves cars as much as he does 

enemy - they just don’t vibe

a hook up or two 

[fuwafuwamedb]

A Cure From Nippur Pt 7 (Hakuno, Gilgamesh)

They moved through the temple slowly. The windows to the outside world were shrinking as they made their way through the space. Pieces of fine clay and pigment had been broken into pieces, arranged along the hallway walls in a way that created a colorful mosaic of sorts.

Images of a grand warrior holding his arms open, beseeching to the glorious bird with the head of a lion before him. Images of a maiden sitting amongst herds of cows and goats came soon after.

There were images of a great darkness overtaking the wildlife setting. The pictures continued, drawing her eyes more than the priests that led her through the halls.

She frowned as the tiles turned to deeper reds and bolder colors. The faded image of the maiden in the field turned to a meeting of the beseeching man and the fair maiden. War colors came to the images. She could see bodies-

“Princess.”

Hakuno turned her gaze to the man before her, blinking a moment before she straightened herself.

She had been leaning forward to look at the pictures for so long that she had distracted herself from the matters at hand.

A personal goddess.

Her father had done this before with her. Her brother had chosen the god Enlil for himself, choosing a future beseeching the god of destinies for advice and wisdom. When he had found his god, the king had turned to her next, hoping she would turn to one of the other gods. Perhaps Baba for healing. Maybe Aya so that she would love a man in the same way that the goddess loved her husband, Utu.

But she had turned away from them.

She hadn’t liked the practices. She had hidden behind her brother as long as she could, finding freedom in helping him with ruling.

Until this had occurred.

Truthfully, she hadn’t paid the gods much heed before. Her knowledge of any of the gods was slim and her knowledge of individual names like Ninsun were an entire mystery.

“She will meet with you in a moment. She was fixing her headdress when I left her,” the priest informed her.

“…Thank you.”

The priest closed the door behind her without another word.

Her eyes drifted over the new room now, trying to decide how to proceed.

She was given to the king of Uruk at this point. Running would be insulting to the king and would possibly end with him going to war with Nippur. If she turned down the goddess, there was a chance that the goddess would smite her, ending with war happening.

She didn’t want a personal goddess though.

Each of the ceremonies she had seen her brother perform for the gods was overly friendly, forcing him to give more and more of himself over. To think that the gods would demand sacrifices of time and energy, even when the person was ill…

“You came quickly.” The door nearby closed as Hakuno turned around. She could see the woman moving into the room.  “You are already adorned in the Uruk palace colors and treasures, I see.”

That may have been the case, but she still was herself. She still belonged to herself.

“Well then,” the goddess moved to sit down in the throne positioned in the center of the room. “Come pray, child. We shall see if you are worthy of being given my protections.”

She wasn’t ready for this.

The goddess leaned back in her seat, smirking knowingly and motioning her forward.

However, all she saw was more of what she had just gotten away from. In fact, the king and this woman looked horribly alike. Same red eyes. Same golden hair. They had the same damn smirk too.

My life has turned into a mess.

“Come child, we don’t have all day. The king relies on you to alleviate his pain, does he not?”

Her feet carried her slowly before the woman, her eyes drifting up to her face before the woman motioned for her to kneel.

“I-I don’t know what to do,” Hakuno confessed.

“Hmm?”

The blonde stared at her, one eyebrow arching a little as she seemed to try to understand whether or not she was being honest.

“I-I don’t know how this works.” She motioned between them. “I didn’t study about the gods, I just know what my handmaidens and the servants talk about. I know Enlil handles matters related to fate and Enki makes things and Nanna is the moon and Utu the sun-“

“You exaggerate them. Their talents lie in many directions. Your organizing like like a child with colored pigments.”

She nodded, closing her eyes.

“Well?”

“I don’t know what you are a goddess of and I don’t know how to perform this ceremony. I came here to stop an insane king who was preying on my people’s maidens. I came here to resolve trouble between my people and those of Uruk.”

“You have no people. Uruk is your people and your kingdom.”

She knew that.

Gods, but she knew that and she wasn’t sure what she could even do. She was a pet in the palace, sitting like a mutt at the feet of their king. She tried to gain ground, negotiate her own welfare with an assistant to the king, but instead found herself giving away everything. She had cheapened herself through that negotiation.

And now she was tying herself to the king and standing before a goddess that could probably smite her with brimstone and fire. She could have been goddess of the underworld with Ereshkigal for all she knew.

“You are near tears,” the goddess cooed.

“I can’t go home to Nippur,” Hakuno told her. “I can’t have the people that grew around me. I cannot see to the children of Nippur nor to the elders who need a gentle hand and guidance. My brother must rule Nippur alone and my father is aging. I couldn’t do as requested and I served no purpose in the end, but to come be taken by the king of Uruk.”

Of course she was near tears after that.

Everything of meaning had been stripped away.

And it would have happened, even if she had not come to Uruk. A month’s time had done nothing but let her be the weaver of her own fate. She’d given herself, rather than the bridal market handing her over.

Hating Gilgamesh for putting her into this position was so easy though.

“Come here,” the goddess bid her again.

Hakuno stepped forward, finding her face cupped in the hands of the goddess. Ninsun, her name had been, was looking up into her face, smiling softly.

“Did you love the children in Nippur?”

“They are the future people of Nippur,” Hakuno told her. “I often played their games and read to them from the tomes in the palace libraries.”

“And the elders?”

“They are people who worked and strived to provide for the wellbeing of Nippur. They used their years to give for the people and should be treated with the love and care that they deserve.”

The goddess smiled more, stroking her hair a little. “What do you want out of this life, little former Nippur princess?”

“I want…”

She frowned at that.

She didn’t really want to go home, not to be sold to another noble or king. The assistant had not lied when she had spoken of the treatment of women. She would be a lesser being to whomever purchased her. Whether it was Gilgamesh or another, she would always end up at their feet.

“I want… I want to be a partner to someone.”

She wanted the chance like she had held in Nippur, where she could help make decisions and she could bring about change that let the people know that she cared for them. She wanted to have someone at her side that saw value in her, that strove to make her better.

“A partner,” Ninsun repeated. “How very cunning.”

It was a basic desire, she wanted to say.

But the goddess pressed her lips to one of her hands. “Then I think we shall suit one another well, you and I. The inks are simple enough. Come with me.”

She lay on the altar for a while, her hair brushed over her shoulder a moment before they began.

Slowly, with the goddess distracting her, she found her personal goddess’ mark being left upon her. Her eyes closed while it occurred. Her mind wandered over what she could do to improve her situation.

But nothing was coming to mind.

“You are done.” Ninsun helped her to her feet once more, kissing her forehead and cheeks. “If you have need for me, you may pray at any of the altars in the palace. I shall always hear. Although Ishtar may be the patron goddess of Uruk, my word takes precedence over hers.”

“Thank you, my goddess.”

The woman tilted her chin up, making her meet her gaze.

“Your situation is not as bleak as you think, my daughter. While you may not have the same children or the same elders, the Uruk people worked just as hard and the children are young and in need of guidance and love. To turn away these people because they are not from the land you were born in would be to say that their lives hold no meaning.”

“I found the king because I know every life has meaning,” Hakuno told her.

“And you are rewarded with being the Queen consort of Uruk,” Ninsun pointed out. “Your gentle heart and your determination have rewarded you a king whom none could claim.”

That was because the king was cursed.

Had he not been in need of a soulmate…

“Could you stop the curse on the king?” Hakuno asked.

“The curse is stronger than I can handle, but you will find a way to free him from it permanently,” the goddess replied simply. “Give your time with the king a chance to make things clear.”

She was escorted back to the front doors. Her body began to ache where the red lines crossed over her skin.

Once more, she found the ribbon tied around hers and Gilgamesh’s hand, the man relaxing as he touched her once more.

“You took your time.”

“It was a long process,” Hakuno told him.

“Did she say anything of note?”

A few children ran passed them on the way to the palace, pausing to greet them and earning head pats and smiles from them both.

Hakuno watched the king tell them to visit a baker a few streets over.

Maybe I can find a way around this king.

Maybe she could forge her own home within Uruk.

[atc74]

Legacy

Square Filled: Futuristic!AU for @spnaubingo

Warnings: Angst...a lot of angst, **spoilers for S14**

Summary: Mary Campbell didn’t want to be a hunter. She wanted that apple pie life with John Winchester, but one yellow eyed demon ruined all that. Can a glimpse into her future change a single moment in time?

Pairing: none (Young Mary x John mentioned)

Word Count: 1901

Written for: @spnaubingo

Beta’d by: @hannahindie thank you love

A/N: I took some creative liberties here with the term AU. We all know what happened when Zachariah sent Dean five years into the future for the Endverse!AU and I thought it would be a different take to see it from Mary’s perspective. I hope you like it. Your feedback is my motivation!

Buy Sam, Dean and Mary here from @scentsfromthebunker for an all new fan experience!

“Nooooooo! John, no!” Mary Campbell wept over her new fiance’s limp body, his neck snapped at the hands of the yellow eyed demon.

“Hello, Mary,” the sweet voice broke through her sobs. The world around her had gone still. Her father’s wounded body loomed over her, frozen, with the demon still trapped inside him.  

“Who are you?” She gasped.

“My name is Jessica. I’m a reaper. We have to hurry before Death finds out I’m here,” Jessica warned Mary.

“A reaper? What are you doing here? What do you want?” She demanded.

Jessica grabbed Mary by the wrist and the world spun beneath her.

~*~

“Sam I don’t know what’s going on, but something is going on,” the blond woman whispered into the device in her hand, perched in the dark stairwell.

Mary Campbell looked around the wooden home. There was a man at the stove. His back was to her, but he wore a burgundy button down, denim blue jeans and sensible work boots. A bell went off and he reached into the oven, removing a casserole dish and carried it to the table. It wasn’t until he turned around that she saw his face.

“Dean?” She questioned, her hand flying to her mouth. She had just seen Dean earlier that evening when he left her parents home. This man looks like Dean, but he had aged in the mere hours since she had seen him last.

“Yes, Mary. That is Dean. But he can’t hear you, or see you,” Jessica explained to her.

“Then why did you bring me here, Jessica?” Mary turned on the reaper.

“Think of me as a crystal ball,” she reminded the young blonde hunter.

~*~

Dean and the blonde woman laughed while they shared their meal, reminiscing about old times. Dean told a story about his younger brother and the woman turned quiet.

“Sometimes I forget just how much I missed while I was gone,” she said. “And how much the two of you just…”

“But you’re here now, right?” Dean smiled. “And even though the last couple of years have been a little rough, just knowing that you’re around, that you’re alive...Mom, that’s meant everything to me. And everything to Sam.” He cleared his throat, looking around the table. “And how great is this, hm? You, me, sitting here, eating the real thing, not some bologna version of Winchester Surprise? You know, we’re not fighting any monsters. There’s-there’s no clouds on the horizon.”

Mary Campbell gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. Did he just say Winchester Surprise? She looked over at Jessica in shock. This woman was Dean’s mother. That meant...oh no. Her gut wrenched as she turned her attention back to the two of them.

“Dean? Dean, whatever you’re going through, you can talk to me,” his mother told him warmly, concern filled her voice and her soft features. She reminded Mary of her own mother, kind and ready to give someone her full attention.

Mary knew that the hunting life wasn’t easy, but she wonders what happened in Dean’s life since the last time she saw him.

“I just saw him. He looks ragged and tired. I’ve seen this look on hunters after too many years,” Mary whispered. “What happened to him?” She looked to Jessica for answers.

“This is the same Dean that you met, just days ago in your world, Mary. But he’s not the same. Dean was sent back to your time by an angel of the Lord to try to stop a demon. He failed and this is what his life became. The year is 2019, Mary. I’ve brought you to the future,” Jessica divulged.

“Everyone keeps asking how I am, and how I am...is I don’t wanna talk about it,” Dean implored with sorrow and sadness in his eyes. “Please.”

His mother didn’t speak, just agreed with a small nod of her head.

Mary blinked back tears at the interaction between the mother and son. Whatever it was that was going on caused him tremendous pain.

Through her blurred vision, the room flipped and now they were in some type of out building. The man’s mother bent over the table, examining the ancient tomes on the workbench. “No. No, no, no, no.” She whispers.

The ground shifted and Mary saw Dean running frantically out of the cabin. He stopped, gun ready at his side, until a twig snapped behind him. He swings wide, his gun aimed and finger poised for any potential threat.

“Hey! Whoa! Easy!” Shouted another man, hands in the air, showing he means no harm.

Dean recognized the man and lowers his weapon, a look of disbelief on his face.

“Dean, what’s going on here?” The taller man asked.

“It’s mom. She’s gone,” Dean revealed.

Mary and Jessica are back in the cabin. Another woman, a police officer, had joined the Dean and the man Mary assumes is his brother, they way the conversed about the missing woman.

Another gut wrenching shift and Mary was back in the storage shed, Jessica at her side. She glanced from one man to the other, the tension between them was heavy. It filled the room and was stifling as she watched the interaction.

‘It’s a Malock box, secured and warded. Once inside, nothing gets out,” Dean informed Sam. “Not even an archangel. Especially not an archangel.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve read ab-about these...b-but no one’s ever...they’re impossible to build,” Sam muttered.

“Yeah, well, not so much,” Dean stood on the other side of the box, looking Sam in the eye.

“That’s your plan? You-you want to be buried alive?” Sam theorized, shock in his voice.

“Well, buried’s not safe enough. Plan is, pay a little hush money, charter a boat to take me out to the Pacific,” Dean revealed. “Splash.”

“You and Michael, trapped? Together? For eternity?” Sam challenged.

“Yeah,” Dean answered with determination.

“You do realize how insane this is, right?” Sam pointed out.

“It’s the only sane play I’ve got,” Dean maintained. The look on Sam’s face compelled him to continue. “Michael gets out? That’s it for this world. And he will get out.”

“But how do you know that for su-?” Sam started.

“Because I do,” Dean interjected, his hand up to stop Sam from speaking. “Because I can feel him in my head! That door is giving. I can feel it giving!”

“But there has to be another way,” Sam argued.

“There’s not, okay?” Dean asserted. “Sam, you’ve tried. Cas has tried. Jack...and I love you for trying, but none of it’s going to work.”

“We don’t know that!” Sam shouted.

“Yeah, we do,” Dean looked down.

“What?” Sam asked, his mind still struggled to wrap around his brothers insane plan.

“Billie,” Dean uttered.

“Billie?” Sam echoed.

“She paid me a little visit. She said there’s only one way this ends right,” Dean explained, slamming his fist down on the metal box for emphasis. “And this is it. This right here. This...box.”

Sam stood there, staring at his brother, his face scrunched in dubiety.

“So she gave up the special recipe and all I had to do was the work. It’s fate,” Dean said.

“Since when do we believe in fate?” Sam scoffed.

“Now, Sam. Since now,” Dean shook his head.

Sam was the one shaking his head now. “So you came out here...to see Donna? To see mom? On some, what, some sick secret farewell tour?” Sam bellowed at his brother. “You were gonna leave...and you weren’t even going to tell me. Me. Do you realize how messed up that is? How unfair that is?” He was shouting now.

“I didn’t have a choice!” Dean shouted back. “Sam, you’re the last person I could tell. The last person I could be around, because you’re the only person that could’ve talked me out of it!”

Dean composed himself and continued. “And I won’t be talked out of it. I won’t. I’m doing this. Now, you can either let me do it alone...or you could help me. But I’m doing this.”

Dean bowed his head, his hands flat on the box as Sam contemplated his options. Mary saw the turmoil as it moved through him. His face spoke a million questions and emotions all at once.

“Alright,” Sam conceded his fight with one simple word and Dean let out the breath he didn’t know he was holding.

The ground quaked under Mary’s feet and she found herself back in 1973. She stood over John’s dead body, tears streamed down her face.

“Why?! Why did you take me there? Why would you make me witness that?” Mary screamed at the reaper.

“You need to know that every action has an opposite and equal reaction, Mary,” Jessica reminded her.

“Yeah, I got it Einstein. I paid attention in science class. What does any of that have to do with me?” She got in Jessica’s face, demanding answers.

“Tonight, right here, right now, when I am gone, you will make a decision that will haunt those people for the rest of their lives, you included,” the reaper disclosed. “I’m not allowed to interfere, but over the years I have grown very fond of Sam and Dean Winchester, so I think you know why I took you on that little excursion.”

“They’re not-they can’t be…” Mary whispered, her head shaking in denial.

“But they are Mary. And that will be you in forty six years, give or take. Your sons have both been possessed by archangels. Sam by the devil himself. Dean was possessed by Michael, who tortured him for weeks! He wants to burn humanity to the ground!

“You will say one word in minutes, setting the dominoes in motion that will fall for eternity. You made a deal with demon and your sons will pay for your sins with their lives! Think about your life Mary. Your sons lives. Is that the legacy you want to leave for them?” With a blink Jessica was gone and Mary collapsed to the ground next to John.

“I’ll tell you what. I’ll arrange to have lover boy here brought back breathing,” the yellow eyed demon promised with her father’s voice and body.

“What? And all it costs is my soul?” Mary asked.

“Oh no, you can keep that. I just need permission,” he sneered. “I’ll swing by your house in ten years for a little something, that’s all,” he told her.

“For what?” Mary cried.

“Relax. Relax. As long as I’m not interrupted, nobody gets hurt, I promise...Or you can spend the rest of your life desperate and alone,” the demon chuckled.

Mary sobbed, holding tighter to John’s body.

“It’s a good deal, Mary. So what do you say?” The demon asked impatiently.

A car sputtered in the distance.

“Yes,” Mary cried.

The yellow eyed demon crashed his lips to hers, sealing the deal. He pulled away and smoked out, leaving her dead father’s body on the ground.

“No!” A voice shouted.

Mary looked from her father's body to John’s and back to the man still screaming no.

A gasp came from her lap. John sat up, confused. “Mary?”

“John?!” She threw her arms around his neck and looked back at the man one more time. He was getting closer with each step. “I’m sorry, Dean.” She mouthed and buried her face in the collar of John’s leather jacket.

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The Whole Enchilada: @iwantthedean @dolphincliffs @mrswhozeewhatsis @meganwinchester1999 @cherrycokegirls1 @closetspngirl  @roxyspearing @flamencodiva @blacktithe7 @sis-tafics @just-another-busy-fangirl @evansrogerskitten @amanda-teaches @hannahindie @wotinspntarnation​ @winchesterprincessbride @winecatsandpizza @kickingitwithkirk  @deanwinchesterswitch @wi-deangirl77 @hobby27 @mogaruke  @gh0stgurl

The Dean’s List: @jerkbitchidjitassbutt @dean-winchesters-bacon @maddiepants @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @supernatural-jackles  @docharleythegeekqueen @adoptdontshoppets @mtngirlforever 

[donnnoir]

Dallas, TX                                                                          June 30, 2019

Well Friend’s, although currently I suspect there are no readers of my crude blog.  Other than those that may have an interest from the Shadow Government’s perspective.  They always keep tabs and monitor my actions and interactions at large or singular.  An annoying fact of Life as me.  So hopefully at some point and time in the future an interested party will have numerous pages to sort through.  I am trying to get all my material under one or two roofs / forums which can and are accessible to everyone.  At least that is my hope and the intention of all this.  Granted it also allows me an outlet to vent some of my frustrations and the various events, occurrences and histories with this and more that I have Lived and experienced throughout my Life.  Now in such a spirit I am posting a electronic log entries after I arrived back in Austin TX, following the events I experienced in Southern California.  Which events culminated in my being shot twice in my left leg and subsequently ran over by an F-350 dually pick-up, running me over from toes to my head being dragged under the dual tires on the driver’s side of the vehicle.  Needless to say it was an interesting evening.  I was run over on East Anaheim St. about one hundred feet from the intersection with North Henry Ford Ave., on the south bound side of East Anaheim heading back toward Long Beach, I believe the location is still in Wilmington. With the location of my being shot some distance from there and that being approximately 325 North Lecouvreur Ave., Wilmington.  These events happened on or around the 5th of March 2018.  I was transported to St Mary’s Hospital at 1050 Linden Ave. Long Beach, CA..

The following are a series of electronic entries to an ad hoc journal at the time.  I Post this ad hoc journal in its raw form, the only editing being for the most part that of correcting some of the major spelling mistakes.  Hopefully I  have retained the jagged nature of my mind set at the time.  I freely admit that upon my return from California for the first time in my life I was showing signs of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.   I still have on occasions bouts associated to this PTSD.  I trust as coming events unfold and I have New Obstacles and Challenges to focus my attention and thereby forestall the elements of the Disorder.  Thus I Post this warts and all.  Without regard to its chronological or content of order. Because of this I will no doubt be covering much of the data, information and stories at a later Posting.  I will also be Posting the images of my hand written journal, as the loose leaf entries that I have adopted as my handwritten format.  Since every log or journal I have started has been stolen repeatedly.  So I now write on whatever loose leaf papers I have before me in the moment.  I hope to Post those as packaged folders Postings in their chronological order.  There is a degree of overlapping entries between this Posting and those of my handwritten entries.  Bear that in mind should you actually elect to read all of these.  Most of the entries some date and location headers.   I hope that in doing this that no seeming contradictions arise, especially since I am the source.  I welcome any inquires from any reader of my material.  Thus I submit the following:

Welcome, seems it has come to this. I am going to attempt to compose my thoughts and histories via electronic medium. My reservations must give way to practical realities. Not to mention the fact that each and every one of my previous logs / journals has been stolen from me. A immensely annoying recurring theme.

Thus I am going to try and make a virtual journal. Presumably I will augment this with the additional paper journal. Which will then be uploaded into a file of images. The hope being the combination will effectively accomplish the task. Towit that of providing a record of my life including events in the extreme. Additionally I wish to leave behind in some convoluted fashion my diverse understanding of things. By far I would consider the latter to be a far greater contribution to the brain wealth of humanity. I would like to think that should any of this writing come to light. It does so some time in the future . When the more fantastic elements can be seen in historical context. Such that what would otherwise be seen as speculative ventures into science fiction writing, will be known as simply fact. Because believe me when I say I truly wish and hope to be / will be wrong, regarding that which is to come. For a change!

Sigh… I must take a break, now. Necessity requires I consider many issues, not the least of which is where to start, and how best to proceed. Besides the fact I have not developed the requisite manual dexterity to type with my thumbs.

Monday July 2, 2018 … Killeen Texas

Sigh… damnit all to hell! I am having one of those rare days when I feel anxious, overwhelmed to the point of feeling trapped. I do not know if it is possibly PTSD related. I suppose I have to accept that as a issue with in me from now till the day I die. Regrettable not to mention humiliating for me. Granted, I suspect that the the cannabis Jade bought had a little something extra in it. So she could anesthesias more effectively giving her a reprieve from the increased infra-sound, ultrasound, microwave along with the entirety of the electromagnetic emissions I am at present enduring. I am concerned for her and her son Joey's well being. Despite her being one of the girls / operatives / victims of our government’s illegal covert initiatives know as MK Ultra. She is a bundle of contradictory issues and personalities. Your typical Golem. Her biological father is Warren Causey. He was George Bush Sr. right hand even prior to Sr becoming head of the Central Intelligence Agency. Causey was Sr's go to man for wet works and deep black bag operations. Especially if the back side had a tail which could be exploited for control of any or all parties involved. Causey is a true satanist and worse. He recently developed a rapid onset of Alzheimer’s. Not quite as sever as my own father and name sake Donald Paul Williams. But the timing of both though separate is suggestively coincidentally to events associated to me and those involved in FOXing me. I suspect brother Magnus of being petty. Grinding and hammering on old grudges. Along with becomingly increasingly punitive in operational objectives concerning breaking me to the point of my “losing” it. At which point and time my only anticipated options would be to appeal to their overview and / or full capitulation to their agendas. Thus far I have successfully thwarted their attempts. Yet it has come at an immense cost to me, across the board. Okay in anticipation that I may never acquire the journal I started last year upon my departure from Long Beach, California. A long walk beginning by The Queen Mary and which ultimately landed me in Salt Lake City, Utah. It is becoming increasingly incumbent that I reiterate elements I previously wrote down back then. You would think it would be a simple straightforward process. Naturally such is not the case, for a variety of reasons. Not the least of which are context and my desire to avoid sounding narcissistic, or worse disillusion. Yet failing to do so will ultimately end in me portraying myself as such, even more so. Besides I really hate repeating myself, sorta a pet peeve of mine.

To the uninitiated this is going to sound ludicrous and insane. However, any comprehensive primer would require volumes of esoteric information, along with accompanying commentary and should include appropriate citations. All from tomes that are closely guarded. That I am denied access to permanently and utterly. Thus it is best to proceed directly into the matter wading through the initial convolution, realizing by degrees it will work out becoming about as clear as mudd. The luciferains according to their Canon refer to me as “The Dark One”. It is an appellation pulled directly from their actual scripture as initially iterated  to Cain from lucifer, himself.

Obviously atheist may take exception to these concepts, especially the language used. There is not much I can say in response to their misgivings. Because their beliefs lack the framework from which to attach this model. Hell most individuals beliefs also in like fashion lack similar mental framework. Yet most have allowances or the tools where with the modular architecture of their minds are able to “build out” an additional wing to the mansion in their minds which houses their understanding of “reality”. At the very least they can entertain the blueprints to an “add-on” to their mansions. Similar to the operations of our minds “cognitive consistency”. Dr Richard Alan Miller is fond of noting “I would never have seen it if I hadn’t believed it”. Or by extended reference the belief that if you have enough information to postulate a coherent question, you already have enough to know the answer. You just have to convince yourself of it. The implications are profound. Stretching into metaphysics and the issues of faith preceding the miracle(s), and even magick! All topics I have and will continue to touch upon in my ramblings. But I go too far afield of my primary focus. Simply, I am The Dark One. This is both metaphoric and literal. For the few people whose sight allows them to to clearly see into the underlying spiritual realm of our world. Because all things that “are” where first created in spirit. Elsewise they would not exist or remain lifeless sterile elemental at best. There are also at worst case possibilities, but we will forego any such dialogue for the moment. Everything we see and interact with has a corresponding spiritual aspect providing impetus to the whole. Usually the spiritual aspect even resembles the physical expression, although at times the proportions differ. A fact that I know I will touch upon in other areas as topically necessitated. Nonetheless if one was to see our spirits they much resemble the physical form of our bodies, though a bit taller (note this is a foreshadowing hint, to a vastly different topic I Will Be Addressing. At times I may interject future foreshadowing hints, though sans the extensive explanations). Depending on the scope of vision applied a person may / can see many other things. For my current model I am going to stick to issues of direct correlation to what we perceive as the physical world.

Okay, yes I do know I tend to take a long round about, seemingly loquacious manner, almost tediously so in my explanations. This is due to the fact that words are nebulous, our ability to effectively communicate was fractured becoming compromised long ago. As a consequence, for clarity's sake I find this too wordy manner necessary to minimize confusion later in the discussion. By degrees we lose our way, or perpetuate our lost condition. Therefore it is by incremental degrees I am trying to more properly realign the various skewed beliefs we all hold. It is simple geometry, trigonometry or if you prefer vector math. If your initial bearing line is off by a few degrees, as you proceed further down its vector, or direction of travel where you end up will be considerably different than you meant to be. I wish to be aptly clear as to this fact early in my shared discourses.

Back to the proximate relationship of the spirit to our physical nature / condition. Also know that our spirits are gender specific. The entirety of humanity in this expressed Creation, the sons and daughters of Adam and Eve. Have migrated to this plane and place from Our Heavenly Home. That being a higher plane of existence, a organized realm of Love and Light. We, being all of us from Adam, Lilithe, and Eve till the last child of Eve is born, we are they that kept our first estate. Thereby earning both our right and place to be born here in this that by our common assent / consent / agreement we agreed would be real, thus we call it reality, simple. Wherefore, this being real by our mutual assent, means by extension that our actions here shall have real consequence to our station thereby effecting our progression. Those within Our Divine Family that rebelled and failing to reconcile back into the Family are denied participation in the progression of this estate and the subsequent assignments as to which paths we are to be assigned to in our individual journeys to progress back home.  Meaning, i.e. lucifer and the one third that fell (more properly “that were cast down”) with him. At times I will refer to lucifer as lucy or louie a small affectation I have over the years grown fond of as pet names for he who would seek dominion through his lies. Know that for my part I have always viewed our existence as an ongoing extension of the war in Heaven. Even as a toddler this was simply the nature of the world, in both a literal and metaphoric sense. Lucy is playing an end game gambit. As to our day to day offenses he for the most part cares little, seldom choosing to involve himself.  As I try to tell people; we can do bad all on our own, we don’t need the devil or louie's help. Matter of fact regrettably this particular Creation is an aberration. Most Creation’s do not have a Lucifer, who refuses to repent and reconcile, and worse yet becomes Satanish.  In so doing thereby becomes completely nonredeemable. Fit only to be cast out beyond the dark realms / dimensions. So far that not even a god could ever hope to make it back to Our Heavenly Home. Heady fanciful stuff, with a touch of discordance due to conflicting superlatives, I already know. From the presumed position of our understanding as a whole it is the best I can do with our shared mythos. The presumed contradictions fade as our understanding increases. Please accept I know little, next to nothing. What little I may grasp, has been fought hard to obtain over a tumultuous lifetime.

One of the hopeful eventualities concerning our collective situation in this Creation which I try to communicate to those that appear to show potential for understanding the following idea. Is that, Once we “eventually” progress through this Creation. As our then on going progression continues through multiple future Creations we will in all probability never encounter another such circumstance / Creation wherein any of those will again be with the added burden of a Satan / Lucifer persona to add complications to our individual, group, and familial progress. Who would threaten to usurp Creation from G-d and all of us. We can do bad all on our own. We really don’t require an objective excuse or archetype on which to pin our failings. If you are acquainted with the Book of Revelations, in its pages are the clues to understanding Lucy’s actual focus / agenda for our Creation. For we are eternal beings, Children of Divine Parentage. We live through infinite eternities, progressing and striving to Perfect Ourselves unto the Image of Our Heavenly Mother and Father. Now I sound like a some traveling revivalist preacher. Might as roll out the tent and tambourines, hahaha.

Wednesday July 4, 2018 – Killeen, Texas

Well happy 4th of July, U S of fucking A. Not to be cynical, but here we are celebrating another Independence Day in the Land of the Free. The irony is inescapable. Sadly too many individuals become distracted and lost in the perpetually shifting landscape of dysinformation. Yes the horrors these people revile against are very real and indefensible. Except in the losing of perspective, failing to see that these innumerable struggles are purposely being generated to engage the population to distraction. Usually these horrid distractions are set cross ways of social and cultural lines. This formulaic tactic is meant to ferment hostilities, hate and conflicts across the associated strata. This has been repeated throughout history to create wars, fracture our social structure, warp our values, and indoctrinate the population en mass with beliefs such as to reshape our view of reality shackling all of us to a diminished image and sense of self along with the entire human race. Once we accept this warped view as the archetypal potentiality of us all. We are guaranteed to sell ourselves and our brethren into slavery. In due course I will be discussing at length the geopolitical history within the framework of our limited knowledge of what we recorded since the flood. Rather what we have been permitted to know of said records. The fact that much as been redacted from the common brain trust passed on to us via academia. Those alabaster halls occupied by self appointed guardians of the approved versions of knowledge and information released to us vulgar unfortunate masses. So burdened, I shall pass this Holiday celebrating the antithesis of its traditions.

Continuing in the same vain as previously began prior to the day’s celebrations, in much the similarly convoluted fashion as before… I, The Dark One of Occultic Lore. I have been told; that I have done things no one in the history of the world has ever done previously. Personally I can only cite one quality as being demonstrative of such high praise. Though in all honesty I am more often than not being chastised for lacking focus, being lazy, acting the fool in the face of my enemies, or being cavalier in my affections, or placing myself at undue risk of life and limb, and the list goes on and on ad nauseaium.  This from the select few who know and understand who and what I am.  Those who may actually care about me, and would see me fulfill that which I have been foreordained to do whilst sojourning here. The totality of our circumstance here, now at this moment, we soon shall enter perhaps the most critical and precarious point of our history and that of this Creation.  I am all too well aware of this along with that which shall soon come to pass shortly.  This awareness, I experience across multiple vectors while being cognizant of a sea of permeations which ultimately stream toward a specific Crux in Our Familial Aggregation (I am trying to develop appropriate nomenclature – wherein I avoid certain more readily common labels or descriptors and/or appellations. Whose usage has been subverted into the double speak practiced by the various satanic and blood occultic families which run the world. Who have ritually (via trauma) conditioned and indoctrinated their acolytes, golems / victims to hear and respond to accordingly, never in a positive manner. Wherefore it is incumbent upon me whenever possible to avoid affirming these, even to the point of reinventing the ascribed nomenclature.) within this Creation. As a consequence I must stumble through idiomatic constructs, ungainly though they be. Believe me if you knew and understood the actualities ascribed to words and the double or multiple meanings applied to them within the Families. The evils, the pain, the denigration of the individuals / victims usually by those nearest them; ultimately by extension it eventually infects and corrupts societies unto the world at large.  You would weep an endless river of tears unto filling the seas, if you could see this in your minds eye properly.  As long as this perniciously malicious spiritual / familial / multi-generational / social / cultural pathogenic practice continues, our struggles will end in naught. Hence into this morass I must seek to keep my appointed task. How best to explain this? I have spent the majority of my life in the haze of denial.  Avoiding my differences.  Putting off my preparations for that which is to come.

Since approximately twenty four plus months prior to Operation Jade Helm our covert Intelligence apparati, including elements of the ruling shadow government began a concerted effort at Foxing me. The on set of Operation Jade Helm and its scope marked an exponential increase in expanded efforts against me.  Now, let me make clear Operation Jade Helm’s purpose was not solely to target me, there where many targets across the greater portion of the United States of America.  Death dealers and various squads of assassins executed / murdered an increasing number of American Citizens, most had been identified for some time to be exterminated.  Impunity seems to have become the operational by word.  The extremes demonstrated continuously since that time defy all reason. Defining the architects of this action as being criminals is almost quaint.  This level of criminal insanity goes beyond the point of being treasonous. With the majority of resource allocation comes from “military Intelligence” which then utilizes other military resources and supplies.  Thus it is that we have been duped into financing our own demise.

For purposes pursuant to their agendas, they have labeled me a domestic terrorist.  Thereby presumably justifying illegal exercises and persecution of my person.  Rationalizing by extension similar acts against my family and anyone I may care about and or Love. Death for them would be preferable to the horrors their personages have been and are being subjected. I know I sound ludicrously paranoid with delusions of grandeur in the extreme. Hahaha….  gosh how I wish, hope and pray such were the case. I make this record in defense of myself and my actions. Naturally I fear all my good intentions with their accompanying actions are for naught. I realize that upon my death as allotted to the sons of man, as to the first part, my character will be maligned in the worst manner possible.  A issue I will address at length later in this on going exposition of myself and my misadventures as they may be.

Thursday July 5, 2018.  Killeen Texas

Despite my misgivings it seems I survived all the pops and bangs of our nosiest of American Holidays. A joyous circumstance to be certain. From now till my last day of my allotted life as unto the children of men, my life hangs in the balance. The ante to live my life as it were.

My current accommodation over the past almost six weeks has been with an old flame and friend Jade Causey – Chamlee, and her 18 year old son Joey, whose given name was Freddie. Bless their souls for extending to my worn out arse a place to stay and recover. Regrettably my physical recovery is taking much longer than I anticipated. I am fully aware my expectations regarding the time necessary for a complete recovery was / were unreasonable. But I need to set the bar high to keep from being complacent. Now had my situation been inclusive of adequate financial resources I would be at least relatively close to my timetable. I would have had access to better medical, dietary, living and therapies. Hell my injuries would have been properly tended to at the hospital in my initial admittance. Instead I continued to be the object of curiosity and experimentation. With little consideration to trying to give me appropriate medical care. I have come to know what to expect, due largely to my younger brother's general attitude. Wherein he rationalizing what him and others do to me, as simply a matter of effect associated to the who and what I am. It is rationalized that if  I, Donn am this special chosen person than he/I should be able to survive everything, whatever it may be.  Because if he/I don’t than obviously he/I am not that special and thus not protected from on High.  Horrific logic used to rationalizing a growing list of atrocities committed against my person. A ugly fact of my reality, one I anticipated. What issues make this whole fucked up process unacceptable, malicious, acutely painful and unforgivingly egress is the manner by which they have targeted and used others. Especially my younger brother, father, son, Tiffany, Revaka, Heather, Angie and numerous others. They have been tortured, abused and treated as disposable commodities. All are scared and precious, some are very unique with abilities reaching into arenas not generally accepted or understood in today’s world view. Yet these individuals are denigrated, abused in some of the most deviantly sordid manners. Most are ultimately destroyed, first robbing them of their minds, bodies and in some final insult of their very souls. As it appears that they are being harvested for physical vehicles to have demons placed in their bodies. Yeah, I suppose I could say it in some sort of more politically correct parlance as “aliens” from a lower resonating dimensional reality / realm. Somehow I find that by doing so it fails to communicate the malicious evil inherent in the process. I find the old nomenclature to communicate the Truer meaning. Though some eras of our past carry their own obvious failings magnified exponentially by ignorance while fueled by misguided zealotry. They were not called the Dark Ages for nothing. Similarly different cultures, societies, periods, places and times have fallen to various abysses of Darkness. We have this false mental image of life on Our Earth proceeding in some linar fashion from primitive man (including Adam, for those of a theological inclination) struggling out of caves. Fighting against their own primitive brain / mind which was trapped in a diminished brain pan capacity from questing for fire against ignorance and superstitions. With us being the cumulative beneficiaries of this on going process. Peoples of those ancient times could not have been as intelligent as those today. Therefore they could not have grasped the concepts we do. Some of the most ridiculous fallacies of logic ever presumed to rationalizing and justify conduct or beliefs. Matter of fact the inverse is actually True. But what the fuck could I possibly know!

Sadly my frustrations are rearing their collective heads as it were in my writing. I wish I had been more diligent in securing my journal I started last year upon my departure from Long Beach towards Utah. I was more focused recording relavent issues in a contemporaneous fashion. Not to mention a considerable investment in explanations dealing with a variety of associated topics. Grrrrr… all I did then was walk and write. I may soon be in a recurrence of such, shortly. I can no longer abide where I am. All the more so under these conditions. Deep in my mind I am aware of happenings which require my attention. Not to mention my friend’s household is not psychologically conducive to my state of being. At least not in a healthy way, good intentions not with standing. My largest obstacle to my leaving believe it or not, is my need for acceptable footwear. Flip-flops aren’t going to cut it. Hell they are wholly inadequate to even walk just up the street a block or two. I must admit the sidewalks and streets of California were well suited for walking.

Monday July 9, 2018.  – Killeen, Texas

As Pooh would be apt to say, “Oh bother”. I feel for the most part Tigger. Bouncing all about spinning, twisting, flipping… as well on my head as my tail. I am most acutely wanting to find my focus once again. My communication skills seem heavily compromised. Not that I was ever able to write as effectively as the great Nobel Laureates. Generally speaking I could at least maintain some linear cohesion in my writing.  Physically, emotionally, spiritually and mentally I am shaken.  Much as if my being was trapped in the tremors of advance Parkinson’s. In similar fashion my expressed thoughts and experiences lack focus, my abilities at lucidly articulating my larger life occurrences is choppy at best. Failure is NOT an option! No matter how I feel or how events are or may effect me, I must regain my composure and find my center. While reacquiring my skills of teaching and sharing what I have learned.  Please excuse me if I don’t edit the foregoing entries. As convoluted and murky as they may be, their relevance contemporaneously can not be diminished. Hopefully they will in due course provide a benchmark to juxtaposition future writings and notes thereby effecting a glimpse into my state of being at the time of writing.  Grrrrr…….

They have done a very good job of isolating me. All the more so, as I try to come to terms with the potential cost to those I would seek commerce with across all levels of our socioeconomic strata.  If what I endured while being the object of a Foxing protocol by our shadow government’s covert intelligence community are any indication. Anyone who associates with me, either at mine or their initiation is subject to become targeted for retribution as punishment to me. Too high a cost to blindly impart with out consideration to finding possible means of mitigation. Or at the very least terms whereby I am ultra selective with whom I interact. Along with the rationale for said interactions. Soon enough our social dependency will require I abandon all such pretext or attempts at shielding anyone from consequence. I fear that time shall be upon us/me far too soon. Perhaps I am again being exceedingly naive. My efforts are most probably for naught. An on the at large canvas of the bigger picture my presumption at damage control will only result in a larger area and impact of effect upon our society as a whole. Not that I am some savior or prophet, far from it actually. In the grander scale of things, I might best be referred to as a “wild card”.  Meaning that in any analysis of the interaction of variables, one may with a degree of certainty predict the outcome of any issue, contest, conflict even war. However should certain individuals or a very small dynamic group of individuals enter the forum. Suddenly the landscape of the matter shifts radically to the point that the original outcome no longer applies or is meaningful. We have numerous examples of such occurrences throughout our histories. Of salient import to us here in America is The Battle of Thermopylae, and the 300 Spartans. We all learned about continents in school. Did you ever notice that Europe and Asia were counted as separate despite being one land mass. The reason is that Western Culture and Asian (Oriental) Cultures being vastly different it was traditionally ascribed to them being two separate continents. We may naively presume to ridicule such a blatant indulgence as arrogance. Yet there are fundamental reasons for this error being valid. We as the heirs of Western Culture, need to understand the mythical / legendary impact of these distinctions upon our mameic memory, especially those of us of the West. From Greece to Rome, then following our Angelo – Dutch (Iberian) roots it is transmitted to us. The importance and permanent impact of the actions and sacrifice of Leonidas and 300 Free Spartans against over a 1,000,000 servile basically slaves to a potentate deemed quasi divine, carved out a legacy of Freedom which stands even today. An Epic “wild card”. There are many others, most are lost to us today. With the occasional exception that survives in our Epics, our Mythologies, our Legends. Most such stories are the blending of factual events with older religious or semi religious traditions. Which aliteration was a common and accepted means of teaching the lessons of both convanents in a factual and metaphoric means. Much the way Jesus Christ taught using parables, allegories composed to have layers of meaning dependent upon the degree of understanding had by the student. So a natural continuation of this is to be inclusive of many historical events, along with the trans literal substitution of the individuals to those of prophecy or the the Divine or Angelic intercession of some ancient history. These depending on circumstance would be iterated and reiterated in verbal traditions to be celebrated in the retelling, usually in association to particular annual festivals. Such as the case with the Saga of the Norse Kings. A subject I hope to have the opportunity to entertain at length later in my writings, scribblings. The vast majority of my ideas, concepts, models and histories can generally be attributed to greater minds than mine. As has been said before, the reason I / we can see so far is that we stand on the shoulders of giants, those that have come before us. Yes I paraphrase taking a degree of liberty. More particularly to hopefully retain its original meaning.

Funny I have been much as I am, the entirety of my life. Before I commence an in-depth sharing of many of the somewhat unique occurrences and events that have brought me to this proposition in time. I wish to clarify and reiterate some postulates. Elsewise a portion of my own records and logs may well be used against me. Principally by interests who would wish to call my lucidity and grasp of reality into question, in the hopes of indicting or coloring my character via my words. No doubt they shall do so nonetheless. I only wish that my original is sufficiently vetted in the sane understanding of reality has to be a defense to my honor and mental facilities. Thus, again – I am No prophet! Nor am I an Alien. Hahaha… Nor am I some savior! As far as religion – I will say as was told to me by what would be termed alien contactees, or more specifically those that I felt and believed we’re genuine. Of the many I personally met back in the 1970s. According to these individuals as to the subject of religion and the Bible when broached to the various aliens these contactees interacted. All the aliens responded that yes the Bible was more or less correct and that it was wholly applicable to us, our Creation, and Our G-d. I know not at all what they say on the popular shows in the media today. Hmmm,…. As to my personal religious beliefs and inclinations, I am Mormon by conversation and have been excommunicated for many more years than I care to mention. By the way my excommunication was due wholly to personal moral matters not issues of doctrine or beliefs of Faith. So if somewhere in my upfront acknowledgements, you find me wanting of naïve. Fine, do or do Not as is in you, or as is your want. I make no apologies, nor seek to compromise in some misguided attempt to achieve an accord or consensus. Rather quite to the contrary, I share, present, seeking dialogue broader than an account of the happenings surrounding my life. Simply because I am appalled by the amount of lies and disinformation being used to indoctrinate the populace. Add to this the lack of corrected and broader views from the dreadfully homogenous perspective droning from damn near every sector. The present modalities disgust me, breaking my heart such that I would to weep day and night for Our collective Family. Yet better spent are my efforts in defense of the Truth and an improved accounting of our histories and circumstances. In pursuit of same I find I must submit my private life and experiences to general scrutiny. The majority of which I have never shared with anyone prior to the last six to eight years. I have desired to live a rather conventional life, for the most part. Realizing that soon enough I will forever be denied the Joy of such.

To this end and the accompanying process I submit some of the earliest memories and events of my life and childhood. One of my earliest, if not the earliest is being in my crib prior to the age of two. My father was working for numerous government and governmental contractors at the time. Naturally I don’t recall those details. Our family had just moved to Southern California. We were living with my mother’s sister somewhere in East Los Angeles. Their home was the typical Spanish Colonial. Anyone familiar with the style and form of such. Know that hallways usually converge into a common room, you cross to the hallway leading to the room you have as your destination. In this pass through common room is where my crib was stationed. Probably the best location for it and me. So the various women could occupy my attention should I become fussy. An many times this common room was an area where the women would congregate as my recollection is. Well across this room was a pantry closet, with selves and full of the sundry items found in such for the time. In the coming and goings of my family and relatives there were numerous occasions that would find me unattended, alone in my crib. It was during one such interlude that the commencement of a reoccurring vision / dream began. I having been left alone to my own devices (parenting back in the day). When the door to the aforementioned pantry slowly opened wide. A beautiful female Golem, her physique had the appearance of red bricks. Yet the contours of her form were singularly female. Rather she had distinct curves with aquiline sculptured features. Most hauntingly she had these striking blue eyes. She never spoke a word, her eyes spoke volumes to my initially shocked mind. As the sounds of returning relatives approached, she gracefully returned from whence she came. On the first couple of occasions I witnessed this I raised a bit of a commotion. I was not yet verbal, and in all honesty I was a late talker. Well the relatives thought I might have seen a rat. So they dutifully opened the pantry to inspection. The pantry was then as it always was, with neither a rat or exquisite Lady Golem. This parade continued off and on for the majority of the our short time residing at my aunt’s house. Usually the Lady Golem had those blue blue eyes, though green and grey versions are among the visits. Each and every time she would come to the side of my crib, moving her head, or tilting (cocking) it just so. Always her eyes full of questions and disbelief. Her eyes seemed to express; You? You are the one sent? Hmmm… You don’t look like much! Look more like a little wet rodent, but who knows?. This was more or less the sentiment expressed in her eyes. Following my first encounters I became accustomed to her visits and would actually miss her on the rare occasions of absence. Needless to say from early childhood I saw the “world” differently than others around me. I also learned to accept this altered perception without fear, understanding its validity within the accepted context of what is “actual” or the “concrete” reality of our existence.

If you may recall back in the haze of school days. During various lectures the teacher's would sometimes use what is commonly referred to as an over head projector. Depending on what was being taught, it was also common practice to layer over lays. These would either complete the image or at times super impose other images as needed. Sometimes even as multiple layers of over laid transparencies. Some of you more contemporaneously educated individuals may never have seen such primitive presentations, having known only power point. For those so blessed what I describe next may be Greek to you. For the dinosaur amongst us most should have some recollection. This model is the closest I can use to illustrate how the world appeared to me growing up as a child. Usually I would see what could best be described as up to two transparencies overlapping the “real world” in general. I could even lift these overlays to get a clearer view of what was being presented before me. At times these would both be at in the foreground of “reality”, other times both would be in the background, while at other times it would be split one in front and one in back. Yet there were numerous other configurations, sometimes completely unrelated to the happenings around me (foreshadowing alert). Gradually this ocular affect of the world began to diminish till it no longer was within my field of vision. By the time I was around sixteen to seventeen years of age this effect was effectively gone. Since then I have experienced this only a handful of times. I usually take a different approach, I will address momentarily. One of the proximate results almost immediately of perceiving my world in this manner is that I usually know the scope and degree that anyone is lying. As an adult it is not quite as prominent as in my childhood. Though there have been exceptions. As a direct consequence my earliest life lesson was in due course the hypocrisy of the adults around me. Everyone would profess such devotion to “the necessity” or importance of always “speaking the Truth”. Yet I would be punished to no end for pointing out the hypocrisy of the fact the adults more often than not lied as suited them. I learned to keep such to myself. Something I still do to this day. I tend to filter or make allowances far too much now as an adult. Invariably leading to greater complications. Besides transparencies certain images or objects would “float” across my field of vision in similar transparency manner. Some of which I could not decipher any context or meaning at the time or since. To begin to place elements of this visual experience I need to explain tangent events of recent.

The advent of the Internet and the information highway is as with most such paradigms, both a blessing and a curse. Dependent largely upon the nature and supposed inclination of man. We are all no doubt familiar with the media platforms of Facebook and YouTube. Like everyone else to some degree I have had occasion to surf around doing research or simply for mindless pleasure. Back prior to Jade Helm, when my Old Lady (though she was substantially younger) Tiffany and I were keeping house in Austin, Texas. I noticed a YouTube video regarding the Apollo 20 mission. Oh by the way according to my histories the Apollo lunar missions went up to 20. I wanted to see what was been discussed along with what twists and turns the disinformation specialist spin their distractions. Which if you can determine it sometimes conclude what they are trying to hide or if their direction of spin is a “z” vector you can sight 180 degrees opposite to determine the landscape they don’t wish you to see. You may consider all this a large investment of mental energies, it is just how my mind works at times automatically. Back to the Apollo 20 video. In the video there was some general discussion of aliens, their nature and origins. During this open dialogue, there was a series of various old clips. I presume were some how removed from the archives of NASA. Many of the older non-defined clips I was quite familiar with the images. Not because I have ever seen them as photos, images, clips or video. At the time I was floored, since previous to that moment I was unacquainted with their context or related meaning. These objects I use to see in the exact same configuration and involved in the exact motions approximately forty years earlier as I was growing up. Matter of fact judging from the age of the imagery I would have to conclude I was witnessing them contemporaneously as a child. Without the context of outer space or NASA I had presumed I was watching some complex interactions of some sort of strange protozoal life from. I even remotely as concerned they had some how become infected to my cornea, so prevalent we’re the objects across my vision. So striking was their imposition upon my sight that more than four decades later their association was immediate and most assuredly certain. One less mystery to worry about. Yet the implications are troubling profoundly. Both of myself and the world at large, considering how maliciously the world's population has been lied to and manipulated. The ends of which are too shocking and horrible to ever discuss. Although in previous conversations at moments of weakness I have divulged a greater portion than may have been prudent.

Wednesday July 11, 2018.  – Killeen, Texas

You may right so wish to ascribe or diagnosis me as having a form of delusions inclusive of all types of hysteria, grandeur, psychosis with severe religious obsessions. For what passes for psychiatry today within the public ledger domain, you may be correct. I would offer in defense a extensive lifetime containing a ongoing accounts of a similar or even greater note. Although I am not a Moses, peoples of another time would recognize me as being touched by The All Mighty, as it were. I will at least own any such appellation. Am I some righteous man deserving of beautification unto sainthood, I would argue Not. At best I have tried to be a descent man, who speaks the Truth as much as possible. I am burdened by an additional commitment.

Back in my youth, being around nine years old. I had a singularly profound series of visions / dreams. I repeatedly dreamt my death, accompanied by the various permeations associated to reaching same. The process took several days (nights) between three to five. Being so young I didn’t think to take particular note of the days my dreams were thus occupied. They obviously had a unique feel with a equally sensational intensity, they still abide with me today. I distinctly recall a voice of sorts coming to me following the last night of witnessing this panorama of my life's end (as are the days accorded to the sons of man). Now this voice which came unto me, I presume it was within the precincts of my mind. Not that it would have mattered greatly since I was alone when it came unto me. Nor did I think to ask from whence or whom spoke. I knew and could feel the light of our Divine Home as I heard the intent along with the presumed words. It was a simple dialogue, stating; “this is how it ends, this is what you have come to do. You need not do it. You have the right to choose. However if you are to complete this task. You must choose to do so now.”. Being a precocious and arrogant child, I immediately presumed that if I had been sent to do such, than the obvious was that I was the best candidate to accomplish the prescribed task. Armed with such infallible logic, I whole heartedly accepted my calling understanding it would come at great cost. Now granted, an understanding of the true scope or magnitude or the enormity of the cost or suffering I fully lacked. I have spent my life preparing. I have come to know that even at the prescribed time I will lack of my own what is necessary. I shall present to the task my all, trusting in Our G-d to shore me up to complete that which I would do. Subsequent to acceptance of this appointment I am to keep in the near future, my sight / vision increased. The frequency and quantity began increasing dreams, visions, revelations, transparencies along with my general perceptions increased. I now openly own the fact that I see the world through the eyes of the mystic. Only recently was my sight dampened. A heart breaking topic the occasion of which surrounds losing my Love Tiffany. The subject of which shall also be laid upon the alter for examination by the modern day augers. Find what fault if you will, I care little. Only know that matter and its accompanying are for later. I must at present attempt to continue in this established vain of thought recounting events long past in my short life. Besides the notations contemporaneous to me and my circumstances or any of the other tripe I have need to spew forth. Believe this, if I could accomplish my foreordained task without sharing, discussing or placing ultimately for public review any of this – such would be my desire. Painfully I have had to come to terms with the ugly reality I must prostrate myself to assure I am able to do what needs be done. Onward thru the fog, as it were.

Without going into specifics too much, early on I displayed another aptitude. Sometime around first to second grade. My Dear sweet mother recognized I somehow had a hand in the going ons of the other children that back then composed the group of children who had commenced to being around. Now my mother was blessed with a keen intellect. Which included the wisdom to not over think somethings. Instead wherever possible if there was a direct and simple solution to apply one's efforts to the solution. Thereby allowing life to continue on as meant. Almost elegant in its simplicity, usually quite effective in solving any problem, a quaint provincial version of Occum's Razor. Consequently the solution was simple, as she noted; “son, I don’t know what you are doing. But it is wrong. Apparently you need my help understanding that.”. There after I regularly got my hide tanned. Until sometime around the age of seven plus the realization that just because you could do something; does not mean you should. And that everyone is entitled to make their own choices. Afterwards the occasion necessitating my tanning ceased as a consequence to those particular actions. By no means did I fail to earn other occasions of corporal punishment as befits a young boy trying to find his wings, so to speak.

Growing up making my way through our education system of public schooling. I never cracked a book. Now one should not presume schools and childhood were smooth sailing. Quite to the contrary, in second grade my school in southern California labeled me “retarded”. Lacking a separate facilities or classes you were simply shoved to the back of the class with similarly challenged children. Nor did they have to test the child or give notice to the parents. Following a few weeks at the back of the class I began to demonstrate “odd” behavior. Which my always observant mother was quick to question. She went to the school and raised holy hell. In actuality it was more of a racially motivated issue. My parents being divorced, the school only saw my Hispanic mother. Being profoundly dyslexic, their initial assessment was that I was a Mexican, and you know you can not teach their kind. I was going to a all white school at time. Not to mention kindergarten in Watts. During the riots in 1965. I had to have police escorts to school. While I still have very distinct memories of the entire family sleeping in the living room with all the doors and windows blocked and barricaded against the rioting blacks. A sort of difficult time growing up. Believe me I know what racism is like. I am not going to hold my tin cup up on that lame ass subject. The fact that there are those in this country that hold onto this issues as the reasons for all their troubles. Or that there are groups and individuals who exploit this history for their enrichment. All this does is allows an ever expanding rifts in our society. The age old axiom of divide and conquer. Yet we all seem oblivious to this, instead we rush to our own deaths.

Thursday July 12, 2018,. – Killeen, Texas

Aaagh, fuck, damnit…. I fucking swear. Why do I even try to help anyone. Generally they hold to their own practices of appeasing the least common denominators by which they live. What can I say. As gracious as my hostess and her son may be. I doubt if I can tolerate much more of their dysfunctionality sans any self realization or objectivity. And they wonder about Joey meeting someone (female). I can’t imagine the woman who would find any of this manner or lack of is appealing. I try to maintain perspective because I do recognize the roots of most of the antisocial behavior. Even if it expresses its self differently than one may anticipate. I just don’t have the tolerance I usually do. In my current condition of convalescing from my injuries, makes me subject to the vagaries that define the lives of normal people. Due to the obvious singular quality of my life I have had to come to terms with the fact that I do not process anything in like manner as my peers. An before everyone thinks I am trying to sound all superior or some such, please note that I am continually making stupid mistakes principally due to my own naivety. We all have this aspect wherein we judge our circumstance and that of others from the pigeonhole perspective. Everyone else's view though differing from each other falls within a given area, or a few degrees of each other. Mine falls a extreme distance outside of what could be considered the norm. Nonetheless being very human I continue in the belief I perceive “reality” much as the other person from a similar understanding and values system. Invariably this attitude finds opportunity to smack me in my face by its differences. Each and every time I am recalled that, oh I knew better because I am fully aware of the differences and should have factored accordingly. Even now at this more venerable point in my life I find one of my biggest failings is naive belief in the character of my fellow man. Yet if my assertions as to my last day as are allotted to the sons of man be True. For the greater part I will be doing so for the entirety of Our Familial Aggregation. Even for those who seek only to cause me and those I Love and care about, harm or maliciousness. Because that is the way of things in our Creation. Soon enough the vile evil shall reveal itself, the kid gloves shall come off and life will never be this peaceful again. If it be the will of he who sent me I will seek to balance many scales of injustice. Till then I must endure and prepare as best I can.

Well enough complaining about friends who do their best given the circumstances. I appreciate all they have done on my behalf. Especially since to a large degree they grasp what potentially may be the cost. Even if in some small ways they may have been influenced by the same malicious or “Bees”, that seek to be the cause of my failure. For such is the nature of things in the abyss. Especially considering the length of time I have elected to spend wrapped in the confines of twisting throughout what we commonly refer to as “reality”. I generally feel more comfortable surrounded by its miasma and ickor than anywhere else. As much as it may appear to be a contradiction it ultimately is fact. Sigh!!!

For the time being I guess I will change the temporal focus of my entries. I can seldom stay focused on any particular time frame for an extended period. Doing so usually causes me to shift to the associated memories which become very visceral in nature. Soon it begins to become a tad overwhelming. All the more so once framed in relation to the present context. I sincerely hope that suffices and is remotely coherent. I am usually deconstructing my conceptual models and ideas into a form more acceptable to being understood. Sometimes I become lost in the process to the point I know what I mean despite the fact that the words and or syntax are nonsense. In conversation I sometimes have to stop and ask if what I have postulated or presented in the dialogue makes sense. I know it all made sense and sounded good in my head. Aaah but I can’t always presume to have effectively communicated the same.

Saturday July 14, 2018.  – Killeen, Texas

Well here it is the weekend, somewhere in Who-ville are working stiffs cheering at the arrival of the ritual with its time off. It has been interminably long since I have have lived a life so constrained as to include the simple Joy of a defined weekend of days off. Hell I am usually engrossed in my vocation daily. With my ever prevalent purpose always driving me. For the most part I have become unfit to be amongst civil company. Yes I am conversant. I am genial enough when in mixed groups. I tend to empathic of those around me. I genuinely give a damn as to the well being of others. Even so, the inescapable Truth is that the darkness is too imbued into my being. Because of the darkness of my spirit, I have become rolled into the ubiquitous abyss of our “reality”. Though it does not effect me quite the same as others its taint has woven into my fibers. Not being much of a liar I lack the necessary tools to hide it from general view.

Wednesday July 18, 2018  - Killeen, Texas

Well damn, I sometimes really get fucking frustrated.  At one level I am perpetually detached from the day to day focus and obsessions of everyone around me. I can’t bring my mind to focus on the general ideological concepts propagated by the geopolitical theater. Which resembles an episode of the moppet show as far as I what it appears. Are the offenses and injuries less or non-existent to my sympathies or moral indignation; not in the least. They still represent injustices and crimes which need to be effectively dealt with and hopefully the scales will balance. Even so, I just can not seem to get all worked up over these slight daily travesties. All the more so since I tend to view all these for what they are within the larger perspectives and plans of globalist / occultic families. Typical divide and conquer, or simple distractions from their primary objectives. I can appreciate everyone’s sentiments and attitudes that the scenarios of what is to come are not perceived as real or likely. Hell even I given enough distance and time begin to feel as though none of it is possibly factual. Except for the fact that I have lived a life associated to these eventualities. Even when I was in the thick of things all those involved would tell me bold faced lies as to what was occurring. As if to make me question the obvious, because the obvious Truth of the matter was outside any social norms. I guess there are those for a convenient lie is preferred to Truth too extreme to accept. I have been at this life, spending the majority of my existence living in the abyss. Which is everywhere, it co-exists with whatever social or cultural conventions occupying our realities of the moment.  It is ubiquitous yet invisible to all but those who have had the misfortune to have grown up in its mists, or the uninitiated. Due to my unique occular abilities I am sort of self initiated. It took me a little while to come to understand the meaning of this subset of our world. I have always seemed to rub against this sub culture, even as a child. A odd fact which has taken me many years to come to terms with it. Even then it was a process of educating myself to be able to grasp the entirety of the concepts. Though outrageous beyond belief, it is nonetheless part of a larger pool of knowledge I have fought long and hard to achieve. We are a phenomenal expression of life, even across the multiverse. For all our uniqueness, we are seemingly determined to trivialize who and what we are. More importantly the processes and manner whereby we are to accomplish our purpose “here”.  Truly phenomenal!!!

Yet I digress. I am simply getting on my soapbox, whipping the horse, so to speak. Grrrrr…

How best to convey some of the basics back into the discussions and open forums in our sea of opinions. A perplexing problem one that has vexed my soul for almost three decades. I suppose the real source of my reservations has principally revolved around my own reluctance to be centrist to any reintroduction in a general dialogue. Much to my consternation it is plain that to accomplish this and thereby facilitate me being able to keep my appointment in the future, I must find the where with all and means to personally become directly a part of our social dialogues. I can freely admit to my own megalomania. I try not to buy into it myself. I shan’t feed such feelings or Mali-adpted inclinations. What ever a person's tendencies, we fail our own interests in doing so. To the point of it becoming a all consuming psychosis. Our histories are replete with the villains who are consumed by base desires at the cost of all else. Not that such is my fear. Rather I prefer to do what I can from a position far from the limelight. We don’t always get to choose how best to accomplish our goals. My non-object oriented way of thinking I suppose. Aaagh, this is an area I would deeply desire some assistance. Not to mention the realities of presently being impoverished. I had best get used to my condition, I fear I shan’t know any other for some time to come. I guess I need to find the way and means to broadcast my ugly mug on to the internet. I guess I will start some YouTube type of series. I need to really get my act together!

Amazingly as we and our solar-system has traversed the apogee of its elliptical orbit with its sister star. This having occurred back in December 2012. We are now accelerating towards our sister star on the side closest to our Galactic Center. We will soon be re-entering the flows of Magick. They are part of the natural order of things. Think of it as a higher order of physics. We conveniently suppose a posture of superiority over some earlier more organic beliefs or systems of interactions within our realities. Although witchcraft, paganism, shamanism, and various other practices have been collectively maligned for associated practices related to satanistic practices (which Are very evil). In many such cases we have throughen the baby out with the bathwater. I am not trying to condemn nor make excuses, only to ask for a broader open review of these strangely different beliefs and practices.  Many times they are simply corrupted versions of our Judaeo-christian thought, beliefs and practices. Sometimes I even find missing pages of our religious histories amongst these. An to borrow a quote;  “We are too hasty when we set down our ancestors in the gross for fools for the monstrous inconsistencies (as they seem to us) involved in their creed of witchcraft.” - C. Lamb.

Friday July 19, 2018.  – Killeen, Texas

Now as to my disjointed quaint manner of writing, I am recalled of yet another quote from Webster’s,  “Prolix, Diffuse. A prolix writer delights in circumlocution, extended detail, and trifling particulars. A diffuse writer is fond of amplifying, and abounds in epithets, figures, illustrations. Diffuseness often arises from an exuberance of imagination; prolixity is generally connected with a want of it.” [1913 Webster].  As to which, my confused manner may be likened, I leave such determination to those who due to some pathological compulsions decide to continue on through the disjointed tediousness of my log.  Excuse my quoting, it but appears the best and most eloquent descriptive means external to my own critiques. Wherein Webster provides what I believe is a more accurate description of my loquacious manner and style of communication. Bleck, ugh…

On to more relevant matters. As I continue to play my game of catching up to the current state of affairs in my existence. Jumping back to around August last year, at the time I elected to take my leave of the Long Beach / Wilmington area of the LA Basin. The majority of occurrences I previously wrote down in a contemporaneous log as I walked out of LA ultimately reaching Salt Lake City, Utah. With a brief momentary stay in Las Vegas, Nevada. My mind aches at the memories from that time. Regardless, there may in the retelling be wisdom or beneficial information for myself or others. Sorry if some of this has a choppy feel to it. There are mountains of unresolved emotional context and histories, which continue to elicit extremes within me. I hate sounding apologetic from the get go. Not that any of the vacillating diminishes the importance of the material or what I endured.

In July of last year, my younger brother was arrested and placed in presumably Twin Towers downtown Los Angeles. It was involving drugs and a handgun. I saw him and the P.O.S. , earlier that night. I already knew there were going to be problems. Additionally I had been indirectly informed my situation was about to become difficult. No more niceness regarding my treatment, operational dictums were changed. Initially I was was acutely aware my younger brother was not in police custody. I figured he was being held some where on or around the federal facilities of Terminal Island in the Port of Long Beach. Later parts of my sight of his circumstances were confirmed to me, though the exact location never has been (foreshadowing). Sometime during the second week of his presumed incarceration. He digitally appeared in the system with the appropriate arrest date, and information. To this day I am not convinced of the terms and conditions accompanying this purely “staged” event. No doubt there were days he was in the Twin Towers facility. Anything else is highly suspect at best if not solely manipulated data for the purposes of the Op. Nonetheless, I was sorely put upon. Due to the determinate fact that whatever had previously as well as on going to date are the proximate results of his being “my brother”. I was aware my brother was not my brother. I later would describe the fact as, “my brother was murdered on the mesas of New Mexico 4 (5) years prior”. I freely declared the fact, even with my younger brother present. At the time of his arrest I had invested two years trying to awaken and heal his soul. During this ordeal, he was on goingly conditioned (subject to various satanic trauma assisted by ultra high technologies deployed by our Shadow Government for the purposes of mind control). I can not escape a degree of culpability. Many may seek succor in the belief that I was not responsible, nor the individual inflicting these horrors to my younger brother. I acknowledge the physical reality as being so. However the moral reality is that, We are our Brother's keeper. An for myself it has a immense literal quality. We are all part of Our Larger Familial Aggregation, what we do, say or do not effects all. While in my particular case, he is my younger brother – same Mother and Father. I have known what to expect from the future all my life. I have even attempted to convey this knowledge in abstract to my brothers. Granted I did Not know that in recent times the evil practitioners of these vile satanistic rites had made a huge technical breakthrough. It use to be, if an individual attained adulthood free of these practices or influences, then they would die free of its chains. Obviously a person could freely elect to cultivate any base desires or perverse inclinations. By “choice” being the operative mandate, those chained to the MPD / DID minds of victims of Satanic Ritual Abuse (SRA) are forever robbed of any choice in the matter. Not even I can “set” them free or the chains forged in their infancy and childhoods. I can only unlock the gates and offer them the means to heal. The process is long and painful, requiring more years than anyone can live to hopefully heal. Sadly as each victim is considered chattel to the perspective heads of each “family”, who is in turn property of another. Hence there are functionally twelve Satanic Patriarchs seated at the heads of their “family”. Under Satanic Dogma they consider themselves “gods” of their worlds. According to their beliefs you exist as titled property, if not than you are of no consequence thereby you do Not exist. The worth of you and yours is less than the trash sent to the dump.

Sunday July 22, 2018 – Killeen, Texas

Continuing with similar point of fact as discussed, it may all sound or would be considered linear, a straightforward affair. Appearing almost orderly, locked in some strange perverse dance. When it is anything but. Take into consideration the matter of succession. You might be inclined to infer that being Patriarchal, it is a matter of patrialinacal father to son. The reality is far from such Familial Sensibilities. Simply put, upon the death of the head of any household. He, who inherits is the male gains control of his clan by right of arms, or force. Basically if you are not yet feared enough to demand your seat as the heir to the estate. The one who rules does so because he has murdered and killed all the opposition by blood rite according to Antediluvian Law. Meaning you not only kill your opposition, the action is inclusive of all males of immediate consanguinal association. The wholesale murder also removes any potential blood retribution by those who possess an immediate claim to do so. Secondly it demonstrates to clan members at large the vicious response dissent will meet. Terror then substitutes conditioned context within their trauma-based mindset vicariously confirming that male's natural right to head that Family’s Branch of the Larger Familial Group. If you can remotely rationale order from such chaotic slaughter. You more than likely were raised under such paradigms, or your values are perversely twisted and I recommend you seek professional help from any school of thought practicing a highly structured value system, preferably based on some well established benevolent religion. Notice I qualify said using the word benevolent. Cause if you use the most liberal definition to the concepts of religion you could quietly slip satanism or luciferinism in as established religions. The distinctions are sufficient as to invite debate. One I feel is much a waste of time for all parties. Generally I ascribe it principally to a matter of semantics shackled to vastly differing modalities of operations defining values. Our time can be better spent educating ourselves up and out of overly cerebral arguments designed to trap us in artificial concepts posing as reality. A overwrought process favored by Academia in defense of entrenched theories dressed in the ideology we refer to as the “Scientific Model”.  Yes, I have great disdain for what passes for education and schools of higher learning. They have long since been co-oped into the problems they were meant to free us from being slaves. I will tuck that soapbox away now, thank you for your indulgence.

What is even more incredible is the fact that this insanity is governed by their own set laws and rules. They even have a court system with defined jurisprudence. Not any sort you or I could consider properly legal. Rather it is more a system to maintain the “status quo” based on traditions, precedence, along with a strange quasi religious tones from Antediluvian Laws. Even known lies are acceptable if left uncontested but those who have standing and recognized Familial context. Elsewise the stated lie will stand as fact, enforceable to the fullest extent to which the system can accommodate.

Now if you followed that loose explanation, allow me to attempt to give an overview of some of the semi-societal interactive relationship between myself and these psychopaths. Especially above the standing rank and file victims constituting the entirety of the Families. I have a singularly unique interactive connection to them, their Families, their politics, traditions, religious dogma, technologies of the Shadow Government, including possible contingencies for what is to come. It is a chaotic and confusing dynamic paradox. Perpetually in a state of change, in recent times there has been much difference of opinion concerning how to acknowledge or interact with me. Technically I am a nonentity, because I exist outside the direct consanguineous relationship, nor am I amenable to joining their point of view. I remain in opposition to them, their practices, beliefs to the extent of being fundamentally adversarial to “them”. It is worth noting I have been at this so long that everyone I know or deal with daily belongs to this subset of our society. Almost all my friends, associates, girlfriends or anyone else comes from some blood occultic families. Some even to what capacity they are able seek to support me in my efforts. I am alive today because some evil bastards simply decided not to do as they were instructed. Knowing full well the consequences for siding with me. Try to understand these individuals have lived corrupt malignant lives, they hate themselves but are forbidden to take their own lives. There is virtual nothing they can do to truly cause those over them to flip out or take offense. Yet they do recognize that my stumbling about is upsetting. Having run around everywhere doing what I do. I have always done so without a net, so to speak. It is a source of boarder line amazement, more particularly they think I am “bat-shit” crazy! Nonetheless I am still here. You may know people who collect body art, fashionably tattoos these days. I sometimes joke of my own collection of scars and injuries to my body. Thankfully I heal exceptionally well. Most of my scars heal to the point of being almost unnoticeable, if you did not know my histories. It is an exhausting hobby, painful too! A frequent refrain I hear while being admitted to the ER or ICU has been, “Mr Williams, you are very lucky to be alive”.  “Yeah Doc I hear that allot. Do the best you can.”.  It has become somewhat of a ongoing joke, amongst friends and family. These days those groups have become ultra thin. Another reason I make this record of events in my life including improved contemporaneous writings. We can all hope for such. Believe me if it was up to me, no one would know much if anything about me, or my life. I have been, or more correctly I have allowed myself to be forced into a dreadfully unpleasant set of circumstances, as I have whined concerning previously.

Okay Sherman set the way-back machine to the 80’s and 90’ of the last century. Seeing patterns across the country in the minds of crazy ass bitches, now I do Not mean that in a bad way. I have a immense affinity for beautiful crazy ladies. Now as I was saying, the imagery within their minds was too consistent to be coincidence. The language of our sub- conscience is imagery, archetypal, motifs, iconography, mythical, dreams, visions, will of the wisps and whimsy. I believe we all “see” much more of one another than we choose to accept. The largest hurdle to understanding is this compulsion to read or understand what we “see” before the picture is finished assembling in our minds. This tendency has been increasingly pushed into smaller and smaller bits. Which as a negative exponential inverse function has become more and more confusing as to be nigh meaningless with each subsequent reduction. Hence at a time when we should be more connected to everyone. We find increased feelings of isolation and alienation. No matter how much we communicate with our neighbors next door or abroad we have less consensus or feelings of commonality. We sequester these feeling with their accompanying anxieties, less we inadvertently offend anyone. Like what the Fuck! It is part and parcel of the Adult World. Being offended or offending others is how things get done. Usually for the best interests of everyone. Granted we should strive to be engaging to achieve our goals, short of violence or intimidation. Yet as any honest government would gladly concede. Once negotiations by normal means come to an impasse then comes negotiations by “other means”. The debased conduct of sordid persons is best met with our best foot forward, right up their ass! Like most animals, immediacy tends to be the most effective in correcting Mali-adpted conduct. Back to the horse I rode up on, hahaha.

At any rate, over the years I began to solve the underlying issues. I actually came to my own work arounds prior to fully grasping the centralized source or the impact of its implications. Years later I did begin to hear limited bits of information over the internet. Although it did take me a while before I started to correlate the “conspiracy theory” data with what I was “seeing” in women throughout the country.  Largely because few had any real coherent information. Eventually, information concerning Project MK Ultra and our government's Psy-Ops programs sufficiently surfaced to flesh out the details. As a child, young teenager I was familiar with the government’s LSD experiments for a variety of reasons, mind control being one aspect. Frankly I can not believe there are people today who do not know or refuse to believe that our government conducted such experimentation on the populace. It was just common knowledge in the circles I travel. If you read the Program Outline for MK Ultra it has an extensive list of lines of “study” information was to be explored, accumulated with a focus of deriving paradigms of control on individuals, groups, countries, cultures, and from that to the world at Large. The Globalist, New World Order, G-7, Trilateral Commission, Illuminati the individuals and their constantly shifting panorama of institutions and foundations are continually sifting beliefs and cultures in an multi-generational game of Three Card Molly. Degree by degree all the world’s various societies and Cultures have been manipulated via global misdirection with large quantities of restructuring of values and beliefs. Till everyone on Earth thinks good is bad; and bad is good. I should think we have all heard these arguments before, usually framed as the delusions of conspiracy theorist. All rather convenient as a means explaining away any descent or even an open fair discussion. Our social structure has drifted far from where we should be. Starting in 2020, everything is going to change and never be this pleasant or nice again. Well at least not till after the Second Coming. Hahaha, despite sounding …...

[twitchesandstitches]

The Great Library was a vast enough eldritch realm that there were enough room for smaller pockets for magic to carve out enclaves of spirit sanctuaries within them, and establish little pocket realms loosely tethered to the rest of the Library; close enough, so to speak, that you could walk through a door in the Library and into someone’s personal realm with ease and comfort, but distinct enough that the all seeing eyes of the spirit that commanded the Library had no actual influence or power there.

He probably didn’t care what anyone did, as long as it was not misusing his knowledge or stealing it, but it paid to be cautious around spirits… divorced from understanding of humans, or so Raven understood. Magnus had taught her this with some urgency when she was young; she knew that spirits were more direct than mortals. They were a purpose and domain given its own form, and did not understand the complexities and changes that a human did. Some dealt with this magnanimously, such as spirits of righteous concepts like Valor or Honor. Some, like the great knowledge spirit of this Library, regarded mortals as hopelessly treacherous and insane, as lost as the tides upon the ocean. And he had told her scary bedtime stories about entities like Koh the Face Stealer, and those like him altogether too interested in mortal weakness, taking the faces and perspectives of mortals to experience it for themselves.

Ever since she was small, long before she had ever towered over him and everyone else, Raven had always listened closely to him. One day, a red giant with one eye had taken in a half-demon girl, on perhaps a whim or a stirring of compassion within his heart, and a longing for a father who had long since left into the ether.

To Raven, the demon Trigon was a monster. A nightmare that even the great demonic Who’s Who tomes refused to talk about in detail. Talking grimoires clammed up, stifling their screaming voices, and would say nothing of him. He was many things in her mind; a looming inevitability, something she would have to take care of, a reminder that she had been born wrong. But he was not Father to her.

When Raven thought ‘Father’, she saw a giant of a man, with a great mane of feathered red hair, a single shifting eye. Always a word for the curious, sarcastic snarking for the unwise, and moments of childish pique… but always kind with her, patient and encouraging her talents no matter how they might frighten her, or she frighten others.

The sanctuary of Magnus the Red, his students, and those he had named sons and daughters, they lived within a realm partially modeled after many worlds he had taken a liking to, an ever shifting magical wonderland of infinite possibilities, and the multiverse’s most complicated antique shop. Buildings lay within this realm at odd angles to one another, streets sticking out around invisible trajectories to create mountains of buildings all twisting around one another, and talking raven-spirits flapping about to make sarcastic comments at people.

Presently she and Magnus were within his own sanctum, a place of power to preserve his incorporeal form and make him properly solid for a while and stabilize his powers a bit. It pleased him to follow her whim to make it look like a giant T-letter. Within it, they were having a meeting.

“Sit, my child,” he said, squatting down upon a heavy mat in the fashion of his homeworld from lost antiquity, Prospero. Raven sat in precisely the same way, her gargantuan backside serving the role of a chair. Awkwardly, she pulled her heavy cloak over herself, trying to wear it like he did and she had some trouble. Her chest was getting in the way. Granted, he was quite broad in the chest but not quite in the same way she was.

She was, in every way, a loving daughter who wanted nothing more than to be like her father. Not Trigon. Magnus.

He looked fondly at her, but also sadly.

“There is…” he started, and stopped. He fumbled for the words. “Ah. ...You are well, today? My child?”

Raven nodded demurely. “Yes, father. I am well. The nightmares of…” she shifted anxiously. “Well, you know. I am not dreaming of that anymore. I suppose the medicine worked?”

“That’s good to hear. Yes, good. Er…” he looked awkward again. “I think I know what was causing those nightmares.”

“You do? I thought the general idea was that… he… was growing in power and was attempting to contact me through my dreams.”

“I had thought so too, and that is indeed the case. However… I may have unintentionally given him a route, of sorts.”

Raven’s face, as red as his own, paled into a grayish horror. “You, you what?”

“Not on purpose!” He waved a great hand anxiously. “I was studying a summoning spell for him!”

“Oh dear lord…”

“Not to summon him, not at all! I was simply trying to find out his name!” He sighed. “I don’t want to have to wait for him to make the first move. When we face him, and we will, I swear to you, I want it on our terms. But I needed more information; his name, something to use to track his realms of power or fiendish armies, a way to figure out his cults in the material realm. So I was decoding his summoning spell, working out the programming in it, so to speak.”

Raven calmed down, a bit. A summoning spell ,of the classic ‘call up something into a circle’, was effectively the magical version of messaging someone with the bonus of making them materialize under certain controls. What he was talking about was theoretically possible, and she had no doubt he could do it.

“Then, you have his name?”

Magnus bowed his head. “Yes. I have a name, of great importance to him. The seed of his existence.”

“You do!? What is it?”

He hesitated. “Raven… this is… ah. Look, I called you here to tell you this because we both know the day will soon come when you will have to face him. Sooner or later, he will press that matter, and I intend to see you slay him and take his power for your own. But… now, there is something else. I have to fight him. Not just because I want to, for your sake.”

Raven frowned. “I’m not sure I understand. Do you not have his name?”

“I do. And that is what worries me.” He sighed. “Daughter, you understand that many ages ago, I was… very, very badly hurt.”

She recalled her history lessons. “The Thousand Sons teach that in ages past, your essence was shattered into many shards. Each one containing a portion of yourself.”

“Yes. And in order to retain me, my shards sought each other ought and enough recombined to allow me to keep my mind. And I was badly weakened, as most of my power was scattered. And over time, I found more of them, becoming more whole and powerful… but I never did find them all.”

“The best of you remained as the core aspect, and over time, you found more pieces of yourself,” she said.

“Yes! Very good. Now tell me, how many shards do you think a soul would break into? Bearing in mind that the soul is, by its nature, indivisible and infinite.”

She considered this riddle. “I would think that there is no limit. You could have any number of shards, and since the soul encompasses all you are and COULD be, you might have many, each comprising a minute facet of your being. Is that not so?”

“Indeed. And as I embody the magical potential of humanity as a whole, and therefore multitudes, I could be stretched farther than mortals would be.” Magnus tapped his chest, a nail clicking against one of the spike/horns growing from his chest. “So how many do you think I was reduced to?”

Raven took a guess. “Hrm. A few hundred?”

He winced. “Selling me a bit short there.”

“...A thousand?”

“I wish. More manageable and I enjoy the theming. But no.”

“Father, I don’t know. How many did you break into.”

He looked up, his face weary with an ancient ache. “Trillions. More.”

“Trillions!?”

“I broke apart into so many pieces, each one aware, if barely. Some larger and more powerful. Others less so, but each one an aspect of me. When some of these shards found one another, they fused into what I am now; myself, if not quite whole at least stable. And there were still vast gaps in my being, for eons I searched but never found them all.”

Raven leaned forward, eyes wide and fearful. “Father… do you mean that… oh, are you alright? Are you hurting, even now?!”

“Don’t worry, dear child. I have become whole, over time. The soul is a growing thing, and experience, understanding, growth? I have found all that. I have changed, and so my soul has healed itself. My power is weaker, yes, I would have to fuse with my shards to truly regain my full power, but my being, the essence of what makes me who I am? I have grown into a new Magnus, and made myself whole. I fixed myself, you see.”

Raven sighed, looking relieved. “I was worried there, Father. And, why do you tell me this?”

His single eye narrowed gravely. “You must know that, therefore, many of these shards are still out there. Most are just pockets of raw potentiality, unlikely to do more than exercise random magic. No mind there, just a sense of will. But some, with more essential aspects in the beginning, took on their own life.”

“And, if you grew back into someone…” Raven pondered this. “Then perhaps they have grown into something else as well?”

“You have it! And for the most part, this is not so bad. Some of them are harmless. Others, mutated into dangerous monsters that I must find and slay. But others embodied… terrible aspects of who I was. Spiteful tendencies, vindictiveness, thoughts of wanting to be extremely important, and overwhelming arrogance.”

Raven loved her adoptive father, but she was also realistic. “Thank goodness you left all that behind,” she said sarcastically.

“Yes, it’s rather a good job, isn’t it?” Magnus replied proudly, quite blind to it. “But those parts of myself are still out there. They are still in existence, and over time… I believe they found one another. All the worst in me, coming together without a single aspect of the parts of me that knew compassion… trust, love, the need for other people and a desire to help. Everything, in short, that makes me human.”

Raven frowned. “And those shards might have grown, as you have.”

Magnus’ expression was terribly blank. “This is no hypothetical situation. I can prove it.” He pulled out a roll of parchment, and upon it were many things, but at the bottom:

A summon spell, decoded in messy script, and below it, was the name of Magnus.

“Father?” Raven took it and studied it. “This spell… your name is the central part of it? What is it?”

“A summoning spell for the demon who sired you,” Magnus said grimly. “This is what I’ve been studying, and he used that to try to pinpoint your location. I’ve created wards so he cannot do that now, but I’ve learned his origin.”

Raven tried to work this out. “Okay, but what do you have to do with-”

The shards of myself can grow…

Pieces of myself, the very worst in me, without any shred of humanity or compassion…

Father’s name, on the parchment. On a summoning spell for Trigon.

Evil pieced together, without any room for goodness in there, evolving… growing… and demons, fiends, were just what happened when evil took on a face and a will.

And Trigon looked so very much like Magnus the Red.

Raven paled again. “Oh dear, sweet Primus.”

Magnus shuffled away from her. “Please… Raven. Understand, I am not Trigon! And he is not me! I-”

“But he was made from a piece of you,” she said, understanding dawning. She forced herself to calm down.

This is Father. It has always been Father.

He is not the monster you fear.

She remembered a great red hand, always at her shoulder. Giving her treats. A warm voice, making snide comments at the more fussy Thousand Sons. Always standing up for her, and so kind to her mother…

Father.

Raven tried not to think about the terrible feelings welling up, the confusion and random surges of fear, and silenced them. Deal with them later, she told herself. She wiped away tears. “I’m sorry, Father,” she said meekly. “I.. I don’t… this, this isn’t your fault…!”

What have I done to Father? He must think so terribly of himself…!

Magnus’ face curled in horror. “My fault!? I, no! This isn’t about me, this is about you! The demon that plagues you, he is my fault! Now, more than ever, it is my responsibility to help you end him.”

“Does that mean… you can become more whole by making him fuse with you? Will that help you?”

Magnus shook his head. “No. We’ve been apart for so long that I haven’t the faintest idea what he has become. A fiend, yes, but apart from that? He’s certainly far less human that I ever was, and I suspect he’s evolved into something else entirely. I’m more interested in how you can help yourself by… hrm, how do i put this delicately… ‘absorbing him’, I suppose?”

“You, you really think that’s a good idea?”

“I trust you, daughter. And whatever power he has, I’d rather have you claim it, and make yourself the best you can be.”

“But, it’s your power!”

He didn’t look at her. Just saying ‘I don’t trust myself to stay me after absorbing him’ was out of the question.

Magnus trusted Raven. He did not trust himself.

“We can end him,” he promised. “Whatever happens after that. We are the key to undoing that monster’s evil. I, the remnant of what he once was a part of. You, the person he made as a vessel. We are in a perfect position to ruin his plans, and for you to become something even greater than you already are!”

Raven bowed her head. “I am willing to try, at least.”

Sometime later…

“And that is the situation,” Magnus said to the assembled Thousand Sons, the Blood Ravens, his other orders, and the human wizards and witches that were allied to him. “Are there any questions?”

A Blood Raven raised his hand.

“Yes? Gabriel Angelos!”

“The plan is still to kill this wretched fiend,” Angelos said. “So apart from a technicality, that the fiend was born from pieces of you, has much actually changed?”

“A lot has changed! It’s a lot more personal than it already was, and it was really damn personal to begin with!”

“Doesn’t sound like much has changed.”

“Oh, shut up and let someone else ask something. You! Tall wizard, the one with red hair.”

A human wizard, red-haired and peeking out of the copious masses of Hermione Granger’s hair, had his hand raised. He was called Ron Weasley, and he had a point to make. “So does this make Lady Raven your actual daughter, or what?”

“She already was,” Magnus said flatly. “Next question.”

“No, no! I mean, adopted, yes, but… biologically! Is she your actual daughter!?”

“We have different meanings of ‘actual’. She is my daughter, end of story. Next question?”

“But if she’s Trigon’s daughter, and Trigon is a part of you, is there some kinda, what’s the word, transitive property that make her your kid too?”

“For pity’s sake! No one actually cares!”

Raven raised a hand. “I care, Father.” She smiled at that.

“Oh come on! Don’t tell me you believe that biological parentage is more ‘legitimate’ than adoption!”

“Well, no… but it’s still a nice notion, all the same.”

Magnus sighed. A Thousand Son - Ahriman, perhaps - piped up. “This, I think, makes the Lady Raven Lord Magnus’ first heir!”

“SHE ALREADY WAS!” Magnus bellowed. “It’s even in my completely pointless will!”

“I recommend a grand celebration!” Ahriman continued, ignoring him. “Let us celebrate the downfall of our eldest enemy, and the discovery of a true scion to lead us all!”

“How is he an eldest enemy?” asked a witch; Luna Lovegood, Raven thought. “You’ve only known of his nature for a short while.”

“He is retroactively a greatest enemy,” sad a Blood Raven, with a straight face somehow. “And he was at one point part of Lord Magnus. Everyone knows that Lord Magnus’ greatest enemy is himself.”

“Hey now!” Magnus complained.

“I’m sorry, Father, but they’ve a point,” Raven said.

“Oh gods not you too.”