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memesfromstuff · 3 years

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A GUIDE TO BECOME BETTER AT PLOTTING & PLOTTING ETIQUETTE.

So, one thing I hear over and over again in my time in the RP community, is the sentence “I suck at plotting.” Understandably, plotting can be difficult. Maybe you don’t know much about the other person’s muse, that muse’s fandom or universe. Maybe you’ve already used all your ideas on other plots and can’t think of any new ones. Maybe you don’t have much practice with plotting or you just automatically default to winging things because it’s easier, so you’ve gotten a bit rusty. Regardless of the reason why you think you suck at plotting though, I definitely believe there are some tips and tricks to learn how to become a better plotter or refresh your plotting skills, and I want to share some of those tips and tricks in this post.

TIPS AND TRICKS.

1) ASK QUESTIONS. This is probably the most important part of plotting if you’re stuck and can’t think of any ideas. If you don’t have any ideas, ask questions. Some examples of questions you can ask:

“What kind of theme are you interested in writing? (angst, fluff, ships, etc.)” or “What kind of dynamics would you be interested in? (romantic, friendships, enemies, frenemies, family, etc.)” or “Should we do a first interaction or something pre-established?”

The above are some questions that can narrow down on the millions of opportunities for plots that is only limited by your imagination, and instead give you a set direction when you try to come up with ideas. Think of it like a painter looking at a blank canvas. Staring a painting is always the most difficult because you have to figure out what to draw, and there are endless opportunities, which can be intimidating. But once you’ve figured out what to draw (for example a flower) it becomes a lot easier to put that painting brush down on that canvas and start painting.

If you’re still stuck after asking these questions, you can also ask questions directly about the other mun’s muse. Some examples: “How would your muse react to x, y,z?” or “.”

Some other questions you can ask. “Would you be up for doing an AU? / Would you be up for making a crossover verse for x,y,z fandom?” (If asking for the other mun to make a crossover verse for their muse, you can also offer to give information about said universe in case the other mun isn’t familiar with it.)

2) DON’T BE AFRAID TO SHARE YOUR IDEAS. If you have an idea, or even a part of an idea, don’t be afraid to share it. Even if the other mun isn’t interested in that particular idea, maybe that idea can spark an idea for them and they’ll probably tell you something akin to “I’m not sure my muse would fit in that setting, but I could see them x, y, z.” Oftentimes, even ideas that don’t work or interest your RP partner can help spark new ideas, maybe in the same direction or maybe in an entirely different, but just as much fun direction. It also shows your RP partner that you’re at least willing to make some effort with coming up with ideas, which will in turn, make them more interested in coming up with ideas of their own.

3) SOMETIMES, LESS IS MORE. A part of why some people seem to fear plotting is because they think they have to come up with intricate plots with lots of details and planning. And while that can definitely be fun, a lot of the time, LESS IS MORE. And by that, I mean, if you can just come up with the most basic of settings, sometimes, that’s more than enough to go on. Maybe that setting is something as simple as figuring out how your muses should meet. After all, if you plot out everything from how they should meet, to how their relationship should form, all the way to the end, there isn’t really a lot left to explore when you are going to actually sit down and write threads together and that can take away from the fun. It can also be that you plot out all these things, and when you start writing, you feel forced to take it in that direction when it just doesn’t flow naturally. So yeah, sometimes less is, in fact, more, and you shouldn’t ever be worried that you have to come up with big, detailed plots.

4) BACK-AND-FORTH / EXCITEMENT. Also what I like to call “Yelling about our muses to each other.” This can be a great way to plot without even thinking about plotting. It usually requires some good chemistry with the other mun, but if you are both excited about your muses and the potential for them interacting together from the beginning and show that excitement in your ooc messages, sometimes, just yelling those excitements at each other can spark a lot of ideas. Just a simple “I can see our muses becoming really good friends!!” will set in motion that back-and-forth yelling about your muses type of conversation that leads to ideas just spilling out naturally. Just the excitement in the messages themselves makes the plotting more fun and makes it come more naturally.

ETIQUETTE / DON’TS.

1) IF YOU’RE THE ONE ASKING TO PLOT / INTERACT. If you’re the one who approaches the other mun about plotting and / or interacting, DON’T leave the job of coming up with ideas to the other mun. If you’ve approached someone for plotting, chances are their muse caught your interest for some reason, and you could see an interaction between that muse and yours. Instead of putting all the job on them, express from the beginning why you could see an interaction between their muse and yours. Trust me, it makes the plotting so much more easier, not just for you, but for the mother mun, too. I can’t tell you how frustrating it is to be asked to plot, and then the person asking never actually contributes to any ideas.

2) PLOTTING IS A GROUP-PROJECT. Kind of connected with the above, but if one mun alone ends up coming up with all the ideas, it can make that mun feel like you’re not really as excited or as willing to put in the work as they are. No one likes to feel like they’re the only one in a group project doing all the work.

3) IF PLOTTING WITH A MULTIMUSE BLOG... Help the mumu-mun out by telling them which of their muses you’re the most interested in interacting with from the get-go. Even if you are interested in all of their muses, it’s usually very helpful for a mumu-mun to have some options to choose between. Or at the very least, you can ask them which of their muses they are having the most inspiration for lately.

4) NON-CONTRIBUTING RESPONSES. If someone writes you multiple sentences with ideas when you’re plotting ooc, don’t just reply with one word sentences like “Yes!”, or non-contributing sentences like “Sounds good to me!” or “I’m fine with anything!” I’ll admit, this is something I’ve been guilty of, and I think pretty much all of us has at some point, and while I do think it’s something you can get away with if you only do it on occasion, if you give these types of responses multiple times to the same person throughout the same plotting session, it can get frustrating to the other mun after a while. It kind of ties in with #1 and #2, that you’re leaving the other mun to do all the work. At the very least, if you feel like you don’t have any IDEAS to contribute with, you can still show your excitement over the idea. For example “That sounds like so much fun! I can’t wait to write that out!” Maybe even ask something akin to “Is there anything else you think we should plot out, or do you want to start with what we’ve got so far?”

There are probably a lot more tips and tricks and do’s and don’ts that could be added to this list, but this is what I can think of at the top of my mind. Feel free to reblog if you feel like this was helpful and/or could be helpful to someone else!

#rp resources #rp tips #roleplay tips #roleplay resources #plotting tips

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platoniclokiimagines · 2 years

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i love your blog so much! i’ve been thinking, what kind of things do you think loki would do with his bestie?? like would they paint, maybe shop? (if you have smth that’s similar to this then feel free to ignore it LMAO)

honestly what Wouldn’t you do once you and Loki are close?

granted, it does take a While to get to that level of trust

and to really be able to just Relax around each other and let your guards down

but once you do get to that point?

hoo boy

you two would do almost Everything together

mornings? you’re both drinking tea and judging everyone’s outfits as they come in to get breakfast

“I see the spiderling is wearing the same kitten pajama pants yet again.” “To be fair, I think Tony got them for him. But I concur, doesn’t he have literally anything else to wear?” “And here comes Thor, hair a rat’s nest, as per the norm.” “We live with the most powerful beings on the planet and there’s hardly a lick of fashion sense between any of them. Shame.” “Y/N, I completely agree.”

in fact, pretty much all of your time at the compound is spent together

reading, sparring, going over game plans for missions, all of it you do together

even the mundane things such as chores like doing the dishes or laundry duty, you both end up working on it together

mostly because the two of you are inseparable anyway

and also a little bit because everyone else on the team is a little Too intimidated by Loki to actually try to separate the two of you

your free time away from the compound is also spent together

you go on “outings,” as you like to call them

since Loki’s still pretty new to Earth culture, you’ve taken it upon yourself to introduce them to all your favorite places and things

sometimes you set aside days to be complete tourists

seeing the Statue of Liberty, riding the ferry, getting pizza in Times Square

you even convince them to go see Wicked on Broadway

after which, Loki was adamant about seeing as many plays and musicals as they could get to, dramatic theatre kid that they are

and the sight of them completely enthralled by the shows always makes you smile, anyway, so how could you ever say no?

you take them to all your favorite little hidden gems

the coffee place on seventh street that you adore because it’s always empty in the evenings

the corner of Central Park where there are no joggers or scammers selling photocopies of artwork at outrageous prices

you even take them to the ironically-named Valhalla Bar, which you frequented long before you ever knew any of the Asgardians

you’ll never forget the one time they got absolutely shit-faced on a single pint of beer

“Isn’t Asgardian liquor supposed to be, like... really strong?” “Yes, well, I’m not Asgardian, so.” “...doesn’t that mean Asgardian liquor should have made you this shit-faced, too, if not more?” “................I don’t know right now.”

you also end up with Loki participating in a lot of your personal hobbies, as well

your photography, your drawing, your painting, whatever it is that you do for fun, Loki ends up at least trying

you let them hold your Good(tm) camera and show them how to aim and how to use the grid to center photos

most of them come out a little blurry and off-centered, but you had fun doing goofy poses from them anyway

you get Loki a blank canvas to work with while you’re doing your own painting, and try not to get jealous that painting comes so naturally to them

“How are you so good at that? Have you painted before?” “No. Just lucky, I guess.” “Mm.” “Why, are you jealous?” “No.” “Y/N.” “I’m not.” “Y/N.” “I’m not.” “...” “...okay maybe just a little bit. Look at how you blended those colors together so perfectly. It took me months to perfect that.”

errands? also done together

when it’s your turn to buy groceries for the compound, Loki always tags along

and throws things in the carts that absolutely No One in the compound wants or needs

“Loki, nobody even has a cat at the compound, why would we need catnip?” “I mean, we could put some around T’Challa and see what happens.” “...” “Don’t tell me you’re not at least a little curious.” “...maybe just a little.”

all in all, the two of you are absolutely inseparable

practically joined at the hip

when one of you is sad, the other is doing everything in their power to help you feel better

bringing tea or a favorite book or queuing up dumb TikTok compilations on YouTube

your each other’s wingmen

gassing each other up when you have dates, making sure you’ve got everything you need for when you’re going out

waiting up at night to make sure that the other got home safe

even though you’re both Literal Avengers and know how to handle yourselves

it’s just what you Do

and you wouldn’t have it any other way

#Loki imagine #platonic Loki imagine #Loki #Loki Laufeyson #Loki Odinson #Loki x reader #platonic!Loki x reader #shenanigans #fluff #domestic #anonymous #ask #answered #thank you for the ask!

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uuujeewriting · 3 years

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should have [xiao oneshot]

tw: mentions of self harm and suicide, mental health issues and angst with a bit of fluff

xiao x gn! reader

a/n: first post on the blog! decided to show some xiao love and u h angst ehe. sorry for the downer but i haven’t been doing so well and meds don’t do much DDDX

i would like to clarify that if any of these scenarios/hc's of mine are similar to other writers' works, it is unintentional and i apologize

“reckless thing, you are-” the yaksha huffs and ceases his own words as he coughs at your impact on his chest. “how many times have i reminded you to stop running up or down the stairs?” he scowls. you know he means well.

“ah, sorry xiao,” you chuckle, “i’m just excited to see you, is all.” you push yourself off the chest that caught you and peered gleefully at the male. he seems annoyed to the unknowing mortals passing by, but as a person who has spent half their time ‘pestering’ (as he says) the adeptus, you can quickly tell that he was merely relieved and was trying to hide it—although he’d rather deal with karmic debt twice his own than to admit such fondness for you. “thanks by the way.”

xiao diverts his gaze onto the railing of the stairs, “this is the fourth time this week that you’ve gotten yourself into dangerous and careless situations. are you sure you’re keeping an eye out for yourself?” he interrogates you as if he were your guardian, which he might as well be, you nod earnestly at his question.

“don’t worry about me, i’d never dream of leaving you alone.” you giggle. this answer of yours urged the adeptus to cringe and tell you to stop thinking like you’re all important and whatnot, but he knew he’d be lying if he said you weren’t someone he treasures deeply. “i swear on it!” you add.

“hmph, fine.” he begins to walk away, stopping for a second. xiao hesitates to take the next step without a word and decides to leave you with a message,

“if you ever find yourself in trouble, no matter how small or big–if you know that it’ll cause you any harm, call out my name. i’ll be there.”

you appreciated that.

to be fair, xiao did not bring up his concern because of your recent recklessness, but how dim you seem in comparison to how you were before. yes, you still smiled brightly, but the lanterns in the sky easily outshines you. your eyes still held warmth, but warmth that fleeted every now and then if not focused on the adeptus’. he worried that something was gnawing at the back of your mind and causing said recklessness as of current.

he knows mortals are weak, fragile, and although he does not look down on you too much, he still feels the need to protect you from even the slightest of disturbances, which is what led to his conclusion now; to check up on you.

‘where in teyvat are they?’ xiao furrows his eyebrows in frustration as he knocks on the door to your house for the sixth time.as he reaches out to knock once more, he flinches slightly when the door opens.

what the hell?

“oh! xiao, what are you doing here?” you smile.

he could see how distressed you are, even from a mile away, he presumes. you look weaker, thinner and definitely worse than three days ago. eyes as dull as a blank canvas that hasn’t been acknowledged by it’s artist for years, limbs as frail as a dried flower’s petals. what in archons happened to you?

“y/n, what in the seven happened? what’s with your weak physique? you clearly haven’t been taking care of yourself.” he moves to grab your arm but you draw it back quickly before he could catch it. he grows more and more irritated as your silence greets his question, left to be unanswered.

“i’m sorry, xiao, but could you leave me be for a while? i’ll visit you soon, i promise!”

ah, there you go again with your promises.

“why the hell would i leave after seeing you on the brink of fainting? someone has to look out for you if you aren’t going to yourself!” he exclaims as he grows more and more livid by the second.

you huff in annoyance, “why do you care? you have millions of other people to save, you shouldn’t get distracted by one you can’t do anything about.”

xiao clicks his tongue in extreme disappointment as he doesn’t seem to get through you. “you don’t get it at all, do you?”

“you don’t get it either, xiao.”

silence envelops the air between you as you bask in infuriatingly awkward stillness. xiao knows he doesn’t get it, you know you’ll never understand him either. it’s hopeless.

after a few minutes or what felt like a decade, you speak up.

“..hey, can you accompany me somewhere?” you catch his attention. he raises a brow in skepticism, as it is the middle of the night. “it won’t take long.”

he sighs quietly and nods, nudging his head to silently signal you to lead the way. he might as well accompany you instead of going off on a tangent about how you worry him too much.

you arrive at the windrise tree, the breeze nipping gently at your exposed legs. xiao eyes you from behind and bites his tongue despite his urge to berate you.

you sit down at the base of the windrise tree, letting out a long sigh of relief as you stretch your legs. the adeptus hesitates for a second but ultimately decides to sit down beside you.

this time, he’s the first to break the ice.

“what is your purpose of going here with me?” he doesn’t meet your eyes that snap to him quickly at his question.

there are multiple reasons as to why you might have wanted to visit windrise, some being that you wanted to take a breather after a heated argument, taking a stroll after an exhausting week or even just needing a fresh scenery for a change. all of these reasons and yet, nothing could have prepared him for the words that came next.

“it could be the last time i’ll see this place again.” you smile fondly, despite the rather depressing statement you had just made.

the yaksha froze up. ‘last time? are you moving?’

could it be that you’re leaving him? when you said you never dared to even think of it?

perhaps the fatui were after you?

were you in danger?

his mind listed a myriad of possibilities, all of them he wished were not true. he was still trying to wrap his head around what you just said. when you finally take into account his stiffness and silence, you forced out a chuckle.

“yeah, i’ll be gone by tomorrow.”

he shouldn’t have done what he did next.

“..xiao? are you-”

he cut you off by standing up and glaring at you.

your heart dropped at his gaze.

it was one of the most intimidating but hurtful looks he’d ever made in your presence. his eyes screamed in unsaid fury and his face was etched in borderline offense. looking down. you see both his fists clenched in a tight grip of nothing. his form was trembling in anger, almost making you mistake yourself for one of the millions of demonic figures he rinsed the land of.

“don’t ever show yourself again.”

noted. and he’s gone.

you stare at your scarred arms and wrists.

‘it won’t be long now.’

xiao regrets it now, is all.

#genshin impact x reader #genshin impact headcanons #genshin impact #genshin impact xiao #xiao x reader #xiao headcanons #xiao scenarios

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beanieman · 3 years

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Shinalice Drabble: Flowers And Feelings (Or A Tattoo Shop And Flowershop AU)

The average flower shop customer is pretty stereotypical. Some young couple looking for roses, mourners adorned in black, and the handful of regulars who always seem to be throwing a party. But the man who stands at the counter with a lost look in his eyes is different.

He's covered in tattoos and piercings from head to toe. If that weren't enough to turn heads, his bright blue hair with pink and yellow stripes would sure do the job. Shin has seen him before entering the tattoo shop next door. He thinks he's an employee? Whoever the man is, he's intimidating. He sure doesn't look like the usual customer. But he seems to be in the right place, as he rings the bell impatiently waiting for service. With a glump, Shin exits the back room he was arranging and makes his way towards the front.

"You!! Do you work here?!"

The man doesn't need to be so loud to draw his attention.

"Y-Yes. Welcome to Shin's Snowdrops. How can I help you?"

Now that he's closer to the man, he can see a few more of his tattoos. He has a daffodil growing out of a skull printed on his hand. It's an appealing work. He's not usually a tattoo guy, but he wouldn't mind one that looked like that.

"What type of flowers would you suggest for sprucing up a tattoo parlor? Something eye-catching that makes people think, "Oh yes, he has very good taste!".

"Birds of paradise, white anemones, and french marigolds are all pretty bright. Want me to get some for you?"

"Mwahaha, if you will."

"So...yes then?"

As he begins to gather the flowers, Shin can't take his eyes off the gaudy man. He looks so...cool. Even though Shin knows his shop like the back of his hand, he takes his time "looking" for the flowers he needs. He wants all the time he can give himself to gaze at each piece of artwork littered across the stranger's skin.

He stares more than he wants to. But the client didn't seem to notice as he looks around at the selection of products. He seems to focus on the purple lilacs bundled together In an appealing bouquet. Should he throw some in for free? You have to keep new customers happy. It has nothing to do with how hot Shin finds him. Or so he'll keep telling himself.

No matter how slow he tries to move, he gathers the flowers too quickly for his liking. He can't procrastinate forever, mainly because the bouquets are too heavy to keep holding.

"Are these bright enough?"

The man turns to look at the bouquets Shin picked. He seems pleased enough with it as a grin spreads across his face.

"Your selection is more than suitable! Will you add these as you ring them up?"

He puts the purple lilacs on the counter next to the flowers Shin picked. They mesh well together, creating an eye-popping combination. It's not something Shin would have crafted. It's a unique look, just like the man in front of him has.

With his black-painted nails, the stranger points to the french marigolds gathered with the others.

Flowers are supposed to have meanings, correct? Do those mean anything?"

"You'd be right. Yellow marigolds mean optimism. Birds of paradise mean freedom. And white anemone's mean sincerity."

"And these?"

He gestures towards the purple lilacs. It makes a faint blush grow to Shin's face. Damn his easily embarrassed nature. It's nothing to be flustered over.

"Oh, those? They mean the first emotions of love. You can take them. Not many people are seeking them out. It's 6581.46 yen for the rest."

The man shyly glances away from him but still takes the flowers before searching his pocket for the appropriate amount of currency. Shin's eyes gaze back to the daffodil tattoo on his hand. It stands out vibrantly against his skin.

" Er...you said you wanted these to decorate a tattoo shop? So you're a tattoo artist?"

"Mwhaha, you're not lacking in observational skills. I work at the shop next door. My ink flows through the pen like a slithering snake finding a blank canvas to call home. My sister and I take walk in's, so come in any time!"

He looks proud of his abilities, and if his own tattoos are anything to go off of, he should be. His confidence gives Shin some as well. He gets an idea, one that he's not sure he could even go through with showing up.

"Tattoos are pretty costly, right? What if we make a trade? I'll give you your flowers for free, and if I stop by one day, you could give me a discount on a tattoo."

"It's a deal! My name is Alice. Ask for me when you come in."

Alice takes the deal with ease and reaches out his hand for Shin to shake. Shin hope's his hand isn't sweaty in his firm grasp.

"I'm Shin. Do you need assistance moving all this next door?

He's praying Alice doesn't need help with heavy lifting. But his job requires him to ask.

"I can handle it. But before I forget, these are for you, Shin! Take it as a token of appreciation for all your troubles."

Alice pushes the purple lilacs into his arms, and he tries not to overthink the implications. He heard him. The gift was for his help and nothing more. It's nothing to get worked up about, but then why is his heart beating so fast?

"Until next time, Shin?"

He was so caught up in his thoughts. He hardly noticed Alice making his way towards the door. But he still manages to give a sheepish wave and nod of confirmation as he exits.

"Until next time."

#Shinalice #Alishin #YTTD #Your Turn To Die #Shin Tsukimi #alice yabusame

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ja0-s-blank-canvas-fic · 3 years

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Part 2 - Chapter 34 - Spill The Beans

Blank Canvas Part 2

AO3 - here

Fanfiction.net - here

Welcome back to the second half of the interview! The recording will be heard and some decisions will be made about how to handle this situation. I hope you like it! ^____^

Warning for brief mentions of past suicide baiting and canon character death from Vigilantes.

Linktree to all the things!

End notes for the chapter are under the line.

The recording as been heard and, bzzt, deleted. How clumsy of Nezu to do such a thing. ;P Now it may seem that Izuku is getting off light. This is partially for plot reasons, but also honestly I don't think they really have anything arrest worthy on him. Nor to warrant expulsion or getting kicked out of the hero course. Especially when two of them are his mentors who know Izuku better. Knowing he has a penchant for helping, not hurting. Implementing any of those options wouldn't actually help the situation.

The failure to turn Stain in is certainly bad but also not. Because they never conspired to do anything criminal or illegal. Not really anyway. They just talked. The hit on Endeavor is certainly the most problematic issue of this situation. But my thoughts are that even though that was bad, the evidence produced by that hit would be beneficial to their investigation. So this would be similar to making a deal with a criminal to help with another case. Lower Izuku's punishments in order to bring justice to someone else. (I watch a lot of crime shows and find true crime fascinating so...this is how my brain worked it out. :P )

Izuku will be getting punished still though. Not sure how exactly but Aizawa is going to be the one to decide as his homeroom teacher. I am open to ideas as to what his punishment will be exactly. For now, I'm thinking something like hell training in a detention like form with Aizawa. Kind of similar to how Aizawa handled those who failed the midterm exam during the training camp of pushing them to their limits but also educating them at the same time. But again, the specifics are not determined yet so ideas are welcome. ^____^

Izuku gets to keep both of the gifts! :D Because I wanted him to but also there has to be a lot of rule bending in underground hero work. So of course Aizawa would be willing to let this slide. Technically it could be construed that they both became Izuku's after being given to him by Stain. And if it brought comfort to his problem child at the same time, so be it. Dadzawa cares about his kids. This is also influenced by Japan's gift giving culture as well.

Fun Facts About Japan:

This is more of an observation than confirmed fact so I could be wrong. In Japan, the homeroom teacher is basically the students' school parent. They're kind of...more involved in their students' lives than say a teacher in the US. At least that was my impression. It's sort of part of the hierarchy that I had talked about in an earlier chapter. Where you go to the person just above you first before moving up the ladder. The homeroom teacher is directly above the students so they are the main force when it comes to dealing out punishments. Or handling certain situations. Such as when a lil' perv boy at one of my schools had drawn a highly inappropriate drawing that was obviously me during one of my lessons. I told my teacher I was working with and she talked to the homeroom teacher of that class. Then that homeroom teacher apologized to me on behalf of his student after doing whatever he did in regards to handling the situation. My guess would be a lot of yelling honestly. I had heard plenty of students getting a talking to in that very intimidating Japanese yelling tone. To the point of me thinking 'I don't know what you did but oof that's got to suck'. Anyway, the situation was handled through the homeroom teacher. Which is why Aizawa will be the one to deal out Izuku's punishment for this mess.

That's all for now! Next update we're going to get some much needed fluff in the beginning. Then Izuku has got some 'splaining to do. ;P Followed by a visit from the chief! We'll find out who gets the credit this time around. Until then be well and report any typos or weirdness!

#mha #bnha #quirkless au #fanfic #blankcanvasfic #blankcanvasconvictions #post hosu #midoriya izuku #akaguro chizome #aizawa shouta #principal nezu #tsukauchi naomasa

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catbishonen · 3 years

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hi! i saw your pinterest where you save your references! could you drop the link to your references :D? and how do you face a blank canvas! i find it intimidating when i see a blank canvas😔

i’d like to keep my pinterest private. references are not hard to find and i think it’s more useful when you search for them yourself. i only draw when i have something i want to draw so i don’t have an answer to your last question 😂

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whimsicalsesquipedalian · 3 years

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Modern-day witch.

In Salem there were witches. Or there were women who old, bitter men said were witches. We all know they weren’t witches. Not really. Witches aren’t real. Well, at least not the kind the fairy tales tell you about. But there was something. Something about those women. Something that said “I don’t fit”, “I’m different”, something that said: “my deviancy is worth killing me over.”

Gretel didn’t believe in witches. ‘Patriarchal bullshit designed to police womens’ behaviour’, is what she told her father as they watched a Netflix special on the trials, ‘just another way the male agenda enacts violence on womens’ bodies and identities.’ Her father remains silent, probably wanting to avoid an accusation of complacency or even compliance with the patriarchal machine. Her brother isn’t in the room. Her “mother” is away on a business trip. She misses these times when it’s just them, her and her father. No annoying younger brother with his neanderthal behaviours. No bitch in heels and lipstick pretending to be her mother. Just them. Sometimes, she thinks, this is the only part of my life that isn’t just bullshit. ‘I think I would have been killed for being a witch,’ she says, long after the television has gone silent. Her father simply hums. ‘The men back then would have been way too intimidated by a woman like me.’ Her father stares, taking in his daughter. She narrows her eyes, turns down her lips, rolls back her shoulders and puffs out her chest. A less than convincing picture of the “deviant woman” when the canvas is a nineteen-year-old girl who’s never left her hometown. Her father nods, ‘I suppose you would.’

Six months later Gretel sits alone in the dark on a street corner in a city all too large and all too loud, and a perfect fucking example of why the capitalist regime should be torn down by a new and glorious revolution. The marxist group at the local community college ran a seminar on the dangers of capitalism last week. It’s the first time since she arrived here that something in this city hasn’t felt like complete bullshit. ‘We at the Marxist Alternative don’t cater to the capitalist pigs draining you of all individuality or expression,’ she was too caught up in the moment to notice the inherent irony in the statement, ‘the wealthy conservative scum are the true bane of our society. Eat the rich and destroy their legacies.’ She nodded along, caught in the fervour, already seeing a face in her mind.

She had left home. That bitch in heels and lipstick ran her out. She doesn’t need a trail of breadcrumbs to return; she knows the way. That doesn’t mean she will. Not when it’s all bullshit. Not when no-one understands her. Not when the father that should have loved her more than anything chose the bitch in heels and lipstick over her. Over her plain face, her bad hair, her short, uneven nails. Why couldn’t he see that she was the only authentic thing in the white-picket life he had built for himself? It’s cold on the street corner. The owners returned to the place she was squatting in. Policemen, cold blue light, and a station that smelled of piss, all because she had decided to take something back from the Wall Street bastards who took something from her first. A court date on Monday feels like a fucking hatecrime, she thinks. All cops are bastards, or whatever the saying is.

‘Can I help you, baby?’

The woman stands there, under the streetlamp, looking down at Gretel. The wild afro around her head glows like a halo, and frames a dark-skinned face with eyes the colour of coal. Tension runs down Gretel’s spine. Immediately replaced by shame crawling in her gut at her initial reaction. Immediately replaced by the projection of a false sense of comfort so as to appear that she is not one of the racist dicks Twitter seems so keen on calling out lately. ‘I need somewhere to sleep, do you know if there are any shelters nearby?’ She keeps her voice light and her expression blank. It’s only polite, she figures. ‘No baby, no shelters around here.’ The woman looks sorry, looks sympathetic, looks almost pitiful. ‘You got any friends or family? I can call you a cab.’ Gretel shakes her head. There is something authentic about the street corner she has found herself on. Something the bitch in heels and lipstick could never understand. She wasn’t going to compromise that by going home now. ‘I don’t normally do this, but I’ve got a spare mattress. You can come home with me, if you need to.’ The woman looks kind and the night looks dark. It’s still cold. Gretel follows her. I would have followed home a white woman, she thinks.

‘Come in, make yourself at home.’

Dirty floors, mould on the walls, and a dampness in the air that seems to draw the light and warmth right out of the room.

‘I know it’s not much, but I hope it’s alright for tonight.’

Low ceiling, concrete walls, bars on the only window and a stain on the floor that could easily be blood.

‘I’ll heat some food up for you. Skinny white girl like you, you could use a proper meal.’

No light comes on in the fridge. The food looks more than a few days old. The woman’s hands move over the container and suddenly it’s not so certain what Gretel is being served.

‘Put your stuff anywhere, baby. It doesn’t bother me.’

Piles of clutter and mess. Bags of clothes that are far too small for the woman at the kitchen bench. Backpacks and shoes that look as though they once belonged to young children. Another stain on the floor. The smell of rot.

‘Mattress is behind that curtain. Not much privacy in a one room.’

The room is too small. A bed in one corner, a kitchen in another. No bathroom she can see, and a table worn with use. A shower curtain draws over one corner. A mattress that would look at home in a dumpster lies behind it. More stains, more stink. The curtain rustles.

‘Don’t mind the smell. Landlord found rats in the building. Exterminator came, but I think some got stuck in the walls. Hard to have an appetite when the place smells like death.’

The smell hits her harder now. Not just rot, but rotting flesh. An almost sickly sweetness to it, like pus or dead flowers. It fills her nostrils and makes her head spin. The floor is still stained brown.

‘You don’t mind if I lock the door do you? We get some interesting folks in this neighbourhood. I’d rather be safe.’

The lock clicks behind her. The room is suddenly stifling. The food sits on the table, but it smells like everything else in this place. Death in every bite. Her stomach turns.

‘So you haven’t got anyone then, baby? No-one waiting for you to come home? Young girl like you, you shouldn’t be all by yourself. Not in these parts.’

The words send shivers down her spine. The questions a red flag warning her to hold her secrets close. The door is still locked. The food is still warm. The air is still acrid. The woman is still staring. ‘I shouldn’t be here,’ she stutters. ‘I’ll just find a shelter,’ the words hang empty in the stale air. ‘It’s really not worth causing you all this trouble...’ The excuses fly past her lips as she edges towards the door. Her phone is in one hand and her bag in the other. There’s a baseball bat by the door, she realises. ‘Are you sure, baby? I really don’t mind.’ The woman takes a step forward and Gretel runs.

‘Hello. Yes, police. I’d like to report an attempted abduction. I got away but it looks like the woman has done this before. Yeah. Blood on the floor. Clothes in bags. Shoes for like 10 different kids. The whole place smelt like there was something dead there. Yeah, I have the address. Please, she just grabbed me off the street. Wanted to know if anyone would come looking for me. I think she tried to drug me. Everything happened so fast...’

It is on the news two weeks later. A black woman in her early forties, shot by police officers when they entered her home on belief of suspicious activity. No one is sure if they had a warrant. No one was wearing body cameras. Apparently she was aggressive. Pulled a weapon. The officer in question had no choice. Six shots for one woman. At five foot two and 160 pounds it must have been some weapon she was carrying. Gretel watches it all play out from the couch of the friend she’s crashing with, counting down the minutes before she has to go start her court mandated community service. 30 hours. It speaks to how broken the fucking justice system is, she thinks.

Twitter and a multitude of news channels host a trial for the woman, post-mortem. Alternating constantly between prosecution and defense; the masses providing a widespread jury incapable of forming consensus. The prosecution opens: ‘The woman was a suspected kidnapper, possibly a child molester. There had been evidence to suggest she was at least a drug user. Weed under a mattress. You know the type.’ The defense rebuts: ‘The woman volunteered for her church’s thrift store, the clothes and shoes were donations that needed to be sorted. She suffered from a chronic condition, the drugs were prescribed to help her manage the pain. The supposed weapon the police keep talking about was a baseball bat she reached for when the door was broken down. She thought it was a home invasion.’ The masses lay their verdict; a hung jury. ‘Blue lives matter.’ ‘Justice for Lucretia Jones.’ ‘He was just doing his job.’ ‘Defund the police.’ The trial is complete and the sentence is hollow. No matter which way the decision falls the witch already lays dead. Burned before trial. Killed without mercy. The cycle continues, it is just the victims that change. Gretel turns off the news and keeps on living. ‘I’m a modern day witch,’ she says, as she drops more tinder onto the pyre.

#writing #my writing #hansel and gretel #fairy tale retelling #going to start posting my weekly writing tasks #just to track my progress

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kutemouse · 4 years

Note

Hey! Can i have vampire au with jimin please? No smut just fluffy :*

Hey ARMY, listen up! See this??? ⬇️👇 ⬇️👇 ⬇️👇 ⬇️👇 ⬇️👇 ⬇️

I made and edited this gif. In fact, I make and/or edit a lot of the gifs I use myself. You may have noticed that I use the tag #btsgif in some of my posts, even if they contain writing. That’s because I want ARMY to see all of my creations, including the gif I make as a header. Therefore, I think the tag is relevant.

In addition, not only do I want ARMY to see my gifs, I want to encourage ARMY to use them. Yep, that’s right! Feel free to steal this gif, I just ask you give me credit for the edit. After all, it’s not even my content I make/edit the gifs from, it’s obviously the property of BigHit and BTS.

However, in the future, I will be sure to be very specific in my posts, and post a disclaimer that I’m not just using the tag for clout, I’m using it so ARMY can find the gif I made and use it however they like. It’ll look something like this:

Disclaimer: This gif was made and/or edited by me, kutemouse. That is why I’ve posted this under the tag #btsgif. Feel free to use this gif however you want, just give me credit for the edit.

Hopefully this way, the 🚨tumblr police🚨 will leave my kute ass alone. Okies? Everyone happy? Good.

And with that out of the way, let’s continue on to this request. When it came in, it made me a tad apprehensive because it gave me a CHALLENGE, kutie anon. I mean, fluffy vampires? Fluffy JIMIN vampire? I’ve only written brooding, mysterious, playboy Jimin vamp in my book “Cursed,” so I had to take a couple days and really think about how I could make this work. I hope you like what came out of my brain. Much 💜 to you for challenging me in new ways, therefore improving my writing 😊

Disclaimer: Beauty and the Beast belongs to Disney, just in case 😉

Age Recommendation: 16+

Warnings: Swearz for dayz. A bit of angst. Vamp Jimin being extra. Soobin from TxT magically appears. A little bit o’ flirting.

Word Count: 2,845

Summary: You’re an artist trying to obtain a university degree. One day, you get the strangest phone call asking you for the strangest commission you’ve ever had: Come live with this rich recluse and paint his portrait all summer. What could go wrong?

Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ

Summer Portraits (Jimin One-Shot, Fluff, Vampire) Part One

You looked up at the large house, a feeling of intimidation creeping over you. It just looked dark, even in the bright sunlight, and most, if not all, of the windows were covered. What kind of person lived here of all places? In the middle of nowhere? Seems pretty sketch.

You’d gotten the call last week. “We’ll pay you a handsome commission,” the smooth voice said. “And we’ll cover the costs of travel.”

You pressed the phone closer to your ear. “That sounds great, Mr. Choi, but… it’s still a strange request.”

The voice on the other end chuckled. “Yes, well… Mr. Park is the very definition of strange, Miss L/n.”

Mr. Choi was very clear in his proposal. You’d spend the three months of your summer with this man, living in his house, to paint a series of portraits for him. As many as you could get done in three months. You initially found the request absolutely ridiculous. Give up your entire summer? No way. You already had plans to see friends and family, and were keen to get away from the stresses that University brought. However, the request became more interesting as Mr. Choi described how you would have to sign a non-disclosure agreement and not tell anyone where you were going or what you were doing. That piqued your interest. Who was it? A celebrity? A famous CEO? An idol?

Looking at the large, foreboding mansion, you couldn’t see any of those three living here. The place reeked of old money. This estate had probably been passed down through the generations, and now someone, likely a young heir, was keen to stretch the limits of what ridiculous things their money could buy.

Sighing, you stepped onto the porch and rang the doorbell. It clanged through the house loudly and you cringed, thinking maybe you should’ve knocked. A tall guy dressed in a suit and tie cracked it open. “L/n Y/n?” he asked.

“That’s me,” you said.

He stepped out onto the porch. “I’m Choi Soobin,” he said, bowing. “Please, come inside. I’ll show you to your room.”

“Thanks.”

Soobin was much younger than you imagined. He couldn’t be more than nineteen, at the most. Yet he acted well beyond his years, more refined, more mature. It was disconcerting to say the least. Soobin picked up your bags and led the way up the curving staircase. You both went down a hall, then turned right, then down another hall before he stopped at the third door on his left. “Here we are,” he murmured, pushing it open.

Your mouth fell open. The room was large, spacious, gorgeous, and surprisingly modern. The walls were painted a soothing lavender, your favorite color, and the king-size bed was covered in a matching coverlet and pillows. There was even a couch and television, and a large bay window filled with pillows that looked out onto the grounds. A perfect reading nook. “This is your closet and bathroom,” Soobin said, opening a set of double doors. The closet was humongous and chic, with plenty room for your clothes and then some, and the bathroom looked more like a full-out spa. It was like something you’d only seen on TV.

Soobin strode over to the other side of your bedroom and opened another door. “This leads to your studio,” he said. Your mouth fell open once more as you walked through. The space was open and had so much light, you had to squint from the sudden brightness. There were shelves upon shelves of supplies, everything you’d ever need, stacks of blank canvases, and a large, wooden easel. It was like an artist’s wet dream.

“This is amazing,” you breathed.

Soobin grinned. “It is, isn’t it? Mr. Park wanted to make sure you’d have everything you need. If you run out of supplies, please let me know, I’ll order more. Feel free to make a mess. The floors are a cheap vinyl flooring only made to look like wood. We’ll rip it out and put carpet back in once you depart.”

You nodded, amazed at the way Soobin said that so casually. Not everyone could afford to re-carpet on a whim. Did your benefactor really have that much money? “Dinner’s at seven every evening,” Soobin continued. “Don’t be late, and dress in something other than jeans, please. For your other two meals, you may have them whenever you like, just give me ample time to prepare them. There’s plenty of food in the kitchen, feel free to help yourself to a snack. You may go wherever you like in the house, except the west wing. Mr. Park lives on that side and spends most of his time there, and unless you are specifically invited, I’d prefer you not disturb him.”

“S-Sounds good,” you stuttered. Who was this guy anyways, the Beast?

“Now, Mr. Park is waiting for you in his study. You’ll probably paint a few of his portraits there, is that alright? Or do you need to work in your studio?”

“I can work anywhere,” you replied.

“Perfect. Let’s go.”

Soobin led the way through the various hallways until you stopped at a set of dark wooden doors with intricate carvings in them. He knocked and pushed one open. “Jimin hyung?” he asked. “She’s here.”

A chair behind a desk turned to reveal the most handsome man you’d ever seen. Like Soobin, he was much younger than you’d imagined. His skin was pale, making his dark hair stand out in stark contrast. It was parted on the right, and his bangs hung over his left eye giving him a mischievously sultry look. He wore a bright jacket with a pattern of palm trees over a black dress shirt, dark ripped jeans, and black boots. His full, rosy lips were too perfect to be true, and his tawny eyes smoldered as they looked you over.

“Welcome!” he said brightly, holding out his hands and grinning. His eyes disappeared into cute crescent-moon slits. “I’m Park Jimin, but you can just call me Jimin. I’ve been waiting so long for this day, Y/n.”

Your mouth parted in surprise. Well, that’s not at all what you were expecting. And you were already on first-name basis…?

“Shall we get started?” he asked eagerly.

You closed your mouth and nodded. “Uh, sure. But I’ll need my supplies…?”

“Of course, of course. Come, I’ll sit in your studio for today.”

He wrapped your fingers in his and led you back down the hall to your studio, swinging your hands as you went. “What the hell?” you thought. To say Jimin was the opposite of what you were expecting was an understatement. The house screamed dark and brooding, as did his weird butler/servant person, and the mysterious circumstances under which you were brought. Yet Jimin was nothing but smiles and sunshine.

“Ah, here we are,” he said, pushing the door open to your studio. He got a stool from the corner and sat on it. You set everything up, placing a blank canvas on the easel and choosing a couple different colors of paint from the shelves. Soobin slipped through the door, hands behind his back, silently watching.

“How do you want me to pose?” Jimin asked, crossing his legs. “And smiling, not smiling?”

“Well, that depends on how you want the portrait to turn out,” you replied. “So just pose… however you want.”

“Better do not smiling,” he said. “For the first one at least. I want a range of my facial expressions, seeing as how I haven’t seen them for over thirty years now.”

“Sir,” Soobin said, a tone of warning in his voice.

Jimin waved him off. “Please, she’s signed a non-disclosure agreement. She’s fine.”

You were taken aback by the strange exchange, but shook your head, brushing it off. Whatever they were talking about didn’t concern you. You were here to do a job, get paid, and move back home without incident. Nothing more, nothing less.

You cleared your throat as you took a drawing pencil and started sketching out what you wanted to paint. What you really desired was to capture the way his hair swept over his eyes, the mischievous look he wore, and those gorgeous lips turned up in a smirk.

“You can feel free to move a little if you’re uncomfortable,” you said to Jimin who sat as rigid as a statue.

“Oh, don’t worry, dear. I can sit still for quite a long time. Years, in fact. Trust me, I’ve tried.”

“Right, years,” you muttered as you continued sketching. This guy could really exaggerate.

You found you were enjoying yourself as you continued doing what you loved. This was why you became an art major. The bright, airy light, the way your pencil slid across the canvas, the only sound being that of your breathing as you inhaled and exhaled. It was perfect.

“So, how old are you?”

You blinked in surprise. “Twenty-three, almost twenty-four.”

“I expected as much. I look twenty-four, but I’m actually nearing my two-hundredth birthday.”

You scoffed a little at Jimin’s proclamation. “What, are you some kind of immortal?” you asked.

“Actually, yes,” he answered, actually serious.

You moved out from behind the canvas to give him an incredulous look. “Oh, I see. The scary mansion, the brooding butler… I get it.”

Jimin tossed a smile at you, biting his lip as he did so. “You do? Oh, I’m glad. I’m so tired of having to hide what I am.”

You snorted and kept sketching, trying to capture that irksome smirk he was giving you. “Whatever, dude. If you wanna pretend you’re immortal or some sort of metaphor, I say go for it. I’m just here to paint and get paid.”

Jimin tilted his head. “It’s not a metaphor,” he said, a trace of hurt in his voice.

“Sure it’s not,” you muttered. You were beginning to see why your commission was so high. You were sketching Jimin’s torso now, trying to capture the lines of his toned waist and the palm trees embedded on his jacket. He certainly chose an interesting outfit for his first portrait sitting.

“I’ve seen your work online,” Jimin said, still trying to make small talk. You rolled your eyes. You kind of wished he wouldn’t. Part of the magic of painting was the silence it brought. The most sound you allowed while you worked was a bit of soft music in the background.

He continued even though you didn’t answer. “It’s very good. That’s why I chose you, you know.”

“Well, I appreciate it,” you said. “It’s hard trying to be an artist and make a living, unfortunately.”

“I understand that. I knew Da Vinci back in the day, and he always said-”

“Done,” you said loudly, interrupting him. You could flesh out the colors with paint later. Right now, all you wanted to do was get away from this insanity.

“Already?” Jimin said, pouting.

“Yes. I mean, it’s not all finished of course. I can do the rest later. I just need to take a photo real quick.”

Jimin chuckled. “You can try.”

Rolling your eyes, you pulled out your phone and aimed your camera at him still posing on the stool. “Alright, I’ll get-”

You stopped short as your finger hovered over the screen. There was the stool placed in front of the window, but Jimin was missing from it. “The hell…?” you muttered. You closed your camera app and reopened it.

Once again, there was the window, the stool, the floor, everything in the background that was supposed to be there… but no Jimin. “You see, Y/n,” Jimin said, standing up and walking slowly towards you. “That’s precisely why I brought you here. As a vampire, I don’t show up in photos, or even in mirrors. I haven’t seen what my face looks like in nearly thirty years. That was the last time I had my portrait done.”

You backed away from him until your back hit some shelves behind you. Jimin reached out and tenderly wrapped a strand of your hair between his fingers. “Don’t be afraid,” he murmured, his eyes hooded and dark.

You, however, were fucking terrified. In all your years of artwork, you’ve obviously never, ever encountered someone, no, something, like Park Jimin. “Wh-What the fuck are you?” you stuttered.

Jimin sighed, grasping the shelf behind you. “I told you, Y/n, I’m a vampire.”

“N-No, that’s not possible, they don’t exis-”

“Exist? Am I not proof to the contrary?”

“Please,” you whispered, a tear leaking out of the corner of your eye.

“Shhhhh,” Jimin said. He stroked your cheek, wiping the tear away, and you shut your eyes, tensing up at his touch. “I’m not going to hurt you. That’s not why you’re here.”

“And will I be allowed to leave when I’m done?”

Jimin frowned. “Of course. Y/n, I think you misunderstand my intentions. I don’t want to drink your blood or keep you prisoner or anything. Besides, even if you did go home and tell people, who would believe you?”

You considered his words. What he said was true. Even your closest friends and family members would think you were crazy. That thought, however, didn’t help you feel any less frightened.

What did ease your feelings was the tender gaze Jimin was giving you. He didn’t look like he intended to hurt you, although his close proximity was making you uncomfortable. You stepped out of his grasp and held up your hands. “I just… I need a moment,” you said.

“Of course.”

Soobin bowed as you exited the room and ran down the hall, holding a hand over your mouth to keep the screams from coming out. Was it possible? Was every nightmare you had, every scary story, real? You stopped once you reached the top of the stairs, bending over and panting.

You sat on the stairs and curled your knees up to your chest. What the hell were you thinking? You should just run out the door and never look back. Still, something was stopping you. Maybe it was sheer curiosity, or maybe it was how you couldn’t get the way he looked at you out of your brain. Either way, it couldn’t lead to anything but disaster.

“If you want to leave, you may,” a voice said. You looked up to see Jimin walking towards you.

“I’ll think about it,” you muttered, turning away from him.

“Please don’t hate me,” he begged, reaching out. You shied away from him, and he withdrew his hand, closing it into a fist. “Once people find out what I am, they just stereotype and assume. All I want, all I’ve ever wanted, is for someone to accept me.”

You let out a shaky breath and finally looked at him, into those smoldering tawny eyes. “I’ll stay and paint your portraits… but on my terms. Don’t touch me, don’t come near me, and I need some guarantee of protection.”

Jimin thought for a moment, pressing a finger to his chin, before pulling something out of his pocket. It was a small velvet bag that clinked as he brought it out. “Here.” He grabbed your hand and turned it so your palm was upright. He dumped what was in the bag in your hand.

You stared incredulously at the coins in your hand. “The hell is this?”

“Protection,” Jimin replied seriously, his eyes wide as they looked at you. “Silver. It burns me.”

Your mouth dropped open before you laughed out loud, completely overwhelmed by the entirety of the situation. The corners of Jimin’s mouth went up, but he looked mostly confused as he watched you laugh, arms folded over your stomach. You laughed until you cried, wiping your tears away and sniffing once your giggles had subsided.

“Are you done?” he asked pointedly.

“Yes,” you muttered, realizing how unhinged you looked. “Thank you for the coins.”

Jimin rolled his eyes and slung an arm over your shoulders. “Now, come on. You’ve got a painting to finish.”

Somehow, you found yourself not minding his touch very much, if at all. He didn’t seem so scary, even if he was a monster straight out of the movies. “Is Soobin a vampire too?” you asked suddenly as you walked back to your studio.

Jimin hummed in response, nodding. “I’ll need more coins then,” you joked.

“Oh, don’t worry. He’s on the bag diet, just like me.”

“Bag diet?”

“Yeah, you know, blood bags? We steal them from hospitals and such.”

You furrowed your brow. “That’s not cool, Jimin.”

He sighed. “I know… but it’s better than the alternative, right?”

You had to agree with that. Both of you reached your studio, and Jimin sat back on the stool as you started to paint. Soobin brought you a sandwich as the afternoon turned into evening and you started to lose light. For obvious reasons, neither he nor Jimin ate.

It was disconcerting, for sure, being stuck in a large mansion with two vampires, but one thing was for certain: this summer would be the most interesting one you’d ever have.

Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ

As I said above, I hope you like this, kutie anon! Also, yes, I made a Part Two in which Y/n reflects back on the summer she had with Jimin and there is def more fluffy romance in that. Much 💜, as Taehyung would say, I purple you!

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thebickedwitchoftherest · 4 years

Text

All is Found || Cece, Otto & Simon (Ft. Winn)

TIMING: Last Tuesday (Midday 5/26)

LOCATION: Otto’s Residence

PARTIES: @gravityfissure, @inconvenientsimonstrocity, @thebickedwitchoftherest (Ft. @packsbeforesnacks)

SUMMARY: Otto enlists the help of Cece to help track down Winn. Simon also joins the party to lend a claw and proceeds to be very confused. They form the Blood Buds.

Following the message and response from Ariana and Cece Otto had spent the better part of the afternoon running errands; gathering items and components necessary for casting the myriad of spells to try and decipher a location on where Winn might’ve gone. Something gave him the sneaking suspicion it wouldn’t be easy, but a contract was a contract and he’d follow through to see it done. With the furniture shunted to each side of the room it left the expanse of wooden floors exposed. A blank canvas for Cece and himself to work from. By the time the knock came from the door, he was already three-quarters through the process of drawing the necessary casting circles and runes inscriptions into each sublayer of the circle and their own subsections. He set the chalk down, getting up and going over to the door unlatching it and tugging it open. “Good timing,” he said as he stepped back waving the two one “I’m almost done with the sigils.” He didn’t recognise the man with Cece, but figured he must be a wolf and his next words were directed to him, direct and to the point “you have the focus and the hair?”

The last few days had been a whirlwind for emotions and other things for Simon but despite all the nothing he was turning into problems and all the damage control he felt like he was running to keep the other wolves, notably the younger ones, from flipping out and making irrational decisions, he struggled not to drop everything he was doing the moment he received that text from Ariana regarding… well, he wasn’t sure but she gave him instructions and a location so he got to work. He headed to Winn’s house and after spending at least an hour sniffing about both literally and figuratively in Winn’s wolf-smelling, dog-dander-covered house, having to pause frequently to get himself under control but feeling the ability to do so since he was alone, he managed to recover some scraps of the man’s hair in a well-used brush. Finding something ‘important’ took a little longer if only because Winn didn’t HAVE that many knick-knacks. He was able to glean through his… investigative abilities that Winn had a penchant for hockey and at the end of this specific trail, he was deciding between the smashed phone and what seemed to be the part of the hockey stick that you hit the puck with, whatever that was called… he was never into sports. Phone… Hockey bit? He decided on the latter and hurried off. Sincerely hoping that this Otto didn’t have a dog as he drove to the location Ariana had given him, he wondered what exactly was happening. What all would a tracking spell DO? Would this work? What if he got the wrong items? What if… Winn didn’t WANT to be found? That thought ran through his head several times the past couple days, which he figured was part of why he was so even-tempered about this whole thing. He saw Cece’s car and knowing she was going to be there quelled some of Simon’s apprehension and he approached the door to find Cece already there and knocking where he was content to linger just behind her, waiting for her to see him. The door was answered and the man he assumed was Otto immediately brought them into the conversation about sigils and… focus? Hair-- oh wait he had that. He didn’t respond with words but timidly held out the piece of the stick and the hair, each in one hand. He didn’t know what was going on but he was already intimidated.

There was a lot to unpack today. That Winn had run off. That Winn was a werewolf. Speaking of, Cece giggled to herself. Unpack. Pack. She killed herself. She stood behind Otto’s door, laughing at her own inner dialogue as she knocked on it, waiting for him to answer. She realized a moment too late that someone had been hovering behind her and turned to find Simon standing just feet away from her silently, “Fuck me!” she yelled out instinctively, covering her heart and whistling through the surprised gasps of breath, “Simon. When did you get here and why would you do that?” But then Otto answered the door, and the two were heading inside.

“Ooh, you set up mood lighting and art for every person you invite over to your place or are Simon and I just special?” Cece winked, dropping her own bag onto a nearby couch and beginning to unfold the large pieces of paper she had brought with us. “I brought some maps with me. If he skipped town, we should be able to use this to try to pinpoint a general area where he is. A city or location maybe.” Cece knew if she was skipping town she wouldn’t stick around Maine. She would be across the country by now. “What brings you here Simon? Just dropping off the wig? You helping out with the spell?”

As with most things in life, there was a degree of uncertainty in everything that may or may not come to pass. Winn may very well have taken steps to shield himself from being found by magical means, but something about the rush in which he’d left – by the information he’d gleaned from the wolves involved, made Otto suspect he likely hadn’t. But dwelling on hypotheticals would hardly do anyone any measure of good. Magic and uncertainty were not two things you ever wished to mix unless you seriously wanted to do the dance between major bodily and mental harm. So, such thoughts were compartmentalised and set aside for further analysis later.

He took in the mini-scene outside his door with a single look, his brown eyes flickering between Cece and Simon he presumed; They hadn’t met, but it was easy enough to figure considering he was here at the specified time. He also noted how the latter looked downright set to bolt at the first sign of something going awry, smart really though it didn’t help the fact he looked like a kicked dog with its tail between its legs. “Strong and silent type, huh? Or well…” Otto’s eyes flicked up and down again in a gauging look, though his smile turned a little coy regardless, “silent type… I can work with that” he quipped holding out a bowl into which the items were deposited before rapidly being retracted.

He spun fluidly on his heel, a tornado of graceful yet chaotic movement retreating back into the apartment to set the bowl with the other ingredients set out on the table though Cece’s remark made him chuckle. “Oh you should know the mood lighting is only for special occasions darling. All about the theatrics” The mention of a map made him nod, rubbing his hands together “nice idea, and we should hopefully be able to use the shard as a focus for a scry.”

The thought of being called sarcastically ‘special’ by Cece didn’t sit with Simon as well as Otto’s remark about being the ‘silent’ type; this guy named Otto was… he wasn’t sure if ‘forward’ was the right word but he decidedly carried an air about him, confident and showy. With a couple questions he was asked but not feeling as though it was the appropriate time to answer floating in his head and a distinct feeling that maybe he should leave, Simon relegated himself to ‘lost dog’ and followed Cece around for a moment before pausing near the couch where she set her stuff. Talk of scrying, shards, maps… he supposed the discussion wasn’t entirely unusual but he had to admit that with all things, he was out of his league with these strong personalities - which was fine, but… “Am I in anyone’s way?” He found himself asking quietly, not sure where to look at Cece or Otto so his gaze flickered between them before settling for the floor. He wanted to mention that he’d liked to have stayed because he was just as invested in finding out Winn’s whereabouts than anyone else though if you asked ‘why’, his explanation probably would’ve amounted to something stupid and foolish like… well, the details weren’t important.

The spell shouldn’t be too hard, with both Otto and Cece working their magic on it. The farther away Winn was, the harder the spell would be to pinpoint. Further distance meant a broader view. It would be harder to get an exact location on him. Of course, there were ways to get the answer they were looking for, but it may take a bit more work. “What’s your game plan? Tracking magic isn’t an exact science. There’s different ways to go about it.” Cece paced back and forth, considering their options before snapping her fingers and point between the two, “Blood magic! That’s our best bet. Blood magic? Blood magic?” Cece repeated, asking both of them with a grin. It was perfect. Whether Otto was keen on the connection or not, werewolf blood to help track a werewolf could only help strengthen the spell. Cece wasn’t about to out Simon, but using supernatural blood to help a ritual always helped regardless. “Simon, I found a use for you. We’re all becoming blood sisters tonight!”

“Nope, actually, provide a rather nice view,” Otto chimed cheekily in response to Simon but his focus was split between the pair especially as Cece paced, mulling over potential options for what they could do. While this happened, Otto returned to the circle to finish inscribing the necessary runes for later. “I figured we could track using the maps, and then narrow it down with a scry” he gestured to the patterns of intertwining circles and triangles that marked his floor. But the snapping of Cece’s fingers and her exclamation caused his brows to tick up a little, “ohh arcane and taboo? Ce, you know just how to tempt me.” Granted it wasn’t his strongest form of magic, but given what they were attempting it made sense and at the addition of using Simon’s blood as well to fortify their magic?

“Even better! Simon, you don’t mind being blood buds do you?” Of course, he could say no but it would make their work a lot harder and Otto was already moving before he got an actual answer. “Wonderful, let me just--” he clapped his hands and shot across the room to a bookshelf from which he haphazardly pulled several dull and apparently uninspiring modern-looking cookbooks. Each individually glamoured to conceal a grimoire’s contents within. “I’m sure I have a spell like that somewhere… Let me--” he rifled through pages of one, tossed it onto the counter with a scoff before he was leafing through the second “ah gotcha! What about this? Done right it’ll cause the blood to move over the map and mark his location?”

There was an ever-so-slight furrow of Simon’s brow; so he was a flirt, if only a superficial one. Had he-- well no, he supposed he hadn’t ever been flirted with before, or rather no one had ever commented on his appearance being ‘nice’ with the exception of Ariana and she didn’t count. He shook that admittedly-distracting comment from his head at the repeated mention of blood magic, which made him straighten up slightly. “Come again?” He asked rather dumbly, quirking an eyebrow as his gaze moved up from the floor and shifted between Otto and Cece. Blood buds? Blood SISTERS? What kind of magic-- ARCANE AND TABOO? Was-- were they-- His hand subconsciously reached up to scratch at the scars on his shoulder, hidden beneath the layers of clothing as he felt himself getting nervous, a sentiment he had the feeling was only being expressed by himself. He hadn’t heard about blood magic being used so casually. Then again, he hadn’t ever heard of ANY magic being used so casually. Were they breaking the law? What did ‘taboo’ mean in this context? Why did they need HIS blood? Where would they pull it from? How much did they need? “S... sure,” He ended up saying, conflicting all his previous thoughts though he was still fidgeting.

“Don’t be a baby, It’s not like we’re about to slice your throat or something.” Cece waved Simon off. She had hung out with him enough by now. He seemed to go with the flow. Sure, a magical ritual using blood was a little different from grabbing a drink. But all things considered, it wasn’t all that crazier than getting attacked by mime clones. As far as craziness went, this was a solid six at best. “Just a few drops should do.” When Simon finally agreed, Cece clapped her hands together excitedly and found her spot on the floor. “With the three of us, this shouldn’t be too bad. Simon, you’re a newbie.” She turned to him, walking him through the steps as Otto finished setting up, “Spells use power. We feed that power with our own energy. Even though you may not know exactly what Otto and I are doing, we just need you to focus. Using your energy is going to help feed the spell and make it stronger.” She neglected to mention that being a werewolf inherently made the spell stronger as well. The heightened endurance and strength would help the power of the spell and the similar species would help tracking. It would piece itself together. “Otto and I will start the spell. Weird things may start happening. The candles may flicker or change colors, breeze may pick up, the sigils may glow. Shit like that. You just need to try to ignore that and focus on one thing. Winn. We have to focus on that stuff you brought us so we can home in on Winn.” It was a pretty barren rundown, but with the little time they had, it was the best that Simon was about to get. “Ready to get started?”

It wasn’t hard to tell Simon was uncomfortable with the idea, unfortunately, it was a necessary addition for the likelihood of this speed to be increased. Spells were like that, they needed sacrifice. Otto fetched a small swiss army knife - useful for any modern day spellcaster taking a moment to use the fire from the hob to sterilise the small inch long blade. Cece did a good enough job giving Simon the crash course keynotes speech while Otto put the maps on the ground in the middle of the circle, he also lit several candles around specific points connecting their bases with an inch wide trail of sand. “Always, Ce, you go there” he pointed to an empty circle on the opposite side of the map large enough for a person to fit in sitting down he then pointed to a similarly sized circle to the right “Simon there please.” He waited for them to settle, putting out a few sprigs of incense in a silver bowl “Ce you can light the incense - at the same time Simon you’ll need to make a small cut - your finger should do, let the droplets fall on the map, after that stay in the circle. No matter what happens,” Unlike the effervescent personality from before Otto now seemed rather serious in his request.

He thought he might’ve been anticipating something more drastic the way he reacted but this wasn’t that much different than the magic Winston used to forge those invisible scissors. Simon, now aware of his job, took the explanation well and gave a small, decidedly more certain nod at Cece’s explanation. He took the knife from Otto and took his place over at his designated circle. Draw a little blood, make sure it falls on the map, stay in the circle, focus. Focus on Winn. That seemed easy enough seeing as how he couldn’t get the werewolf’s scent out of his nose - or rather, it wouldn’t leave. Once he was standing in the circle, he held the knife to his finger firmly, keeping his eyes on Cece to light the incense. Focus.

Time to get things rolling. Cece sat in the circle Otto had designated for her and eyed Simon as he followed Otto’s instructions, standing in his own circle with the knife in hand. It wasn’t ideal, making a newbie be an integral part of the spell. But it was the best bet they had to strengthen the spell. “Let’s track this bitch.” Cece smirked one last time before lighting the incense, queuing Simon to draw the blood and Otto to start the chanting. Things took off quickly from there. The candles around the room died out immediately, returning seconds later a brilliant blue color and casting the room in an almost eerie glow. Blood dripped from Simon’s hand and onto the map. Cece joined Otto’s chants, keeping one eye closed and the other peeping open to study the map. Wind picked up around the three, and Cece could see the drop of blood starting to slide across the paper. It left no trail, no smears to indicate that it had even shifted from its original position. The only way you would know is if you had been watching it. “Keep focusing” Cece broke from the chanting momentarily to remind Simon to keep his cool and stay in the circle. She rejoined, eye still glued to the drop of blood sliding further and further away from Maine and down the east coast. “When the blood sticks, that’s how we know we’re close.”

Magic existed in all things; simply an unperceived element that helped to stabilise the universe in its constant state of flux. Every elemental particle was tethered and affected by every other molecule in space by infinite indivisible threads. These were threads that could be manipulated if you knew just the right one to pluck on. As the scent of burning lavender filled his senses his eyes closed and he felt himself relax into the comforting familiarity of his connection with those tethers calling on them to guide. He didn’t look to the map, instead, keeping his focus on the infinite weave and the way just a few tethers seemed to glow a fraction brighter. Tempting and informative in their own way, and his mind reached out, searching to connect to a path he could not yet see but a path that traced across the map regardless in the form of a small circlet of crimson. The trail moved, and moved, its spread slowing to a crawl before coming to rest over Georgtown, WA. Stuck and seemingly not intent to budge. Feeling the warmth of his magic begin to fade, there was a familiar pang of desire to stay connected. But therein lay the danger of tapping into higher powers. It got addictive if you didn’t know how to utilise it in moderation. Opening his eyes, the candles shuddered back to a soft amber flame. “Georgtown mean anything to you or Winn?” Otto asked Simon after a moment, not knowing anything about the place himself.

And thus, it began. When Simon saw her light the incense, he did part of his job and made an incision - perhaps a little bigger and deeper than it needed to be - and he held his arm out for the blood, closing his eyes for a moment. Winn; tall guy, carried himself like a true jock and spoke like one, too. His face, his musculature, how he sounded when he was overwhelmed with everything, how he held his beer bottle, what he smelled like, what sort of person he was to make all of this happen in the first place. His breathing was as regulated as it could’ve been. He felt something tugging at him, perhaps subconsciously but he kept himself planted into place, holding steady against his surroundings. He didn’t open his own eyes or entertain any other thoughts until he heard Otto say the name of a place and he exhaled softly, glancing over to the magician. “It doesn’t mean anything to me,” He admitted first, trying to think of what that COULD’VE meant. He really wasn’t the right person for this; he and Winn knew each other tangentially at best and Simon’s tendency to unintentionally pry hadn’t reached Winn yet. “It might have something to do with Winn’s past, though,” He added, remembering that Winn had mentioned small bits of his history at the meeting.

Georgetown. It wasn’t a place that Cece had personally been familiar with. She had traveled that way for a short amount of time. A few weeks or so, but the stay hadn’t been long enough that she remembered much of it. “Well it certainly narrowed it down.” Cece offered, a piece of positive news during the man’s disappearance. For a moment, Cece considered whether or not she should be helping track him down like that. She certainly wouldn’t have liked the same thing being done to her, especially if her old coven was involved. Of course, running from the supernatural came with a list of musts. Learning how to throw off a tracking spell was one of them. The next time Winn wanted to leave without a trace, he may want to consider that. “Still, an entire neighbourhood doesn’t help us. Especially if he’s still moving.” She sat back, rubbing at her chin as she thought. “Not that I know the dude much, but he travelled all over the place back before coming to Maine. He probably has connections all over.” That didn’t help either, knowing that he could be going anywhere right now. “Okay, we need something else. A bit more specific. What you got Otto?”

Otto hadn’t even met this Winn guy, other than their brief conversations online. So he could neither interpret nor contribute much to the reasoning as to why Winn was there. “Yeah, I guess” he rubbed his chin in thought but ultimately, he wasn’t here to ask questions. Just do a job and collect some favours to bank for later. It never hurt having a few wolves owing you for things. Connections were everything in life. “It’s something though, at least we know he didn’t leg it and book a flight across the oceans. So… There’s that.” But the next question had him reaching for the other items that Simon had brought along. The hair in the bowl and the hockey stick. “I was thinking a scry, it might work but it also might not… but, the fact we’ve got a piece of the person we’re tracking,” he gestured to the hair “will boost our chances of success.” He looked between Simon and Cece, “the same thing goes. Keep Winn on your mind, and if the spell works you’ll feel a pulling sensation - like something is trying to rip you across the country… Don’t fight it, let it take you and we’ll get a glimpse of whatever he’s doing right now.” He didn’t mention the potential complications, like getting stuck in the scry and not being able to get back out without further assistance or the potential mental hazards it posed risk to. No need to get either of them overly concerned.

Aaaand it didn’t seem like they got anywhere. Simon was glad that he was there entertaining this waste of time instead of someone more brash like Ariana. He remained in his designated circle, subconsciously licking at the incision on his thumb as he ran the name “Georgetown” through his head on repeat and admittedly starting to zone out as he realized with frustration that he didn’t know much about Winn at all aside from how casually he seemed to treat being a wolf, his dog and that he’s really into hockey. He… would need to rectify this once Winn came back. He brought himself back to the conversation as Otto and Cece discussed further, expecting to be told that there wasn’t anything to do and to go home but then the topic shifted to scrying and he glanced between the two magic-users again. “Sorry, I was miles away,” He partially lied. “What are we doing, now?”

A locator spell was vague enough that it generally was used as foundations for other spells to build upon, the more information you had to work with and cover more bases the better chance a spell would be stable and less risky. It didn’t eliminate the entire possibility of things going very badly wrong, but it lowered the odds of that happening. “All good,” Otto said looking over to Simon “a scry is… Okay, so imagine if you dropped a single video camera wherever Winn is right now, then imagine we” he gestured to the collective “could hack that camera and see and hear through it. Right?” Otto paused to make sure Simon was following his keynotes version of what the spell was “A scry is a spell that essentially does that, gives us a one angle insight into whatever Winn is doing right now - it’s more accurate depending on what you use to focus in on whoever the target of the scry happens to be.” He pointed to the bowl of hair “this is some of the most accurate stuff we could use. That’s why we are. But I don’t know how long we’ll have… Scry spells are notoriously temperamental for how long they let you view… So we’re all going to have to keep our eyes open and look for any other indicator that might give us more information to narrow it down - a sign, shopfront, streetname - anything.”

The tracking spell had helped narrow down the search, but it hadn’t given them all the information they needed. But never fret, because Otto had another idea. A spell that Cece had never personally performed. She let out a low whistle, “A scry? Haven’t done one of those before. Guess you can teach an old dog some new tricks.” She shifted, swaying around as if she were dancing while still sitting on the floor. “The college is there. Keep an eye out for old buildings. They’re all named after the rich people that funded them.” She kept an eye on Simon. This all seemed new to him. She would need to check back in with him after, make sure they hadn’t scared him off. “Well you’re definitely in charge with this one Otto. Let’s figure out with this S.O.B is, yeah?”

Simon, back into the conversation, nodded as he listened to Otto carefully, inwardly thankful for using terms he was receptive to; Simon didn’t think himself a stupid man by any stretch of the imagination but magic was very foreign to him. Once Otto explained and Cece seemed to acknowledge that the scry would’ve been a good idea, albeit one that she’d never done before, he exhaled quietly and nodded. “Okay. You guys are the bosses; I’m just…” Here because no one else wants to bother. Here because everyone else is either mad or too busy with actual important things. No one seemed to even want to find him that badly anymore.“Here.” He completed his sentence. “Just tell me what you need me to do.”

Otto shot a wink at Cece, encouraged by her faith and his own belief that they had enough to at least get a bit more information out of today. “Just copy what I do,” he instructed her and once he had confirmation moved the map out of the circle leaving the silver chalice containing the locks of hair set before them. To this he added a measured dose of oil of sulphur and crushed charcoal, mixing the contents and once he was happy that they were combined lit the contents with a zippo. The oil caught light immediately, burning a bright sulphurous red “so glad I switched off the fire alarm,” he muttered, drawing his hands back. His palms pressed together in an almost prayer-like motion before parting fluidly so the tips of both index fingers and thumbs remained in contact formulating a circle, the center of which a violet like shimmer began to emanate. The threads of his magic making themselves known as he set about manipulating them to his will pulling and threading. The power felt bolstered, more powerful than if he had tried to attempt this by himself and he knew that was likely Cece’s own magic reinforcing the spell. With a look of concentration he spoke “ex quae vires sint. Da illis qui hic visus.” The magic from both spellcasters, sat in opposition, flared before extending to connect to the burning concoction. Otto felt the sudden gut-wrenching jolt akin to the sickening moment of inertial release at the peak of a roller-coaster; thrown over the edge into the exhilarating and disorientating drop. It was enough to force him to close his eyes, feeling his consciousness ripped from the loft and the rush of air as they were projected across the country towards wherever the spell thought to take them.

“Don’t worry, dude. You’re contributing.” Cece reassured Simon, making sure he knew that he had a place in this little seance circle that Otto had gathered together. “Magic or not, extra bodies means more energy. That makes a spell stronger. And it prevents the two of us,” Cece explained, pointing between Otto and herself, “From crashing after a spell. So keep what you’ve been doing. You’re coming on this roller coaster with us.” With that, Cece focused her attention to Otto mirroring his movements and catching the moment that the spell began. It felt like a vacuum. It was barely noticeable, but Cece could almost tell that her own energy was helping feed into the spell. She eased it along, controlling the flow so that it felt balanced as she breathed and continued helping Otto work his magic. The fire flared higher, proof that Otto’s spell was working. And then, a sudden feeling of complete weightlessness was proof enough that they weren’t in the apartment any longer.

It started in static, almost, magic pushing back on the spell, trying to protect the location where the scry had found its target.

But, slowly, the trio found themselves in an office. Its bookshelves were empty, boxes stacked in the corner. Save for two figures, no one would believe that this room had been used in ages, the only signs of a purpose: a desk and two chairs. Winn Woods, werewolf-on-the-lam, stood slowly, eyes wide, and stared at the other figure warily. Someone who was looking closely would see that Winn was caught in a state of partial transformation, claws out, form tense.

The other man was dressed plainly, jeans and a button-down, and his face was serious. He was Asian, his jawline near identical to Winn’s. But the trio did not have time to regard him fully. Spectral tails appeared behind the man, a bright light into the dim room. The three tails closest to the man’s body were near-solid, yellow, and burning bright, flickering like candlelight.

Winn scrambled, holding one of the chairs in front of him like a shield against this man, jaw slack and brows tight with confusion. Another flash, as the tails wrapped around the man, a cocoon, a transformation…

And then, a jolt of magic leapt from the corner of the room, water dousing the flames of the spell, a cold splash of force in the trio’s faces as they were pushed back to White Crest, no closer to a satisfactory answer.

Simon decided then and there with certainty that he liked Cece’s energy and the effect it seemed to have on himself. Granted, both she and Otto, comments aside, seemed like perfectly enjoyable human beings outside a professional setting. He looked around at all the pieces on motion as the two magicians started to perform the other ritual and unlike last time, he did feel something inside, something almost as if someone were reaching into him and pulling out webs of… himself. It was an odd sensation. Then, without warning, he felt like was being yanked by that invisible bond that tethered Lydia and himself, completely internally and turning his stomach over. He also closed his eyes, biting down on the thumb that lingered around his mouth instinctively as he was hurled through the consciousness and they… found Winn. The scene happened, quick and flitting and altogether far too short before they were pushed back out and he gasped as though he himself was doused in icy water. He caught enough details of what happened though, brief as the visions were; a man, Winn’s wolfish features, what appeared to be a demon or something with a demonic presence attached. Surely not, right? Well, at least that confirmed that he wasn’t… dead? Simon already knew that. “What… was that?” He asked, scratching at his shoulder again.

The lurch of the scry was a sickening sensation, and one he wasn’t quite braced for as after they’d successfully broken through they… Were very promptly kicked out, flung back across the continent and back into Otto’s apartment. He came back to himself with a sharp inhale of air, a distorted sense of self and sudden wave of nausea that he had to raise a hand to his mouth to try and hold off. It took a few moments of focussing on his breathing and getting the room to right itself before he was confident he wasn’t about to spew. That would be embarrassing. He’d been a part of enough scrys to know the sensation was always a shitty one, and it never got better.

“Fuck,” he growled, fists clenching in frustration as he was sorely tempted to knock the damn thing over. Good lot of use it had done. “If I had to guess… That was a Huxian… A kitsune if you will… The fox-tails would suggest so…” He rubbed his fingers along his lip in thought. He’d had several run ins with Kitsune in New York, all contracting him for work on behalf of their organisations. “The fuck’s he doing… And the place had to be warded… That’s the only way the spell could be rejected so quickly… There wasn’t enough time to counterspell.” None of this made any sort of sense and it only served to mount his frustration. “I’m… at a loss for what else we can do…” It wasn’t like they could jump cross country and the latter spell had drained him enough that he felt a massive order of cheeseburgers and fries was on the menu later.

Well that was certainly… something. Cece was jolted back to Otto’s apartment, feeling as if she had just left her body for a short amount of time. Shorter than any of them seemed to expect. “We were cut off.” Cece exclaimed. Otto took over, explaining the man they had seen within that office and the suspected reason they were kicked out so quickly. It made sense, though it wasn’t ideal. They had been able to get through the protection, if only temporarily. Cece had a few theories. That Simon and Cece knew Winn personally. That Simon’s similar species strengthened the spell. The personal items that Simon had brought with him. Though the answer didn’t matter because regardless, it had only granted them temporary access.

But maybe that had been enough. “Maybe we don’t need to.” Cece pondered, finally pushing herself up from the circle she had been nested in on the floor. Her legs were weak, proof that the spell had taken a lot out of her. “Whoever that guy was, he was in some sort of office.” Cece needed to find the context clues. The room looked packed up, like the man was leaving. Or maybe unpacked, like he was just moving in. But regardless, a few things were apparent. It was filled with bookshelves and a window looking out into green. “It’s a reach, but it’s Georgetown.” The limited layout of the room didn’t provide any clear answers, but it could have been a professor’s office, “It wouldn’t be too much of a stretch to assume that he’s a Professor at Georgetown.” She shrugged it off. At the end of the day, finding Winn hadn’t been her priority. Just helping out a friend. She still wasn’t sure how he got dragged into searching for Winn anyways, or if Winn had a good reason to leave. All she knew was that the spell had left her tired and hungry, “Who wants takeout?”

Simon reviewed the knowledge that had been given to him throughout this exchange - Georgetown, partial transformation, Huxian (kitsune?). Technically the questions the wolves had were answered, or at least some of them. Winn was alive, he was dealing with… something that he didn’t like, and he was in Georgetown. He exhaled as his eyes danced over the chalk lines on the flor before he gave a noncommittal shrug and he gave Cece a rather tired smile of his own. “Sorry to drag you guys into wolves’ business...” He did what he could, however nothing that was, as usual. He felt drained - three rituals in two weeks after a whole life of none, damage control for Winn’s poor decisions, the dog and work being a literal mess felt like he was spinning a lot of plates on spindles and more plates just kept getting added. He… didn’t want to talk about it. “Takeout sounds great.” He was done for today. Winn would come back and explain himself, he was almost certain of it. Right now, all he wanted to do was eat and not think about it.

#wickedswriting #c: simon #c: otto #about Winn #chatzy: simon #chatzy: otto #all is found #chatzy

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