#or that wouldn't require smaller text

[royalarchivist]

Tubbo: What was wrong with the timing?!

Pac: You did it in the worst possible timing! Everything was–

Bagi: I think we ruined the kiss.

Everyone:

Pac: It– it wasn't the kiss, more– you know? It was– *mumbles*

Tubbo: IT WAS MORE?! IT WAS MORE?! ON THE FIRST DATE?!

Bagi: WE DON'T NEED THE DETAILS!

Fit: That's not what he meant!

#Pactw #FitMC #Hideduo #Tubbo #QSMP #oBagi #FitPac #Fit #Pac #Bagi #January 9 2024 #I'll see if I can add a transcript of the subtitles but that'll have to be another day #Trying to accept that I can't do it all without experiencing massive burnout #Anyways enjoy! #I don't think I can do another one of these tonight but maybe I'll find another short scene that I want to do it with #Subtitles #Edited #I tried so many different ways to keep the translations in here #but there was no way to format that in that wouldn't make it look messy #or that wouldn't require smaller text #o(-( #I hate covering up the subtitles but didn't have many options this time #Portfolio

[thatlittleegyptologist]

apologies if this has already been asked, did ancient west africans have any relations or connection to ancient egypt?

Not really

In the pre-dynastic period, when the Sahara was much smaller, and parts of it were more savannah like, the Egyptians seem to have ventured further west than they did at any other time, as we have evidence of them at the Gilf Kebir plateau which borders Libya. There are two caves; known as the Cave of Beasts and the Cave of Swimmers. Both of these caves are extremely old, with the Cave of Swimmers being 8000-10,000 years old (c.6000-8000 BCE), and the Cave of Beasts being about 7000-8000 years old (c.5000-6000 BCE). Around 6000 years ago (c.4000 BCE) you have the Holocene Climatic Optimum (HCP), which caused a change in climate and the Sahara to began to form thus pushing people out of the area one way or another. I mention all this because the key problem with the Egyptians interacting with civilisations in West Africa after this point, is the big desert that's in between them. Clearly before this point there are people in the Saharan area, but they're not belonging to any one civilisation as those have yet to form. These are just groups of people, nomadic or stationary, living their lives in the area. Those already living in Egypt along the Nile at this time, share a common material culture, which is not present elsewhere. These are the pre-dynastic cultures of Egypt known as the Naqada period.

After the HCP, we start to see the advent of agriculture and civilisations like the Mesopotamians and the Egyptians begin to form (c.4000 BCE). The Sahara wasn't so arid that routes could not be traversed at this time, so it's possible that there was still some contact with groups or civilisations in Western Africa, but it would have been extremely difficult and things like long distance trade wouldn't have been required just yet. The chance of sustained contact is minimal, and we have no evidence to prove they did either, as far as I'm aware. By 2500 BCE, or around the time the Great Pyramid at Giza was completed, the Sahara is no longer passable due to the arid conditions. The chances of contact after this point are incredibly small. I'm not saying impossible, but when the Egyptians list the people they are in contact with it's always those to the North East (Hittites, Hyksos, Mittani) or the South (Punt and Nubia/Kush - modern day Sudan). They are in contact with the Themehu, who come from Libya, but that's as far West as they mention their contacts.

As far as they depict their contacts, we have this from the tomb of Seti I, which is from a text known as the Book of Gates:

This is a reconstruction since the original is badly damaged, from left to right we have depictions of: A Libyan, a Nubian (Sudan), an Aamu (Levantine), and an Egyptian. Here's part of the scene as seen in the tomb (bottom register where the damage is):

And another part, which you can see is connected to the part above. I'd argue with the facsimile that the Aamu are a little darker in appearance than whoever painted that made them, but still:

And the bit that goes around the corner, again on the bottom register/line you can see the Aamu (Levantine) folks:

Sorry I can't get better photos of them, but I'd physically have to go to Egypt and take them myself at this point. But you can see how the Egyptians are listing and depicting those they are in contact with on a regular basis and there are no Western African civilisations mentioned at all.

N.B. I've actually taken these images from the Theban Mapping Project, which if you've ever wanted to see photos from inside the tombs in the Valley of the Kings, it's a great resource:

[buckleysevan]

SHATTERED/EXPLODING TEXT tutorial

hiyaa! @krystaljungs asked me for a tutorial on how i made the shattering/exploding animation of the text in this gifset and so i figured i would make it and post it here, like i did with the tutorial for "falling" text.

i must warn you, this one is really tedious and requires a lot of time and patience. honestly maybe there is an easier way to do this but i didn't find any tutorials for when i needed it so i just went off my ps knowledge and did it myself.

note: you will need photoshop with a timeline!

STEP ONE: create your base gif! be mindful of number of frames in your gif. the number of frames doesn’t really matter here, but if your gif is bigger than 10mb and you have to go back to adjust it all again after you have to delete some layers....you might lose the will to live 😂

STEP TWO: make your text the way you want it to look. this effect is basically the last step of your gif making process. (i will be using the typography from my set as an example as i already have that psd saved)

this is what my typography looks like now.

STEP THREE: now, you will create a new file (with background) and transfer the text you want to "shatter" in it.

here is when things get tedious.......

tip: zoom in the document, it will be easier for you.

select polygonal lasso tool aka this

STEP FOUR: before you start, you need to rasterize type layer. then you will have to "shatter" every letter into smaller pieces. using polygonal lasso tool, select a smaller part of your first letter.

then you will click on that part with the right click of the mouse and selct layer via cut.

now you need to make sure that your new layer is selected and using the move tool move that part of the letter somewhere away.

you will have to do this for every part of the letter and every letter. also move every new layer on top of other layers because they will line up better later like that. then create a new folder with every layer of said layers and rename it after the letter you're shattering. see below. (idk why my screenrecord didn't catch me making layers via cut but you should do that after the use of polygonal lasso tool, as stated above)

note: feel free to şelect parts of other letters as you get one letter, for an even better effect.

this is what i have after "shattering" every letter. the lineup doesn't have to be perfect as you will arrange these parts in your main document. (click on images for full view)

STEP FIVE: go back to your main document and make sure the visibility of your text is turned on.

what you will do now is open the shattered text in the new window and transfer letter by letter (letter folders) to your main document. BUT after you transfer every folder, you need to rasterize EVERY layer and convert it to a smart object. i made an action for this part to make it easier. download here.

(okay i really don't know why my screenrecord doesn't show "pop-up" windows but i was moving the C folder from the document where i shattered the text and then used my action on every layer)

after you transfer the folder to your main document and rasterize and convert to smart object, select the folder and use Free Transform to move it so it aligns with the letter from your complete typography. then you will select each layer and align it with the typography. see below. (click on the gif, i made it bigger so you can see better)

i did this one hastily so the recording wouldn't be too long but i'm hoping you can see what i'm doing.

now, do this for every letter.

after that is done, make the original typography layer invisible, and you should have something like this

STEP SIX: another really tedious part BUT it's time to animate the text.

make your timeline space bigger so it's easier for you to work with it. then select the first layer and click on the arrow next to it (in timeline) so Transform is revealed to you.

now, you don't want the animation to start from the very beginning of the gif, but a bit later so the text is readable before it shatters.

for example, i did mine like this, but that is your personal preference.

note: make sure that all animations start at the same time.

tip: do this for all layers in one folder before you transform them, as it will go faster.

STEP SEVEN: bring the playhead (blue arrow with the red line) to the end of your gif and select one layer in timeline.

now it's time to transform it. use Free Transform (windows shortcut ctrl+T) and drag the part a bit away and rotate it. press enter.

okay ignore the way my text moved upwards, i used the text i used in my edit and i did that animation in the upper part of the gif and i was too lazy to redo the whole animation lmaoo but i hope you can see what i'm doing with the letter C.

do this for every letter. play around with placing and rotation. then save your gif. when you're done, you should have something like this.

again, i was too lazy to redo the whole thing on this new gif so i'm using the one from my gifset i linked in the beginning.

i hope this was understandable and helpful. if you have ANY questions, don't hesitate to shoot me an ask or dm me! i'm always here to help <33

#usergif #completeresources #allresources #gif tutorial #ps help #userkimchi #uservivaldi #userraffa #tusermona #userelio #usercats #tuserheidi #usershreyu #userhallie #userroza #userdean #userisaiah #thingschanged #tusercasey #usertj #userwwz

[milomarigold]

Baxter Ward Headcanon - Lunch Dates

Gender neutral | SFW Fluff | Baxter Ward x MC

First headcanon, hope ya enjoy!

🍁 Being a wedding planner is no easy feat! From planning bigger details like the wedding theme to smaller details like stainless steel or wooden cutlery. That's where Baxter's diligence, organization, and flexibility (📏) comes in handy!

🍁 However, planning such grand events also means our Victorian emo boy tends to skips out on lunch to get more work done. Especially during bigger assignments!

🍁 Since you know he usually only has a black coffee in the morning, you decide to suggest you both get lunch breaks together! It takes a bit of convincing, he wouldn't want to inconvenience you, but in the end he can't resist a chance to spend more time with his charming MC~

Baxter: "You're worried about me skipping meals? Well, my schedule can get hectic. Are you sure it wouldn't trouble you? I wouldn't want to get in the way of what you have to do… Although I'll admit, a chance to see your charming self sounds lovely. Alright then, having lunch dates sounds excellent~"

🍁 His lunch breaks are an hour long. Before your lunch dates he usually didn't use the full time (only the required 30 min) because…

Baxter: (on the phone) "What do you mean the tablecloths are cotton and not linen?? Linda, stay put, I'm on my way."

However, he does try to remain the whole hour with you when your lunch dates begin. He adjusts letting the wedding couple know he will be gone for an hour, but as soon as the break is over they'll have his undivided attention.

🍁 It takes a bit of getting used to at the beginning. He can't help but check his phone when notifications come in, for example. As long as it's not an emergency, you gently remind him it's his time and to enjoy the snack in front of him.

Baxter: "But darling, you're the whole damn meal~"

🍁 He prefers to eat out rather than stay in the office. To avoid co-workers asking questions that lead to him helping to find that one file, and answer that call, oh and he has to call this one place-

🍁 He quickly comes to look forward to your little lunch dates. Seeing how passionately you talk about your interests and the smile on your face when you eat your favorite snack has him smitten!!

🍁 You guys are gossip buddies. Neither of you share anything hurtful, but you two also can't help talking about the shenanigans that go on at your respective workplaces.

Baxter: "One morning Michael came in complaining about a speed bump on the highway…I ponder who he ran over." (Sips coffee casually)

🍁 Baxter's eyes sparkle if you surprise him with a homemade meal. Especially touched if you remember his preferences; such as something pescatarian or something with peaches. You don't have to worry about your cooking skills, your intention matters more to him! His co-workers will notice he's extra chipper that afternoon.

🍁 In return, he'll also prepare a lunch for both of you the night before. He plans to make something that's only a "tad" extra, but always gets carried away and creates the most Instagram/Pinterest worthy aesthetic lunches you ever did see.

Baxter: "It's just a little something to thank you for the other day." 💜

🍁 You both agree to meet at a chill little park near work when you make lunches for each other. You have a special picnic blanket for the occasion that's so comfy you almost lose track of time.

🍁 On days where you can't meet up, you either face call each other or simply text each other to make sure the other has eaten.

💬 Yes, darling I just finished off lunch. It was great, I would've enjoyed it far more with your company, but alas! How about you, have you eaten yet?

🍁 Sometimes you send donuts, muffins and other treats to Baxter's office where he shares with his co-workers. His co-workers like you very much for this reason, haha! It also gives Baxter the opportunity to make more friends.

🍁 Over lunch, he occasionally brings up some wedding planning hitches. You help him figure out solutions when he's stumped.

Baxter: "Darling you're brilliant! Perhaps you're due for a reward? Are you free tonight? I'd love to show you my gratitude~"

Overall, meeting for lunch gives you both another opportunity to take care of each other. He feels the stress melt away as soon as he sees his favorite person and it makes his lunch that much sweeter.

#beloved oreo man #the ol1 victorian clown #ourlife #baxter ward #our life beginnings & always #gb patch #Baxter ward x reader #Baxter ward x mc

[daisybianca]

hey, could you do a friends to lovers w/ charles!

WAG VIBES

pairing: charles leclerc x femalereader

summary: charles had been your friend since you could remember yourself. after a few years of not being able to meet, he promised you that a package would be at your door in a matter of hours. little did you know that the mysterious package was the man himself and that things would get a little bit complicated between the two of you.

warnings: slight swearing, tiny mentions of sex

NOT CONSTRUCTING AN incredibly powerful bond when in the early ages of your lives, wasn't an available option when it came to you and Charles Leclerc, the admired and favored F1 driver.

Your mothers had formed an appreciable friendship since high school and that seemed to be just enough for their children to inherit that habit as well.

Due to his strenuous and consuming profession, his job required nonstop traveling to different mainlands and constant practicing. Because of this, there had been numerous months you two hadn't succeed to meet.

You had considered the lacking variety of options to spend time with your childhood friend, but none of them really appeared to be the precise solution. The idea of attending an f1 race slipped by your thoughts for a second, but you rejected it almost immediately. The events took place far away from your home country and the responsibility for your job and your limited time were the main reasons holding you back.

However, you two had figured out a way to communicate with each other by texting almost every night to talk about your day and in the morning, before heading to work. Face-timing was also an extremely pleasant remedy to cure your friend's sadness and rage after a rough or even a poor performance at a Grand Prix. Video chatting also seemed to be useful when you lost track of time at work and returned home late at night. Even if you were in your car, Charles insisted that he was willing to keep an eye on you, despite the fact that time zones were undoubtedly a challenging thing.

So generally, you always somehow found your way to each other. One way or another, you both created methods to achieve that.

Charles texted you this morning. Just at 10am. He was fully aware of the reality that you never were an early riser and knew better than to ruin that.

The fact is, though, that you wouldn't really mind as long as it was him interrupting your soothing time in bed.

It was bizarre that he texted you a good morning text. He never surely did, preferring the Face-Time choice to view your sleepy and drowsy reactions.

Your concern about his unusual message faded out by the time a second one showed up, brightening up the screen in the unilluminated room.

Harry Pottah from Walmart: Good Morning, Sunshine.

You read the very first message, which was accompanied by a bright sun emoji.

You let yourself shape a tiny smile. There had been a few days since you last heard him form those words. You adored him calling you that, but it would be so much better hearing it face to face.

You transferred your eyes to glance the second text.

Harry Pottah from Walmart: There'll be a package on your door at 7pm ASAP. Open the door and receive it. I hope you don't need a tutorial for that too, otherwise don't you dare ask me, there's something called freaking internet to help you out. I'm not a Wikipedia machine.

Your smile vanished and for a couple of seconds you felt remorseful for allowing him to know how obsessed you once used to be with Youtube tutorials.

A third, smaller text appeared on the screen, catching you off guard.

Harry Pottah from Walmart: P.S. be kind to the delivery man or I'm calling your mom.

Taking a loud, extended breath, you typed the response to his messages with almost-wobbly hands.

Me: Mrs. Pascale wouldn't be proud of his son talking to a lady like that.

You sent the sentence, mentioning his own mother to tease him a little, while including an emoji that was supposed to portray a sad face at the end of it.

You chortled at his amusing answer and placed your phone on the nightstand to charge it.

Getting up from your bed to endure your monotonous day, all your mind could revolve around was the package Charles referred to previously.

You had a great instinct for that and your heart was fierce and deafening in your chest, only at the thought of him gifting something to you after a very long time. You didn't permit yourself to build sizeable expectations because the outcome could be also disappointing, though.

But you couldn't care less if the content of the package was pretty or cheap or pricey as long as it was from him.

You exhaled and sniffled the odor of the coffee you made and felt the warmth of it enfolding your hands.

Just a couple of hours to figure out.

You could wait with the sensation of anticipation filling every inch of your body.

It wasn't like he could possibly show up at your door. He couldn't do that, he had a race in Russia in a couple of days.

It was just a package.

Nothing more and nothing less.

Yet, your mind denied doggedly to remain at a distance from it.

The hours passed surprisingly briefly and the clock above the kitchen table of your duplex apartment read 6:58 pm.

As you glanced over at the door, the flashings of the booming bolts of lightning outside the window made you observe the violent rainfall which turned the night sky quite gloomy.

Who would have thought that something so colorless as water could make clouds that dark and shadowy?

Approaching one of the wide windows, you tried to scrub condensed water droplets so that you could obtain a clearer view of the busy street ahead. There were plenty of people holding umbrellas and walking down the moist pavement, but no one actually headed to the entry of your home.

You were pressing your lips together in worry when the bell suddenly rang, gaining your attention solely.

You walked to the door with brave and patient small steps, opening it without minding asking who was behind it. If you got kidnapped or robbed, it'd be Charles' fault for instructing you to open the door at 7pm sharp.

The person that came into sight caused a considerably powerful freezing to your entire body, soul, brain, and most importantly, to the red organ vibrating inside of you.

Charles' eyes lit up and changed from narrow to wide when his gaze fell upon you. ''Sorry, the delivery man turned into a wet cat. Jesus, I'm soaked.'' Your head dropped back. Your laugh was a weapon of mass seduction and he had always remained its biggest target.

So he just stood there staring and beaming as he allowed the sound of your chucklesome laugh to imprint on his mind.

He hadn't heard that while facing each other in forever and a day. Only through a lifeless and wireless device, which only produced image and sound but failed to extract the small details of your face while forming the act. Of your petite nose wrinkling when you laughed. Of your dainty features that brightened up the whole room when you were in it and blessed the observer with a unique smile.

You almost rushed to him, falling into his moist embrace. He seemed to be quite hesitant about hugging you back because of his sopping clothes but finally, he gave in and wrapped his hands gently around you. Charles caressed your back and you could sense the watered fabric stick to your flesh, yet you didn't even mind. Not for a single moment.

His sweet glare reminded you of a golden retreiver.

''How long have you been in the country?'' You gestured for him to enter the house and he did, after removing his waterlogged shoes.

''Since this morning. I texted you the moment I got off the plane.'' His gaze found you and there was a glimpse in those colorful eyes of his that made butterflies take flight in your stomach.

That made sense. That was the reason why he selected chatting instead of video chatting.

He was here. With you. You couldn't believe it.

You needed to shoot a question but his penetrating gaze incapacitated you. ''Don't you have a race in like three days from now?'' Curiosity finally won as you blurted the words out.

''You mean the Russian Grand Prix? It was canceled so I have a few days to rest.'' Charles blinked twice. How the hell didn't you read somewhere about the race being called off? ''Oh, um--I bought you this.'' The man handed you a plastic bag with a heavy, brown box with a red, decorative strip in a heart shape on top of it. It looked like a product from a pastry shop.

You grinned and accepted the bag, placing it on the table that was located a few feet ahead. ''What's that?''

''I played the role of the delivery man, so I suppose that's for the package I promised.'' Charles explained and approached you from behind, eventually his posture hardening a few inches away from you.

You nearly gasped at the sight of the content of the box.

It was a remarkably enormous cake. A chocolate one, to be accurate, which made your mouth water momentarily. With dissimilar-hued sprinkles patterning small hearts and covering the surface of the dessert. Additionally, a smiley face was laying in the heart of the cake, two white cookies forming the eyes, while the mouth was nicely done with matching truffles.

''Charles, did you forget the date of my birthday?'' You giggled.

''Of course I remember when your birthday is, (y/n)!'' Your childhood friend's orotund voice sounded rather... offended?!

''Why would you buy me a cake then, Charles?'' You tittered, turning around to face the man standing with his arms crossed firmly and his eyes traveling around.

He kind of seemed taller. But he obviously wasn't because you had last seen him a few months ago, not in puberty.

''I just--I recalled how much you love cakes.'' Charles' tone emerged as gruff and hoarse. ''I never forgot, to be honest.''

A sense of pride hit you, considering he never failed to commit to memory small, inconsequential details about you.

''I have a few clothes kept in the closet for you. You should probably get changed before devouring the smiley face with me, Mrs. Leclerc.'' His eyes dropped down to you and then, he shook his head unapprovingly and smiled.

You placed your palms softly on his drenched and strong chest, expecting the warmth of him to have kind of hidden behind the frostiness of the fabric.

But there it was. Covering every inch of his flawless-crafted upper body.

''Nah,'' He pronounced the word confidently and loudly. Charles' lips curved into a seductive smile that made your knees feely unsteady for a little while. Reaching out, he grabbed your hands from his chest and delicately applied carefully small kisses to them. ''I'm not sharing that cake with you. It's all yours, Sunshine.''

Your stomach did a betraying little flip that somewhat terrified you.

''If you don't eat, I don't eat either.''

Charles released a shuddery breath, uncapturing your hands from his grip as you immediately missed the feeling of his flesh touching yours.

You looked up to find his gaze already fixed on you.

''Fine.'' Smacking slightly the back of your neck, he started running upstairs in a hurry. ''But you're not playing fair!'' He yelled as you sprinted behind him.

Entering the commodious guest room, you spotted Charles almost buried in the broad closet.

''I don't know which one might look better on me.'' He extended his hands, swirling two different-shaded hoodies in the air. ''What do you think?''

You blinked at the two pieces of clothing. The one to your left was deep green while the other was a Spongebob hoodie your mother had gifted Charles for his 22nd birthday.

''Since when do you care about being fashionable?'' You joked, raising an eyebrow. ''Last time I checked fashion was a completely foreign word to you.'' Moving nearer to him, you examined the two options in his hands.

''I feel rather offended.'' Charles laughed, turning into ice as your forehead was a few inches away from his mouth. The desire to nudge forward and collide his lips with your forehead ignited like a scorching blaze inside him.

''I think I prefer this one.'' Your eyes connected with his as you patted the greenish hoodie. ''Don't tell my mom I didn't choose the one she bought you, but the green one matches your eyes better.''

Charles swayed his head. ''Your secret is safe with me.''

Dropping the Spongebob hoodie on the bed behind you, he pulled his phone, a wallet, and his keys out of the pockets of his jeans. Your friend handed them to you instead of dropping them on the bed with the yellow fabric.

Charles forced his wet hoodie off his head, unveiling the abs, arms and chest beneath it.

You suddenly sensed a slight flushing on your face. Charles noticed that.

''Are you blushing?'' His question caused a tickle to your heart.

You turned around, not allowing yourself to view the almost naked Charles anymore.

''No, I am not.'' You denied the painful truth, biting your bottom lip to prevent any unethical words from escaping. ''Next time racing don't choke on water. Try utilizing it to clean your eyesight, because you're clearly fairly blind.''

Charles fleed a husky growling that was supposed to sound like a laugh.

Gosh, you were so fucked.

''I don't remember you having such an attitude, sweatheart.'' His tone was smoky and flat.

You ignored his statement and could identify the sound of his jeans being unzipped.

You froze and tried desperately to locate something to distract you from what was occurring just behind you.

Abandoning his wallet and the keys on the closer furniture, which happened to be a forgotten desktop, you turned his phone on in rapid movements and headed to the camera app, while posing to take a few funny photos of yourself.

At the sight of the photo that covered his phone screen, your thoughts emptied.

''Am I your lockscreen?'' You blurted out as you re-viewed the woman on Charles' screen to double-check it was certifiably you.

''Shit, you weren't supposed to see that!'' The man grabbed the device and you spun to find him changed in his favorite cozy, grey sweatpants and the hoodie you had selected just moments ago.

The image that seemed to be his lockscreen was a moment he had captured two Christmases ago. In the photo, you hugged tightly a snowman that leaned like the tower of Pisa as you two laughed uncontrollably at it falling apart in your embrace.

It was the last Christmas you two had managed to spend together and it was nearly painful recalling those unforgettably beautiful moments that had stamped your mind.

''You're the one blushing now, Sir.'' Charles frowned at the last word you added to your ironic statement.

''Don't fucking call me that.'' He passed by you furiously and you giggled.

He was mad for some reason now. But everything would be just fine in a few minutes. That's how your friendship worked since you could remember yourselves being each other's dearest company.

As your hands scratched the wet surface of the dishes, Charles' ethereal voice echoed, approaching from behind. ''You sure you don't need any help with those?'' He asked for the second time, referring to the dirty dishes on the sink with dregs of chocolate on them.

''No, I'm almost done.''

Looking at you, he bit his upper lip, tasting the flavor of the chocolate from moments earlier.

He had one slice while you almost ate half of the cake.

Indeed you adored chocolate cakes. You had almost forgotten how much you loved them.

But Charles hadn't.

Charles breathed and let his gaze wander on you. He couldn't fathom how this earth and the sun and the moon and the sky could exist and be perceived as enteral sources of happiness, yet... yet the woman standing right in front of him could bring so much warmth and comfort to him with just a single glance or a small smile.

He moved closer to you. You could sense the heat of his body right next to you. However, you didn't permit yourself to move or talk or even breathe...

Charles' arm found its way around your neck and froze there. At first, you thought it was one of his platonic gestures where he would jokingly wrap his hand around you, preventing you from moving, and would tickle the shit out of you until you burst into mixed tears and laughs.

But when his lips collided with your forehead softly, you realized it wasn't one of those moments.

Charles planted a smooch on your skin, depositing his wet mark there.

''I've been waiting to do that for quite a while. And more.'' Your eyes extended as Charles pulled you into a warm embrace. It felt so good and you realized your friend enjoyed it as well when a small groan escaped from him. You wished you could stay like that forever. ''I kind of missed you, Sunshine.''

''Kind of?''

Charles smiled before correcting. ''A lot.'' You smiled too as he amended his words. ''Oh, and I-um, I have an announcement to make.'' He whispered, pulling back to view your reaction as he spoke the words loud and clear. ''I'm sleeping in your bed tonight. With you. Like those old days when we could fit into a single bed, remember?''

You tried to hide your excitement. You would have tried to suggest this to him, but you were a little scared of any possible rejection of your plan. ''My bed is king-sized, so I'll guess that would be pretty cool.''

If the sound of the rain didn't completely fill the room, you could have possibly heard the roaring of his heart in his chest when you accepted his idea. Besides, your head was just a few inches away from his torso. It wouldn't be too difficult for the organ to be noticed.

The rest of the afteroon progressed rapidly, forming into a rainy night. You two watched an SCI-FI movie, which Charles insisted he had seen before, although it was eventually proven that he hadn't, because of the fact that he had predicted an extremely different ending.

You laughed at Charles' hilarious stories of the F1 races, rolling in the aisles, and he took advantage of that, capturing the moment with his phone camera.

You danced and pursued Charles to join you. The frown drawn on his face at that moment was something truly worth-laughing at.

By the time the clock had declared that it was nearly 2am, Charles approached you on the floor and you didn't protest as he wrapped an arm around you, taking the brunt of your weight. He didn't think as he hauled you over his shoulder, bringing your ass to his eye level.

''I think my feet need to be amputated.'' You flinched, completely losing your footing as he carried you upstairs. The dancing was genuinely exhausting but the overall experience was certainly worth it.

''Problem solved, Sunshine.''

''Charles!'' You shouted, facing his back. You could swear that the cake you previously devoured was by far the most satisfying thing you had ever smelled, but the aroma extracting from Charles' body was always so outstanding and incredibly... alluring. ''What are you doing?'' You rammed your small fists into his spine and he grunted.

''Being a gentleman.''

''More like a caveman! Put me down right now! This is so embarassing.''

''No one is here to see you, (y/n).'' Charles mentioned as he slowly walked up the stairs, heading to your room.

Your head lifted. ''What time is it?''

''Almost two.''

You gasped. ''Gosh, I lost track of time.'' Charles blinked. Twice. He tried so hard not to transfer his eyes to your ass. He even moved his rough hands lower on your thighs, so that he wouldn't have any physical touch with that exact lovely part of your body.

''No worries, we'll make it to your room before you turn into a pumpkin, princess.''

''That's not even how the story goes, Charles!'' Your laugh was muffled by his hoodie as he carried you to the door.

''Close enough.''

''God, you can be so annoying sometimes.'' If you two held eye contact right now, you would be receiving a very alarming death stare from him.

But that was not his response presently.

Instead, Charles smacked your ass for that comment.

''Did you j-just spank me?!'' You choked at the sound of his hand colliding with your ass.

He just touched you.

There.

Charles' hand burnt to do it again if only to hear that little gasp you made when his palm slammed your flesh.

Returning the favor, you smack his ass hard.

He almost dropped you from the shock of it all, but he finally recovered with a loud laugh.

''Ugh! You weren't supposed to like that!''

Charles took a breath to collect himself.

''I hate you so mu--.'' Your sentence was cut by Charles dropping you on the soft surface of the bed.

The corners of his mouth lifted at the sight of you like that.

''I do find your wicked statements entertaining.'' Leaving you alone to make yourself comfortable, he went in the opposite direction of the bed and pulled the blankets to make enough room for his body.

When you turned around, you saw him already drowned in the mattress while facing you.

''I still need those deep conversations before sleeping.'' You said and his pupils were swollen.

''What do you want to talk about, Sunshine?'' Charles questioned and his dimples were charmingly placed on his reddened cheeks. You extended your hand to reach for the light switch and turned it off.

Sharing beds as kids never grew to something more than a platonic activity both of you really enjoyed. It had to be kept that way. You two couldn't ruin your unique friendship. He knew that too, even though the look in his eyes declared something... something entirely different.

''You look beautiful even in the dark, (y/n).'' His voice was husky, he blood immediately frozing in you.

''Charles, are you flirting with me?'' His eyes moved to your lips for a brief moment and he hoped, he really hoped, you didn't notice it, but you did. And things initiated to complicate in your mind.

''You finally noticed?'' He murmured as if he didn't want anybody else to hear his thoughts. ''You're pretty much the only reason I turn on my phone in the morning, hoping for a message or a call, (y/n).''

''Charles, I can't, we are--I--''

''Shh--'' He silenced you by bringing his hand gently to cover a part of your lips. ''(y/n), I think I have fallen in love with you.''

Your mind stopped working. ''Then k-kiss me.'' Your response was somehow hesitant.

''The problem is,'' He said as he leaned in. ''If I kiss you, I don't think I'll be able to stop.''

''Who says I'd want you to stop?'' His gaze was penetrating, as if he tried to read your soul, your thoughts, the feelings you kept well-hidden...

He leaned in more, so carefully, hearts beating between you two. He was so close, so close and you weren't able to feel your wobbly legs anymore. You couldn't feel your fingers or the cold or the rain outside because all you could feel was him.

Charles connected his lips with yours. His hands found their way around your cheeks and moved closer just to sense you press against his chest.

He tasted like sugary chocolate and the sweetness made your heart explode.

Your hands were instantly in his hair, pulling him even closer, filling the gap to expore his mouth with your tongue as the raindrops echoed on the windows. Charles groaned between your lips.

He pulled away to whisper. ''I've been waiting so many years to do this, (y/n).'' Charles' eyes glistened and he thought about all those times he let himself picture you two like this to ease his mood. ''Come with me to Monaco. Please, (y/n), you're all I need.'' Charles pleaded and you could understand how much he meant his words. He craved you there. With him. In every race. He was not willing to make memories without you by his side anymore.

You smiled. ''As long as you let me re-decorate your house there. Damn, it looked terrible from the photos.''

His voice was so low. He was going to be the death of you. ''Our house, baby.'' Charles corrected you and placed a kiss on your forehead. ''Our house.''

Leaning forward, he touched his lips to yours. He kissed you and forgot to breathe. It didn't seem significant to him at the time.

You were all he ever needed. All he would ever want. And you were his now. Solely, exclusively his.

#charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc fluff #f1 drivers #f1 ferrari #f1 #daniel ricciardo #carlos sainz jr #f1 memes #lando norris #lewis hamilton #max verstappen #charles leclerc edit #charles leclerc #charles leclerc one shot #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x reader

[sophieinwonderland]

Just a few notes on Tulpamancy and the DSM.

Tulpamancy is tulpamancy

When speaking of tulpamancy and the tulpamancy community, we're going to keep referring to it as tulpamancy. Trying to relabel a community as something else... isn't going to happen, and creates way more confusion.

The tulpamancy spoken of in academic papers, in TEDx Talks and on Chicago Med is tulpamancy. Tulpas created this way and from this community aren't thoughtforms or willos. At least for the purposes of discussions of the community.

Tulpamancy is primarily psychological

The community is primarily divided between so-called psychological and metaphysical explanatory principles. In the psychological community, neuroscience (or folk neuroscience) is the explanation of choice. Tulpas are understood as mental constructs that have achieved sentience. The metaphysical explanation holds that Tulpas are agents of supernatural origins that exist outside the hosts’ minds, and who come to communicate with them. Of 118 respondents queried on the question, 76.5% identified with the psychological explanation, 8.5% with the metaphysical, and 14% with a variety of “other” explanations, such as a mixture of psychological and metaphysical.

76.5% of tulpamancers identified with purely psychological explanations. Only 8.5% identified with purely spiritual ones.

It's worth repeating that this data is only accurate insofar as it's related to the tulpamancy community.

If you take this data out of context, change the label and claim that 76.5% of the "thoughtform community" identifies with spiritual explanation, that would be wrong because there's a very sizable pagan community that makes spiritual thoughtforms.

The data obviously didn't study them because this is a study about tulpamancers and their tulpas.

The cultural exemption still applies to tulpamancy

Criterion D.

The disturbance is not a normal part of a broadly accepted cultural or religious practice. Note: In children, the symptoms are not better explained by imaginary playmates or other fantasy play.

It's not actually required that the practice being religious or spiritual. In fact, the example it gives is one that's purely psychological.

Admittedly, "broadly accepted" is a bit loaded. Personally, I'm choosing to interpret this is as applicable to subcultures. The alternative would mean that a lot of smaller religions and spiritual beliefs wouldn't be covered because they aren't broadly accepted enough. A very strict reading of that text would have paganism and many other religions not protected, as they're generally not accepted in the Christian-majority United States.

I'm choosing to believe the people who wrote the DSM didn't write this in a way that was intended to leave the door open to pathologize less unpopular religions. If that is the intended reading, then it's a severe flaw that desperately needs to be rectified.

The exemption isn't absolute

The key term in the exemption is "normal part."

This is covered further in the section on culture-related diagnostic issues.

Many features of dissociative identity disorder can be influenced by the individual's cultural background. Individuals with this disorder may present with prominent medically unexplained neurological symptoms, such as non-epileptic seizures, paralyses, or sensory loss, in cultural settings where such symptoms are common. Similarly, in settings where normative possession is common (e.g., rural areas in the developing world, among certain religious groups in the United States and Europe), the fragmented identities may take the form of possessing spirits, deities, demons, animals, or mythical figures. Acculturation or prolonged intercultural contact may shape the characteristics of the other identities (e.g., identities in India may speak English exclusively and wear Western clothes). Possessionform dissociative identity disorder can be distinguished from culturally accepted possession states in that the former is involuntary, distressing, uncontrollable, and often recurrent or persistent; involves conflict between the individual and his or her surrounding family, social, or work milieu; and is manifested at times and in places that violate the norms of the culture or religion.

Essentially, cases of possessing spirits and the like can be diagnosed as DID (or OSDD) if they exist in a way that is outside the normal bounds of the cultural phenomena.

Which really should be a no-brainer.

Imaginary friends in children are part of a culturally accepted phenomena, as was mentioned in that example. But once they start taking over a child's body and the child has severe memory gaps, that's something outside the boundaries of what's considered normal for the culture.

The cultural exemption and Koomer & Oguigi

While headmate creation itself is normal within the tulpa community, their ordeal was largely not. The numerous malevolent walk-ins that spawned after Oguigi's intentional creation are an example of something that was both harmful, and outside what's considered normal within the tulpa community.

In fact, when people show up on r/tulpas asking about similar experiences to know if they have tulpas, they're often told tulpas don't behave like that, and that they should probably seek out help from a professional.

Koomer and Oguigi's experiences were well outside the boundaries of normality within tulpamancy culture, and they would therefore meet Criterion D.

TL;DR

Calling the tulpamancy community and tulpas by other names they don't use for themselves is silly and actively harmful to communities you conflate us with.

76.5% of tulpamancers identify with purely psychological explanations, and don't consider tulpamancy spiritual or religious at all.

Criterion D still explicitly applies to psychological culturally-accepted experiences.

Criterion D specifies that it can't be a "normal part" of said cultural practice, meaning an experience can become pathological if it steps outside of the boundaries of what's considered normal for that particular subculture.

#syscourse #pro endo #pro endogenic #tulpa #pro tulpa #tulpamancy #multiplicity #endogenic #system #systems #plural #plurality #plural system #endogenic system #psychiatry #psychology #mental illness #mental health #actually a system

[thiswaycomessomethingwicked]

Hey :) I’ve currently got Gríma brain rot because of your fics (compliment) and was wondering what you think his opinion on music would be?

Is there any particular style or instrument he would like or would there be anything he could play? Also do you think he could sing? I imagine that music would be important to Rohan’s culture and that most of the people would be able to play something?

Grima brain rot is the best brain rot to have, gotta say

We know canonically that music is important to Rohan, Aragorn says as much before they arrive at Edoras. But he just mentions epic songs/lyrical music - so what role instruments play aren't dwelled on. Even in later passages when their songs are discussed - it's more focused on the nature of the lyrics and topics covered than the instrumental aspects of it.

That said, I definitely think there were flute-adjacent instruments and pipes of various sorts alongside something akin to a harp (think the smaller, hand harps of the medieval period and earlier). I can also see them having early version of vihuelas and other proto-violin-family instruments. Drums would have been a thing - the debate around the popularity/presence/nature of the drums of early medieval anglo-saxon england and also Scandinavia aside - I vibe with Rohan having drums.

100% they would have had riddle drums since I think they were major corn producers once they settled in what is now Rohan and riddle drums grew out of winnowing corn.

Now for Grima.

I think he could sing. His voice was his strong suit, it's one of things he had going for him and was important to his power when it came to controlling Theoden. But also, whatever his role in court may have been (see the Grima Thoughts tag for reams of paper on Grima's position in the court, among many other topics), being a good public speaker and having a fine voice was absolutely part of the job description.

So, I think he could sing and sang well and probably liked it. I don't see a reason to think that he wouldn't like music, especially since it was a huge part of Rohan's culture. He would have grown up with song being a venerable and important thing to respect.

Also, since they are an oral-tradition society who are proto-literate at best, song and verse is how history and knowledge are preserved. They would have a strong, complicated and multi-faceted relationship with song.

Not sure if Grima played anything. I could see him knowing a wind instrument, as they're very accessible economically and, depending on the instrument, skill-wise. Maaaaaybe he would know a string instrument of some sort, like a lyre or vihuela-adjacent thing.

String instruments are expensive and take skill to make and time to learn how to play. It wouldn't be an every-day thing. Being a formal musician was an occupation because of the skill required - and also god knows they didn't have Netflix so people had to kill time somehow. Traveling skald coming in to relay news and also recount epic stories through song is a good way to pass an evening.

Obviously, every village and hamlet would have a few people who could play things, but it would vary on who had access, time, and ability when it came to the type of instruments used.

So yeah, I think Grima likes music. I think he can sing and probably knows a good selection of songs. Can he play an instrument? That one I'm more on the fence about. I think it would depend on the back story he was given in any particular text.

As for type? Epics. 100% he wants Rohan's answer to the Odyssey sung every winter and is excited when riddles happen in the quests and has strong opinions on all the bad politicking that happens.

I don't think he's a love-song person. I also don't think he's a pastoral-verse sort of person. Perhaps love songs if they're tragic and everyone is dead by the end of it.

Grima: We should sing Green Grows the Tree.

Eomer: I said love song.

Grima: It's a love song.

Eomer: Everyone's dead by the end of it! The husband returns and just flat-out murders everyone!

Grima: your point?? Very well, if we won't do that then My Lady Walks in the Corn Field

Eomer: People eat the shitty lover at the end of that one.

Grima: With fried beans. It's great.

Eomer: New stipulation, it must be a *Happy* love song.

Grima: ew. I'm going to conveniently take some air. Happiness? Disgusting.

----

<3 <3 <3 thank you for the asssssk

#grima wormtongue #ask #reply #lotr #lord of the rings #grima #Grima thoughts

[thegrapeandthefig]

Hi there!

I’ve been attempting to create a festival for one of my gods (Asteria) and I found one of your posts really helpful, but I’ve been struggling with naming it, do you have any tips? Or what was your process before deciding on Priapeia?

Hi!

First, I'm glad you've found my post helpful and congratulations on building your own festival!

Finding the "Priapeia" was honestly very straightforward since it follows the most basic naming convention of taking a name or an epithet and adding the -ia or -eia suffix to it. And the term "Priapeia" also is already used and known in literature as a series of Latin poems about Priapus. But I've done this for other smaller events of my own making too, and this is the overall method:

Observing how the suffix is applied in ancient festival names is my first tip, like how a festival to Dionysus -> Dionysia, for instance. However, we also know that this wasn't limited to the name of the gods eg. Thargelion (month name) -> Thargelia.

With this in mind, my overall technique for naming festival is to list a bunch of words (in English of whatever your preferred language is) that are relevant to your festival. Those words can be epithets you chose to use for the festival, or simple words that make sense thematically.

I'll use another smaller festival of mine as example. Each November, I buy a bottle of Beaujolais Nouveau for Dionysus for a libation day I named the Gleukia. This libation day is a modern wink to the Anthesteria, since I open the new bottles of wine from this year's harvest. I wanted a name that would carry this across.

With this in mind, I'd list some words (eg. "new", "wine", "harvest" etc...) and then I'd go to this website https://www.perseus.tufts.edu/hopper/search

Here, in the search section, collapse the "English-to-[Language] lookup and search for the words you listed.

Here's an example of results with the word "wine" as search term:

As you can see, the search engine goes way beyond your search term and gives you plenty of contextualized uses for the word you initially looked for. It also gives you the frequency with which a term is used in ancient texts, letting you know of how common the word might have been.

So back to "gleukia"; the root word for it is right there: "γλεῦκος" with its given definition of "new sweet wine" (the word nowadays still means "must" and "new wine")

So now I had "gleukos" as a base, to which I just had to add the "-ia" suffix to -> Gleukia.

My ancient Greek is rusty af so I wouldn't be able to tell you why festival names seem to use this suffix in its feminine form instead of "-ios" which would be the masculine. What it does do, however, is transform a word (adjectives more often then nouns, mind you) into a feminine abstract noun.

If you're not very familiar with the Greek alphabet and aren't sure how to spell the word correctly in Latin script, you can copy the Greek term into Wiktionary for this, for example here with "γλεῦκος".

But yeah, technicalities aside, that's how I name my stuff. Basically:

Choose words

Look up words in this website I linked above.

Find the one term that makes you go "yes. that's the one"

Apply some grammatical magic

For the Priapeia, I only just did steps 1 and 4. Whereas some events required a bit more digging. Hope this helps!

#hellenic reconstructionism #naming my shit

[walks-the-ages]

Ya know, I thought being a Faction Paradox fan meant it could be hard to find books.

But the things I'm finding while looking up Arsène Lupin books? Which are public domain, with some very rare, very expensive first editions from 1908-onward still floating around?

hoooooooo boy, some of the literal scams I've come across...

... First, there's this monstrosity.

first, you know something is up already when you see the cover:

(functional ID: ) The book itself is yellow, and the entire "cover" is just a medium-sized, plain white rectangle with plain text that reads "Arsene Lupin Versus Herlock Sholmes (1910)". The only bit of color outside the yellow background is a tiny rectangle at the bottom of the white section, that has a simple red rose in it, and at the bottom on the yellow portion, it says Maurice Leblanc and Georgie Morehead; they are the author and english translators respectively.

Not only is this cover incredibly ugly and boring....

They didn't even put the accent on the è in Arsène !

Now, granted, I still don't know the key-combination needed to type out the è (on a regular keyboard, that is; mobile is much easier), but I also literally have a pinned tab leading to the Arsène Lupin wiki so I can literally just copy and paste his name whenever I need to, lol. I'm also not a supposedly wide-spread, professionnel publisher who specializes in reprinting rare books....

speaking of reprints!

This is their reprinting statement in the book.

[ID: plain text on a white background that reads: "Printing Statement: Due to the very old age and scarcity of this book, many of the pages may be hard to read due to the blurring of the original text, possible missing pages, missing text, dark backgrounds and other issues beyond our control. Because this is such an important and rare work, we believe it is best to reproduce this book regardless of its original condition. Thank you for your understanding. end ID]

Now, all this wouldn't be so monstrous.......

Except this is what it looks like, reading the book.

[ID: A photo of the inside of the book, showing an unnumbered page which is mostly blank, with extremely large margins around the top, bottom, and sides of the relatively tiny "inner page" of text, which is originally labeled as page 171.

So, on top of admitting they have having zero quality control for their reprints, they're also not even selecting the correct page or printer size for their "rare reprints!" Literally so much paper is being wasted here.

"Arsène Lupin vs. Herlock Sholmes" is 350 pages long in its original 1910 First Edition. That's with text that actually filled up the original page. If they'd at least chosen a smaller page size to fit their clear PDF-print, it would have been fine....ish.

But they didn't, so now this book is 350 pages long, and probably wasting half of those pages on pure blank paper.

Also, they're charging $30-$40 for these, "brand-new" on Amazon; going to their publishing website just leads any search to a generic Amazon page, full of the same extremely blatant ripoffs, including "leather hardcovers" from a print of demand location they can't even be bothered to not use a stock photo that requires them to blur out three different titles on the spine for each different angle.

Oh, and the real kicker?

Here's the exact Archive.org listing they're scraping to reprint for exorbitant amounts of money:

Literally down to the exact title, without an accent.

And this isn't the worst one I've found, either; another "public domain scraper" as I've taken to calling them, has taken this book:

and downloaded the ancient, autogenerated Epub from the Internet Archive, and without any human being looking at that Epub, converted it into a PDF and sent it off to a Print-On-Demand company to make those same generic, leather-bound hardcovers for $30+.

Would you like to know what the ancient, auto-generated epub looks like for this very old, very old scan of a book looks like? The one these scammers are reprinting and selling for an arm and a leg without anyone actually looking at the contents of what they're selling?

As a reference, this is what the original, old scan looks like:

[ID: a black and white image of two pages of text from an old book, the text is cramped, slightly blurry and tilted, and is difficult to read; the scan is from an old enough time that, from the shape of the pages not being physically joined together, that the book had to be manually cut page by page to be scanned. There are artifacts, dots and smudges throughout. end ID]

So, you ready to see what these scammers are selling to paying customers with no warning?

[ID: A screenshot of the Calibre ereader app, showing a page from the auto-generated epub from the old scan described above, showing a message in bold across that top that reads "The text on this page is estimated to be only 39.04% accurate." followed by a paragraph of complete gibberish; numbers, symbols, sanskrit letters, various special characters, etc, with no rhyme or reason. End ID.]

I don't know if this scam listing is still out there, I reported the one I found on Abe books, but they're also probably out there with a million duplicate listings on various websites.

So, yeah. Please,

If you are looking for physical copies of the Public Domain Arsène Lupin books, please make sure you carefully check what you are buying before ordering, especially online.

Make sure the 'è' in Arsène has the accent; make sure there's actual quality control, and for Arsène's sake, make sure what you're buying isn't slapdash gibberish.

If you don't know already, most of the Public Domain books that are in English and are PD in the USA can be found on Project Gutenberg (18-19 are PD in the USA this year if you include the play and its subsequent novelization; Gutenberg has 16 of these (including the play) , and you can read them completely for free, 100% legally:

I highly reccomend having the wiki page for Arsène Lupin opened up as you're reading through the books for the first time, because many of the books released at various times (and in various languages) with multiple different titles, so no two reading guides use the same title and leads to sheer confusion.

https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/author/1358

if you speak French, you can also read all of Maurice Leblanc's Arsène Lupin books, barring 1 that wasn't published until 2012, 75 years after his death, which you can read in french on:

Since USA and French Copyright law are different, if you are in the USA you cannot use any books published after 1928 (except post-humous) for derivative works, as France has a shorter copyright term of 75 years after death (except post-humous), while the USA is based on 95 years after publication, so us poor Lupin fans in the USA have to wait until 2037 before they all are Public Domain :'(

TL;DR: If you're a fan of a series which is Public Domain, you can read them online for free 100% legally; if you're looking to buy phyiscal books and you're shopping online, please take care to check for quality to make sure you're not getting scammed with an extremely poor quality ""book"" which could be complete gibberish, and/or a huge waste of money and paper.

#public domain #arsene lupin #leblanc lupin #Arsène Lupin #scams #large text #bold text #tl;dr #described images #functionally described #this also counts for Sherlock Holmes and other famous PD works!!!

[tim-lucy]

WOW. That anon is way outta line! SO rude to send messages like that and they know it too if not they would of messaged you direct not on ANON and then saying it's not meant to be rude?? Don't ever stop posting all the posts you make, seriously they make you happy and that's the best part enjoying the episode so much you just can't wait to post. Your edits are gorgeous too and you come up with great parallels to post! I don't get people like that anon saying you post everything and then there's nothing left to post? Just cause you've posted it doesn't mean they can't? There's plenty of people who will reblog scenes over and over again happens all the time! Not to mention you could do a scene your way e.g 540px and they might do it the smaller way or the other way around or even smaller text, different fonts/colouring the list goes on to what you can do to make it different!

DON'T EVER FEEL GUILTY FOR LOVING YOUR SHOW SO MUCH YOU POST YOUR AMAZING EDITS RIGHT AWAY! <3

AWWWWW THANK YOU FOR THIS NICE MESSAGE YOU'RE AN ACTUAL ANGEL I HOPE YOUR DAY IS GOING AMAZING!! :')

Years ago, we were begging for more people to gif chenford when it was just a handful of us!! I remember begging stydia giffers "HEY LET ME CONVERT YOU" LOLOL and now I'm giffing chenford too much??? That's low-key beautiful! I'm happy there are so many of us now!!

But I think it's important to remember that we're making these little moving pictures for fun! Working 60 hours a week requires so much scheduling and perfection that I like to have a place where I'm just CHAOTIC!!! GIFGIFGIFGIF!! Typos??? MY BEST FRIEND LMAO

But @ that other anon, I want to reiterate again to please don't feel like you can't make something just because it's already been giffed! I mean, I definitely wouldn't purposely recreate the exact same thing someone else made, but scenes are scenes! Parallels are parallels! The more the merrier!

I think we should all make a pact to reblog alllllll the chenford things (PSSST I TRACK #USERTIMLUCY) no matter how many gif sets are out there :') They are a ship that will go down in tv history and they deserve all the love. If too many gifs are a problem, I think it's a lovely one to have, especially considering where we started 🥹

#ask #anonymous #the rookie #chenford

[sparkysummers]

Introducing Stella, the Carbuncle Mascot

Sparky isn't the only character important to my streams and identity. There's also Stella, the Carbuncle that's the reason Sparky as a character can even exist any more, and also the outlet for all of my sass - not to mention an avenue for Text to Speech interactions on streams.

Today I thought I'd do a character writeup for her, like I did for Sparky...

Magic in As'raea is a strange, barely tangible thing. Dangerous most of the time in concentration and powerful even in smaller amounts, it was ubiquitous to the land's residents. It ran their lives. Those who couldn't express magic of a certain kind could always find a crystal to fill in the gaps.

Magic required a will and a purpose, and a focus to channel through. Magic could understand a person's desires, their drive - and it could answer them in its own way. In its more dangerous forms it even achieves sentience, and in the rare cases that magic can nullify its own mutagenic properties, a Carbuncle is formed.

Stella is one such example of this happening in nature.

While it's true that the Aervae, masters of magical craft, were capable of synthetically creating Carbuncles as servants, the naturally occurring ones were far more flighty and whimsical. They did as they pleased, phasing in and out of the physical plane at will. Stella, for example, would often rile up wayward gangs of false-blessed outlaws just to see what they'd do. She found it funny. She found it engaging. It was all she really knew.

It was her lack of guidance and purpose that drew the attention of the forces that guided her to her soon-to-be lifelong companion. A man well-versed in bringing together the outcast few that they might do something different. Something better. This time, the desired outcome was simply one of peace.

And so it was that when Sparky's accident came to be, Stella would be there to help keep his spirit intact as it lost its earthly tethers. Sure she'd make fun of Sparky relentlessly for being so learned and yet somehow managing to accidentally lose his ability to exist within the bounds of his home, but she saw a difference in how he reacted compared to the outlaws she was used to. He was scared, vulnerable - and regretful of something. Something that he wouldn't tell her, but that weighed so heavily on his mind that she knew a strong enough force of will would guide him as it often guided what made her.

Stella was whimsical, true, but she was not without heart. As soon as she realised she could help this soul and in turn perhaps find purpose for herself, she helped guide his influence to people that might one day learn to summon them both. An influence, a whisper, a spark of power - all things that, lined up with the correct intent and will, would allow them to form permanent ties with a new world. A calmer, safer world.

And with that, they found their purpose. They'd both live life happily, striving to reach out and simply smile.

They would both influence this new world for the better.

If anyone wants to ask Stella anything, maybe I should make a sideblog for her?

#oc lore #sparky #sparky summers #sparky lore #Stella #Carbuncle #writing #character bio #original character #vtuber

[maximotts]

You doing alright? I sent you an ask a little while ago about how I felt that you needed to here that you were worth it but something still feels… off?

Maybe it’s because your busy and I’m finally on vacation but it doesn’t seem like your active as much and when you are it sounds like you’re always stressed. (I know it sounds stupid to say you feel something about a strangers posts but for some reason I do, I wish I could explain it) I really don’t know though, you could be totally fine but I just have this weird feeling about someone and I don’t know who this is for or why it’s happening.

Not trying to pressure you into posting more, act a certain way, or anything like that, just wanted to check in. Better safe then sorry, not that you’d confide in a stranger but still… doing my part…. Ok bye

I wouldn't say I'm "off," I'm just being myself. I've been open about the fact that I'm having a rough school term, my anxiety has been high, and in general I'm just in a more depressive time currently. I'm not fully unhappy, but I am stressed and busy and that means not being as active right now. I'm an adult which means I have responsibilities- being on here is a free time hobby; it's not my job or a necessity.

I don't believe in being fake online; what you see is what you get with me and currently that's just... stressed and low energy. I'm still posting fics when I can here and on my side blog, but even that requires writing and not reblogging stuff. I also just enjoy smaller, private spaces with people I know over posting everything on tumblr; I'm active on discord, screaming about fic concepts there, and I text my friends and family regularly.

Like in general, I'm alright, I'm doing the best I can and I have a support system that I confide in; I'm just not that explicit publicly. Thank you, I appreciate you wanting to check in again, but really I'm just.. existing as myself right now and that means being whatever this is <3

#anon asks. #answered.

[cesium-sheep]

she went off to meditate right after mom finished her call and then she called him in to talk to him and then she came out to talk to me because she was really upset about feeling like she doesn't get a fair share of watching stuff for her not for sharing on the big tv and like she's not even wrong about that neither of them get to use the big tv for their own personal stuff as much as I do, but also she never fucking asks? like he'll ask to watch whatever sports is on or his car videos but she never really says anything. cuz she also doesn't feel like she can ask and honestly there's not a whole lot I can do about that other than Be Smaller which is not a solution.

but like we talked about it, and I tried my best to differentiate when I was upset at the situation and when it was Brain Soup because not none of it was Brain Soup, and to convey why "I don't think you'll like this" does not translate to "you can go do other stuff if you want" because she leaves if she wants without a word all the time and I hate when she does that and I do not want to do things I hate having done to me and I am used to the common space coming with an implicit obligation of participation which I did point out directly towards the end. (I wonder if that's something I'm supposed to keep or if she wants me to get rid of that but didn't want to ask.) and she stuck through the entire conversation even though she's tired and she has work tomorrow and it was her conversation to start with even though it got bogged down in Soup Overflow. even when she walked off she told me where she was going and that she would be back in a minute. (at least I think it only happened the time she communicated well about it? I can't remember for sure.)

and she is right that she deserves to feel like the common space is as much hers as anyone else's, but unfortunately the most accessible solution is "please for the love of christ communicate more directly with me" which I Do Not Control (altho I was able to present a couple bits of like "hey could part of it be a conflation between being assertive and being an asshole" that she was willing to hear me out on) and the totally inaccessible solution that wouldn't even be a problem in the first place if I wasn't this sick/the apartment wasn't this small is just "I shouldn't literally always be in the common area".

so it was. really miserable. cuz she was super mad and some of it was really triggering and I don't have a solution for her that doesn't require her working on her own shit. but hopefully it was still constructive to her. she didn't sound mad at me by the end, and she said when I checked that she felt like her frustration was understood even though we don't have a straightforward solution right now. I did acknowledge that I hadn't provided any comfort during the course of the conversation because I was upset, and that she deserves to feel comfortable and safe and I do want to facilitate that even though it seems like I can't. she held my hand and let me be sad for a bit even though it was her problem, which I need to remember to acknowledge to her directly too. I'll text her so I can't forget. she also said some nice stuff about how yeah she's tired but I'm important (implicitly why she sat through the tedious wrap up bits I have to do in order to put a conversation to rest).

and I know it's been the other way round plenty of times, where I had a problem and had to comfort the other person, but also I know that sucks, and it's important to acknowledge that even if I don't have the energy left to take it on the chin like I used to, even if she decides she's at peace with that.

I also woke him up to let him know we were done and things were okay, and he was nice about it. (he came out in the middle to grab his phone and say goodnight.)

#long post #ask to tag #I do feel hella nauseous now from all the panic crying tho #and I was so pleased with myself for not crying yesterday -n- #I feel like I do ask her 'is there anything you'd like to watch?' just like I ask him #but she superimposes all these extra layers of meaning because she's still entrenched in indirect communication #idk a thought to circle back to if she wants to discuss it further now that the emotional part of it is bled off

[the-fandom-crossroads]

I know Disability Pride Month is almost over but I decided I wanted to share some of my Disabled OCs. Specifically the one's with physical disabilities as all of them have some sort of mental disability. AKA I have ADHD and physically can't write characters with a normal brain cause i still don't understand how those work.

Disclaimer! I am not personally an amputee and I don't currently require mobility aids. So if my descriptions of scifi versions of these aids are missing something you think a scifi version Must have. I apologize.

Feel free to share your Own disabled OCs in the reblogs!

-line break-

Deaf Ship Maintenance Tech (They/Them)

Universe: Star Wars

Born in the Clone Wars Era this kid grew up under the thumb of the Empire. They've always wanted to fly ships but settles for working in a ship yard. The Empire nor the Rebellion want them. The Droid binary to text screens are deemed to be to slow of a way to translate comm chatter between ships in the middle of an emergency. And fellow crew members would literally need all hands to navigate those situations and wouldn't have time to pause to sign orders.

I like to think they eventually join a civilian crew and become it's solo repair tech. The ship gets it's lights upgraded to RGB so instead of just changing colors for a red alert they have other alerts too. A civilian ship is rarely getting into dog fights (unless it's secretly a rebel ship) and the Techs job would be to focus on any damage the ships computer reads out and determine what needs to be fixed then and there.

Communication wise they know BSL Basic Sign Language and the 1's and 0's of binary even if they can't hear the beeps of it, and can speak basic but rarely do. Working in a ship yard it is assumed there are loud noises around that would drown out their voice. Their work goggles have a prototype version of the ship lights alerts installed. They light up and then dim when a message is coming through the comms. This gives them enough time to look at their wrist comm to text screen as the message comes through. The Yard Manager has a custom color to warn them the message is urgent.

-line break-

Double Amputee Black Market Android Doctor (She/Her)

Universe: Detroit become human, but it also fits cyberpunk 2077 just fine

She was working her way up to being a legit Android medical professional up until an accident in college cost her, her legs. On her way to getting her cybernetic replacements she learns how corrupt the system truly is and decides to go without the replacements. She finishes college but instead of working for one of the big companies she goes off the grid. She instead repairs deviant androids in the city and is the only Doctor any of them trust.

She's sort of a Doctor meets Hacker since the companies go the John Deer approach to right to repair. Making it impossible to fix any code related virus' without knocking down a few firewalls.

She has two chairs. A smaller one for use in her apartment that's more like a computer chair with a roomba for legs aka omniwheels that just needs a remote control joystick to move through the apartment in all 4 directions. And a larger more traditional one for leaving her apartment. This one is the super scifi tricked out one that basically has an entire computer strapped to the back of the chair to allow for on location hacking. can switch from self propelled to motorized with steering attached to each arm rest like some mowers.

-line break-

Last one is a Mute Druid Cleric (They/them, He/Him)

Universe: Fantasy, but the ttrpg side of fantasy

This one isn't as well fleshed out, but think Little Mermaid meets Sandman from Rise of the Guardians. In making a packed with his god for more magic he gave up his voice. Druids are known to be able to entrance people when they speak so losing their voice is cutting them off from half of their spells. But the deal does double his magical reserves for other spells and he develops simple image illusions like Sandman for easier communication. Allowing the party to communicate with NPCs that don't speak common and none of them know the language of. Also allowed for silent party communication during stealth missions.

They cast spells based on hand signs and ancient runes. He also had a telepathic link with his patron deity so he could call upon it for boosts to his current spell casting.

-line break-

Like I said these aren't All of my disabled OCs. just the ones that stuck out off the top of my head. For example I was in a Sci-Fi table top campaign and I slipped a prosthetic leg into her character sheet design. But the campaign didn't go passed 2 sessions and so it wasn't brought up. The character also just sounds like a mesh of the first two and I didn't want it to seem like a rehash.

But what do you guys think of these guys? If there's anything I got wrong in my wording or is an unhelpful stereotype. Please kindly leave a correction in the comments. I love to learn about this stuff and I never want to speak over someone who has actual experience with these disabilities.

But please feel free to describe your own disabled OCs! I feel like Disabled OCs should be discussed just like canon disabled rep is discussed during this month. That normalizing disabled OCs can be just as helpful at making fandom spaces inclusive.

#disability pride month #disability positivity #oc #my ocs #star wars #detroit become human #dnd #druid #dnd druid #also sorry for no pics but these characters were created #for text based situations #like table tops and chat rps #just means i don't have to epically fail #at image text descriptions for our low eye sight folks

[adamboden]

THROUGH THE LABYRINTH AT BODENS PERFORMING ARTS

The early stages of our new immersive, interactive, promenade performance of Minotaur, based on Plutarch's Theseus.

Creating an ancient world for an audience to wander around in is a challenge in itself. Add one hundred young people whose education, enjoyment and experience you have to worry about, an ocean crossing, a giant maze and a minotaur... you might well have a problem. It takes planning, imagination, resources and talent - and if you want to involve the young people throughout the entire creative process, it also takes time.

For those unfamiliar with the terms immersive, interactive or promenade, there's some information below.

In our immersive productions, the audience don't sit at one end of a theatre and watch the action unfold from the safety of their world, we bring them into ours. They are immersed inside Ancient Greece with the world and story unfolding around them.

In interactive theatre, the actors are free to communicate directly with the audience, who are often expected to be directly involved in the performance of the play. In Minotaur, our audience take the role of visitors to our special Museum, with their tour guides the Gods themselves.

To promenade means 'to walk' and in promenade theatre, the audience follow the actors throughout their performance. In Minotaur, our audience will journey from the houses and marketplace of Athens, across the Archipelago Sea, to the Banqueting Hall of Crete and the Labyrinth beneath the city.

In our first term, we began to unpick the story of Theseus and the Minotaur. We used media, literature and storytelling workshops to unlock the words and themes of this ancient Grecian story. Students recorded their thoughts and feelings; what stood out to them, what resonated with or unsettled them. While our intention is to set the story against the backdrop of Ancient Greece, we can't help but consider the story in our contemporary world. When Theseus breaks his promise to marry Ariadne for her help against the Minotaur, many of our young people wondered who the hero was after all. When you are collaborating with your cast, moving forward, this has to be at the forefront of our considerations. This is when the story ceases being Plutarch's, and starts to become theirs.

With any immersive theatre, a crucial decision to be made is how to bring your audience into the world of the play. With a story like Theseus, you have the added problem of history. How do you ensure your audience understand the world of the play and what has happened previously, before they begin to watch a story unfold within it? We have created the Museum of Athens where the audience will begin their journey under the watchful gaze of one of our tour guides: Aphrodite, Hermes, Apollo or Athena. Alongside ancient artefacts that the audience will later see in their original life, young performers will appear as animated history in our interactive exhibitions.

A promenade performance works by rotating some of the scenes. As the audience move from location to location in smaller groups, actors repeat sections so that everyone sees as much of the action as possible. At points during the piece (the marketplace, banquet and boat) the audience come together and experience the story as a whole. This requires the actors to have the ability to improvise either side of the scripted scenes, within the world of the play. Students spent a term working on their improvisation techniques in preparation for anything that might happen in a production like this. Improvisation is also a very important part of devising characters and story. When we are forced to generate ideas in the moment, we are more likely to create something new or different, that we wouldn't necessarily have put forward if we were sat discussing ideas around a table.

Having chosen the parts of the story to be included, we started the process of creating a script. In this challenging production the text is being written in different forms of verse. For example, the Athenians speak in Iambic Pentameter, similar to much of Shakespeare's verse. The cast have worked on finding the rhythm and poetry of the text, while trying to maintain the storytelling, or communication between the characters.

So as the setting sun softens her stare

Hides behind the earth like a glide downstairs

The dark of night fall shadows anxious air

And silence shrouds the Athens market square

Still you can hear the memory of the war

The dread and fear of what has come before

So long ago the Cretian prince was killed

Yet still the blood of innocents is spilled.

Every ninth year the names must be revealed

And for the chosen children fate is sealed

The people stand together, but alone.

Soon some will suffer heartbreak in their homes.

A booming voice, then the silence smothered

Breath held tight, a loved one clasps another‘

The time has come to read the names aloud!’

Waves of sorrow flood the frightened crowd.

So now we move onto the audition and casting process. Every single participant needs to play an actual part, with an emotional journey and an impact on the story. This term we have already begun the process of characterisation, considering the physical tension, openness, height and eye contact of the character, before working on the voice. Then we shall return to the finished script and make sure we end the penultimate term before the show ready to move into the final stages of rehearsals. So the last remaining question... to make it a musical, or not a musical…

#bodens #bodensperformingarts #performingarts #dramaschool #act #sing #dance #actortraining #dancetraining #singingtraining #acting #singing #dancing #training #perform #stageacting #screenacting #afterschool #childrensclasses #kidsclasses #theatreschool #performing #performingartsschool #performingartsclasses #Vimeo

[the-letter-horror-lover]

The Library Marauder

Summary:

HAPPY HALLOWEEN GUYS! ^^

In this chapter, Cielle unravels an age old secret about the Phantomhive's

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Sullivan looked at me like I was mad. "How can we not inform anyone of this ring? What if it's stolen? Moreover, it might help us find out who was masquerading as caretaker!"

"Sullivan, please just do as I say," I said, closing Black Diamond's stable door. "I do not say things out of reason."

"Are you sure you're sound of mind?" she bristled. "You truly believe it is best to do nothing."

"To do nothing is not at all what I am suggesting. Rather the opposite..." I debated telling her about Lizzie's disappearance and the other missing girls. No, it would rouse unwanted attention. One wrong step, and I might further endanger Lizzie from the cult. Secrecy was best in this matter, especially if I wanted to single-handedly apprehend that rogue cipher sender.

"The situation is delicate, Sullivan."

"What situation?" Her emerald eyes shined with fresh suspicion. "Is there... something you're not telling me? Rather odd for a student to join in the middle of the year. What is the true nature of your visit?"

I needed to put an end to her incessant questioning. I lowered my gaze at the dogmatic girl. Perhaps I was cruel to expose her like this, but it couldn't be helped. “You will tell no one of this incident, Sullivan," I said calmly. "I do not wish to extort someone of your nature. I imagine it would make your stay at Imperial Academy... unpleasant. "

"Are you blackmailing me?" She barked with laughter. "Oh this is real rich!"

"Quite the opposite, wouldn't you say?" I whispered.

Sullivan fell silent.

"You are currently a scholarship student, are you not?” I inquired.

"I..."

My eyes travelled down her petite form. “Your uniform is well kept but faded compared to the other girls."

"So what of it?" she demanded.

Did she really want me to continue? "It means you cannot afford multiple pairs like the other girls so you wash the same one everyday. If that's not conclusive enough, we can look to your book collection. Most of the spines look worn and tattered."

Sullivan sniffed. ”Well, if you can’t enjoy reading a book over again, then it’s not a very good book is it?”

"No, but the books on the top shelf with crisp and pristine pages, have the library stamp. I suppose you brought the older books from home. You must've reread them over and over because you could not afford new reading material." A rustle came from Bellismo’s corner. I dismissed it and refocused my attention on Sullivan. I didn't need to go on. I shouldn't have gone on. But deducing Sullivan so thoroughly gave me a sense of wretched satisfaction that distracted from my frustrations. "There’s also the way you walk...”

“My walk?”

"The gait of a man or woman can reveal much. When deep in thought, you pace a few feet to the right, straight, then come back, making a vague rectangle. It appears you do so out of habit. I wager your quarters at home was terribly smaller than the dormitories here. Something the size of a storage closet." Sullivan's face deflated like a balloon with each deduction. I pressed on. "Considering your aptitude, it would seem the academy has taken you as a scholarship student and views you as a charitable cause. Take a poor girl with promise, fill the required quota, and assign her chores that no girl from High Society would do, like feeding and cleaning the horses... Am I mistaken?”

Her small, pink lips trembled. She squeezed her eyes shut and in pitiable whisper confirmed my deductions. “All of it... I-it's true. Without the academy… it's my only chance for my education. If the other girls knew...”

"They would treat you like an outcast."

The raven haired girl gave a feeble nod.

"Say nothing of this matter, and I promise not to tell a soul. Else, I'm afraid you force my hand."

“Too late for that,” came a snarl.

I jerked backwards. Damnation.

Angelica and Alice emerged from Bellismo's stall, clutching fencing swords. They stood side by side, their faces drenched with betrayal.

“I knew you were different," said Angelica. "There was always something peculiar about you... "

"You lied to us, Sullivan," said Alice.

“I-I didn’t, Alice. I mean you never asked if—“

“I'm afraid you lost the privilege of calling us by our first names. You will address us as Miss Kingsley and Miss Develigne herein.” With cold indifference, Angelica stepped towards Sullivan and with the tip of her sabre, snatched the blue ring from the petite girl. "Who did you thieve this from? It hardly suits a sewer rat."

A single tear streaked down Sullivan's cheek. I held out a hand, a barrier between Sullivan and Angelica.

Angelica's eyes glinted in challenge. She grabbed Alice's sabre and threw it at my feet.

"Well, aren't you going to protect her honor?" she said, sweetly mocking. Even without my answer, Angelica discarded her outerwear until she was left in a corset, long underskirt, and boots. She pointed her back foot to the side in an en garde stance. Her sabre pointed at me.

I scowled and undid the irksome buttons of my coat, then tossed my outer things to Sullivan.

The girl reluctantly caught it. "Is this quite necessary?"

"Quiet," said Alice. "Leave them to it."

I reached for the fencing sword.

Angelica lunged.

The flat edge of her sword grazed my thigh, and I stumbled backward. The girl was quick on her feet, her hits sharp, sleek, and direct. Effortlessly, she swerved around my hits. The only strikes I managed to issue was against the blade of her own sword. The sound of our sabres clashed. Snow crunched under our feet. Our breaths tumbled.

Her panting lips unfurled into a smile. She swept my legs from under me and I found myself sprawled on the ground. Gently, the tip of her sabre pressed against my heaving chest.

“Looks like I win.”

I breathed hard. “Hardly a victory when the one fencing for years challenges a beginner in order to stroke their ego. It's more pitiable than anything else.” I considered her glare carefully. "A bet would be fairer in determining a true victor. Care to wager one?"

"What are you on about?" Angelica snapped.

"A game of chance," I replied, fixing her a cool stare. "With a deck of cards." I pulled out a Funtom box of cards. "If I win, you'll leave Sullivan alone."

Her eyes glimmered at the ring held. "Very well. And if I win I'll inform the whole school about that little blowse and take this pretty ring."

"I rather publish your rubbish manuscript before giving you that ring."

Angelica's mouth dropped. "You...read my manuscript?"

"Unfortunately," I said with a sigh. "It was only a few pages. I could not assail my mind further."

Angelica went red in the face. "I had Harold deliver it to local publishers. Never thought it'd get into your hands."

"I've decided to expand my toy company into FunTomes publishing. Though I'm questioning if that was a prudent choice after stumbling across obscenely pretentious manuscripts like yours."

"Why...you...you bi—"

"Now, now, don't jeopardize this wonderful, possibly one in a lifetime, opportunity for yourself."

"If I win I'll divulge Sullivan's secret, get that stone, and have my manuscript published," she snapped.

"You drive a hard bargain, Develigne... well, I suppose it makes the game all the more interesting."

"Cielle, what are you doing?" Sullivan regarded me with pink rimmed eyes.

"Seeing this debacle is partly my fault, I figured I'd make amends." I paused and murmured into her ear, "Watching Angelica carry about like this makes my moral fibre unravel a bit."

Sullivan sniffed. "I did not think you had a moral fibre. You better not lose."

"I have never lost a game." I graced Angelica and Alice with my most charming smile. "Shall we start? I'll be dealer." I showed Angelica the rules of our game. "Here are three cards—two Queens and a Joker—that I'll place face down. Now, choose a card, but don't turn it over."

Angelica selected the one in the middle.

"Now," I said, turning my attention to the other two face down cards. "Since I know what's under all three cards, I'll reveal one of the Queens." Angelica raised her brow as I flipped the card over. "And now..." I pointed to the face down card Angelica selected and the other face down card. "Clearly, one is a Queen, the other is an Joker. If the your card is the Queen, you'll get a point. We'll do this ten times. If you select more Queens than Jokers, you will be the winner." My lips slowly curved. "Moreover, you may also choose to switch to the other face down card if you wish."

Angelica smiled. "Fine. It's simply a game of chance... 50/50. Nothing more to it."

"Exactly so." The girl was already playing into my hands. Of course, I would play fairly. No cheating. I wouldn't need to resort to such elementary tactics for someone of her caliber.

"I choose my card, of course," she said, gazing at the two face down cards.

"As you wish." I turned up her pick. A queen.

As Angelica tittered, Sullivan flashed me a nervous look.

We moved to the next round. Again, I placed the three cards face down. This time Angelica selected the one on the right. Like before, I gave her the option to go with her chosen face down card or switch with the other face down. Not surprisingly, she chose her own.

Queen again.

I lowered my eyes as Angelica and Alice balked with laughter.

Amused, I made a show of frustration. Furrowing my brows, chewing my lip, curling and uncurling my hands. The key to a convincing performance was to make it believable. Judging from Sullivan's stricken face, I was doing the job quite nicely.

As our game progressed, Angelica's winning streak declined. "You can't win them all naturally," she said to Alice. Two more turns passed, and her composure unraveled. With each loss, she grew more and more incensed. I tightly pressed my lips together, controlling the laughter that threatened to spill from them.

"You're doing something!" Alice accused.

"Yes, I'm merely enjoying how horribly this game has gone for your friend."

When, she realized she had lost, Angelica threw her cards into Sullivan's face and stood up with force. Her fists trembled at her sides.

I lazily collected the blue stoned ring. "Looks like no one will have the ill fortune of reading that horrendous manuscript of yours. The publishing world thanks you."

"This isn't over, Cielle. You'll have your comeuppance—you, and that little witch." Her gaze cut through Sullivan. "Come, Alice!" Angelica practically yanked the other's girls arm as the duo fled from the game.

When they went out of sight, I released my pent up laughter, almost forgetting Sullivan's presence.

"Cielle!"

I laughed long and hard. The last time I had done so seemed like eons ago. I wiped a tear from my eye. "Ah...that was excellent. I truly needed that. Thank you, Sullivan."

Sullivan did not look pleased. "It is unbecoming to take such pleasure in someone's loss after cheating."

I put a hand to my chest. "It wounds me that you think of me so lowly. I did not cheat. I merely used probability."

"You didn't?" Sullivan stared with great intensity at the cards. Her hand flew to her mouth. "You really did play fairly. Or at least...mathematically. To the mere observer's it appears to be a game of 50/50, but in actuality, the player only has 1/3 chance of winning if they don't switch their chosen card... not 1/2." Her grin broadened. "In other words, instead of a 67% chance of winning, Angelica only had 33%."

"Precisely."

"But how did you know that she'd keep her card and not switch? That could have ruined everything."

"Human psychology is a curious thing, Sullivan. Do you honestly believe that an egotistical person like Angelica, who believes she and her choices are always superior to others, would select the card I offered her over her own hand-picked card? It simply goes to show you that following logic and rationality is far preferable than following one’s blinded intuition."

"I don't know if I should be amazed or horrified of that gamble."

"Be both," I said as we exited the courtyard through one of the four doors permitting entrance inside. Stepping on the raised floorboard, I turned to face Sullivan with a puckered smile. "Though a part of me is sorry that my mental abilities were wasted on the likes of—"

"Cielle, look out!"

I tripped on the floorboard and collided headfirst into a tall frame.

"Are you blind?" came a stern voice.

"I didn't see where I was going, okay..." I muttered. Pushing the hair out of my face, I glanced up into the displeased face of... a faculty member. The man looked to be in his thirties, with broad shoulders and thin streaks of grey gracing his chestnut coloured hair. Sporting a light dusting of a beard, he looked passably attracted for his age.

It took a moment to find my voice. "Sorry, professor," I blustered. "My friend and I were just heading to... " I caught Sullivan silently waving her hands at a nearby entrance. "The library."

"The library you say?" Disdain riddled his features as he spoke. The professor removed his blue steeled spectacles, and my vision met his. Gleaming, his dark eyes held the warmth of the swirling arctic sea. For a brief instant, I felt strangely disoriented.

"Frankly, I do not mind the lie," he said crisply. "It is the insult to my intelligence that bothers me."

My cheeks must've went scarlet.

"I suppose I'll overlook your misstep if you truly are going to the library now," he said. "Heavens knows, it might do you wonders."

That poncy bastard.

"Of course. Please excuse us, professor." Sullivan gave a bow to the vile professor. "It won't happen again."

Before my anger could get the best of me, Sullivan dragged me through the library entrance.

I balled up my hands. "Who the bloody hell does he think he is?"

"Language, Cielle!" she whispered, stealing a glance over her shoulder.

"Whom the bloody hell does he think he is?"

Sullivan smacked my arm. "You ought to be more careful here, Cielle. The professors are extremely strict. A few even believe in flogging."

"A pity." I could think of far better ways to use a riding crop.

I ambled into the library, greeted by the comforting smell of musty pages and quiet rustle of pages.

"While we're here, perhaps we can check out a few books?" Sullivan crossed her arms and crinkled her nose. "If you are to blackmail me, it is the least you could."

I suppose couldn't refuse the hopeless book-bosomed girl this simple request. Especially after I subjugated her to my distasteful deductions earlier. "Fine, but hurry up..."

While the raven haired girl scampered into the classics aisle, I placed my bags on a desk and took my seat. My gaze drifted to a newspaper on the desk. I read the front headline.

Her Majesty's Diadem Stolen from Jewel House.

I sat up straight and skimmed the article. To complicate affairs, the Yard revealed that Irene Diaz has escaped from their custody, substantiating she is likely the culprit of this theft. The Yard has issued a warrant for her arrest and urges anyone who may have leads on the stolen diadem to come forward.

Incompetent as ever. If only the poor lot knew I had housed the so called thief at my manor. I smirked and lowered the paper.

Between tall tomes of books, I glimpsed a librarian pacing towards the Commissioner Randall's—that is, the headmaster's secretary. An anxious look marred her features. Grabbing a random stack of books from a cart, I made my way to them, concealing my face behind the books. When I had neared enough, I disposed of the books and hid behind one of the bookcases, peeking through the shelf.

"Miss Hulda, it's happened again."

"Another missing book?"

"I'm afraid so. It's from another collection that is not in circulation. Just like before."

Hulda swore.

"Cielle?" Sullivan whispered behind me. I jumped.

"Don't do that!'

She spied the two women from my vantage point. "Now what are you doing?"

"Eavesdropping clearly," I hissed.

"Anything good?" Sullivan crouched beside me and took in the curious scene.

"The headmaster won't be happy to hear that," Hulda murmured. "I still haven't told him about the other missing book."

The librarian looked unnerved. "You won't need to. That book... was returned today."

"What? Do you think this is some practical joke by one of the students?"

"Maybe. If they access to the key to the back room."

"What's in the back room?" I whispered to Sullivan.

"That's where they keep the books that are not in circulation. Books with objectionable content, valuable items that are irreplaceable, or old books need to be handled delicately. Some came with the old building before the headmaster refurnished it into an academy. Students aren't allowed to take such books, of course." A bitter tinge filled Sullivan's voice. "I've tried."

I returned my attention to the two women.

Hulda crossed her arms. "Well, which one has this book thief taken now?"

"See for yourself."

"This one? How peculiar..."

The two women huddled over a sheet of paper that I presumed had the title of interest.

"May I help you ladies?"

Slowly, Sullivan and I turned. A stern librarian's face hovered between ours. Blast. She regarded us through her spectacles hanging from her neck, disapproval gleaming in her eyes.

"Just looking for a book," I said, then cringed.

"You don't say."

"We'd like to check these out," Sullivan said, pointing to the stack of books she had placed on a nearby cart.

The librarian eyed us with with wariness but gestured to the front desk. I gratefully accepted the half a dozen books Sullivan handed me. As the librarian stamped Sullivan's book, a German fairytale titled The Six Swans, my gaze drifted to the key set near the librarian's wrist. Perhaps I could pocket it. One of them had to open the back room.

"Well?" The librarian had finished stacking Sullivan and caught me staring at the key set. Eyeing me with distrust, she took the keys and placed them into her pocket. Then, she motioned to me. Bother...

As I pushed the books towards her, I caught a fellow walking towards me, his pace brisk as though he was late for something. He balanced a tall stack of tomes which blocked his face. He brushed past me, skimming my shoulders. I flinched on reflex. My pile of books teetered dangerously along the edge of the desk and spilled upon the desk... and the floor. My eyes flashed to the horrid professor from before. He had turned behind his shoulder for a fleeting second. From his side profile, I could've sworn I saw a shadow of amusement tinge his lips.

"Foolish girl!"

"We're terribly sorry," Sullivan squeaked to the librarian.

I swept down to retrieve the fallen tomes. Quickly recovering, I made my way back to the desk, eager to be out of this space. I reached for my bag when I stopped in my tracks.

"Cielle?"

I narrowed my eyes. "Someone's been through my bag."

"How can you be sure?"

"As I'm left-handed, I always leave my bag on the left side of my desk, not the right." I snatched the bag and rummaged through it. My books were out of ordered. Moreover... I pointed to an silver pencil case that was ajar a crack. I opened it fully and narrowed my gaze. Nestled among my fountain pens and stationery lay two artifacts that did not belong to me. A typewritten note and a small, translucent rectangular box with a padlock. Inside its clear glass was a golden key, the only way to retrieve it I assumed was to enter the correct password into the padlock.

Sullivan bristled with curiosity as I pulled out the note. We read it together:

One who comes from a family of twelve.

One who is the second and youngest as well.

Dreaming of many clocks onthe wall.

And dreamt that I had counted all.

I dreamed a dozen often, my dear.

How many clocks did appear?

Tick, tock, time is ticking so make haste.

You’ll need these if you wish to solve the case.

7891011 12

"What case?" Sullivan asked me. "And what do those numbers mean?" Her bright eyes bore into my own, unnerving me.

"Nothing," I said dismissively. "It must be some juvenile prank."

"You don't really believe that, do you? The padlock has a combination of letters and numbers, and it seems that entering the right ones will open the compartment to the key. I wonder what the key is for..."

"As do I." Of course, I had my theories to what the key opened, but I decided not to divulge that information to Sullivan. Instead, I pointed to the riddles. "Care to assist me in solving them?"

Sullivan's face lit up like it was Christmas morning. "Of course, I could never resist a good riddle."

Perhaps befriending this girl would prove useful after all. I handed her the riddle.

"It looks like the first riddle gives you a word, and the second riddle gives you a number." I fiddled with the padlock and stared at the slots: __ __ __ __ __ __. "It has six spaces, the first three only have letter options, and the last three only have numbers, so that means the first riddle should give us a three letter answer that we can input into the padlock, and the second riddle will give us a three digit answer."

Sullivan nodded and recited the first riddle. "One who comes from a family of twelve. One who is the second and youngest as well."

"That doesn't make sense," I murmured. "It is highly unlikely for one to be from a family of twelve, be the second born, and be the youngest. Maybe we should first find things that come in groups of twelve."

"A baker's dozen, 12 ounces in a Troy pound, and 12 levels on the Beaufort Scale," said Sullivan. "Oh! And 12 animals in the Chinese cycle of year, 12 labours of Hercules, and 12 Olympians."

"There is also 12 face cards in a deck of cards and 12 pitch classes in an octave," I added. "Not to mention the 12 apostles," I said, my mind flashing to Jane's art book of the Last Supper.

"That's good! What else? There's 12 inches in a foot, 12 months in a year—" Sullivan gasped. "It's the 12 months in a year, Cielle!" She waved the note in excitement. "A family of twelve, one who is second and youngest, don't you see?"

"February," I supplied. My pulse sped up. "And since we can only enter a three letter answer, it must be shortened to FEB."

Sullivan clapped her hands together. "My thoughts exactly. Now, the last riddle... sounds like a math puzzle."

"I dreamed a dozen often, my dear. How many clocks did appear?" My brows furrowed at the lines. "If the person dreamed of a dozen clocks, then the obvious answer is 12 clocks. That seems too easy, though. Plus, according to the padlock, we must find a three digit answer, so 12 wouldn't even work."

We read the riddle again, and this time, I noticed something new. "Sullivan, look at that line: Dreaming of many clocks onthe wall. The sender omitted a space between 'on' and 'the' - I think it's an intentional typo."

"Are you certain? I wonder if they made any other typo like that." She scanned the note along with me. I found no other typos, but her eyes were shining. "There is a typo, a hidden one. Look here: Dreaming of many clocks onthe wall. The typo is 'onthe', right? There should be a space between 'on' and 'the'; well, what if in I dreamed a dozen often, my dear, the typo is 'often' - maybe it follows the same pattern of the previous typo so 'often' is really 'of ten.'"

"Sullivan, you're brilliant. If the corrected line is I dreamed a dozen of ten, that means the person dreamed a dozen of ten, or 12 x 10."

"Yes, 120 should be the three digit answer. May I, Cielle?"

"Please do the honours, Sullivan. It would've taken me ages to figure it out without your help."

With her small, trembly fingers, Sullivan entered the letters and numbers until the padlock read FEB120. I watched in nervous anticipation as the lock opened and Sullivan recovered the golden key from its confines. She deposited the key into my hands and gave me ones of her probing looks again. "Are you positive you don't know what it goes for?"

"Not a clue," I lied as I threw the solved riddles into a nearby trash receptacle. My steeled gaze wandered across the library, skimming over book-bosomed girls and landing on the vile professor. The librarian had just finished checking out an impressive stack of books for him. Carrying it in his long, steady hands, he caught a glimpse of me over the top of the books. I jerked my head away, but not before I caught a flicker of something unbidden flit across his features. Pretending he didn't see me, he resumed his pace, heading for the exit.

"Who exactly is that?" I asked acridly.

"Judging from the stack of music theory books, he must be the new music professor," said Sullivan. "The old one quit and teaches at the rival school now."

"You don't say."

Sullivan shrugged. "Quite a few professors left and teach at Eton now."

"Is that so?" I scowled at his shadowy silhouette leaving the library's entrance.

Helping Sullivan carry her stack of books, I meandered through the hallway in pensive thought. When we passed the headmaster's office, Sullivan stopped in her tracks.

"We really ought to tell, Cielle."

Groaning, I peered through the thin glass of the office. The commissioner of Scotland Yard sat hunched over his desk, his face haggard. His eyes shifted restlessly, glancing at some paperwork while he ran both hands through his grey hair. He was worried. No, terrified.

"Fine," I said lowly. "Inform Headmaster Delacourt about the rogue boy but make no mention of the blue ring."

"But why not?"

"Criminy, do you always ask these many questions?"

"You can't solve a problem if you do not ask the right questions. Maybe you can't answer me now... But I hope you will. You can trust me, Cielle."

"Trust?" I said with a laugh. "Others will let you down in this life. Just look at how your so called friends betrayed you, Sullivan. Promises will be broken. Lies will be told. I've learned the hard way that the only person you can truly trust is yourself. And sometimes barely that."

"Oh, Cielle..."

"Don't poke your nose where it doesn't belong." Stepping towards her, I gazed hard at her face. "And do not ask questions that you do not want answers to."

"Tell me what's going on," she whispered.

I didn't reply.

"Does it... have something to do with your cousin?" She searched my face and then focused on Lizzie's gemstone bracelet circling my wrist. "She hasn't shown up today either...along with a few other girls."

Damn her observance. "I-I have literature soon. I must go."

"Cielle, wait!"

Ignoring her, I hurried to my class and heaved a long breath. I didn't know how long I could dodge the girl's incessant questions at this rate.

I was almost eager for literature to begin and provide me distraction. The distraction that did come, however, wasn't one I had in mind. We had the droll task of reading J. Sheridan LeFanu's Carmilla. A tale of a beautiful female vampire who preyed on a teenage girl named Laura.

Jane sat a few desks away from me, diligently taking notes as the professor lectured. After the awkward incident that occurred in her room, Jane had said nary a word to me. I didn't particularly care.

As the professor droned on about symbolism of the piece, I made a pretense of taking notes in my notebook. In actuality, I was scribbling various ciphers of my own. If the culprit wanted to play with ciphers, fine. I'd give him a cipher of my own to toy with.

"Why Miss Phantomhive," said the professor, "you seem to be writing a novel back there."

Bollocks. I quickly flipped to a clean sheet of paper.

"Since you seem so keen about the material, perhaps you can continue reading Laura's narrative for us. Take it from chapter four please."

"Of course." I cleared my throat. "I experienced a strange tumultuous excitement that was pleasurable, ever and anon, mingled with a vague sense of fear and disgust. I had no distinct thought about her while such scenes lasted, but I was conscious of a love growing into adoration, and also of abhorrence... " A sick feeling gnawed at me. "This I know is paradox, but I can make no other attempt to explain the feeling..."

"Nicely emoted. Can anyone tell me what is the significance of this scene?"

Jane's hand shot up. "I think it means... while Laura has conflicting emotions for Carmilla, the narrator can’t deny her fascination and attraction towards the monster. This scene illustrates Laura's desire—and hesitance—to engage in a taboo relationship. Meanwhile the vampire seeks a physical consummation of her love and ends up falling for her victim, Laura. Carmilla implies that for them to become one, Laura must die. To drink Laura’s blood is to become one with her forever."

"Yes, exactly so. Thank you for that analysis, Miss Greyling. If you would continue, Miss Phantomhive. Same chapter, page 100."

I swallowed a wave of nausea. "Sometimes after an hour of apathy, my strange and beautiful companion would take my hand and hold it with a fond pressure, renewed again and again; gazing in my face with languid and burning eyes, and breathing so fast... It was like the ardor of a lover; it embarrassed me; it was hateful and yet over-powering; and with gloating eyes she drew me to her…” I stopped reading, my breath quickening.

"Miss Phantomhive, is everything all right?"

"I...may I use the lavatory? I suddenly am feeling unwell."

"Yes, please do so. Would you like someone to escort you?"

"I'll go with her." Jane stood from her desk, a concerned expression on her face.

"No, that's alright. I can manage." I needed to get away from this class. From her. From him.

When I made it to the lavatory, I clutched the sides of the sink and panted. I despised that story of Carmilla. How Laura was sucked in by that creature's beautiful and terrible mask. How the monster pursued its prey to no end... I abhorred it all. Partly because Laura's sentiments resonated as though they were my very own.

After visiting the dining hall for a light supper—Vienna pudding and a semolina soup— I closeted myself in my dorm. Due to my episode in literature, I did not attend the rest of my classes for the day and was forced to spend the next few hours finishing my missed assignments.

A soft knock disrupted my pluperfect conjugations for Latin. I sighed. "Come in."

Jane.

"I came to check if you are feeling better," said the head-girl. "And give you the notes on Carmilla you missed in class."

"How considerate of you," I said, veiling any sarcasm in my tone. "Yes, I am feeling much better. Would you like to take a seat?"

"I really shouldn't." Jane's gaze drifted to my bed, and a tinge of pink suffused her cheeks. "But if you insist..." She ambled into my room, a sweet floral scent cloying behind her. To my surprise she seated herself on my four poster and crossed her long, shapely leg over the other, beckoning me. "Since you weren't feeling well, I took the liberty of collecting your mail," she said. "A letter from your estate. I thought I'd personally see to its delivery."

"Thank you, Miss Greyling."

"Jane," she corrected as I sat down beside her.

"Jane."

"Better." She leaned in and deposited a crispy, cream coloured envelope on my lap. "How goes the case?"

"Found some points of interest, but nothing conclusive," I replied vaguely.

"It's like Carmilla abducted those poor missing girls."

"Pardon?"

"I hope this doesn't sound too forward of me," she started. "But you seem like you really hated that story in literature." She laughed. "Why, It's almost as if you met Carmilla in person."

I furrowed my brows at the envelope. "I've met worse than Carmilla."

"Have you now?" She eyed the smooth, elaborate penmanship on the paper. "Who is it from?"

"...My butler."

"I see," Jane whispered. Her gaze darkened at the blue postage stamp of Queen Victoria. She looked like she regretted the gesture of collecting my mail. As the uncomfortable silence lengthened, I found a means of changing the subject. I stared at the hem of her skirt.

"You've a stain there."

She sighed, the moment passing. "From one of my experiments, no doubt."

"And that?" I pointed to her inner forearm which had a small, purplish bruise I had not noticed before.

"Also from my experiments. It is not the first time a bunsen burner has done me in." She quickly rose from the four poster. "Well, I best continue on before they make us turn off our lights."

I forced a smile. "I have no doubt you'll conjure up a perfume that's one of a kind."

The head-girl brought a finger to her lips and winked.

I took some relief when the door closed behind her. I stared at the familiar signature on the letter, my saliva thickening. Just open it already it. My fingers ripped into the envelope, and I scanned the missive.

To my young mistress,

I trust your first day has gone without too much trouble. As per your instructions, I have investigated the rival academy. The headmistress seems consumed in her preparations of the masquerade ball that is days away. She is intent on making this an eventful occasion. It may interest you that she used to be in the gemstone business prior starting her school and has an impressive personal collection of gems. She pays the faculty quite handsomely as well, though I believe it may be a ploy to recruit faculty from Imperial Academy. It is as Commissioner Randall implied, she seems to have personal agenda against him. Perhaps it is something from their childhood as I've discovered her last name prior marriage was Delacourt. The records suggest the headmaster of Imperial Academy and headmistress of Eton are siblings.

My eyes widened. The commissioner conveniently forgot to mention that detail. Was there that much bad blood between them now? So much so that the headmistress would be involved in the kidnapping of Isabella Delacourt, her own niece? Madame Red's wild eyes flitted in my mind. That night in the alley...a knife in hand... She had attempted to attack her own niece, hadn't she?

Somberly, I read on as he listed the mundane errands he had completed pertaining to Funtoms, Mr. Noble, and the estate. My fingers tightened on the parchment. I searched in between the lines for a single drop of emotion. I failed to find it. Each sentence was written with professional indifference. Of course. What were you expecting—? My heart thumped as the letter neared its end.

"...otherwise, the manor has been dull without the young mistress. It is with reluctance that I admit that I was a touch vexed when I left you at the academy. I ask your forgiveness in the light of recent events, especially if I have given you any displeasure. I do not wish for you to see the form that speaks badly of my reputation. Until the day truth becomes lies, I devote my entire being to please my mistress. I should very much look forward to your presence soon and regaining your favour."

Yours,

Sebastian.

Something stirred deep within me. That feeling that was equal parts exhilaration and abhorrence which Laura spoke of. His words struck some chord within me that resounded beautifully for a fleeting moment before transforming into a harsh tritone. How easy it was to be swept away by beguiling words like sweet poison. He would do anything for me, and yet he would be my demise. Even more problematic was the fact that he was...different these days. At first, I attributed to a figment of my imagination, but I knew better. I was no simpleton. Bits and pieces of his demonic nature were seeping through the cracks. Hellfire eyes and the image of a ripped corset made me shudder.

Despite that, I devoured those few lines he had written over and over, as though I would find something anew in them. And when I held up the envelope again, my foolish mind thought it found that something. The blue postage stamp was affixed on envelope at the top right corner with a peculiar tilt. I was no stranger to postage code. In private affairs, a sender could use stamps to encode messages to the receiver. My cheeks burned. This mode of communication was particularly rampant among clandestine lovers.

This particular stamp relayed, I am longing to see you.

He had done this on purpose. He wanted to drive me mad. To tease me, to tempt me, to make me react. He knew that I'd either chalk out this gesture to be nothing at all. Or everything.

"Damn demon," I whispered. Like a moth to flame, I trailed the florid signature with my finger. I brought it to my trembling lips and repeated that cursed name like a litany. "Sebastian..."

Control your heart, whispered a treacherous voice in my mind.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and drew in a sharp breath. I couldn't allow sentiment to cloud my reply. No, that's exactly what he would have wanted.

Sebastian,

Asking my forgiveness for such matters is unnecessary and a moot point. We both know you've given me much displeasure since the moment I've met you, but I've grown quite used to it by now. I confess I am curious about that last bit—how exactly do you intend to regain my favour?

My first day at the academy has been... interesting to say the least. Wagers, spying, blackmail, racing stallions, encountering 7891011-12 in person, and reading Carmilla are all in a day's work. You've reported some intriguing information on the case, though I'm afraid we're missing the bigger, more tangible pieces. Like the ripped pages of alchemy Lizzie had supposedly sent. Keep at it. Speaking of gems, I trust Miss Diaz has not left the manor. The same multi-stoned diadem she attempted to thief that night has gone missing. Investigate that in addition to your other duties."

That would do. The tone was casual, business-like. And utterly lacking. A restlessness came over me. Reluctantly, I unfurled the letter I had just written. Against my better judgement, I added one more line.

In other news, I rather confess I am missing teatime at the manor. The sweets here are none like yours—Cielle."

Before I could have a change of heart, I stashed the letter inside the envelope, placed the stamp at the same angle as his, and delivered it the mailing room that was seen to each morning.

By now, night had come down, and Hulda started making her rounds, ensuring all lights were out. When her footsteps sounded past my door, I paused my writing and waited an extra twenty minutes for good measure before putting my plan into action. While I waited, I finished my cipher and strategically placed the scrap of parchment in the crevice of my door.

With the blue stoned ring in my possession, I was certain that the mysterious boy would return for it and do a thorough search of the place. Sooner or later, he'd stumble upon my pigpen cipher. I had already placed one in the lavatory, one in the courtyard, the library, and other places I had visited today. The cipher stated:

. -

Used by freemasons in the 18th century, the tic-tac-toe-like cipher was a geometric simple substitution cipher. Letters were exchanged for symbols which formed fragments of a grid. Any serious cipherist worth their salt would know of it, yet it was uncommon enough that if anyone else noticed the paper, it would simply look like some innocuous school girl game.

I used the same code the freemasons used to encrypt the code:

When decoded, my message simply read: I have the stone. Let us meet—CP.

Somewhere an old clock chimed twelve times, heralding the witching hour. Kerosene lamp in hand, I crept out of my dorm, pushing the door centimeter by centimeter to avoid loud creaks. A dim light emerged from Jane's room. It appeared she had stuffed the crevice of the door with clothing, but a silver of candlelight had escaped. Faint tinkering sounded behind the door, and I caught a sweet floral fragrance and a subtle burning scent that often accompanied bunsen burners. Jane must have been up to her so called unladylike pursuits of fragrance making.

I returned my attention in to the quiet hallway. The flickering candelabras provided me sufficient light to wander. Cloaked in the shadows, I stayed close to the walls, walking in tune with my shadow. With each room I passed, I discerned light snores, pages flipped in secrecy, soft giggles and telltale whisperings followed by the creaking of bed springs.

Taking the short cut to the library, I used the outside pathway. Though the night air chilled me to the core, I wouldn't run into any faculty on nightly rounds by this route. Bright clusters of stars hung like fruits on a tree and shadowy clouds parted, unveiling an almost full moon in its silvery glory. Despite the night skies' beauty, it only served as a reminder of my impending time limit to find the missing girls. I passed through the frostbitten rose garden, and my ears pricked up. Was that a crack of a twig? I whirled around and narrowed my eyes. Snow covered trees bent together in a wind as though whispering their secrets to each other, but all else was still.

Shivering, I continued through the courtyard and slipped into the hallway that led to the library. Adjusting my cloak so that it covered my head, I crept through the library's main entrance, slinking into the shadows. Save for the small sphere of illumination from my lamp, darkness claimed the space. It was strange being here. An unearthly stillness hung over the place. I had never stepped foot inside an empty library when the rest of the world had fallen fast asleep. When books became the rightful owners of the library and bibliophiles felt like trespassers. I raised my lamp in front of my face, the glow bathing tomes upon tomes in a flickering light.

I followed the light in front of me as it led me to the back room. Raising the lamp, I turned and twisted the door knob with my other. Of course. Locked.

Stealing a glance over my shoulder, I fished out the golden key and twisted it into the lock. The key fit like a glove, clicking with ease. Holding my breath, I opened the door and swept into the space like an unseen spectre.

Moonlight from the small diamond paned windows spilled upon hundreds and hundreds of books, the ethereal glow making them look alive. Locating the right book would be like finding a needle in mountain of a haystack. I scavenged through spines with flaking gold letters, old newspapers in Cyrillic, atlases of vanished countries, and Bengali poetry books with delicate rosettes. A sweet earthy smell billowed from the archaic pages, and I coughed. Half an hour went by like this, and I still found nothing of interest.

"For Pete's sake." I unceremoniously shoved a signed first edition of The Picture of Dorian Gray back into the shelf. Rubbing my temples, I leaned against a bookcase and stared at the key illuminated by my lamp. The light washed over the intricately designed handle, making it gleam like true gold. When it flickered along the stem of the key, I inhaled a sharp breath. Barely visible, I caught something scratched out, barely etching the surface of the metallic paint. I inspected it closer and saw scratched out marks read: C12P666P2.

It looked like sort of a book cipher.The concept was first introduced to me in recent Sherlock Holmes story by Mr. Wordsmith, i.e. Dr. Arthur. The P likely referred to a page number, C the chapter, and the other P might reference a paragraph. In that case I was looking for a thick book—one that had at least 666 pages. As I scrutinized the page number I frowned. That's odd. What was the need of including a chapter number if one already had the page number? Unless... C12 didn't refer to a chapter.

I raised the lamp against a bookshelf. At the very top, the number '5' was etched into the wood. I surveyed the nearby bookcases. All of them were all numbered. My heart skipped a beat. If C12 referred to 'Column 12', then I might stand a chance of finding that book. I located the column with '12' and skimmed the shelves. My eyes wandered along the length of the bookcase and stilled. Only one book looked thick enough to fit the bill. The book in question lay an inch forward than the surrounding books. It was almost as if someone wanted to make certain I'd pick it up.

I stretched my arm. Blast, the book was too high. The culprit was mocking me dearly.

Glad no one else could see my pitiable display, I jumped into the air. Missing my mark, I jumped again and grabbed the book, then blundered to the floor. I swore under my breath. Irately, I stared at the filigreed book in my hand. It was heavy and thick, though the vellum binding felt delicate and soft. I traced my hand along the emerald cover, taking in the gilded hermetic illustrations and spidery gothic styled title—The Mirror of Alchemy. A sliver of moonlight spilled upon the author's name. I blinked hard, my hands freezing in place. No... it couldn't be.

Baselius Phantomhivus?

The latinised name stared back at me. My surname. I took a strangled breath, the question burning in my mind.

Was one of the Phantomhive descendants. . . an alchemist?

Notes:

Author notes:

When I was in college, one of my professors went over the infamous Monty Hall problem in stats and we all got a kick out of it. It was a popular game show problem in the 90s that got many people - even PhDs in a tizzy. If any numberphiles are intrigued by how flipping a queen when you have only two face down cards - a queen and joker - is NOT 50/50, check out https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4Lb-6rxZxx0

As many of you guys already know, my first book, "Alice in Winterland: A Fangirl Novel", is out! You can read the first chapter HERE ^^ Right now, it's an ebook but paperbacks release in Nov!

Chapter 11: The Twelve Keys

Notes:

Apologies for the hiatus! Grad school, work, and various writing projects have consumed most of my time the past few months. I'm glad I have some down time this summer to work on this fic again. Hope you enjoy it! <3

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

I flipped through the musty pages slowly, as though they might crumble in dust. My eyes scanned the alchemical text. So the book's author, Basel Phantomhive, had practiced alchemy. I vaguely recalled Aunt Francis once mention how her great-great grandmother was rumoured to be a prodigy chemist in her day. If alchemy provided the framework of modern chemistry, perhaps the connection could be made. Maybe the descendant in question had gained knowledge that was passed down the Phantomhive lineage as alchemy evolved into chemistry. The notion seemed utterly absurd, yet I couldn't dismiss it. This couldn't be a mere coincidence... Phantomhive was an uncommon name after all.

"Damn it," I whispered under my breath.

Hoping to put some order to my reeling thoughts, I flipped to page 666 encoded in the cipher. From the long, arduous Latin lessons under Sebastian's tutelage, I knew Clavis 1 translated to the 'first key'. Titled "The Twelve Keys", the page contained a continuation of Basel Phantomhive's twelve keys. Each 'key' started with a zodiac symbol, but that wasn't the most curious bit of it all. Half the page was ripped.

VII Clavis - Cibation - After the matter in the vessels dries, wet it until a mild heat emi

VIII Clavis- Sublimation - Extraction by distillation. Release attachments and free the soul

IX Clavis - Fermentation - Add the precious metal to the elixir until the dark night

X Clavis -Exaltation- Regain purity of the soul and transmute the substanc

XI Clavis - Multiplication - The solar light shall dawn and awaken thee, raising amounts

XII Clavis - Projection - Behold the work of transmutation, merging of ego and Self, the prized elix

Instinct gripped me at once. I reached into my pockets, and with a shaking hand, retrieved the jagged edged page Lizzie had sent in the parcel earlier. I flattened out the wrinkles and pieced the torn page into the book. It fit perfectly like a jigsaw puzzle.

I read the sentences now.

VII Clavis - Cibation - After the matter in the vessels dries, wet it until a mild heat emits and mix it with the salt of the philosophers.

VIII Clavis- Sublimation - Extraction by distillation. Release attachments and free the soul into the night.

IX Clavis - Fermentation - Add the precious metal to the elixir until the dark night returns the reconverted soul to the body.

X Clavis -Exaltation- Regain purity of the soul and transmute the substance using the heat of Venus.

XI Clavis - Multiplication - The solar light shall dawn and awaken thee, raising amounts of the precious liquid until soul and body are united.

XII Clavis - Projection - Behold the work of transmutation, merged are the ego and Self, and the prized elixir is created.

The 12 keys described here clearly referred to traditional alchemy...Calcination, dissolution, separation, conjunction, putrefaction, congelation, cibation, sublimation, fermentation, exaltation, multiplication, and projection. As I read the twelve steps which spoke about transmutating the soul, I gathered the text spoke of a spiritual alchemy as well. As I turned the next few pages, I saw that each of the twelve steps was elaborated into a paragraph with distinct alchemical drawings.

"What on earth...?" I said breathlessly.

A foreign language of symbols assailed me. Clavis I featured a King on the left, holding up three fingers, a Queen on the right, holding a stem with three flowers, and a peacock feather fan. In the front was a creature that looked like a dog or wolf jumping over a triangular crucible and an old man with a scythe and crippled leg. The second key was no less baffling. A winged Mercury held a caduceus in each hand and stood between two men in a sword fight. Approaching from the left was a man with a serpent twined sword, while from the right featured another man with a sword, upon which a bird had perched itself. In the background, the Sun hovered at the left and the and Moon to the right. I knew it was pointless, but I looked to Clavis III, the third key, hoping to glean some clarity. To my disappointment, the image had even more perplexing imagery. A winged dragon stood amidst a backdrop of high mountains. Behind the dragon, was a wolf-like creature holding a bird in its mouth while being attacked by the cockerel riding on its back.

Damnation, what did it all mean? I felt like I was slipping on black ice. Spinning out of control. What a pitiable display for a Phantomhive.

A part of me wanted to call on him, but my ego wouldn't let me dare. I closed my eyes, my mind conjuring a phantasmagoria of dark tendrils. I could hear his voice, a serpent's hiss, as if he stood a mere foot away. His gloved finger tilted my chin up until I saw eyes glowing with equal parts amusement and disappointment. "What is it?" he whispered, his tongue a scarlet snake. "What?"

drew in a sharp breath. Break it down to something simpler.

Alchemy was nothing but chemistry mixed in with discrete symbols, I reasoned. I took a crack at the first key. The King and Queen juxtaposed the sun and moon. I considered the chemical elements, one by one, trying to find a suitable match.. The King and sun evoked a brilliant color of nobility—like gold. Perhaps . . . the King and sun symbolised gold while the Queen and moon signified silver? I studied the King who held up three fingers next to the Queen’s three flowers. It was a stretch, but maybe it described some chemical step that had to be repeated three times. Honestly, I felt like I was grappling with straws. Maybe Sullivan or Jane could elucidate some of the chemistry and symbolism.

Near the margin of each step was not only the small image of a zodiac symbol, but also a small crystalline structure of some sort. How peculiar. The first key had a brownish red solid, then a purple solid for the second, a clear one for the third key, a deep green for the next, then a milky white stone, followed by crimson, etc. The hairs on my neck prickled.

"It can't be..." The connection whipped me in the face. Irene Diaz... the multi-stoned diadem found in her possession described all of these colors: a garnet, amethyst, diamond, emerald, a pearl, ruby, carnelian, sapphire, opal, topaz, and zircon. That meant someone had used the opera singer to procure these 'ingredients' - albeit unsuccessfully. As to why they had thieved from Her Majesty's Jewel House, I surmised they sought after the highly desirable cut, color, and clarity that royal gems could offer.

Any if there were twelve steps and twelve stones...My stomach curdled. Twelve girls will go missing.

"Not if I can help it," I hissed under my breath.

I continued skimming the page. "The 12 keys must be performed when Selene visits the earth on Winter Solstice." Tch. Alchemists... why couldn't they write in the Queen's English?"

I knew well enough one could never take alchemical texts at face value. Everything was cloaked in symbolism and metaphors. From Greek classics, I recalled Selene, the moon goddess who 'visited' the earth during full moons to consort with her beloved prince Endymion. Despite the romantic story, a sinking feeling settled in my stomach. The full moon that occurred on Winter Solstice was mere days away—Christmas to be precise.

I swallowed hard. The hourglass of time stood imperiously before me, the grains of sand slipping faster than quicksand. I needed to save Lizzie and the other girls before the full moon.

I tried to decipher more about the ritual for the twelve keys. The very last line on the page read "For every action there is an equal and opp—" The rest of the sentence was discolored by dried liquid, but being familiar with basic scientific principles, I surmised the complete statement read "for every reaction, there is an equal and opposite reaction." How does that help?

I flipped the next dozen pages but could find nothing more on the twelve keys. With nearly 1000 pages describing other alchemical experiments, I wouldn't even attempt the dreadfully dull task of reading them all. It would be like drawing nectar through a sieve. A smirk touched my lips. Unless... I'd delegate that legwork to him.

A gut-wrenching sob pierced the air. "What on earth...?"

I shoved the book into my cloak and escaped like a marauder into the shadows. I stayed close to the walls and followed the trill of voices outside the library. As I neared closer, I heard an explosive exchange.

"H-how dare you—"

"It's not what it looks like," cried a voice.

My brows furrowed. Jane Greyling and Miss Hulda.

"Then what does it look like, Miss Greyling?" Her voice cut the air like a knife.

"I...I can explain."

"Save it for the headmaster tomorrow morning. I'm quite curious to hear what story you'll concoct."

"No... don't." Her voice rose an octave. "I beg you, please, please, do not tell him." I could hear fear coat her usually dulcet tones. "I-I apologize for my transgressions."

Hah! No use in apologizing after being caught like a wagtail. I'd wager these trysts have been recurring... well not anymore! If one of the girls hadn't spotted that disheveled young man sneaking out of your dormitory, you might not be facing expulsion."

Jane hiccuped a tear and fell silent.

"What distasteful behavior, especially for a headgirl. If I were you, I'd start packing tonight."

"It was only a boy from Eton." Jane's voice trembled. "He's asked me to the academy ball."

A sharp, hysterical laugh escaped Hulda. "Miss Greyling, attending the ball is the least of your problems. Consider yourself fortunate if you are still attending the academy tomorrow."

"I'm s-sorry." She swallowed her tears. "Truly, I am."

"So am I. This is out of my hand. Foolish girl, what were you thinking?"

The footsteps grew louder. Bollocks. I blew out the flame in my lamp, and the hall plunged into darkness. I hid behind a long drape that matched the colour of my cloak. The duo arrived into the hall. Closer and closer they walked toward me. Still as a stone, I held my breath as they neared me, a mere foot away from my hiding spot. When the clatter of footsteps tapered, I breathed out in relief. They were nearly out of the hall now.

My hands went slack at my sides, and I felt something slip from my wrist. A cling resounded as Lizzie's bracelet hit the marble floor.

I mentally swore.

Hulda whirled around. "What the dickens is that?"

The din of heels increased their pace. I braced myself as the curtains were drawn with a flourish. Face shadowed by the glow of a candlelight, Hulda glowered at me. I quickly made myself appear catatonic, imitating how I had found Irene Diaz during the thievery incident.

"What is the meaning of this?" Hulda shouted, the veins in her neck rising.

With my eyes heavy-lidded, head slightly lolling to the side, and vacant expression, I gave no answer.

"Miss Phantomive!"

When I still didn't answer and continued my blank stare, the woman shook me by the shoulders.

I blinked rapidly and gasped as I took in my surroundings. Feigning disorientation, I caught my head. "What...what am I doing?"

"That's what I'd like to know," she demanded, arms crossed.

"Oh dear, I fear it's happened again. I'm, er, am prone to somnambulism."

"You sleep-walk?" she said with incredulity. I thought she would berate me when instead came a exasperated sigh. "Oh bother, my nerves cannot handle anymore of these midnight escapades. Follow me back to the dormitories. Both of you."

I suppose my whatever shenanigans Hulda thought I was up to paled in comparison to Jane's scandalous rendezvous. If Jane hadn't been caught, I might've gotten the cane. The headgirl eyed me as I snatched Lizzie's bracelet off the ground. Jane's tear-stained face was as pale as wax, her long tresses in tangles as though she had just risen from bed. She purposely avoided looking in my direction as Hulda shepherded us back to the dormitories.

Intrigue burbled within me to discover who Jane's paramour was. I confess I had expected him to be a her. Replaying my earlier encounter with the head-girl, I felt my face redden. Perhaps... Jane's tastes were not gender specific. Judging from how Jane refused to look my way, I wager she wouldn't give much away. But Miss Hulda has mentioned two other girls spotted the boy... I made a mental note to question them tomorrow. If an Eton boy could discretely enter the academy, then perhaps it wasn't that difficult for that fake stable boy, i.e. Mr. 7-8-9-10-11-12, to leave and enter as he pleased.

Hulda stopped in front of Jane's dorm and intently watched her enter. Then she pointed to my dormitory. "Well off you go Phantomhive."

I swallowed. My pigpen cipher under the crevice was still there. Please don't notice, please don't notice.

"Well?" Hulda eyed me sharply. "Aren't you going to pick that up?"

I reluctantly grabbed the scrap.

"Give that here." Pulse quickening, I handed it to her while thinking of a dozen poor explanations as to why it was there. To my amazement, Hulda simply ran a glance over it and gave it back, her face dismissive. "Throw it in the dust-bin. I won't stand for untidy students mucking up the dormitories I work so hard to maintain."

"Of course," I said with a saccharine smile.

Eager to be out of her presence, I closed the door behind me and inhaled a deep breath. When I stared at the slightly crumpled scrap in my hand, I blinked. This wasn't my pigpen cipher.

A rush of satisfaction flooded through me. For a brief moment, I felt like I held the reigns once more. So the mystery mastermind had taken my cipher. If they hadn't decoded it yet, they would soon enough. With the knowledge that I had the blue medallion stone in my possession, they would surely agree to my request of meeting in person. When I stared at the scrap left in the door, my confidence dwindled.

In return the cipherist had left me... nothing. Literally nothing. No symbols, no cipher, not even a measly line. It was simply a blank scrap of paper. Bewildered, I flipped it back and forth, squinting hard. I almost threw it in the aforementioned dust-bin when, in the far corner of the page, I saw three distinct letters. Handwritten in a size so small, they were barely visible. I squinted harder until my eyes hurt from exertion.

C.V.P.

"Blast..." Those initials. Cielle Vincent Phantomhive.

Was the dratted cipherist mocking me? I couldn't see the point in leaving a blank scrap with my initials. No... I gritted my teeth. This was part of the game. Like diamond cut diamond, I found myself sparing with someone of formidable wit, deviousness, and one who equally enjoyed playing games. I was supposed to receive this cipher. I was supposed to solve it. And I was supposed to follow this breadcrumb to Lizzie.

I licked my lips and stared at the utterly blank slip. The only question was how.

Notes:

P.S.: My coffee table book, "MERAKI: The World's Most Beautiful Words", has been published recently. It's an art book that features some of the most beautiful words around the world (Greek, French, German, Portuguese, Dutch, Japanese, Korean, Sanskrit, and so many others!) As a word lover, I had so much fun putting this together and discovering words for feelings all of us have experienced but could never name. ^_^

—you can read it HERE ^^

#black butler fanfiction