#&&. It's the witching hour so that means I can magically draw again

[storybounded]

Someone STOLE Scotty Boy's SUNGLASSES. Give them back :C.

[frostedfaves]

I Know Best

Masterlist

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x fem!reader

Summary: You decide to misbehave at the same time Wanda's home is threatened and she's pissed about it. (rewrite of WandaVision, episode 5)

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, mean mommy Wanda (but soft later), dom/sub dynamics, smut: punishment by overstimulation (and crying as a result), wanda uses her powers for evil 🤭, fingering

A/N: so not following the decades thing entirely because Wanda looks the same as she did in present day but she does change into her Scarlet Witch fit when she feels threatened 👀 anyway enjoy!

-

It wasn’t often that you went against Wanda’s rules.

You very well knew the consequences of doing so, and truthfully you’d gotten so used to her loving guidance and control of things that you wouldn’t dare go back. That control extended to how and when you touched yourself, which happened to be the very rule you’re breaking now.

You were watching a movie on Netflix that wasn’t in English, but you weren’t paying much attention to the subtitles anyway when the two women appeared on screen, hands all over each other. It reminded you of many passion filled nights with your love, and it was that reminder that caused your mind (and hands) to wander.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

The voice comes from behind the couch where you currently have your fingers tucked in your underwear beneath a blanket. Without giving you a chance to answer, the blanket is lifted and your hand is ripped away from your body entirely with your wrist in Wanda’s unrelenting grip.

“I left you alone for an hour. If you need something, you ask me,” she practically growls in your ear, chuckling when she notices you’re shaking. “Oh darling, don’t get scared now. You know better and I know best.”

Before she can say anything else, you both hear what sounds like a plane coming in from outside, which instantly makes her stand up fully and rush to the door. She warns you to stay inside and magically locks the door behind herself as she exits. You rush to the peephole just in time to catch her taking down a drone, grabbing it from the ground and flying off toward the edge of town.

“Is this yours?” Wanda challenged as she tossed the drone toward Hayward, nearly taking him down in the process.

“The missile was just a precaution. You can hardly blame us, Wanda.”

“Oh I think I can,” she replies, a crimson color building in the center of her eyes. “This will be your only warning. Stay out of my home. You don’t bother me, and I don’t bother you.”

“I wish it could be that simple. You’ve taken an entire town hostage.”

Wanda decides to humor the agents by going back and forth with them despite being pissed beyond belief that she was interrupted, even allowing Monica to talk about being an ally before turning them all against each other and making her escape. Despite making her way back into town, her protective attire doesn’t change back to the comfy cleaning clothes she left in. It sticks to her like the anger from any kind of intrusion to her new home and your sudden disobedience all in the same minute.

“Wanda, what was that?” you immediately question when she opens the door, standing up and immediately feeling the urge to sit down again when you make eye contact. “Mommy?”

Wanda doesn’t answer you as she approaches but instead starts ripping your clothing from your body, waiting until you’re fully exposed to push you back down onto the couch. She forces your legs open as wide as they can go, not even smiling this time when she notices your shaking underneath her.

“You want to cum so bad that you couldn’t wait to ask? Fine. Let’s make you cum, slut.”

She delivers a loud slap to your exposed pussy that draws an embarrassed whimper from you, even more so when you realize just how turned on this encounter has made you despite everything. You know she’s well aware of this when she suddenly plunges two fingers inside of you quite easily, but you don’t expect the red mist surrounding her hand and the strong vibration that follows.

“What’s the matter?” Wanda questions with false sympathy as she watches you toss your head back against the couch. “Can’t take Mommy’s fingers suddenly?”

“I can t-take it,” you mumble between gasps and moans.

“Say that again?” 

“I said–ah!” 

You cry out again as she firmly places her free hand over your clit, more red mist and vibration now surrounding the entire area. You’re bucking your hips and clenching muscles, having barely enough time to even ask to cum this time before you reach your peak. You expect her to stop then, but she keeps everything going without letting up even as you try to squirm away from her.

“No, don’t fucking fight it now. You wanted this.”

She uses her elbows to force your legs back open as they threaten to box her in, and it seems that she only strengthens the vibration each time your body jerks away until you finally give up and take it all.

“Mommy please,” you beg however many orgasms later, coughing hard suddenly while tears continuously stream from the corner of your eyes and down past your ears.

“Had enough?” Wanda questions unnecessarily while subtly lowering the strength of the vibration, taking a bit of pity on you despite the way she enjoys your clenching walls around her fingers.

“Mm.”

“Use your words!” she threatens while bringing the vibration up and you let out a surprised squeak.

“Yes, Mommy! I’ve had enough!”

“Good girl.” 

The vibration declines steadily as the red mist fades, but the aftershocks are very much present even as Wanda calmly pulls out of you. Her fingers slide into your mouth and you clean them with as little effort as possible, not even flinching when she pulls you further onto the damp spot underneath you on the couch.

“What will you do next time you want to touch?”

“Ask Mommy,” you reply drowsily, feeling pleased when she places a hand on either side of your jaw and kisses your forehead. “Thank you, Mommy.”

“You’re welcome, angel. Come on, you know what we have to do.”

Wanda rises to her feet first and attempts to bring you up with her, although it takes much more effort than either of you expected. Soft laughter is passed between you until you finally complete the task, and she leads you over to the downstairs bathroom before carefully lowering you onto the toilet. When you open your eyes again, she’s in front of you with a cup of water, gently coaxing you to drink.

Once you’re cleaned up, tucked into bed with your favorite sleep show playing quietly and passed out, Wanda makes her way back to the living room. She cleans up the couch and straightens a few more things before locking up her home and heading over to her closest neighbor.

“Hello again, Agnes,” Wanda greets her glassy-eyed companion with a knowing smile. “I’m going to need your help with something.”

[bullet-prooflove]

Taken!Series Part Five: Perfect - Angel Reyes x Reader

Tagging: @wakeama @witches-unruly-heart @keyweegirlie @trhett21 @annetje @infinity-mars @emily2003alzaga @danzer8705 @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @thatonesexycancerian @expir3dl0v3 @appreciatelove @the-wandering-lunatic @weiwei0210 @anime-weeb-4-life @multifandomloversworld @harperdoodle @cheyrenee @fanfic-n-tabulous @stressed-chas @daydreaming-belle @est1887 @prettyinpunk85 @adaydreamaway08 @thanossexual @briefpersonenemy @creativitybeware @crimeshowjunkie @librarian1002 @mortal--soul @buddinglinguist @spookyboogyuniverse @spaghettificationandpretzels @nu1freakshow @thebaileybugle @legally-a-bastard @bonsaijoons @sclitvdes @justreblogginfics @crazy4chickennuggets @kmc1989 @withakindheartx

You survive, barely, but you do.

They let Angel have a couple of minutes with you once they have you settled in the ICU.

The next few hours are critical they tell him, there’s nothing he can do.

He sits beside your bed, his fingers curling around yours. His thumb traces over the veins, he can’t get over how stark they are against your skin. You look so small, so dilapidated. There’s tubes running into your body, he has no idea what any of them do only that they’re keeping you alive.

You’re usually so vivid, so passionate, seeing you like this is a blow, one that’s not sure he’ll recover from.

“Valeria’s safe.” He tells you. “We got her back.”

There’s no response from you, he doesn’t expect one. He doesn’t know if you can hear him, but he hopes you can because that means you’re coming back to him, back to the family you fought for.

“It was bad Lila.” He whispers, his lips brushing over your knuckles. “Our baby girl was wrapped up in bath towels, sleeping in a cardboard box in a fucking shanty town. That’s what you were trying to save her from.”

His eyes are stinging now, he feels the tears spilling over his cheeks as he squeezes your hand.

“She could have died up there.” He says, his voice breaking. “She was crying, dirty, hungry…”

He draws in a shaky breath, using the back of his hand to wipe away the tears that stain his cheeks.

“She needs you Lila, we both do. I can’t… I can’t do this without you.” his voice breaks, a sob erupting from his chest. “I don’t want to do this without you. I need you to get through this so we can be a family again because you’re the mom she needs, the one that was there when…”

He can’t bring himself to say it because the images it conjures in his head are too raw, too visceral. Everytime, he closes his eyes, he’s sees you lying there bleeding out across the laminate.

He thinks of his mother’s ring nestled in the top pocket of his kutte, the one he’d collected from his father a couple of weeks ago. That’s the reason he’s agreed to go out last night, him and EZ were putting their heads together, trying to come up with a proposal that you’d love.

EZ had suggested the rose garden because they all knew how much that place meant to you. Jo and him had put together a plan, they were going to decorate the place with fairy lights, make it magical for the two of you.

Next weekend is when they decided, his Pops would take Valeria for the night. EZ and Jo would set things up while Angel took you out for dinner, your first date since Valeria came along, you’d go for a walk afterwards to the rose garden…

It would have been perfect, he thinks as he watches the rise and fall of your chest. You would have loved it.

Love Angel? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

infatuating incantation

summary: “did you take my pipe?”

warnings: Eddie Munson/reader, witch!reader, cosy magic vibes, lesbian witch aunts, kissing, magic, sexual references

word count: 680

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

masterlist | join my taglist | witch!reader au masterlist

“Wow…” Eddie muttered, still in a daze as he draped his arm around your bare waist. 

“Yeah,” you slowly lulled your eyes open, curling your body deeper into his musk. 

“I mean, that was-“

“I know, I told you,” you tilted your chin up and flashed him a victorious grin, “sexual activities during the full moon really is something.”

“I just kinda thought you were kidding about the levitation part.”

“Oh, baby,” your thumb and forefinger caught his chin, “I never kid,” you reminded him in a dramatic tone, before capturing his lips in a kiss. 

Just before you could slip your tongue past his lips, he broke away and asked, “can you do that thing again?”

“What thing? I do lots of things,” you ran your fingers down his chest in a manner as if you were already trying to start something again. 

“You know, that thing,” he gesticulated with one hand, fluttering it around over your heads. 

“Oh, that thing,” getting what he was hinting at, “sure,” you rolled over, a motion that successfully stole most of the covers from your boyfriend, surely exposing his spent manhood, you reached down to your backpack on the floor and fished out the small intricate pipe that was in the front pocket.

Scooting back into place, you placed the tip to your lips and puffed a few times. Readjusting the duvet, Eddie curled one hand behind his head and stretched the other one behind yours, letting you use his bicep as a makeshift pillow. 

Carefully blowing the smoke up into the air above you, it curled and formed clear little clouds of marvellous shapes.

“Uh, that one looks like a sheep!” your excited partner pointed to one of the few clouds that weren’t shaped like anything fantastical, but just kinda looked like a regular cloud, “and that one looks like, um, cotton candy maybe?”

“Babe, I give you the full-on Gandalf treatment, I mean, that one over there literally looks exactly like a pirate ship and those two are the ones you rave about? Any day, you can look up to the sky and see those exact ones.” 

“Well, it’s just-“ Eddie didn’t get to clarify any further as a sudden knock at your door found both of your ears. 

Acting quick, Eddie yanked the comforter over his head, successfully wafting the clouds out of the air, and you covered yourself enough so they you couldn’t tell that you were in fact stark naked under it.

“Y/n,” your aunt with her greying hair perfectly pinned as always, swung open the door unceremoniously, “did you take my pipe?”

Under the duvet, you tightened your grip around the very objects in question and lied, “hi, um, nope, no I didn’t.”

“I could have sworn I smelled the faintest bit of smoke coming from up here…”

“Well,” you scrambled your brain for a suitable explanation, “you know, Eddie did lend me his jacket today at school and I never got around to returning it, so that might just be what your nose picked up on.”

“Oh, okay” she thankfully seemed to buy the story, “why are you in bed?”

“Um, I have a bit of a headache, so I was just trying to take a nap.”

“Really?” worry washed over her usually tranquil features, “you are tired on a full moon? Did you get cursed again? Do I need to draw you a cleansing bath?”

“No, no, no,” you rushed out before she could manage to run after the lavender, “I didn’t get cursed, don’t worry, I was just a bit tired, that’s all.”

“Alright… well, dinner is in an hour, okay?”

“Cool,” you bit down on your bottom lip as you felt Eddie’s warm body shift slightly, pressing further up against your own. 

“And let me know if you find it,” she really drew out her exit. 

“Will do!”

“Okay, have a good nap, darling,” she smiled, and just before the door closed, she added through the crack, “you too, Eddie!” 

Finally, he bashfully revealed his wild curls and replied instinctively, “thanks, ma’am…”

© 2022 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[thedeal-if]

how would the ros take care of sick mc?

This!!

(Don't mind me I love comfort scenarios)

As soon as you wake up, you know this is going to be an awful day...

It's not so much a matter of intuition but of how terrible everything feels. There is a heaviness to your mind, persistent and disorienting, an overwhelming haze. Your nose is clogged, you’re burning up.

It’s a sneeze that fully wakes you up. Your brain clears a little. You're sick.

Dante spends from two to three minutes pacing like a man—demon—possessed, you lose track of his foreign rambling shortly before he halts. You lay in bed and even with your fever, you can’t seem to contain your amusement. Dante stops, fiddles with his hands, and falters under your glance like a kicked puppy.

“I don’t get sick, I think,” Dante explains, he shrugs sheepishly “You’re not going to die, right?”

His question makes you laugh, and your laugh makes everything everywhere hurt. When you wince, Dante’s frown deepens.

“I’m not dying, Dan.”

“Okay, okay,” he nods seriously. Dante nods again. He seems to decide this is a situation that is completely out of his control, because he adds, “Tell me what to do so I can help.”

Lilith presses a soft hand to your forehead, her touch is cool and comforting—like marble—, she brushes your hair/fringe back softly, nails brushing against your scalp. If Lilith was a witch, you would wonder whether she’s putting a spell on you.

Whatever she does, the effect disappears as soon as she draws her hand back.

“Well, you have a fever, love,” Lilith nods. She sounds as concerned as she is curious.

You sniff, “I hadn’t noticed.”

The Succubus ignores your words in favor of rolling her sleeves with the determination of a person on their way to war, ready to tackle any issue thrown her way. Lilith grins at you like she knows what she’s doing.

“I’ve been on Earth—well, around humans—long enough! Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing,” she claims “How about you take a nap while I get you something warm to eat?”

Josh and surprises have never mixed well—you don’t know how he could have been prepared in advance for your sudden illness. You don’t even open your mouth to complain and Josh simply knows something is wrong. He’s been familiar with your tics and quirks for over a decade, it’d be impossible for him not to notice.

“Are you okay?” Josh questions quietly. Almost instantly he winces, “That was a pretty dumb question, sorry.”

You still answer for the sake of it, “I feel like a truck ran me over.”

“You’re looking pretty good for a victim of a traffic accident,” he chuckles “You don’t need a doctor, do you? I can call one.”

“Aren’t you—” a loud sneeze interrupts you “one?”

You’ve offended Josh—as offended as he can feel when it involves you—he presses a hand to his chest like he’s nursing a stab wound.

“Not really. Not yet,” Josh hastily corrects. Deep in thought, he presses a warm hand against your forehead, then he smiles coyly “I can make an exception for you, though.”

When you explain you’re feeling ill, Villanelle’s eyes fill with concern, and then they glow. You know that look all too well. It’s the one Villanelle gets whether she gets a sudden idea she wants to test out. The realization must register on your face, as the witch is reaching out to you reassuringly.

“It’s not a bad idea, I swear! Remember, I do this all the time!”

By ‘this’, Villanelle means all the elderly inhabitants of Blackburn, their neverending lists of maladies, and her magical solutions. It makes so much sense why they worked now that you know.

“I swear you’ll be up and running in a jiffy!”

Villanelle leaves and returns half an hour later with a potion that tastes like chocolate. Your fever is gone as soon as it touches your lips.

Victor is one of the most dependent people you know, when you let him know you’re not feeling well, he doesn’t overreact or make a big deal of your situation. You think that, for Victor to openly show some concern towards you, you’d probably have to be on the brink of death.

It‘s a thought you might have complained about, but Victor doesn’t give you the chance, he pushes on your shoulder until you’re laying down, leaves briefly, and returns with a wet rag. When he presses it to your forehead, it’s cool enough that it makes you sigh.

“There’s a bottle of water on your bedside table. Drink it when the rag dries,” Victor instructs “I’ll be back with some soup— you need the protein.”

“Will you keep me company then?” you pout theatrically.

A sigh leaves his lips. Then, a reluctant, “Fine.”

“What do you mean you’re ‘sick’?”

“… It means I’m sick, Aliyah,” you sniff.

The genie has been keeping her distance—Aliyah stands tersely by the door, you almost expect her to run away—since she found out you were ill, narrowed eyes fixed on you like she’s expecting you to pull a nasty prank on her.

“Oh,” Aliyah frowns “That’s bad?”

“Yes. It is bad.”

“Boohoo. Just another thing to add to the list— Another flaw of humanity,” you wouldn’t be surprised to find out if that list existed. Aliyah probably takes it everywhere with her, she’s probably memorized it like a priest would the Bible “Is there any medicine that can fix… ‘that’?”

It’s like she’s speaking of a tumor and not a mild flu. Aliyah shuffles closer as she apparently realizes you’re not dying because of your ‘faulty nature’.

“You can keep me company,” you say with a small smile “I’d feel a lot better.”

Aliyah blinks at you with what you initially interpret to be murderous intent. Whatever she feels, she doesn’t voice. Hesitately, the genie sits by your side.

Nathan barely bats an eye when you complain about your predicament, it’s like it goes in one ear and out the other. The nearly-fallen angel invades your room like he owns the place, he flops down next to you and grins with forced innocence when you look at him in suspicion.

“What is it?” Nathan even pouts, the bastard.

“What are you planning?”

“Me? Planning?” he snorts “I leave that to the higher-ups.”

Nathan smirks, his big hand lifts until it comes to a stop in front of your eyes. You, of course, watch him carefully like he’s a lion ready to pounce. Despite your attentive glance, you can’t avoid Nathan’s finger and the way it flicks your forehead.

“You—” you gasp, but the surprise comes for another reason entirely unrelated to Nathan’s attack. Or not, given the fact that it was that very motion that cured you of your illness “Nath—”

“Are you going to grovel at my feet and praise me like I’m a God,” Nathan smirks with mischief “You sure know how to make a guy feel good about himself if that’s the case.”

You sigh in exasperation, though a fond smile of appreciation finds your lips.

“Forget it,” you say.

Eden has always been much more observant than you give her credit for. She knows of your illness as soon as she sees you, and she frowns with a challenge like it’s a physical foe she can strike and beat into submission.

“Damn,” is the only thing she says for a few moments. Eden approaches your side, takes your temperature with the back of her hand, reaches inside the bedside table and pulls out a packet of tissue when you sniff “Does anything hurt?”

“Everything does,” you pout.

“Don’t be dramatic. You’ll be fine in no time,” Eden tuts “You should sleep a little longer.”

You do and, when you wake up, it’s to Eden handing you a bowl of soup. She quietly offers to keep you company for as long as you wish her to and smiles when you nod your head yes.

[rachalixie]

a/n: for @moonacholy’s request for spooky fic with vampire hyunsung and witch felix and reader! sorry i lost your ask baby, i posted it and had to delete it and repost :(

you giggle at hyunjin’s sigh as jisung applies another layer of white makeup to his face, and you follow in with a delicate swipe of blush just like you knew he didn’t want it. he’s wearing a ridiculous dracula outfit that shouldn’t look good on anyone, complete with greased back hair and a red lined cape. but hyunjin looks unfairly good in everything, so. he looks phenomenal.

“vampires aren’t even this pale. i should know. i am one.” he whines, kicking jisung’s shin much harder than he ever could kick a human’s. jisung, on the other hand, went the twilight route, with glistening sparkly skin and his glowy yellow eyes out on display. he’s wearing a shirt that says say it. out loud. it made you cackle when he first emerged from his room in it.

“oh really?” jisung feigns surprise, his red-painted lips forming into a perfect ‘O’. “i’ve never met a vampire before! what’s that like? what does blood taste like?”

“jisung shut up, you literally drank some of my blood last night.” felix rolls his eyes as he joins you all in the kitchen and wraps an arm around you. “the blood that i drew out for a really important potion, and i now need to wait for the next full moon to arrive to do. remind me to never let you drink witches blood again, by the way, it makes you way too hyper.”

you ignore jisung’s indignant squawk to turn towards your boyfriend and press a soft kiss to his cheek. he has star sequins dotting his face, one for each freckle you could find, and his tall and pointy witches hat matches the one perched on top of your head. it almost falls off when you lean in, but he catches it with one hand while the other squeezes you closer into him. he winks at you as you let some of your magic seep through the air, turning the tips of his hair bright pink and the fringe of yours a deep purple.

“are we going out?” you ask, glancing at the time on the microwave’s clock. it’s nearly 10pm, the day is almost over and you want to get out at least a couple hours of being out and about in your true forms, even if it’s playing pretend. you’re meeting your werewolf friend chan and his packmates jeongin and seungmin at a party, and you’re sure that felix’ fae cousin changbin and his mermaid roommate minho will be there too. among a bunch of unassuming humans too, but tonight thats the least of your worries. its halloween, the one night you all don’t have to hide.

“one more shot before we go!” jisung cries, pouring out a couple of blood shots for him and hyunjin while you pour out normal ones for you and felix. in different colored shot glasses, of course, you can only make the mistake of accidently drinking blood once before you learn quickly how not to mix them up.

you all stumble out of your apartment together, walking towards the full moon and enjoying each other’s company until you hear a series of loud kissing noises and a thump coming from behind you.

“but hyunjinnie!” jisung is pouting, draping himself over hyunjin’s shoulders and keeping his grip when the taller boy tries to knock him off. “you’re my soulmate!”

“maybe. doesn’t mean i want your lips anywhere near mine.” the blonde boy grimaces, taking jisung’s hand anyways.

“after over 200 years of being together, you think they would get tired of the bickering,” felix’ deep voice hits your ears, drawing attention away from the mess behind you and onto the boy whose hand your holding.

“you think we’re going to end up like them in 100 years?” you ask, smiling at him as if you know the answer already.

he just smiles in response, eyes twinkling like the stars as you continue to walk together.

—

soft hours

[venusofthehardsells]

Written in Blood [one-shot]

Avenger!witch!ReaderxBucky, avenger!witch!Readerxdemon!Bucky

Summary: When an alien army attacks the Earth, you make a last ditch effort to save the planet, even if it means losing everything you love.

(Reader’s Avenger-name is Hecate)

Warnings: all the angst, violence, blood, major character death, smut, non-con, dub-con, monsterfucking technically I guess?, fingering, p in v, Supernatural elements (yes, that Supernatural), end of the world, swearing (ofc), magic, possession, lots of bad things happen

A/N: It is STILL October in some timezones so here is this fic I wanted to finish like two years ago. Happy fucking Halloween!

Huge thank you to @awesomerextyphoon and @sagechanoafterdark for cheering me on, it means everything! ♥ 

The rancid ashen air lies heavy in your nose and makes your eyes water. It is almost enough to blur the wall in front of you, but you blink the tears away with an angry sniffle and raise your bloodied fingers to finish writing the spell.

All around you, the city is on fire.

Screams and cries ring out from the burning high-rises in between metallic sounds of fighting. Crashes, gunfire. Voices blast your ears through your com, shouting for back-up, shouting for their lives. It'll be too late for most of them by the time you can reach them.

On the edge of your vision, a flash of blue, white and red lies abandoned in the rubble of the building that fell on you less than an hour earlier. You would have been under all those bricks if it hadn't been for him...

You have to stop and let the sobs wash over you.

Steve died trying to save you because you were out of your mind with grief and didn't react to the blast fast enough. It's your fault.

His shield is all that remains.

Gritting your teeth against the pain in your leg from where the blood you're writing with is coming from, you smear the next part of the spell as clearly as you can manage onto the raw concrete of the upturned wall.

Your intent and will is worth just as much as the signs you draw, every witch worth her salt knows that, but still you make an effort to get each line as cleanly drawn as possible.

The magic you're working is a different kind than the one Strange uses. It's ancient and feral and bought with blood.

It's not something he would approve of.

When he put you in charge of this point of attack, it was because he was out of options. You know he would have prefered Loki, but none of the Asgardians could be contacted and you wonder again that day if their world too has suffered this very doom somewhere all those light years away.

Strange had left you to deal with New York while he went to Singapore and Wanda to Wakanda, where the fighting was worst.

Right now though, you can't imagine anywhere worse.

"Hecate!," Stark's voice yells on the com, using your Avenger alias. "I need a status, now! Hecate! Answer me!"

But you don't, can't let him know what you're doing.

"Y/N, god dammit, please tell me you're not dead!"

But you are. As good as, anyway.

Ignoring Stark's pleading for you to answer, you press your fingers into your wound again with a groan, but it's no use, it's not deep enough to grant you any more paint and you need to get a few more lines of formalia down.

You unsheathe the knife you have fastened to your inner thigh and kiss the blade swiftly before bringing it down on your arm. It's the last knife you have left on you and it's the sharpest. Of course it is.

It's Bucky's.

As the fresh cut starts gushing, you have to wipe away more tears.

Four hours ago, one of the alien invaders caught Bucky in the neck with its talon-like fingers and you heard him gurgle and choke over the com as he went down. Stark had managed to pluck you from the scene when you started screaming.

A few seconds later, all Bucky's life readings from his suit had hit zero.

It had been too dangerous to go back for the body.

You clench your eyes shut.

There's no winning this war.

With fingers red from your newly opened vein, you draw the last symbols of your spell.

Your summoning.

It fills the entire chunk of concrete. As soon as you're done, you wrap a scrap of your sleeve around your arm to stop the flow; you feel dizzy on your feet and you’re slightly panting, leaning on the remains of a bench. Or at least, you assume it’s a bench.

Even without the bloodloss and the heartbreak, you’ve been knocked and kicked and beaten around since long before dawn. Now, it’s nearly dusk. The only thing keeping you on your feet is the sheer desperation that has also brought you to conjure up this dark, nasty magic. The last resort.

"Parker, Romanoff, someone give me a twenty on Hecate! I think her com's broken."

Still not answering, you begin chanting. The language is old, long forgotten to the world and it fills your mouth heavy as a stone when the words form and tumble into the air; it's almost a living thing.

It's as if the summoning wants to happen.

You've always stayed clear of this particular sort of magic, as all the cleverest and most long-lived of your foremothers did, but none of them were about to lose the entire planet. In the grander scheme of things, your trespass doesn't look unreasonable.

"Mr Stark, sir, I can see Y/N. She's… it looks like she's talking to someone."

"Where are you, kid? I'm heading your way. Does she look injured?"

"I- I don't know what I'm seeing… Holy shit, that's… there's so much blood, Mr Stark. I don't know what she's- How..."

As Peter starts to realize you must be doing magic of some sort, it seems to dawn on Tony Stark as well.

"Fuck. Strange warned me she'd do something dangerous. Kid, whatever you do, you gotta stop her!"

Poor Peter. There's no way he'll get through the protective shield you cast around you so you could conjure undisturbed and neither is anyone else, at least for now.

The last line in the conjuring spell rolls off your tongue and it is as if it all goes quiet around you. The very air seems to hold its breath, waiting…

Somewhere far away, you think you hear something crash into the magical barrier surrounding you, but maybe it's just your heartbeat throbbing in your ears.

It has to work. It has to. If no one shows, if your spell didn't reach out, down, then…

Then you don't think you can bear another second in this wasteland that was once a city.

The moments crawl by and you wait. There's nothing else to do anymore, is there?

Waiting, listening, praying. But then again, if praying did any good, you wouldn't be here.

"Now this is a pleasant surprise," a voice speaks up behind you and you can feel the blood turn to ice in your veins.

That voice, it can't be.

He's dead, you saw him die.

Very slowly, as if trying to delay the inevitable, you turn around to glance at what your efforts have brought forth.

No.

It's Bucky.

Or rather, it is a demon wearing Bucky's flesh. There's more left of your super soldier than you had dared to hope for, but the way the demon moves his legs and his arms and the way it crooks his head looking at you through eyes filled with empty blackness makes it clear that the most vital part must be gone.

He, it, smiles with the mouth of the man you love and you can feel the tears rise anew in your tired eyes.

You knew it would be bad, but this…

"Get out of him," you whisper, your throat clinging thickly to the words.

The thing inside Bucky's body grins and blood trickles out through his parted lips,  fresh red against the dried black on his chin and neck.

"Don't think so, dollface. It's not every day you get a call like this. Had to make an impression."

The voice, oh god, there's something in the voice you know so well seeping through from the demon using it to speak and it makes your stomach churn. It was only yesterday that same sweet voice told you that Bucky Barnes loved you, but hearing it now is a nightmare.

The demon leans on the other end of the destroyed bench you're using to keep yourself upright, biting its lower lip.

"I have to say, I couldn't believe my luck when you called. An Avenger." It whistles, letting its black eyes roam over your dirty, bruised form. "We make deals with celebrities and politicians all the time, but you! You're supposed to be beyond reproach, all of you. Untouchable. When I heard your summoning, I had to come myself. Someone like you deserves a more… personal treatment."

It reaches out and lets Bucky's fingers brush your cheek in a loving gesture that almost makes you gag.

In a brief moment, you manage to see past the face of your dead lover and look upon the being’s true face. It’s not just an ordinary demon. It’s the face of the Devil.

"You're quite the legend downstairs, you know," he says softly, stroking the tears and grime from under your eye with a dark metal thumb. "A lineage blood witch so powerful, working with SHIELD's leashed heroes to save the world… Failing, obviously." The smirk on his face is so wide and so vile you can't imagine Bucky ever producing that expression himself. "We're still baffled they didn't kill you as soon as they found you. Of course, you have played your big, brilliant savior-role splendidly. I almost shed a tear when you took that bullet for Lang's daughter. Oscar-worthy, truly."

"You really like to hear yourself talk, don't you?," you grit out. It's a struggle not to recoil from its touch.

The smirk grows impossibly wider.

"Can you blame me, sweetheart? I haven't worn a human in centuries. I'd almost forgotten how it feels."

He rolls Bucky's shoulders the way one might do trying on a new jacket.

"And this one is interesting. Technology these days." He chuckles, inspecting the metal arm and, mercifully, removing its fingers from you to have a closer look at them. "It's marvelous. Makes up for how dark it is in this grapefruit of his. This one doesn't need to go to Hell, he's practically there already. I feel right at home."

He chuckles, but it's like watching a wax figure coming to life and trying to act like the person whose image it was sculpted in. You have never seen or felt anything remotely as uncanny before.

You need to send the Devil back to Hell right now while he still hasn't hurt anyone.

"If you won't get out, I'll force you."

"Oh, please." The way the Devil smiles is overbearing. "Right now, I'm the only thing keeping lover boy ticking. Without me, he's just a dead meatsuit."

It feels like your lungs have been vacuumed.

"What?"

"You heard me."

"It can't be."

"Is too. Your precious Bucky is still in here. Not being very generous about sharing this body, I might add. The ungrateful bastard is screaming himself hoarse trying to get me to leave-"

"No!"

His smirk grows into another grin at your outburst and you both know he's got you exactly where he wants you.

"Thought not. As delightful as this back and forth threatening is, how about we cut to the chase? You don't exorcize me, I don't let your boyfriend bleed out. Instead, why don't you tell me what it is you want, hmm?"

The way your stomach rolls with pain has nothing to do with the hits you've taken in the fight so far.

"I want to make a deal." Your voice is only just audible over the wind, but Bucky's face lights up with malicious barely contained glee; he heard you loud and clear.

"Go on," he prompts, licking his lips.

"I…" The air in your shriveled lungs fails you, so you try again. "I want Bucky and Steve back, I want all of them back, I… want all of this to never happen."

And you are willing to do anything for it apparently.

But for the first time, he shakes his head.

"Oh, honey. Now why would I do that?"

"What?," you breathe, disbelief written all over your face.

"Think about it. How many people have died in the last twenty four hours alone? Business is flourishing. The souls are teeming into Hell and at this rate it won't stop any time soon. It's better than the damn Apocalypse! I don't wanna undo all of this."

Every instinct you have is screaming at you to send him back to Hell, but it is as though all the fight has gone out of you at the refusal. You were ready to offer anything in return, had prepared for it and now the damn thing won’t deal?

It’s the end of the world and you’re out of moves.

The end of the world…

The Apocalypse…

The thought strikes you so hard and so fast you almost think it’s a bullet.

“This isn’t the endgame you want,” you hear yourself say with far more conviction than you feel.

The Devil cocks his head, amusement trembling on his lips.

“Really?”

“People are dying-”

“Do you really think I care-”

“People are dying,” you maintain firmly, “and their souls go up or they go down, until they don’t. This isn’t an invasion, it’s an extermination.”. Bucky’s black eyes are burning into you, but you continue. “These invaders don’t plan on leaving anyone alive. It might take weeks or months even, but at some point, they’ll have killed every human on the planet and there’ll be no more souls for you to harvest. Ever. Your Apocalypse won’t even be able to happen because there’ll be nothing left for any of you to fight for. You’ll be rotting in the pit for eternity. How’s that for business, honey?”

Bucky’s features scrunch into a snarl and he janks you to him by your jaw. His fingers dig into your skin hard enough to bruise.

“I should snap Barnes’ beautiful little neck for good, you insolent-”

“Doesn’t change the fact that I’m right.”

“You’re too clever for your own good, sugar,” he hisses, holding you close enough to feel his breath on your face. “But you’re forgetting something. I’m not the only one up here dealing right now.”

Fuck.

Shit.

“Twenty six of my employees are up here as we speak, looking to close deals themselves. They are only waiting for me to give them the green light and those twenty-six other desperate humans, well, let’s just say… they’re not all as clever as you.”

He clenches your jaw again and you wince in pain.

If someone makes a demon deal on this scale, you can’t even begin to think of the consequences it will have if they don’t fully understand what they’re doing. And best case scenario still includes someone innocent signing over their soul.

“Fine. Get your minions in line and we’ll deal.”

“Atta girl.” Bucky’s metal arm goes around your shoulders and forces you to sit down on the charred remains of the bench seat. The close proximity, the way your body is now pressed against his makes you feel sick. “So, what do you think we can do for each other?”

"I want the world back the way it was before-"

"Yes, before the alien horde attacked it. You've said that already. Don't bore me, sweet cheeks," he warns and a shiver creeps through you. "How do you even know I have that kind of power, hm?"

"Don't you?"

“Depends on what I’m being offered,” he drawls and your skin runs cold. “I believe you know how this usually goes. One wish for one soul, collected ten years down the road. If that’s what you’re hoping for, I might as well leave it to my employees and call it a day.”

He trails Bucky’s vibranium fingers down the back of your neck, making goosebumps rise in their wake and you close your eyes as hard as you can to focus on thinking, not vomiting.

“You can have me.” The scene of the building falling on Steve keeps replaying itself in your mind’s eye over and over in a vicious loop, prompting you to force out the words. “My soul isn’t just any other soul. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be here.”

“Arrogant. But correct.”

“And I don’t need ten years, just one.” The knot in your stomach feels as though it has moved up into your throat and it hurts to speak around it.

“Why should I give you as much as a day? You’re not exactly asking for pennies, sugar. The magic you want from me is off the charts. You should consider yourself lucky I don’t deep-fry you for even suggesting it.”

He enjoys every word he speaks out of Bucky’s mouth the way one might a sip of Champagne. But you have to endure his teasing, otherwise… there is no otherwise.

Clenching your fists, you turn and meet his blacked out eyes.

“I’m the only Avenger you’ll ever get and you know it. Every one of them is ready to repent and I have it on good authority they’re quite large upstairs with whom they accept these days. The Asguardians have their own deal. Wanda Maximoff is probably going to outlive you. Strange too. And if you had Steve…” The firmness in your voice wobbles and your eyes grow hot with tears. “If you had Steve you would be rubbing it in my face,” you finish in a quieter tone. Bucky cocks his head with a smirk.

“Yes, I most certainly would.”

“So I’m all there is,” you maintain stubbornly, forcing yourself not to cry outright. "My soul and any future soul headed your way. A new possible eternity to gear up for your pissing contest with the halo crew. All I ask in return is a year. This year, the one we've just had."

"Interesting." He studies your face with a mix of triumph and amused apprehension. He's close. So close in fact that you can feel his breath on your lips and smell the dried blood in his mouth. "You do realize that proper wording is everything?"

"I do." You have to swallow hard not to gag or cry or maybe outright scream. This is the only play you have. If he doesn't agree, no one else is going to save you, save everyone. "My soul for a one year reset. Do we have a deal?"

He licks his lips slowly in thought, blacked out eyes never leaving yours.

“Not so fast, cherry pie. Your soul for another year still leads to this place, this moment. Earth overrun by an alien army and no more business for little old me. If you’re just trying to trick me into giving you more naked tumbling time with your soldier boys-”

“I am trying to save the world! And you’re how I’m going to do it, so unless one of those twenty-six other random idiots miraculously have a better offer for you, I suggest you take it.”

When you finally realize you’re shouting at the Devil, it’s too late. The familiar metal fingers are around your throat before you can even think to say you’re sorry and they’re squeezing so hard you’re sure you’ve used up his patience. It’s not like he’s known for it.

“You witches always were a bunch of condescending whores,” he hisses. It’s so quiet you can only hear him because his teeth are practically scraping your cheeks with the words. “I’ll take your sorry little deal, baby. And I’ll make sure your dear Jamie gets to watch and feel every single second of it. Give him a little taste of what’s waiting for you when it’s all over. A dreamy dose of nightmare fuel to top off the horror show in this melon.”

With the hand that’s still flesh and bone, he tears at your fitted tactical suit, easily ripping it open and exposing you to his gaze. Shame burns in your cheeks. You knew it would go this way, but for it to have to be Bucky…

He starts to peel off pieces of your torn suit until you’re bared in front of him. You’ve done rituals and sex spells before, shedding clothes is nothing new. But having them ripped from your body by the Devil wearing your lover with one hand while he chokes you with the other makes you feel naked in an entirely different way.

Normally when Bucky rips your clothes off, it makes you feel desired and sexy and powerful. This is… so far from that. It's cold and it's ugly. It makes you want to push him away with everything in your arsenal, your muscles, your magic, shit, you're ready to claw his face bloody with your fingernails, but you don't.

You just stay where you are and let him throw you to the ground, asphalt and tiles beneath the debris biting into the skin and bruises on your back.

Trying not to cry, because if you start there is no way you can stop.

The body lowering itself onto yours is at the same time familiar and foreign to you. As he starts to undo his belt and zipper of the tactical suit, you allow yourself for just a moment to imagine that it is Bucky, your Bucky. And that everything will be fine again.

But then his mismatched hands glide over your hips, squeezing far harder than Bucky ever would, and there is no way you can keep imagining it's really him, no way you want to.

Bucky didn't consent to this. 

Because of what you've done, he is once again a prisoner in his own mind and even though he won't remember this, despite what the Devil said to rattle you, that is no excuse. He is being used all over again for something that Bucky himself would never allow. To make a deal with the Devil, to conjure dark magic… to hurt you. It has got to be his worst nightmare made real, all over again.

All because you were careless and desperate.

I'm sorry, my love, you think, closing your eyes.

This was meant to be your sacrifice and yours alone.

Bucky's body feels a thousand times heavier upon your own than it usually is, but you know it has to be that way, otherwise the last shred of your conscience would crumble completely. This has to hurt you too.

His warm hand slips in between your legs and his smirk is right above your face, dripping hot blood into your eyes.

"Think you can give me a little something to work with, honey?," he grins and drags his fingers through your folds, making you squirm to get away before you can stop yourself. "You know we both gotta commit here."

You grit your teeth and force yourself to lie still. The fingers you know so well start to circle your clit, but it takes forever before you feel anything but discomfort - little threads of warmth, only the beginnings of something pleasurable - and at that point, your little nub is too sore from the pressure for it to do much.

"Tough customer, huh," he smirks, clearly enjoying your helplessness. "Don't worry, I'll get you there, sweetheart. I've got everything I need in here, inside Barnes' pretty head…"

That may be so, but you can feel the difference because this isn't Bucky, not really. He kisses you roughly on the mouth. It's a struggle not to gag, but accept his tongue and let him explore. He tastes of dirt and blood and magic. He takes his time.

His fingers begin working between your legs again, slower this time, in a motion that forces a surprised little gasp out of you. He slides one thick finger in between your lips, barely dipping into you at first, just stroking your folds languidly and occasionally massaging your clit again with much gentler motions than first.

The way Bucky would do it.

The first time your legs tremble around his hand, he smirks and moves his kisses to the side of your neck.

“Knew you’d warm up to me, sugar,” he grins, licking up the underside of your jaw. “Just imagine it’s really me… doll.”

You can't help it, you let out a tiny whimper against his ear and it's not all pain anymore. You know better than this, but fuck, he's using that voice, the deep, gravelly one that goes straight to your core so much faster and more effective than his fingers.

And even though it’s wrong, you’ve made your choice. You made it the second you started writing the summoning spell.

So in the end, you lean your head back on the ground and close your eyes, let him work you over until you can’t hold back the moans any longer. They spill out of you as Bucky’s fingers rub your clit in faster and faster circles, his other hand holding you down because your hips are shaking and bucking away from the onslaught of pleasure his touch evokes, more and more, there is no way your body can take it…

The pleasure peaks and sparks through your veins. It feels awful. It feels delicious.

All your aching muscles pulse with the orgasm and he doesn’t stop to let you come down, no, instead he plunges two fingers into you and continues to rub your clit with his thumb while he searches for the spot inside of you that immediately makes you cry out when he touches it. 

“There we go, doll, you can give me one more.”

Smirking, even with your eyes closed you know he has to be smirking at the way your body reacts to him.

And you do give him one more. His fingers stroke and rub your sweet spot expertly while the rough pad of his thumb keeps pressure on your clit just the way Bucky always does when he wants to keep you strung high on pleasure and it works. Another orgasm crashes into the ebb of the former and makes you wail into his long, dirty hair. He keeps you locked in place even when you jolt in his hold, thrashing almost because it's too much, it feels too good, you're burning up from all the places his hand is touching you.

You whimper as he withdraws his fingers, soaked in your glistening wetness but he doesn't leave you wanting for very long.

He starts unbuckling his tactical belt and it falls to the ground with a clank. His pants follow shortly and you’re still shaking, still too overwhelmed in the afterglow of your sweet Bucky’s fingers as he takes out his cock and slides it through your slick folds with a grin on those bloodied lips.

“Deal’s on, baby,” he whispers and the sting of his teeth drawing blood from your earlobe disappears when he buries his cock within your walls in one, smooth thrust.

Your eyes roll back into your head and inside your fitted combat boots you curl your toes at the feeling. Your mouth falls open in a gasp of pitiful ecstasy.

Somewhere in the haze of pain and adrenaline and grief and serotonin and the primal fear of dying, your mind still knows this is wrong and that you should be utterly revolted by what the two of you are doing with Bucky’s body, but you just can’t.

The warmth of your lover’s familiar form is a balm on your heart that you don’t deserve, but you welcome it anyway. The salty taste of your tears of pleasure overshadows the bitter tang of blood. He groans in your ear.

Every thrust of his hips feel like home.

You almost cry out his name, it feels so good, but you bite down the instinct at the last second. Instead you close your eyes and try to lose yourself in the wild rhythm of your joined bodies that has you clinging onto him for dear life. The pace is brutal. You never expected otherwise.

And soon enough, the heat is blazing up in you again, making you groan, making you squeeze down on him.

“Oh God, fuck… fuck…,” you whimper, digging your nails into his shoulders and Bucky’s laugh that you know so well washes over you.

“God doesn’t care, dollface,” he grins, leaning back just enough to get the metal hand in between you and rub his thumb on your clit, “just be glad that I do.”

He moves his hips faster, pinning you down by the hips with the hand not between your legs and this time you do scream.

As your body finally succumbs to the pleasure, you throw your head back and wail into the darkness around you. It reverberates through both of you, through the ground and your shield and the slab of stone covered in your bloody summons. You writhe and thrash in his grip under the wave of the orgasm crashing through you, wanting it to be over, wanting it to go on forever.

And with a sound somewhere between a broken moan and a winded, manic laugh, the demon on top of you at last spills his cum inside of you to seal the magical contract.

He doesn’t stop moving until your cunt has milked every drop from him, your soft silken walls pulsing with the climax long after he’s done.

You want to lie there and bask in the afterglow until your shielding spell fails, pretending just a while longer that you’re lying in Bucky’s loving arms while you wait for the inevitable end of everything.

Every little piece of you wants it.

The tears that roll down your grimy cheeks now are cold.

The ground is getting harder under your stiff back and you can feel the chill quickly settling in your bones.

“Well, that was certainly worth my time.” You grit your teeth against the sight of Bucky’s blacked out eyes so close to yours and steel yourself as much as you can.

He softly strokes your cheek and makes a show of pulling out of you slowly, kissing you sweetly on your stubbornly shut lips the way the real Bucky would have done.

It’s a struggle not to wince but somehow you manage to lie there and let his antics wash over you without blinking. As soon as he steps away from you though, you’re off the ground and covering yourself up the best you can with what’s left of your torn tactical suit.

He zips himself back into the confines of his pants completely unhurried.

“So…” He stretches both arms leisurely above his head, looking you over. It would make your skin crawl if you had the time to really think about it but you don’t let yourself think at all. There’s no room for anything but what you’re about to do.

“So what?,” you shoot back mirthlessly. “We have a deal. Now deliver.”

“Your bedside manners are terrible, did loverboy here ever tell you that?”

The inside of your cheek breaks between your teeth as you hold back a furious retort.

“Don’t worry sugarplum, I am going to work my magic and make all of this nastiness go away.” He twirls on the spot, savoring the wreckage of New York around him. “But I am still curious. What are you going to do with your year, hm?”

It’s still difficult to look at him and not see Bucky. Your heart aches in your chest like a wound when the thought strikes you that this is the last time you’re going to see him and it isn’t even really him. Just the devil wearing his body. A body you just helped defile.

But you still manage to meet his eyes.

“I’m going to cast a spell. Turn those aliens into fucking dust before they even set eyes on this planet.”

You can feel the world slowly starting to change around you as you speak. It’s like a wet painting left outside in the rain, colors dripping down the canvas until the motive is all blurry shapes and splotches of acrylics.

Time is crawling backwards outside of your protective circle.

Bucky’s mouth twitches.

“You are very powerful, no doubt about that. But one spell against an army? You’re not exactly The Scarlet Witch, babycakes. Did a roll in the hay with little old me incite such illusions of grandeur in that lovely little head of yours?”

“Nimue’s Hand,” you bite and in less than a second Bucky’s features shift into a mask of rage. It’s almost satisfying when his fingers close around your throat and squeeze.

“You fucking whore!”, he yells into your face, slamming you against the concrete wall still bloodied from your summoning spell. “You filthy, cheating little… witch.”

And despite the fact that you can hardly breathe, that your vision is going fuzzy at the edges and a fresh pain is swelling in the back of your head, you grin at him.

“That’s right. You know that spell, don’t you?”

You don’t have to ask. Of course he knows.

Nimue’s Hand is an ancient spell of pure annihilation. No one has ever cast it before, otherwise… the world would know it. It has been passed down through the generations of witches as far back as the line has existed, whispered from mother to daughter for hundreds of years, probably even longer.

It is a morsel of forbidden knowledge that despite everything has managed to stay a secret lurking in the very depths of every witch’s consciousness, never spoken aloud, never used.

Until now.

The spell is so powerful that casting it will rip your very soul to shreds and scatter them among the stars. You are never going to find rest but it’s a cost you’re willing to pay.

A last resort.

Bucky roars and lets go of you, punching the wall next to your head so hard the whole thing disintegrates. But that is all he can do.

You have a deal.

He never said an intact soul. And af all, proper wording is everything.

It’s your turn to laugh. Wheezing and coughing, you can’t help it. At this point, it is all you really have to laugh about.

The world is coming into view around you again. You’re no longer wearing the tactical gear from the battle but instead the dress you were wearing a year ago is materializing on your skin. Bucky’s wounds are healing, the blood is disappearing and his suit is changing into running shorts and a white T-shirt. Together with his black eyes and the way he snarls and yells in fury, it looks almost comical.

You can’t dwell on it though.

You’re on a clock now.

“Pleasure doing business with you,” you manage to get out as you brush the concrete dust off your arms. “I’ll see you in a year.”

He grips your upper arm so tightly you know it’s going to bruise but you can’t care about that now. Slowly he leans in and traces a finger down the side of your face with the flesh hand, pure and utter hatred seeping from his every pore.

“Oh, I’ll see you, Y/N. I’m going to stick every last piece of that splintered soul I’m owed back together, no matter how long it takes and when I do… well…”

His nail cuts into the skin on your jaw, making you wince despite yourself.

“I’m not going to be as sweet as Jamie here.”

You try not to shudder as he lets go of you and turns to leave. You allow yourself to see him walk away and the exact moment the devil leaves Bucky’s body is obvious.

He stops in the middle of what is no longer a burned out crater, but instead an almost empty street in the early afternoon, and looks around a bit disoriented. 

Fresh tears prickle at your eyes and you can feel your heart nearly coming to a stop in your chest.

This is the day you first met. In a few moments he is going to turn around and see you, ask you for directions because he got lost in his own head for a bit and must have turned down the wrong street. His slightly embarrassed little smile as he said it…

The second before he spots you, you turn around and walk away, leaving him behind.

Fists clenched, vision blurred.

Angrily, you wipe at your eyes, ignoring how easy it would be to turn back and still bump into him, to get that wonderful year with him and Steve again.

You can’t think like that.

It takes a lot of effort to prepare your soul for the casting of your spell and after all, you did make a deal. You need to focus.

Your time is already running out.

[cyandreamsinwords]

Cut and Run — Pt 2 (BoaWT AU)

Putting out more of this AU because I wanna! And no one can stop me!

Again, none of this is cannon to the main fic, I just like to self indulge. (1.4k)

Link to the main fic here

Pt 1

Lyra very quickly became very clingy to her father. Which was more than alright with Sirius, because it was far easier to keep an eye on her when she was glued to his side.

Sirius found them a hideout deep in the countryside, far on the other side of the country away from his mother, and hopefully far enough away from any witch or wizard who would be able to recognize him. No doubt wanted posters with his face plaster all over them were going up across the nation already--murderer, kidnapper, terrorist.

The place was nothing more than a one room shack with walls so bare you could see right through the gaps. If the owners themselves had forgotten about it, hopefully the rest of the world would too. With the help of his magic, he could enchant the dwelling, making it even more inconspicuous, insulate the walls, make it actually mildly livable for a child. Last thing he wanted was for child endangerment charges to be added to his repertoire. It was also on top of a hill, that made it easy to see anyone or anything coming.

They didn't need the space, not with the way Lyra stuck like a growth to his side. She hadn't really detached since he'd picked her up at the house, and he hadn't exactly asked for the space. Every time she bumped into him or got under foot, it was a reminder that despite the confinement, he was out of his cell, he wasn't locked up, not technically, that there was another living being right there in the room with him.

She was still quiet. Eerily so sometimes. Watched him with those big hesitant eyes of theirs as he cast his enchantments and spells, never asking what he was doing but always looking like she wanted to. She was still deciding what she thought of him, despite deciding he was worth attaching herself to.

"They're spells that make the house less noticeable," he explained to her, even though she hadn't asked. "So people are less likely to look up at it and wonder."

Her curls bounced as she tilted her head at him.

"We don't want people to know where we are. Otherwise I go back to prison, and you go back to your grandmother."

She frowned, and stood back, giving him more room to go on.

He could feel her judgement when he presented her dinner--heated up cans of soup, stew, veggie's or meats, whatever he'd grabbed on his way to her. She just stared down at it, then back up at him

"Hey," he said in mock offense. "It may not be Kreature's cooking, but it's not that bed. It's soup-a-la-dad. That's gourmet, just so you know."

"Wha's that?" she grumbled so quiet it was a miracle he heard.

"It means it's really good."

The soup slopped off her spoon. "...are you sure its gormee?"

Sirius snorted into his bowl. "You know something, Mini Moon?" he laughed, wiping the broth from his lip. "I'm not sure it is." He leaned over and scooted the bowl closer to her. "But it's better than nothing, because without that, we don't have anything."

He expected keeping a toddler inside all day would have been difficult, but Lyra wasn't exactly typical in that way. She was quiet, she was well behaved, she listened when he spoke, did what he told her.

Sirius was the badly behaved one.

He'd practically taken to climbing the walls. It was like being back in Azkaban, the hours long confinement, nothing but a tiny window to look out of for sunlight and entertainment. At least now it felt like there was a purpose to it, even if that purpose felt further and further away each day.

A week after they arrived, and the night was upon them, Sirius noticed Lyra standing at the windows, staring out.

He was blowing out the candles they'd used to eat by, only on long enough to do their necessary daily ritual, before going out so they wouldn't draw any attention. "Away from there, Moon. I don't want anyone to see you."

"Can we go out and look at the stars?" She looked back at him, deploying for the first time since their reunion the eyes of a beggar.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Moon.”

She didn’t argue further, just frowned and stepped away. And really, that’s all it had to take for Sirius to buckle.

With a sigh, he grabbed the blanket off the bed and motioned her behind him. “Just for a little while, then.”

He sat down right outside the doorway, back against the exterior of the house. Lyra jumped into his lap, knocking the air right out of him from the sudden weight. Wrapping the blanket around them both, they lapsed into a peaceful sort of silence, both staring up into the night sky.

“Enjoying this, Moon?” He asked as he shivered, wondering how much longer she’d keep him out here before she was satisfied.

She nodded enthusiastically, and pointed. “Keature says the stars are stories, but he never said what they were,” Lyra told him excitedly in her small toddler speak.

“Yeah, they’re constellations. They all have unique stories to them. Some even more than one.”

“Tell me?”

Sirius huffed. “Shit, Moon, you’re putting me on the spot here. I only barely passed my astronomy class. Dropped it as soon as I was allowed.” He searched for something familiar. “Uuuh…that one. That’s Ursa Major. She’s a bear. And that little one below her, that’s Ursa Minor, that's her baby bear.”

“That one?” She pointed to another.

“Uhhh…I think that’s Draco?”

“That one?”

“I don’t know, Mini Moon,” he sighed. “How about you tell me about that one.”

“Don’t know it.”

“Then make something up. All the stories are, so you can too.”

Lyra thought hard for a minute, staring up intensely. “…beetle.”

Sirius smirked. “It’s a beetle, huh? And what’s he done to be up there?”

“It’sa big beetle,” she expanded, holding out her hands to emphasis big. “Flew up really high and got caught in the sky!”

“And why did he fly up so high? Didn’t he know he was going to get stuck?”

“A cat was chasing him! A really mean cat! And it tried to eat him, but he had wings so he flew up high! But the cat could jump so he went—“ she made a buzzing noise and flapped her hands. “And then he got too high and didn’t know how to get down!”

“Poor little beetle.”

They did that for a while, pointed out stars and gave them stories.

Sirius eventually pointed out a lone star. “You see that one, Mini Moon? That’s Sirius, the Dog Star. That one is mine.”

She whipped around to face him. “You have your own star!?”

“I do, and so do you.” He didn’t really want to tell her about the others, about how each of their family members had a set of stars in the sky. They had no place here in this moment.

Lyra pointed up at the moon. “That one’s me?”

He laughed, smoothing her hair. “No, but good guess.” He pointed to a different grouping of stars. “That one is you. Lyra. It represents Orpheus’ lyre.”

“Wha’sa lyre?”

“It’s like a harp. The gods gave Orpheus a lyre, and he became this amazing musician. That’s why I named you Lyra. Because I love you so much, you were such a gift, and if all I ever become known for is being your dad, I’ll be happy.”

She reached one little hand out and brushed something off his cheek, and that’s when Sirius realized he was crying. He didn’t care, he wanted his daughter to know he loved her so much it moved him to tears. He never wanted her to doubt it the way he had with his own parents.

Eventually, she ducked her head in under his chin, and fell asleep. Even as he grew cold, he stayed where he was, wrapped in a blanket under the wide open sky, tears pouring down as he really took in the fact that’s he’d made it out, made it back to her, and that he was able to tell her and she could remember.

“I love you, Mini Moon,” he whispered tearfully, over and over and over again.

[backintheblackparade]

I love Charmed (1998) as a cosmic horror story.

You are a powerful witch destined for Good. You are descended from the one Actual Witch killed by the Salem Witch Trials. You live in a house, an ancestral home of a century or so, where her descendants eventually fled to escape persecution. It sits on a powerful Nexus of magic power, which hides from plain sight in the basement. It draws evil like moths to a flame. These evils have haunted you, literally, since your earliest childhood memories. They can appear suddenly in your home at all hours, on any day, and attempt to slaughter you all without warning.

You have a book. It is written by the hands that came before you. Written in their blood, in their sufferings, in their death. Tips and tricks, potions and spells, marking out methods to defeat each of the almost innumerable horrors that stalk you and yours. For they cannot be truly killed. Only banished, for months or decades, before they come again. Come again to invade your home and take your power. To eliminate you to the last.

This book is considered the greatest of its kind in the world. Witches of other lines covet it. But do they know what it cost? The suffering that begets its necessity? This book is magical, and it’s essence it tied inextricably to yours: if it is stolen, corrupted, so are you. It is also tied to the house. It cannot be taken from the premises by any means not by your hands. You can sense if it’s gone. It is part of you, your blood, and your line. Just as the house is. Just as the Nexus you defend is.

It is your family’s duty to protect them from falling into the wrong hands. You stay. Generation after generation stay, write new entries in the book, and raise their families inside the walls of The Manor. The power of the Nexus seeps into their blood, your blood, each generation gaining more and more power. Power to face the evils that come to take it. They come with poison and knives, crossbows and fire, all intent on murdering a suburban San Francisco family in their home. They invade, plot, scheme, work their evil magics on your bodies and minds. You fight and fight and fight for your lives. You live and you learn. You die and you learn. You suffer and you learn. But in the end, you are powerless against them. They are too numerous, hour after hour, day after day, year after year, decade after decade.

The evils came, and they killed your ancestors. But they did not get what they came for, so they tried again. And again. They killed your mother. They killed your grandmother. They killed your sister. They killed your memories, your childhood, your friends, your lovers, your guardian angels, your spouse, your children. They killed you. Over and over. But they do not win what they seek. At least not permanently. So each time, the power of the Nexus, steeped in blood and in your blood in return, drags you back. It bends the laws of dimension and time, forcing you through endless sufferings only you and yours remember, and it brings you right back to where you started: living in your ancestral home, fighting for the power, set in place as sentinels to shield it from Evil.

Sometimes, one or more of you will move out, try to make a life away from magic, the book, The Manor, and the Nexus beneath it. Sometimes, a child of your line is given up for adoption the day they are born. Sometimes, your memories of magic are erased and you scatter to the winds to live mundane lives. Sometimes, you move across the world to be with the one you love. It never works. None of it ever sticks. You always return. Like moths to a flame. Drawn in by death, the collapse of a relationship, by attacks or spells or magic gone awry or signs that appear to be from the very Universe Itself. Every Warren Witch ends up returned to sender. Always, a Halliwell must remain in the Manor. So you stay, and you protect it. (The House always wins.)

There is a Final Battle. Everyone you love is dead. You are dead. The house lies in ruins. Until it doesn’t. And everything returns to the way it was. You think it is over. That Good has won, once and for all. That the Evil has been defeated, the Nexus destroyed. But your children have power. The Nexus is in their blood. So the Evil will come. Like moths to a flame. And someday, you, and they, will die. Your unending string of death and resurrection will cease. You become another generation sacrificed to feed the great beast that waits below. And another generation destined for Good will in turn rise to protect it. And someday they too will die. But the line, book, the house, and the power will continue. And so too will the sacrifice.

That is the story of Charmed.

[alwaysunabasheddelusion]

June Scrimgeour and the Myrmepath’s Ring

Chapter I Part I

here is the beginning of a story I am writing for ant-daughter. I am still deep in developmental edits for the third act because it turns out that writing mystery and adventure is challenging but hey I decided to have no shame and share shit today so here we gooooo. The fic the Harry Potter fandom has all been waiting for, an OC-centered gen fic that is all about creating more magical arthropod lore :D 

Eleven-year-old June Scrimgeour sprawled on the floor in Granny Beetle’s drawing room, reading an old book. Golden light streamed in through the open windows and the breeze that drifted up from the coast smelled of salt and fish. June’s orange-furred niffler, Nugget, curled on her shoulder.

Granny Beetle was not June’s real grandmother. Her real grandparents lived in London like her parents. But Granny Beetle was Granny Beetle to everyone in the surrounding village, and she insisted the children call her by the same name. 

Although Granny Beetle was a kindly old witch, June hadn’t warmed up to her immediately. Her shyness would have lasted even longer if her siblings hadn’t been with her. She often thought her fifteen-year-old sister, Sylvia, was unbearably bossy, but in the absence of their parents, Sylvia took on the maternal role. She offered comfort, even when June wouldn’t always admit she needed it. And ten-year-old Peter was often a nuisance, but she would have worried about him if he wasn’t there.

Not all evacuees were so fortunate; many young witches and wizards were separated not only from their parents but from their siblings as well. 

And not all evacuees were housed with someone as kind as Granny Beetle. She gave the Scrimgeour siblings a good deal of freedom to roam her cottage and the surrounding coast unsupervised. And Nugget had been her gift to June - for it wasn’t only children who had evacuated to the coast. Many animals had also evacuated under the Ministry’s hastily assembled F.A.R.M.S. program. Nugget’s mother had been a rescue niffler brought to Granny Beetle’s the previous year, and she had given birth to a mischievous litter of nifflings not long after the Scrimgeour siblings had arrived. 

June and Nugget’s favorite room in the whole cottage was the drawing-room. The walls themselves seemed to be made of books, for they hung in the air with no visible means of support. There were other objects adorning the walls - shadow boxes displaying exotic butterflies and glittering silver compasses and vases full of fanged geraniums. There were faded scrolls written in languages June couldn’t read, and colorful bottles covered in dust. 

Nugget liked it for the compasses and bottles and other shiny knickknacks, which she collected while June read, only to be forced to give them up again before bedtime.

June liked it for the books. 

She spent hours pouring over the books in Granny Beetle’s library, while Sylvia practiced piano in the sitting room and Peter flew on his practice broom outside. 

Her current book was falling apart at the seams, so she had to press one hand against the pages to prevent them from falling out. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t spotted it before now. 

An Introduction to Magientomology 

This was a topic she would never tire of. 

She ran a finger down the chapter list and flipped to the section that most interested her: Ants. 

Ants are a prominent species found almost everywhere on the planet. They are known for their hard-working behavior and, in some societies, for the painful bite they can give.

June propped her chin in her hands as she turned the page. There was a large, ink-wash illustration of enormous ants fighting a group of wizards in turbans. Like all wizard illustrations, the ants and the wizards moved - the ants snapping their mandibles dangerously and the wizards waving their wands in the air. The wands emitted tiny red sparks - the only hint of color in the otherwise black-and-white painting. 

Myrmecoleons are a type of large ant found in Near East regions. These ants are most famed for the hoards they collect and their viciousness when it comes to thieves.

“I was in Professor Crouch’s class, y’know.” 

June slammed the book shut, clutching her chest. “Blimey, Eliza!” And then, “Who is Professor Crouch?” 

The ghost of Eliza Beetle floated near the floor with her legs folded beneath her. A long night dress covered most of her body, but silvery pockmarks covered her face and hands. She had only been fifteen when she died of Dragon Pox. She pointed at the book in June’s hands, and June looked down at the cover again, noting the authors for the first time: 

Cocinelle Crouch and Phorida Driscoll. 

 “That was our textbook. In Magientomology. It’s always so funny when them profs give out books they scribbled themselves, init?” 

Once, June had found Eliza and Granny Beetle’s West Country accents impossible to understand. Now she didn’t even need to translate before answering. “Sylvia never mentioned Magientomology.” June’s tone was accusing; her older sister was well aware of her passion for insects. 

Eliza swelled up with self-importance. “That’s ‘cause Hogwarts don’t be offering Magientomology no more.” She leaned forward so that her incorporeal lips brushed June’s ear, causing the young witch to shiver. “There be three magientomology profs gone missing, so they stopped offering it. Me classmates and I had to swap over to the Beasts class.” 

“Missing!” June ran her fingers along the threadbare cloth spine of An Introduction to Magientomology and mouthed the names of the authors. Cocinelle Crouch and Phorida Driscoll. She flipped the book open to the inside cover, but there was no author blurb to be read. “Was Phorida Driscoll a Magientomology professor, as well?” 

Eliza’s sigh whistled through the drawing-room like the winter wind. “Not that I ever heard. Not at Hogwarts.”

Before June could answer, she heard a sound like bare feet on the carpet in the hallway. She turned her head slightly toward the door, trying to catch the sound.

The door swung open, and Peter burst into the room, waving an envelope aloft. “O June! The post arrived!” He was paler than June, with blond hair, rosy cheeks, and a sunny disposition that neither of his older sisters shared.

Any further inquiries June might have made about the now defunct Magientomology Department were forgotten in her excitement at Peter’s announcement. She leaped to her feet, flapping her arms so vigorously she might have been trying to take flight. Nugget squeaked in protest and dug little claws into her shoulder to avoid toppling from her perch. June snatched the letter out of Peter’s hands. A wax crest sealed the envelope. She turned it over and examined the name printed on the front. Her name. 

 “I wish I could go off to Hogwarts.” Peter craned his neck to see over June’s shoulder. Eliza drifted higher into the air until she was floating directly above June for a better view of the long-awaited acceptance letter. 

June ripped open the envelope. “You don’t have to wait too much longer, only one more year.”  

HOGWARTS SCHOOL

of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Armando Dippet

(Chanc. Order of the Walnut, Grand Sorc., Order of Merlin: Second Class)

Dear Ms. Scrimgeour,

      We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. 

      Term begins on September 1. We await your owl no later than July 31.

Yours sincerely, 

Galatea Merrythought

Galatea Merrythought, 

Deputy Headmistress 

June read the letter a second time. She had never doubted that she would be accepted, but that didn’t dim her excitement. Like most magical children, she had waited for this day impatiently, wheedling and cajoling her parents in the hopes they might allow her a wand before ever she began formal wizarding school. Acceptance at Hogwarts was an honor. After all, it was the best wizarding school in Britain.

She squeezed her eyes shut and held the letter against her chest as she lost herself for a moment in daydreams, wherein she used a real wand to cast proper spells. At last she would be a proper witch, no longer consigned to the unpredictable magic of childhood.

After a moment, she opened her eyes again. “I suppose…” she began, in the slow voice of one waking from a dream, “I suppose we ought to let Granny know, so she can send an owl back.” 

“I’ll tell her!” Peter bounded into the narrow hallway. 

June raced after him, her letter clutched in one hand. “Oh, no, you don’t! It’s my letter, not yours, Peter!” She barrelled past her little brother, her face screwed up in determination. Nugget leaped off her shoulder and slid across the polished wood floor.

June was so focused on beating Peter to Granny Beetle, she didn't notice. 

Peter stumbled into the wall. “You pushed me! Granny Beetle! June pushed me!” 

They careened into the kitchen, practically on top of one another. The smell of cinnamon and baking apples greeted them, as well as the astonished visage of a squat witch, barely taller than June. She had tried to tame her white hair with a bun, but loose strands stood up in all directions. Her wand peeked out of the pocket of her flour-covered floral apron and she held a dishrag in one hand. “What’s all this racket, then?” 

“June pushed me!” Peter repeated while June yelled over him, “I got my Hogwarts letter!!” 

Granny Beetle folded both arms across her chest and looked from one child to the other. “Take it steady now. June, you first.”

June held her letter aloft, her face beaming with pride despite the accusations her brother had leveled at her. “My Hogwarts letter came. Look!” 

Granny reached out to take the letter from her. “Aye, yer sister’s done arrived in the post today, too. D’you got your train ticket?” 

June turned the envelope upside down and out fell the ticket into her palm.

“Now, Pete, what be it you got to say?” 

Peter scuffed his feet against the floor. “June pushed me. When we were coming to the kitchen—” 

“That’s because you were trying to tell my news before me!” June interrupted, imitating Granny Beetle by crossing her arms. 

“It’s not proper to shove.” Granny Beetle’s mouth crinkled into a smile, taking the sting out of her admonishment. “Juney, you’m gonna help Silvy with the washing. Pete, you and me’ll sort out supper. Come on now, my lovers.”

She ushered them into the kitchen, wordlessly overriding their attempts at dragging their feet. 

“But we haven’t sent our reply to Hogwarts yet!” June objected in a desperate bid to avoid chores. “It said in the letter we have to send a reply by July 31st.” 

Granny flicked her wand toward a row of baskets hanging from the ceiling, causing one to float gently down until it landed with a thump on the kitchen table. “It won’t take two weeks for an owl to fly to Hogwarts even with this horrible war.” 

“But the bombs…” June twisted her hands as Granny Beetle nearly shoved her out the door into the back garden, where she could see Sylvia’s blonde head bent over a washtub. 

“If Hogwarts could send an owl to you, you’ll be able to send one back, mind. Post owls be smart birds, Juney. Don’t you fret.”

[bullet-prooflove]

Vanished!Series Part Four: Live Ammo - Mike Duarte x Reader (feat: Joe Velasco)

Tagging: @resonmalvo @littleone65 @thesandbeneathmytoes @mydarkestsecretlol @evee87 @wooshwastaken @hearthockey @justreblogginfics @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @rosaliedepp @thatesqcrush @storiesofsvu @whateversomethingbruh @burningpeachpuppy @legit9thlunaticwarrior @kiwiithecrazybird @spooky-pomegranate @telepathay @weiwei0210 @spaghettificationandpretzels @plaidbooks @witches-unruly-heart @magic-multicolored-miracle @cycat4077 @deekaag @cixrosie @upsteadlogic @imaginecrushes @anime-weeb-4-life @hey-dw @alwaysachorusgirl @nu1freakshow

When Mike finds you, you’re clad in a white haz-mat suit with a ventilator strapped over your head. He’s never been so fucking relieved because you’re standing in the midst of a fully operational fentanyl lab and every single person involved in the raid knows just how dangerous that is. When he does the walk through the crime scene, he finds himself standing in a side room with a camp bed and a bin that’s filled with energy drinks and fast-food wrappers. The outside of the door has three different locks on it. It’s very clear you’ve been held prisoner here not because your cover has been blown, but because you’re exceptional at what you do. The evidence of that is stacked up in bricks against the south wall, ready to be packed up and distributed.

“The Niners put pressure on Connolly to pay back the money sooner. It put him into a spin, he needed more product and needed it fast.” You tell Mike when you finally get outside into the fresh air. “He’s been working me eighteen hours a day. Locking me in before starting all over again the next day.”

You’re sitting on the kerb sipping from a bottle of water. It’s the first time you’ve been outside in almost two weeks and it’s nice to feel the breeze on your face. You’ve stripped out of the haz-mat suit and are clad in a white vest and black cycling shorts, your hair is pulled back into messy bun. You would literally kill for a shower.

“Can I… Can I use your phone to call Joe? I just need to see Leah.”

Mike kicks himself because that should have been the first thing he thought of. The problem is he has other concerns. You both left something unresolved during your last phone call, something important and right now it’s all Mike can think about. He slips his phone out of his pocket before handing it to you and stepping away to give you a little privacy.

You’re crying when he returns, and it breaks his heart because he fucking hates seeing you upset. He wraps his arms around you, clasping you close, his palms soothing over your back as you bury your face into his shirt. It’s been two months since you saw your baby girl and he can’t imagine how you must be feeling right now.

“Sorry.” You murmur, drawing away and wiping at your cheeks with the back of your hand. “She’s just got so big since I last saw her. Joe’s going to bring her home when we’re finished up here.”

Mike smiles sadly, his thumb ghosting over the apple of your cheek.

“Mi Vida,” He says, his voice breaking just a little. “You know we need to talk about our other little one.”

You’d discovered you were pregnant again three weeks ago. It had started the same way it had with Leah, exhaustion, constant nausea, tender breasts. You were hoping it was the stress of the op but then you’d missed your period. You couldn’t believe it when that test had come back positive.

“My vasectomy failed.” Mike had told you during your last check in with him. “I checked with my doctor; all this time we’ve thought I was firing blanks, but we’ve been playing with live ammo.”

You both know what this means. There’s a very real possibility that Leah might not be Joe’s daughter and if that’s true…

It would be devastating for all of you.

“I’m scared.” You whisper, your hands smoothing upon the space where your new baby resides, the one that you and Mike made together. “All those fumes and chemicals…”

You had tried to be as safe as possible during your time in captivity, but you were cooking eighteen hours a day. You have no idea what you’d been exposed to during that time, how it might affect your unborn child.

“I know.” Mike says quietly, his forehead coming to rest against yours. “I’m scared too.”

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[sp00kworm]

Black Oak (Part 2)

Pairing: Alcott Glyn (Headless Horseman) x Gender Neutral Reader

Warnings: Body Horror, Murder

PART 1 

---

---

The police arrived about an hour after you had woke-up the whole village screaming. Peswick was far away from the nearest city’s response, and you sat shivering, wrapped in a blanket from the house, clutching it close as Mrs Shaw rushed to bring you a hot drink. She and her husband were dressed, but neither went into your house. They rushed back home, bringing you a cup of tea from their own kitchen along with a foil blanket for the shock. You weren’t allowed to touch the body, and you tried to ignore the swinging noise of the corpse as you sat perched on the front doorstep to your home, sniffling into the cup of tea. The police took off their hats as they stepped past your gate, and you watched as the crime scene investigation and forensic van pulled up behind them. The two officers nodded at Mr and Mrs Shaw before smiling as best they could.

“Would you like to come with us, please?” The male officer asked gently, “Lets go inside and we’ll get your statement of events, okay?” The female officer with him looked back at the tree and swallowed hard as Forensics suited up to remove the body and take evidence.

“Come on, Sully.” He ushered his companion as he helped you to your feet and nodded to your neighbours. He whistled and smiled as he opened the door for you, “Nice old place you’ve got here.” He complimented kindly, the corners of his eyes wrinkled with crows’ feet, “Mrs Finch used to live here. Are you a relative?”

 You shook as the officer led you gently into the front room, “It…She was my aunty, distantly.” You whispered as you eased yourself back onto the sofa, clutching the lukewarm tea tightly, as though it was a lifeline in your grasp.

“She was a kind woman. Made a lot of oils out of her garden, but she had nothing but trouble and vandalism with this place. Kids used to make a mess of the sides of the house regularly.” He tipped his head to the wall where the fireplace was, “It was always on the chimney. She never did anything, but the kids called her a witch and all that trollop.” He shook his head.

“You haven’t introduced yourself.” Sue gave him a lopsided smile as she pulled out the clipboards full of paperwork to be completed.

“Ah, so I haven’t!” The officer dipped his head, “I’m Officer Perks.” He pointed to the blond woman with him, “And this is my partner Officer Sullivan.”

You nodded shakily licked your lips, “It was nice to meet you. Thank you for coming. I know...Its far.” A breathy sigh left you as Sullivan took out her pens from her vest and smiled.

“We just need an account of what you did this morning and if you knew the victim.” Percy offered as he sat on your couch, “Spare no details. Even something small to you might be important to us.”

 Conflict burned in your throat and gut as you thought about what had happened, “I don’t remember anything of relevance from last night. I spent the night in bed. I’ve only just moved in, so I was exhausted.” You took a shuddering breath and continued, “I went out this morning to the tree and…and I looked up… and he was hanging there, without his head.” You looked into the tea in your hands, noting that it was now ice cold.

“How long have you been here?” Sullivan asked as she shorthand filled in the details on the paperwork, “You said you moved in recently?” Perks looked from the paper to you and smiled reassuringly.

“I moved in yesterday afternoon.” You whispered and Sullivan gave you a pitying look.

Perks shifted against the cushions, “Did you have anyone with a grudge against you or motive from where you used to live?” He asked.

“No one that I know of.” You answered as you put down the cup of tea, fighting the tears and upset.

“Okay so what time did you find the body?” Perks asked. You took a deep sigh and continued to answer the police officer’s questions well into the afternoon.

 Perks and Sullivan could drink their weight in tea, it turned out, and you offered them many drinks over the course of the few hours. They had a couple each, pens scratching papers as they took notes and an official account of the events for the records. You looked out of the window as Sue and Percy signed the bottom of the page. Crime Scene Investigations were hoisting the body down from the thick black branch of the oak, working to preserve the noose he was swinging by. Three people held the corpse up as they cut the rope carefully, keeping the knot intact and bagging the rope before they got the body down into the bag on the stretcher.

“He’ll need to go to pathology to determine cause of death…though I think I have a pretty good idea.” Sullivan whispered, trying not to be heard as she eyed you sat across from them. Perks rolled his eyes and elbowed his colleague.

“Here. Let me draw the curtains.” Perks stood and reached for the curtains before drawing them over the forensics team dragging the body into the bag, impassive to the blood that stained their tunics and gloves.

“I think we have everything.” Sullivan announced as she stood up and took hold of both their mugs, “I’ll put these in the kitchen for you.” She offered with a small, pathetic smile.

 Perks nodded his head as Sullivan as she left towards the kitchen. You heard her bang the cup on the countertop before you tugged the blanket closer and shifted uncomfortably.

“Thank you for your cooperation today.” Perks took his hat and tucked it under his arm, “I know these kinds of cases are very difficult to talk about. I have this card for you.” He held you out a green printed business card, “That’s the helpline for a couple of organisations and the other side has someone you can seek out if you would like some help talking through all this.”

You looked at the numbers vaguely before nodding and placing the card on the coffee table, “Thank you.” You replied quietly before Perks replaced his hat on his head.

“We’ll see ourselves out. Thank you once again and good afternoon.” He looked at his watch before he opened the lounge door and quietly exited.

Sue scoffed at him in the hall, “Come on. We’ve got these reports to write up.”

“Coming, coming.” Perks grumbled, “Nothing wrong with being nice. They just witnessed a damn corpse…” The voices trailed off as the front door closed behind the two of them with a bang.

 Silence.

 You looked to the curtains and stood up, letting the blankets finally fall from your shoulders as you fisted each side of the heavy curtains. They were old and embroidered with curling leaves. You tugged them open with a heave and watched the police vans trundle away back down the old stone roads, back towards the hills where they had come from this morning. With a deep breath, you tied the curtains back before taking one last long look at the gnarled, black oak in the garden, and heading towards the stairs for a shower and to get dressed. You hoped that a shower would wash away the sticky feeling of malaise on your skin and mind. Hot water usually purged bad thoughts, or so you hoped as you tried to erase the memory of the swinging corpse from the shrivelled branches of the old oak tree.

 You shivered through the house after your shower, wrapped in a jumper and heavy jeans as you tried to navigate the halls without looking out into the garden. The memory of the body lingered with the burning feeling of the heavy box in the other room, filled with an old skull. It was a skull inside. A perfectly preserved ivory skull. The teeth were yellow with age on the enamel, and you looked to the table where the muddy box sat with the key in the lock. The headless creature had moaned and groaned as its head screamed from the other room. You turned and looked at the ornate metal decorations before daring to turn the key again. The lid popped open and flew back to reveal the skull again.

 It sat perfectly still on the cushion, staring at you with empty eyes. With a deep breath, you dared to reach out and touch the skulls surface. It didn’t move. No magical energies tore out of the eye holes. It was perfectly still. It was just a skull. But the memory of it screaming and cursing inside the box was burned into your memory and you carefully picked the skull up, cushioning the bottom of its jaw before your strokes over the place where the eyebrows had once been when it was a man. It had to belong to the headless horseman, but why your aunt had it locked away in her home was another question entirely. You held the skull up to your eyes and peered into the bone of the eye sockets as you pondered your decision. There was a glimmer of gold inside the mouth which caught your eyes, and you dared to open the jaw wide enough to snatch at the shiny object. It was a single heavy golden coin which had been wedge between the back teeth. You looked at the old print and then quickly replaced it, wedging the jaw back shut as you placed the skull away on its pillow.

 It sat and stared at you, and you stared at it, wondering what happened last night as you clutched at your head and sighed. You slammed the lid closed and snapped the lock closed before you placed the box in the centre of the table.

“What the fuck were you up to aunty?” You asked the air as you rushed to the kitchen to make yourself another drink. As you set the water to boil you continued to curse, thinking about the headless man who what invaded your home chasing the poor man who had ended up hanging from the tree in your front yard. The head had screamed ‘witch’ from its confines, but you had no knowledge about what it could mean. You took the hot water and made a drink before looking at the last few boxes of unpacking and scoffing, deciding that the day would be better spent researching what had slaughtered the man and hung him from your tree.

 The village library was barely a few bookshelves put together and you sighed looking at the poor collection of books before you dated to approach the old librarian sat next to the desk. She had her own book open, some trashy romance novel set in the Victorian era, and she looked engrossed as she flipped the page and took another bite of her current tea cake.

“Hello?” You asked quietly in front of her.

The librarian jumped in her seat before she clutched at her chest and adjusted her glasses, “Dearie me! You scared the soul right out of me, love.” she took a moment to take a breath and close her book before she stood with a small wince and smiled, “What can I do for you?”

You could see the questions burning in her eyes. She no doubt knew you were the new person in town, and about what had happened at your home.

“I’m looking for some history books about the town. I wanted to try and get to know the place, but I don’t think there’s anything on the shelves.”

Her face pursed a little before she smiled again and pointed to the last one of the small walls of shelves, “There isn’t a lot but there’s a couple of books on the bottom shelf of the end one. For the records and such I’m afraid you will have to ask at the village hall. Rose keeps them in good nick there, lovely woman she is.”

“Ah, thank you.” You returned her smile and left her to her book as you went to the last set of shelves in the wall and started to rummage through the folklore and history books.

 There wasn’t a lot, she was right, and you sighed after about twenty minutes of pulling out books. You tugged the last, thick history book from the shelf and dusted the cover to reveal a history of the local mines and hills. It wasn’t what you were looking for. You peered at the shelf again and huffed before there was a glimmer of silver lining at the back of the bookcase. You squirmed your hand to the back and plucked the small book from behind the tattered paperbacks. It was a pocketbook, stencilled with an old name in cursive, faded and marred with cage.

‘Maria Theresa Glyn’

You dusted the front and followed the name before looking around and tucking the book into your bag. You felt bad just taking it, but obviously the Librarian had no idea it was there, and the name was familiar to you. You remembered the coat of arms on the old teapot. If this was the diary of someone with the same name it might have clues, or so you reasoned as you plucked a few books from the shelf and took them to the counter after replacing the rest.

 “Did you find what you were looking for, pet?” The librarian asked as you placed the books on the counter. She smiled and pulled out an old paper ticket to write your name onto. She poised the pen over the paper, and you told her your name before she copied it onto another for you and jotted the book codes down. She tutted at the date stamper and fiddled with it to get it to the correct date. Obviously not many people used the library.

“Yes, I found a few interesting things to have a flick through.” You told her as she stamped the tickets inside the books and stacked them in front of you.

“Well, you have fun...and be careful, huh? There’s a lot of weird and wonderful things that go on around here. It would be a shame if you forgot that, and something happened.” She smiled sweetly, but it sent shivers down your spine.

“Thanks. I’ll try.” You smiled awkwardly back at her before you took your arm full of books and made a quick exit back into the chilly air.

 The village seemed to watch you as you wove between the avenue of trees, crunching autumn orange and brown leaves underfoot. The chill in the air mimicked their icy feelings. You were the outsider among them, and soon enough they’d come to hound you out of their home. You only hoped to solve what you had seen. There was no way a headless man was riding around taking heads...right? You tried to console yourself as you made it to your home, and past the gnarled black tree in the front garden. It was twisted and old, and the branches seemed to creak as a greeting on your return. A glare silenced it, or so it seemed, perhaps it was just the wind dying, but the tree went silent as you walked up to the door with your keys in hand. The door swung open when you unlocked it and you clutched at your books as the wind howled into the mouth of the house, screaming down the hall like a ghost before you kicked the front door shut, shivering. The old back boiler chugged in the background as you kicked off your boots and placed the books in the lounge on the small table by the chest.

 When the chest remained still and silent you left to place away your bags and get a drink. You returned, rubbing your eyes as you opened the little journal you had found. It was penned with ink and quill, that much was obvious, and you ran your fingers over the woman’s name again before you touched the crest and went to find the teapot. You grabbed the porcelain handle and placed the two together over your lap. They were the same. The Glyn coat of arms. You placed the teapot down and opened the diary to look at the first passage. It was dated back three centuries ago, back when the alliance was beginning to form between the different races, monsters and humans alike, though you could tell this village hadn’t had such luxury. The entire populace was human, apart from the dairy farmers four miles outside the walls of the village. They were large goblins of some kind, cave dwelling and gangly limbed from years in the dark, but you had only seen them.

 The first passage was written in neat, printed cursive, echoing the care the woman had taken to write her feelings and events down.

‘Today is the day of my birth. My birthday rather. I was given this journal by the kind Mister Glynn, as a gift, and so I find myself beginning to write down the events of my daily life, so perhaps I can look back on it and reminisce when I am old and grey.

 Mister Glyn is a kind soul. He is part of the King’s Royal Entourage and the Commander of a large cavalry unit. Why he is in this small village is unknown to us all, but my father suspects it is because of the Wood Witch. Perhaps he has been tasked with taking her head? It is rumoured the armour he has is enchanted against such magic, but I feel as though those are rumours made about a dangerous and powerful man to excite fear.

 He is nothing but polite to me. I suppose my father will want to marry me off to this one as well.’

 The passages were perhaps a couple of pages maximum, and you flicked through the dates quickly, watching her words change from cold and indifferent to soft and loving of the man see always called Mister Glyn. It wasn’t until a year later in the diary that you saw his true name.

 ‘Alcott escorted me to the capital atop Mallor, his beast of a horse, though the creature seems to like me now that I bring him sugar lumps. Alcott wished to show me the city and its fruits though there is rather less fruit and more muck and grime. I am used to mud on my shoes, but I despised the odour of the place, much to his amusement. As I write, I can hear him snickering at me across the table.’

 There was a few blotches of ink and another set of handwriting.

 ‘She stood in a man’s excrement.’

 Their trip seemed peaceful, and Maria even attended a gathering at court. It seemed well until you found the final page in the diary, written across a page in shaky ink.

 ‘They took his head.’

 There was no fond farewell at the bottom of the page or a cursive signature. It was stark and naked on the yellowed paper, like a bad omen forever preserved. You ran your fingers over the words before you flicked through the last pages seeing nothing but blood splodges and blackened dark blood at the corners. It smelt faintly of rot, and you recoiled from the smell as you looked at the empty bare pages. The back of the book was burned across the inside of the cover. It was mysterious but it seemed like Alcott Glyn had been killed. But by who? You had no idea but as you looked at the chest again and thought of the head inside you shuddered.

 Alcott Glyn. There had to be a grave. You tugged your bag open and stuffed the book inside before you rushed out of the door, locking it quickly as you rushed towards the little church. It was at the top of the hill, sat in a mound of earth, subsiding on one side with props and scaffolding to try and hold it up. It wasn’t used anymore, the town hall was used to any religious needs, but it was haunting. The stained glass was dirty, and the front doors bolted and chained to prevent anyone entering. You rushed around the side of the church and looked at the dates on the graves and the dates in the diary. It had to be the 1700s. You thought back to your history lessons and tried to recall the date of the alliance war. 1774. You rushed around the small paths and glanced at the years, 1770, 1772, 1773... you looked at the gap where the 1774 stone should have stood. There was nothing, just unchurned earth and a set of roses growing from the floor. A troubling feeling settled in your gut as you meandered down the path to the back of the overgrown graveyard. There were old stones, crumbling and forgotten under blackberry vines and leaves. It was chance that you leaned down next to a short stone and looked at the faded name.

 Alcott Glyn.  

 The name was chipped and faded, like the memory of the man. Vines grew in wild abandon over the grave, and the blackberry vines had taken over the base, winding around the whole stone with wide dying leaves. It was perfectly hidden and forgotten about. The village’s little secret in the secluded corner of the graveyard, forgotten and buried. Or apparently, not buried completely. The earth was turned over, like something had ruptured from the ground and burst free. It was a long patch of upturned soil, as long as you were tall, or even longer, and the earth and stones were wet, fresh with the rain from the evening and being upturned, as though someone had run a plower through it.  Carefully, you ran your fingers through the earth, feeling the soil between your fingers before you took a steadying breath.

“Someone came out of this…” You breathed into the chilly air, your breath making mist with the cold as you stood and looked over the grave. You said it again before turning and bolting from the graveyard before the night could fall over the village.

 When you reached home, you threw your bag onto the couch and grabbed the chest, prising the lock open to peer at the skull inside. It was sat, still as a statue, on the cushion, with the glimmer of gold between its jaws. You lifted it from the cushion, carefully, pulling it up to your face level as the sun set over the horizon, bathing you in a golden glow with the skull clasped between your hands. There was nothing but the distant hum of the hot water pipes in the old house to answer your stare. The skull did nothing. It sat in your hands as the sunlight died over the horizon and the night began to settle in. In your gut, disappointment settled with the cold reminder that you were holding a dead man’s skull. A real human skull. Carefully, you placed it back down on the cushion and sighed as you went to draw the curtains, ignoring the creaking of the gnarled oak tree outside your door.

 The wind blew as you looked back at the head in the chest, positioned slightly skewed on the cushion. You chewed your lip and sighed before you stood over it again.

“Alcott Glyn.” You whispered to the skull. Nothing. The old electrics flickered for a moment, dimming before they brightened again. Silence, except for the hum of the back boiler. The breath you had been holding escaped and you turned away with a grumble before the lights surged bright and yellow, like the sun, before the bulbs exploded in a sudden thunder of noise. Glass shattered and flew across the carpet in a shower, and you gasped, covering your ears before you looked back at the cushion.

 The head was sat, jaw agape, with two lights in the blackened sockets, rolling side to side. The little lights rolled like stoned before they settled on you and the open jaw began to jitter, chattering the yellowed teeth together loudly. The skull didn’t move, just snapped it’s teeth like a scared dog before it stopped, and the eyes dimmed. It was only a moment of silence before there were three heavy pounds on your door. With a gasp you rushed to draw the curtains, and gazed upon the creature stood on your doorstep, his steed kicking and throwing it’s head by the twisted roots of the black tree. The body stood there, breathing, its undead chest moving as though it needed the air.

“Alcott Glyn.” You whispered again with a dry mouth. All the moisture dried up from you and you tried not to shake as the skull slammed against the side of the box, it’s eyes glowing.

It shook and chattered its teeth before a voice screamed from between the open jaw, “Let me in, witch!”

Fear twisted your guts as you rushed to slam the chest shut on the screaming skull. It chanted inside the decorative metal, hollering about burning you at the stake before you took it to the front door. The horseman slammed his fist on the door again, repeatedly, as though he was going to tear it open, and you shivered as your fingers shook by the latch and keys.

 The horseman began to bang repeatedly and the head in the chest slammed around, shaking your arms as you struggled to keep hold of it. You took a stuttering breath and unlatched the door, turning the keys before you wrenched it open. The headless horseman heaved puffs of misty breath up from the stump of his neck, his trachea flexing with the movement as the nerves of his spinal cord twitched and thrummed behind it, imitating life in his corpse body.

“Witch!” the skull screamed again, his head you realised as you stepped back, and the creature followed. His boots left muddy smeared marks on the wooden floors, and you looked down to see the crushed blackberries over the soles. Your heart pounded as you realised, he had crawled from the grave you had sat by earlier.

“I saw you by my grave. I will not do business with you again.” His voice came from his body this time, contorted and dark as it leaked from his lungs like a wisp.

“Business? What business have you?” You asked, voice shaking with fear.

The skull laughed in its box, a malicious and evil noise, dark and tempting, as though you were truly stupid for asking, “What business did we not have? Have you forgotten in your age, crone? Death and blood, that’s what you wanted, and I delivered it.”

“Who did you have the deal with?” You steeled yourself.

“You, you pathetic soothsayer.” He droned before his dead fist slammed the door closed, “Now give me my head. Our bargain is met.”

“I am not my aunty.” You tried, “I have no deal with you.”

 The horseman stopped, his body stiffening as his horse brayed and screamed outside, kicking its hooves at the black oak with a great smash. The tree shook, shedding twigs, but didn’t fall. He stalked closer, the bulk of his frame blocking out the light from the moon and the electric fitting overhead.

“But you have my head.” The skull whispered from inside the box before he grabbed for the chest. He touched the metal of the latch and screamed, the noise escaping the corpse before you and the skull inside the box. It was an ear piercing, unholy noise which burned your ears and made your head swim in agony. The horseman clutched at his chest and the stump of his neck, his gloved fingers pressing into the gored wound of his neck as he wobbled towards the wall and grasped at it for balance.

 “Fuck.” You cursed before you whipped the chest open and grabbed his skull by its eye sockets, hanging it over him as he slid down the wall and screamed again in agony, twitching against the wood.

“If I give you your head, horseman, will you indebt yourself to me? Your previous contract will be null, and you will only serve me.” You announced.

The horseman writhed before going deathly still. He laid like a corpse for a moment or two before shakily he braced his arm against the floor and pushed himself up. With a shudder he got onto his knees and kneeled before you, his neck dipped to expose the sore, congealed wound of his decapitation.

“I... I will serve.” The horseman gurgled.

“Then I give you your head to end your torment, Alcott Glyn.” You promised before you held his skull between your palms and lowered it to the spinal column of his body.

 There was a great groan as the spine extended from Alcott’s body and snapped to the skull, holding it in place as the eyes burned bright with purple light, the colour of blackberries, rolling in his skull as he reached and clasped at the bone, howling as light burned from the base of his neck and enveloped his skull with a whoosh of purple fire. The fire abated quickly as the moonlight disappeared behind the curtains and the skull shimmered as muscle and tendons swarmed the bone, linking and covering the surface before the he howled, and skin crept from his neck to his face, covering the surface in a perfect alabaster coating. His eyes however, remained voids of black, the centres beautiful blackberry lights in the dimness of your home. Black waves of hair grew from his head, dripping over his shoulders like ink as he howled, leaned against the old wallpaper. They finished growing with a crackle of fire, purple flames licking at the ends before it disappeared, leaving a heaving, black eyed creature curled against the wooden floor.

 Your mouth hung open as you watched the horseman shake against the wood, heaving as he reached to clutch at the hair that draped from his previously naked skull. The inky waves slid through his gloved hands and was quickly marred with dirt and blood before he peered at you through the curtain, looking at you with the purple lights in his irises which were sunken back into his skull. His lips parted before he took a deep breath, wheezing out dust and muck, coughing like a goose before he kicked the chapped skin and crawled closer to your feet. He only looked at you, staring before one gloved hand whipped out and snatched your ankle, holding it tightly in an iron grip.

“Bound to your bloodline again...” he growled, “Humiliating.” Before he pushed himself back and stood, swaying on his legs like a new-born deer as his balance came back to him. Having a head was a heavy burden.

“I don’t even know what you’re talking about.” You breathed as Alcott slammed the side of his head and beat dirt out of his ears.

“Of course, you don’t. None of you ever do. Now I’m bound here to you until the day you drop dead and rot. Why can you never let me die?” He growled in a worked-up fury, flinging his hands to the windows before he stalked to the door, his boots slamming against the wood. He swung it open, and his mount brayed in greeting, throwing its giant head back before it caught sight of you and snorted, bowing it’s neck like a graceful Swan.

 “You are all the same!” The horseman shouted before the moon was revealed, a cloud moving away from its white surface. He shuddered and you watched the skin on his face disappear with the muscle, revealing the purple lights in a bare, burning skull. As the cloud recovered the moon, the base of his neck flared with purple smoke and fire, revealing the scar where he was decapitated, and his face reappeared.

“I gave you your head back, Alcott!” You shouted after him.

The horseman shivered and turned back to you, looking at you with his haunting eyes, both hands gripping the pommel and stand of the saddle, “How do you know my name?” He whispered in questioning.

With a small breath, you locked your lips nervously and ducked back to the table, grabbing the little diary from you bag before you stood on your porch and held it out to the wraith, “Maria wrote about you.”

He growled and snatched at the book, and you let him take it with a painful smile, “I know the townspeople killed you. They betrayed you. I don’t know what happened to Maria.” You confessed.

Alcott opened the diary and flicked through it before he looked at the night sky, “She lived in mourning the rest of her life. They institutionalised her after they found her carrying my head, wailing through the town. She died, high on cocktails of medicines, with her head buried in the soft soil of a flower bed.”

 The revelation was something of a shock and you looked at the undead man in front of you with a bitter, pitying look.

“You watched her die, didn’t you?” You asked, barely above a whisper.

The horseman scoffed, “That was the curse after all. To terrorise the town for their betrayal. But not her. I used to try call to her from the window, but she never could bare to look at me. Eventually they gave her more cocktails and she stopped coming to the window all together.”

“Jesus Christ.” You cursed.

“Such foul language.” Alcott sneered as he snapped the diary shut in his gloved hand, “She died from the madness and grief. That is the fault of the town and its yet another reason to run into each of these homes and tear their heads from their bodies.” Alcott spat furiously. As fury overtook him you could see the white scarred seem of where his head had been replaced burning with smoke the purple fumes puffing from it like a new wound before his neck popped and cracked, sending his head to the left, hanging on by a thread of flesh to the other side. You let out a screech and clasped your mouth as the horseman gurgled and reached for his head, grasping it by the hair before he groaned and dragged it back into place, snapping the vertebrae back into place with a twist and a squelch of bloodied tissue. It cracked again quickly, and Alcott held the top of his hair tightly with a groan as the smoke poured from his mouth and his head twisted backwards like a ghoul, spinning on his neck before it snapped again and came free, rolling over the floor to your feet as a skull. The flesh and hair melted in waves of muck from its surface, and you shakily took hold of the skull again.

 The horseman stumbled left and right as he reached towards you for his head.

“MY HEAD, WITCH!” He howled at you, but you dashed back up the porch steps and held it protectively.

“You are under my command. Anything against my wishes is against our contract...so you lose your head. Do you hear me horseman?” You blagged, hoping you were right, “So there will be no killing.”

“Evil, corrupt creature. I'll hang you by your feet and bleed you from the neck!” Alcott threatened as fire and smoke poured from his throbbing trachea. The smoke puffed before he went sent to the floor in agony, the black oak behind him creaking and swaying left and right as though the roots were snaking towards him. Sure enough, the ground rumbled, and the black oak’s roots exploded from the ground, snagging the horseman by his wrists and ankles hoisting him into the air as the branches hissed and his mount, Mallor, brayed and screamed, blood spraying over the fence from the horses broken throat.

 It was a curse. You should have expected as much, but you shook as the tree cinched the man’s limbs, holding them tight before it pulled, making him scream in agony as his joints were pulled tight.

“Stop!” You screamed, and the tree stopped pulling, holding the horseman aloft still as it swayed and bent towards you, its branches touching your head as though trying to figure out who you were.

“He is mine.” You told the tree, “He will obey and submit to the laws of his contract.”

The tree groaned, it’s roots wiggling in the cold, hard earth for a moment before it dropped Alcott like a sack of grain and settled down quietly, smacking at the horse inching closer to its trunk.

Alcott touched at his neck as he rose, swaying as he cracked and snapped his joints back into place like a disjointed puppet.

“Are you going to play nice now?” You asked as the man wheezed in front of you. When he nodded you offered him his skull back and watched the skin and flesh cover its surface again before he snarled behind his curtain of overgrown hair, blackberry-coloured lights burning the void of his eyes.

“You truly are her kin if that disgusting thing listens to you.” He snapped as he headed for his horse and mounted the saddle with a quick bounce on one powerful leg, his thighs locking tight around the beast’s sides as it bucked and brayed. Alcott turned his horse and tipped his head with a wave of purple smoke and fire, “Call on me then, witch, and see what havoc I can wreak for you.” Alcott laughed bitterly as he turned Mallor onto the cobbled drive and rode onto the road, his face becoming bone and flesh intermittently as the clouds passed overhead.

“I’m not a witch!” You screamed after the horseman, but he was gone into the mist and the trees, unlikely to have heard you cursing against the stairs of the porch as you collapsed.

[obeymeluv]

QUICK! KISS ME! [Bros x Reader]

A lead-up blurb before I go to bed.

School is killing me. This has been in the drafts far longer than I wanted.

No offense if your name is Bethany. It’s a name I picked at random.

The follow-up piece will have the kiss scenarios.

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Some of Asmo’s friends may have used you to get into a special makeup event, but it’s okay! They bought you a lip gloss as a thank you! The shade ‘Sealed with a Kiss’ was not what you thought it’d be

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Being one of the first humans in the Devildom could be uncomfortable and sometimes down-right dangerous! It also had its perks. To you, that meant being close with the Seven Lords of Hell (and Diavolo). To other lesser demons and classmates, you were kind of a ‘get out of jail’ free card.

Were they late to class? Oh, just helping the human out!

Caught sneaking in food or drink when they weren’t supposed to? It’s to split with the human, of course! They thought you’d love to try it!

Everyone was keen not to overuse it and you’d actually made good friends this way. It was starting to feel less like an excuse and more of a way to be included. You were the friendly, reliable human that had won hearts and saved some asses. As a thank you, one of your closer friends (a repeat offender for lateness), invited you out to an exclusive makeup release. She was a VIP member and had early access an hour before the store opened to the Devildom public. 

The fact that she chose you, a human, over some LITERAL century-old friends caused a bit of tension but she could care less. “I’ve seen them every day for over a hundred years. You get one year, and we’re going to make it awesome!” Bethany breezed through the store at a dizzying pace, picking through concealers and opening a box of mascara to look at the packaging. She moved at a pace only demons could manage; you thought you saw her by the nail polish display but when you looked again she was throwing sheet masks in her basket. Hooking her arm with yours, she picked up some foundation on the way back to the coveted display of lip glosses and lipsticks.

You weren’t totally versed in the differences between Devildom makeup and human world makeup. In all honesty, there didn’t seem to be a difference. Bethany swatched powdery cream lipsticks on her wrist and followed with ribbons of liquid lipstick. Every now and then she dotted them on your arm; she was adamant about finding a shade the both of you could wear as your thing.  

“This one,” she decided, waving the tube at you and booping your nose with it carefully. “This is our color!” she took you by the hand and joined the checkout line. She had two in her hand but refused to let you so much as hold one, wanting to pay for it first. It wasn’t technically breaking the purchase limit rule; if they tried to nag her she’d just say she was holding onto it so another demon didn’t bully you out of it. You didn’t know if it was her VIP status or the fact that her defense made sense, but you were able to check out without a problem.

A few sour faces and mean glares met you outside but Bethany ignored it all, eager to have a Devilgram-worthy celebratory snack break (snack victory? You know, since you got the makeup?) The plan was to eat, hold down a table at the nearby cafe while her other friends shopped, and have group makeovers (or try-ons) before calling it a day. That plan was interrupted three bites into a croissant sandwich when Lucifer summoned you back to the House of Lamentation. He’d gotten wind of all the girls you’d be with and didn’t feel totally comfortable letting you hang out with them,

Had Barbatos seen something? Did Lucifer feel spurned that you weren’t hanging out with the Seven Lords of the Devildom? He gave no answer, simply asking you to stay put while someone came to escort you back to the house. Bethany was put off by the turn of events but few people dared to complain about the Seven Lords due to their connections with Diavolo (she was no exception). “If we can’t get the full makeover, we’re getting the selfie!” she declared, deftly breaking the seal to her Sealed with a Kiss gloss and swiping it on with help from the front-facing camera on her D.D.D

You busied yourself with opening your tube. Before you could ask for her phone (since the camera was already open), she took the tube from you and tilted your chin up. She dabbed the center of your lips playfully before carefully tracing your lips with the color. The heat rose in your cheeks and she smirked. Being part succubus, she could draw energy from emotions like embarrassment and the feeling of being flattered. Her fingertips pulsed under your chin as she drew on that energy. 

Getting energy sucked could feel like a lot of things -- being light-headed, getting a rush of excitement, all prickly and tingly like your whole body was pins and needles. Whatever it was, it usually faded into drowsiness and kittenish contentment. She probably only touched your chin for seconds but the wash of coziness had you melting against your chair, your cheek cradled in her palm. 

Did she take the pic? What was happening? It felt like Asmodeus had materialized out of thin air, helping you stand and making small-talk with Bethany before pulling you away, out of her aura that was trying to suckle the vestiges of happy energy you offered.

“And what shade did you get on those pretty lips, hm?” the cotton fell out of your head and ears, allowing you to really hear Asmo now that the aura effects had worn off.

“Uh,” you fished around in your bag and looked at the packaging. “Sealed with a Kiss.”

Asmodeus stopped so abruptly it’d almost yanked you back to him. The two of you were barely tangled at the pinkies and now he’d completely laced your hands together. He held your hands captive, drawing them up in surprise and basically dragging you into his torso. You were forced to look up into glittering pink eyes and if you didn’t know any better, they looked a little panicked.

“How long ago did you apply it?”

“I don’t know.” you blinked helplessly at him. That energy suck thing had a way of making your brain tune out and turn to pudding. That aside, who knows how long Asmo stood there and talked to Bethany while you were being siphoned?! “Bethany applied it, not me.”

Asmo clicked his tongue, huffed, resigned himself to only holding one hand. and started scrolling on his D.D.D to find that selfie Bethany posted. You were being dragged along like a child as Asmo’s shoes clicked towards the House of Lamentation. It amazed you how well he could navigate his D.D.D with his long, painted nails. 

Whatever he was looking for, he found it.

Asmodeus tucked his D.D.D into his pants pocket, scooped you up in a way that terrified and amazed you (two people being supported by one set of heels?), and flew to the House of Lamentation. He didn’t always use his wings, as he preferred to decorate them and maintain them with oils, but the fact that he was flying made you nervous.

What had he found? What was the deal?

“Asmo--” you started nervously, the flapping of his wings nearly drowning you out as he pushed himself. Flying against the wind didn’t help. Your hair was a mess and the wind was in your face; the Devildom was always a little chilly but now it was enough to make your face tingly.

“She gave you enchanted makeup. There is a reason humans don’t use enchanted makeup.” Asmo’s pretty brows furrowed as he cut a hard angle and glided over a portion of the square. The tell-tale thicket of trees that lined the winding path back to the House of Lamentation were on the edge of the horizon.

“What’s going to happen?” should you ask that? Did you really want to know?

“You’ll feel something in your lips--some people felt tingling, some people felt pulsing, it can be anything, I think--and then they’ll seal shut.”

“SHUT?!” you yelped. It was enough to make Asmo wince. The startle carried over to his wings; they shuddered and locked; the two of you dropped for a heartbeat or two before he corrected himself.

“If I can’t get some makeup remover on it first.” Asmo panted, tucking his wings in and preparing for a quick descent. He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t thought to teleport first--the panic? Trying to one-up Bethany by walking home and being extra cute with hand-holding?--but a quick touch down could roll into a simple skip teleportation and everything should work out!

“But my lips are already tingly!”

“Ugh, Bethany! I can’t believe you! I mean, I can because it’s you, but really, Bethany?”

“Asmo, focus!” you’d already skipped several feet ahead, clearing the front yard in two teleports. The third put you in the foyer. “I don’t want my lips to seal shut!”

The House of Lamentation was huge but when the occupants had supernatural hearing, that exclamation turned heads. 

“What’s this about your lips sealing shut?” Lucifer appeared at the top of his stairs, his head already shaking.

“DID YOU MAKE A PACT WITH A WITCH?!” Mammon screamed down the hall, clearly not far behind.

Asmo scoffed, lowering his D.D.D with a pout. He was halfway up the main stairs, fingers working at lightning speed. “It’s the lip color!” he explained, stomping his foot. Noisy people were just so annoying! If everyone was talking he couldn’t explain! How rude! 

“All this over some makeup?” skeptical Satan peered over the banister, book and arm casually propped up on it.

“If two people apply the color and kiss, they’re locked in a makeout session until it dries down. When one person applies the lip color, they can use it like a cheat sheet to see who secretly wants to kiss them,” his words tapered out from authoritatively informed to quiet and shy. “It’s from their ‘Liquid Love’ collection.” he muttered into the stunned silence of the room.

You were trying to open your lips and ask why. The magic had already taken hold. Asmodeus could see you trying to move your lips and strain your chin. Luckily, demons could read minds. “It’s because Bethany is stupid.” Asmodeus rolled his eyes. “Ambitious, but stupid.”

“Please explain, Asmo.” even when using the dear nickname Lucifer couldn’t hide the demand. His demon aura was creeping up his body and slowly becoming jagged and suffocating.

“Bethany has had a HUGE crush on our little human here, and wanted to seal it with a kiss, so to speak.” Asmo’s cheeks got pinker and pinker as he explained. Mostly because he was mad he didn’t think about it. His heart did something funny at the thought of you kissing someone else. Lucifer also looked like he wanted to murder someone about now, and Asmo had to remind himself that he was being looked through, not looked at.   

“Just grab a napkin and wipe it off.” Mammon shrugged, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

Asmodeus shook his head angrily. “It’s too late now. We need to find someone for them to kiss! Someone’s lips will break the seal on theirs...that’s kind of the point of the enchantment.”

“So they just pick someone to kiss?” Levi’s face was turning tomato red. Would it be him?! It would at least be one of them, right? What if your person wasn’t in the House of Lamentation and you NEVER SPOKE AGAIN?!

“Sort of.” Asmo patted your shoulders with his gentle, smooth hands. He started to rub them like he was trying to warm you up. Partly in encouragement and partly to get your attention because he could feel your brain spiraling down into panic. “They basically follow their mouth.”

“So that lip color is like a crush detector?” Satan abandoned his book at the top of the stairs and was now perusing articles on his D.D.D as he sauntered down the steps. It sounded like he’d found the one that sent Asmo flying to the House of Lamentation.

“Basically.” Asmo sighed. It was the stupidest way to confess to someone, he thought. Demon to demon, it was fine. Demon to human?! NO! The whole thing gave him a headache. The fact that Bethany thought she could just steal your little lips and be greedy with them was the biggest annoyance of it all.

“So,” Satan’s green eyes cut sharply from his phone to you. The corner of his lips curled up in a smart little smirk. He knew it was wrong to find your predicament so funny, but this was a very human thing to get mixed up in. “Who do your lips want? Who do you feel yourself being drawn to?”

[somerpmemes]

The Owl House Starters

Change as needed

“No! My only weakness! Dying!”

“That doesn’t count, right?”

“Do you have any friends? Real ones?”

“Tiny trash thief!”

“Oops, that happens sometimes.”

“I’m a squirmy little fella.”

“I like food, I like love, just let me write about it!”

“Oh, he gets so cute when he’s thirsty for power.”

“I’ve never actually broken any of your stupid laws… in front of you.”

“I hate everything you’re saying right now.”

“We’d be the strongest power couple ever.”

“Self-doubt is a prison you can never escape from.”

“Anyways, let’s bounce before any more monsters fall in love with me.”

“I am not your cutie pie!”

“No one wants an un-oiled snake.”

“Remember, never befriend a man in sandals and always measure twice, cut once.”

“Be back by nightfall or risk mortal peril!”

“I know I’ve had enough delight for one day.”

“Sorry to break it to you, ___, but no one here is that well-dressed.”

“This has been a rough day.”

“Big houses always belong to big whack jobs.”

“Today just got good.”

“Wizards are just old people with glitter in their pockets.”

“Anyways, your food is gone and we are too.”

“Never trust a man in casual drapery.”

“All that mean-spirited laughter made me sleepy.”

“I don’t like this. I really don’t like this.”

“All your food was so tiny and cute.”

“If you can think of a better plan I’d love to hear it.”

“Betrayed by my own cool accessories.”

“I didn’t have to be part of this!”

“I… don’t like this.”

“I think I’ll head home and look at pictures of animals that are still… alive.”

“Wow, you’re so unnoticeable I almost rolled into you.”

“It’s okay, the thorns only went through a few layers of skin.”

“Alright, into the darkness you go.”

“Oh my god, I haven’t eaten real food in so long please give me some.”

“You can’t just cut open a human, can you?”

“Keeping junk in my pocket saved my life!”

“Ahh, baby’s first wanted poster.”

“Even demons have inner demons.”

“This is my paying attention face.”

“Look, now we’re boo boo buddies.”

“It’s like a rainbow, but looking at it turns you inside out.”

“I respect your cunning but I also hate you for it.”

“Oh, gross. Can I keep that?”

“This is terrifying, so why do you look so happy?”

“Oh no, a twist!”

“I’m kind of over that nickname, but okay.”

“Oh, what lovely thing do we have here? It’s just so dang shiny, oh my.”

“And look, I drew flip book.”

“I will literally do anything to stop this.”

“If I’m seen, I could go to jail… again.”

“Alright, let’s see this mess.”

“That’s probably fine.”

“Time to prepare for bloodshed.”

“Welcome down to my level!”

“I know I should be repulsed but that look is fierce.”

“I’m gonna steal everything that’s not nailed down!”

“I was up all night poison tasting and, for some reason, I don’t feel great.”

“I need an extra pair of eyes looking out for pickpockets. And an extra pair of hands in case I want to pickpocket.”

“I got leaves in my pants. And I like it.”

“I was a strange child.”

“You think this can stop me? I can still bite your ankles.”

“If you’re gonna eat me, just do it now!”

“___, you’re getting all swoony again.”

“Rivals are meant to be annihilated, not befriended.”

“Witches eating babies is so 1693.”

“Ugh, you.”

“I thought we were as cool as cucumbers but we’re as sour as pickles.”

“Whoa, I almost passed out.”

“It’s been hours, how can it keep screaming!?”

“Say that again and I steal your tongue.”

“Keep going, this is fun to watch.”

“Isn’t that taking it a bit too far?”

“Just go away before things somehow get worse!”

“This never happened.”

“And who doesn’t like their name in lights?”

“That’s the incorrect reaction!”

“I smell an easy mark.”

“Well, I hate her.”

“It’s like demonic possession with the ones you love.”

“This is just like my favorite early 2000’s movie!”

“I’m so old… and pointy.”

“I’ve got some very confusing emotions right now.”

“My life’s not a joke! But yours is!”

“Novelty costumes are where I draw the line.”

“I am not above disrespecting my elders.”

“This vacation just took an alarming, back-alley turn.”

“Geez, I thought I’d like being babied. But I feel small and helpless, like some sort of baby.”

“Hey, take this, society!”

“I didn’t like her telling me what to do before, but now I love it!”

“Let’s go let out some teen angst!”

“This is how the cool kids ride. Super backwards, on purpose.”

“Your life is pretty terrible. But, hey, it’ll probably be over soon.”

“This is some of my best work, really captures the shame.”

“That’s sweet, kid. Now let’s never speak of this again.”

“Show, don’t tell, man.”

“Oh, look what you did. I’m gonna go rub it in.”

“That seems like a potential problem to me.”

“You being the razzle, I’ll bring the dazzle.”

“Do you always have confetti on you or—?”

“You’re just gonna be unhelpful, huh?”

“Okay, time to run for no particular reason!”

“Oof, I’ve had this nightmare before.”

“Like I’d actually apologize.”

“I want power, and I want drama.”

“Are you ready to give up?”

“I was afraid, I acted stupid.”

“I just wish you told me the truth.”

“You know, it didn’t taste as bad as I thought I would.”

“Impressive, still alive.”

“This is a throne worthy of a tyrant!”

“No, no, keep those sticky hands away.”

“No one wants to see that.”

“Since when are you into sports?”

“Gross, sympathy.”

“Don’t spend all night plotting revenge.”

“Oh, this is an interesting development.”

“I’ll take that weird grumble as a yes.”

“I’m feeling confident about this plan.”

“Trust must be earned.”

“If you run, you’ll just make it harder for yourself!”

“Your pride has destroyed you.”

“So tiny, so angry.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever be clean again.”

“If you ever want to search for the truth, I’ll help you.”

“Aww, that’s a horrible lie.”

“Partake of my free snack samples!”

“Why isn’t anyone paying attention to me?”

“A, eww. B, I’m bored. C, I feel like pickpocketing some dork while they browse.”

“I know my good angle.”

“Ugh, what are the basement dwellers doing out in natural sunlight?’

“Hey, there’s more to life than shipping.”

“___, I know you’re trying to help, but I think you’re crossing a line.”

“Ooh, I love punching.”

“You’re ominous, and I like it.”

“And of course you would be here just to be a nuisance.”

“I wanted to compare sunglasses.”

“Fame can really box you in, you know?”

“Besides, if anyone’s putting you down it’s gonna be me.”

“If it’s disappointing in any way I’ll spend the rest of my life trashing it.”

“He scammed us. Can you believe he scammed us?”

“Good entrance. But that outfit? Hah!”

“I’ve got a new crush and her name is education!”

“Ahh, fresh garbage.”

“I have never seen such an extravagant earring.”

“Wow, a surprisingly peaceful domestic moment. When will it be ruined?”

“Weaponizing my pride, well played.”

“Sorry, whoever’s over there!”

“Well, go on. Eat the snow.”

“Huh, it’s no fun if they don’t tremble.”

“Oh, okay, alright. Yup, an idea’s happening.”

“Shh! I don’t need your validation!”

“Get back here before that thing bites you!”

“No, we’re gonna die.”

“Cool. I didn’t actually think you could do it.”

“It’s not a secret.”

“Alright, your adorable banter is literally making me sick.”

“Believe it or not, I’ve seen worse.”

“Aww. I won’t be doing that, but thanks.”

“Quitting: it’s like trying, but easier.”

“You humans are filled with liquids, right?”

“I guess I have always liked pouring things into other things.”

“Time to scrounge through the trash.”

“I ain’t no desk jockey.”

“You don’t know diddly dang about squiddly squat!”

“I love secret rooms!”

“You have an aura of lies.”

“Also, you can eat trash.”

“Do the right thing, you dingus!”

“It just goes on like this for an hour.”

“Carnivals bring crowds and crowds bring suckers.”

“We’ve got scams to run.”

“I know poison when I see it.”

“You can’t scam a scammer.”

“You should really put a lock on your closet.”

“I love crimes!”

“Now this is my kind of weird.”

“That’s way safer than becoming blood brothers.”

“Beat up the man and steal his things for me.”

“This mama is ready for trauma.”

“All right. Approval!”

“Curse these stubby legs!”

“Sketchy carnival rides are not to blame this time.”

“___, you’re lucky I can’t be mad at your adorable antics.”

“Just when I thought I couldn’t respect the law any less…”

“Aww, what a supportive sign.”

“Yep, I just counted to one million.”

“Looks like we ruined his life for a second time.”

“I’ve always wanted to own a jagged piece of cheap metal.”

“Yes! Bread puns, bread puns forever!”

“Now I know what friendship tastes like.”

“I think today is a talons day.”

“It’s fun because it’s stupid.”

“I’ll admit, I was adorable.”

“Be careful with my brain.”

“Wouldn’t you rather talk about it?”

“That’s my motto after all, ‘Out of sight, out of mind.’”

“No schemes, no plots, no ruses. None.”

“I can’t believe I made him cry.”

“Are you solving a crime or about to commit one?”

“Sadly this is one problem crime can’t solve.”

“I’m supposed to choose someone interesting, accomplished, and noteworthy. People aren’t meant to be all those things!”

“Yup, her brain’s burned up real good.”

“Be still my fantasy-loving heart.”

“I’m pretty good at getting stuck inside people’s heads.”

“Hey, I found something magical.”

“I’ma put my face in it.”

“It’s like a little doghouse for angels.”

“If you’re handing out attention, I deserve it.”

“Eww, I mean, aww.”

“I really messed things up.”

“It’s eggs, it’s full of eggs.”

“No one turns down an interview with someone this pretty.”

“Me? Avoid? What? No. But let’s skip it.”

“There’s levels to me, kid. Levels I say!”

“Oh, right, I put people in there.”

“I’m gonna hug you so hard you’ll never forget me again!”

“I regret teaching you about the internet.”

“Ah, a severed hand. Perfect response.”

“Hmm, the demon at my shoulder makes a good point.”

“Always trust a shoulder demon.”

“The more I look at him, the more uncomfortable I get.”

“Man, you’ve got some quick grabbers.”

“I can’t wait to get overdressed, take awkward photos, push all the buttons!”

“We’re gonna turn this bloodbath into a fun bath.”

“Do you think I could pull off red eyeshadow?”

“Girl, you could pull off anything.”

“We’re style geniuses!”

“Ominous footsteps, creepy woods, this is no problem.”

“Dang, I look great.”

“___, you always go overboard and I end up bailing you out.”

“Now, what’s the fun in watching a kid get eaten by a monster if it’s my kid?”

“___, I don’t think you’re ready but we’re literally out of time.”

“Why so twitchy, witchy?”

“Teenagers are brutal. They’ll boo anyone and that kind of public humiliation will stick with you for life.”

“You look nice. Strange, but nice.”

“Honestly, I’m kind of amazed with how fearless you are.”

“You’ve done things I could never do.”

“Thing is, you’re sitting in my personal chitchat zone, which means you gotta talk.”

“I am a little weirdo.”

“You gotta pander.”

“Cheating a isn’t anything to brag about.”

“Well, can’t reason with crazy!”

“I’ve been talking for too long.”

“Feeling sentimental?”

“I love water.”

“I don’t know much about sports but I do know about sports movies.”

“What happens in the montage stays in the montage.”

“Not everything can be solved with a good attitude and a dope movie soundtrack.”

“Sorry, I just really love backstories.”

“You just destroyed your social life.”

“That’s such a stupid rule!”

“You’re not gonna show this to anyone, right?”

“I haven’t forgotten what you promised me.”

“Ahh, you’re a thorn in my side but you always dig your way into my heart.”

“Jeez, you’re morbid.”

“Ahh, it’s a fate much worse than death if you think about it.”

“Please don’t make me regret taking you here.”

“Love me a properly ventilated castle.”

“I spy with my little eye something coming this way!”

“I’m going away and I don’t know if I can come back this time.”

“And  ___, thank you, for being in my life.”

“I want her back as much as you do.”

“Don’t look at me like that, this is for your own good.”

“Ah farts, I got caught.”

“You understand, don’t you?”

“Please tell me that’s not as bad as it sounds.”

“To be great, you have to make sacrifices.”

“Ahh, ___, you chose the wrong side.”

“I like your spirit, but try that again and things won’t end well for you.”

“Go on, then. Go be a hero.”

“I may have lost but so have you.”

“I can teach you what I know, and what we don’t know we can learn together.”

[blackindiaink]

Raylla Short

This is from a prompt I picked up on discord so there's no ask to go along with it. Raylla and napping... that was the prompt.

The afternoon was chilly and overcast, the perfect day to stay inside and enjoy the comforts of a warm house. Leaves were falling and the sky looked like it would open up any moment to deliver a cold Autumnal rain.

Scylla stacked logs in the fireplace, carefully placing them so they would burn long and hot. She always took the liberty of starting the fires because she knew if Raelle did it, they’d end up with a haphazard stack of wood that burned for half the time as when she did it herself.

Just as Scylla thought of Raelle, she appeared, coming in the door and shaking her jacket off in the front hallway. Scylla’s eyes widened as she took in the state of Raelle’s uniform.

“You’re soaked. It’s not even raining yet,” Scylla remarked.

Raelle shook some water out of her hair and came into the living room where the fireplace was located. There were dark circles under her beautiful sky colored eyes and a weary cast to her complexion.

“One of the little Bellweathers got pissed off and rained down holy hell on the entire brigade,” Raelle explained.

Scylla chuckled and turned back to the fireplace, putting the last log on before lighting the fire with a few whispered words. When she was sure it had caught and was burning well enough, she stood and closed the glass doors that kept the fire from escaping into the room.

“Poor thing, you should go change and I’ll make you some tea,” Scylla suggested.

Raelle reached out and took Scylla’s hand, using it to pull her closer. It was too fast for Scylla to stop and soon enough she was caught up in Raelle’s embrace. The dampness started to seep into Scylla’s clothing immediately.

“What if I’d rather kiss you than drink tea?” Raelle asked.

“You’re getting me all wet,” Scylla pointed out.

“Doesn’t that just mean that I’m doing something right?” Raelle teased.

Scylla laughed and used her hand to smack Raelle’s arm lightly.

“True. You’ve never had a difficult time with that. However, now that my clothes are wet and I’m cold, I’m definitely not turned on so we should both go change and then we can discuss the possibilities of you getting me wet in other ways,” Scylla suggested.

“Why don’t we just not put new clothes back on. That sounds like a way better idea,” Raelle said.

Scylla leaned in and gave Raelle a soft kiss, drawing it out to last a few seconds.

“I’d be all for that if I didn’t know you were going to fall asleep as soon as we got in bed,” Scylla said.

“Will not!” Raelle objected.

“Uh huh,” Scylla doubted. “You’ve been on a forty-eight hour training exercise with thirty cadets during which you got no sleep and barely anything to eat. Then, you came back and got dumped on by a tiny weather manipulating child. I think it’s nap time now and sexy time after the nap,” Scylla said.

“Okay, but can we nap on the couch so we’re warm by the fire?” Raelle asked.

“Of course, why do you think I started it?” Scylla asked, raising an eyebrow and smirking.

“How do you always know what I need before I do?” Raelle asked.

“Magic,” Scylla replied, her lips curving into a smile at her own joke.

“Well, you are a witch,” Raelle said.

“But it’s definitely not work,” Scylla said.

She stepped away from Raelle and led her away toward the bedroom so they could both change. It didn’t take long, but the worst part was putting Raelle’s sopping wet uniform on the shower door so it could dry out some. When it was finished Scylla took Raelle’s hand again and led her right back to the living room and then turned her so they were face to face and Raelle’s back was to the couch.

She stepped into Raelle’s personal space and got just close enough to kiss her but when she leaned forward, she planted her hand on Raelle’s chest and pushed her back onto the couch instead.

“Oh, that’s just cruel,” Raelle complained.

“Hmm, maybe I’ll make it up to you later if you’re good,” Scylla said.

“I’m always good,” Raelle countered.

“Sure,” Scylla teased.

She stepped up to the couch and motioned with her hands. It was a wide one so there was plenty of room for both of them to sleep. Especially, since they usually ended up on top of one another, an amalgamation of bodies, two halves making a whole unit.

Raelle scooted her body back and Scylla lay down in front of her, waiting for the gentle press of arms around her middle. They couldn’t go to sleep unless they were touching in some way, even if it was just a hand placed against a bare patch of skin.

Raelle closed her eyes and pressed her nose into Scylla’s hair, inhaling the scent that translated to home in her mind. With a small sigh she let herself go, finally able to relax in safety.

Scylla felt the change and closed her own eyes, waiting for the deeper rhythm of Raelle’s breathing to indicate that she had fallen asleep. These moments were the best. When everything was quiet and she could savor their closeness. This wasn’t always possible. They’d fought so hard to get here.

Scylla’s reprieve was hard won but her key role in securing victory over the Camarilla left the Army and the government little choice. They’d finally made a deal that if Raelle would continue serving but only in a training capacity unless an emergency arose that required the use of the Witchbomb, Scylla could be free.

It wasn’t perfect but it was what they had for now. Someday they’d both be free of this life and the Army. Scylla would take it if it meant she got to lay in these arms and feel the soft rise and fall of Raelle’s chest without worrying about hiding from the Army. They’d both done enough running for a lifetime.

She felt Raelle move slightly against her back and take in a deep breath, coming to the surface of wakefulness for a bare moment.

“Love you. Sorry, furrrrgot to say,” Raelle mumbled.

A soft smile spread across Scylla’s face. Her eyes opened and she turned over and faced Raelle, moving around so that they both had at least one arm around one another.

“Love you too,” Scylla replied, leaning over to place a kiss on Raelle’s nose.

As she fell asleep cocooned in a haze of their love, Scylla could only thank the goddess for everything that had led up to this point. They wouldn’t be as strong as they were if things had gone differently. They wouldn’t have ever lost each other for good though. She knew now that they were fated, irrepressible. They had no choice but to follow the stars back to this love.

[whack-ed]

“Just Friends” (Fred Weasley x Reader)

Synopsis: A halloween party was what it took for you to finally do what you wanted to do with Fred.

Warnings: make out; underage drinking and extremely flirtation.

Reader: Female

World Count: 2.5k

A/N: I'm sorry for the delay, I had some personal problems to solve, but here I am! this is a oneshot for the special A very Harry Potter Halloween by @masterofthedarkness and @eleven-times-lively​. This one is for the 30th with the prompt Halloween Party! Hope you like it :)

tag list: @nebulablakemurphy​ @jamilelucato​ @inglourious-imagines​ @acciotwinz​ @clarissaxpearce​ 

if you want to be tagged, send me a ask!

Finally October, the favorite time of year for Y/n. For various reasons, fantasies, sweets, the weather, absolutely everything Y/n loved most was present in October. But probably the thing the girl liked the better was the Weasley twins' Halloween party. And this year promised, it was the twins' last year at school and they promised the best Halloween party this school has ever seen.

Usually Y/n knew everything the twins were preparing, since they were a quartet. The twins, Y/n and Lee. These four names together gave chills to any teacher. But not this time. This year it was just Fred and George who were looking for trouble. The twins didn't let Y/n and Lee participate at all, the surprise was for everyone. And of course, Y/n's anxiety didn't leave the twins alone for a minute.

"Please Fred, tell me at least the color of the glasses!" Y/n insisted on Fred saying at least a little detail about the party. The secret was complete.

"I already said that I don't speak a word to you, Y/n" The redhead replied laughing.

They were in a history of magic class, automatically nobody was paying attention. The twins sat in the last row, Y/n and Lee just ahead.

"What are the drinks going to be, that's no big deal!" Lee asked as curious as Y/n.

"Not a word, Lee," George replied with a sly smile on his face, the same as the one on his brother's face.

"I hate you both" Y/n said irritably and turned forward.

Fred who was behind Y/n leaned forward and rested his head on the girl's shoulder, whispering her ear. Fred's proximity to Y/n's ear made the girl get goosebumps and close her eyes while the redhead spoke. "You don't miss out on waiting, baby"

George and Lee exchanged a look that they knew well what it meant. Y/n and Fred have always had this relationship ... doubtful. Nothing but indirect flirtations happened between the two, there was never anything else. George and Lee always questioned the two of them if something happened in the backstage that they didn't see, and of course, the answer was always the same "We are just friends". Only friends my ass, George thought. The boy knew his brother well to know when he was lying.

Fred then returned to his seat and Y/n kept her eyes closed digesting the sensation she had just had, wishing it had lasted a little longer. She opened her eyes slowly and blinked several times, returning to reality.

"My God, the sexual tension between you two can be cut with a knife," Lee said making the three friends laugh.

"We are just friends, you know that" Y/n replied and noticed that this time Fred's laugh was not genuine. Apparently George noticed it too. But of course it could only be Y/n's head.

The class passed slowly as usual, but amid laughter, scolding from the teacher and notes on the parchment, time finally passed. It was already lunchtime and Y/n couldn't be more thankful for that. Her thoughts could go from Fred to the mountain of mashed potatoes that awaited her.

Weeks passed and the twins had not yet given any information about the party. It wasn't just Lee and Y/n who were looking forward now, all seventh graders as well. The fact that Umbridge was taking care of the school, making so many rules, only made things more exciting. The twins couldn't be loud ... At least not in theory.

Now everyone was in the common room, some doing their homework and others just hanging out. Everything was calm until the most beloved twins in the world came in doing what they do best, drawing attention.

“My dear student friends" George was saying.

"Me and my dear brother, we finally have the invitations ready!" Fred completed.

"And what does that mean, bro?" George asked doing a theatrical pose.

"That not even the pink toad was able to stop the Weasley Twins!" Fred completed again by opening his arms also in a theatrical way.

“But it’s worth remembering that the party is only for people from the fifth year upwards” Some sad moans were heard from some students from the fourth year downwards “So my little grasshoppers, you who didn’t taste one of our Halloween parties, will have to look for that taste in our store! ” George announced and the sad moans automatically turned into happy faces.

“That's right! We believe that very soon, our store will have a physical point and will be 100% prepared to serve all of you little pests! ” Fred said laughing and started handing out the invitations.

The invitations were not common, as nothing the twins did was common, no one was surprised, just curious. They were orange sweets in the shape of mini pumpkins.

“But is this sweet? How should we know where and when to go with a sweet? ” Ron asked as soon as George handed him one of the pumpkins.

"I suggest taking a bite, little brother," Fred said mockingly, handing one to Y/n. "I made this one especially for you" And winked at the girl. Hers was Y/F/C , your favorite color. As soon as the girl saw the candy she smiled at Fred and got a little flushed.

As soon as Ron took a bite of the fearful candy, sparkles that resembled fireworks with a date, time and place emerged from the pumpkin.

"We just suggest that you don't eat it whole, eating the other piece makes you invisible for 15 minutes, so you can go to the party without drawing unnecessary attention" Fred said with a smile on his face, proud of what he had done.

It was amazing how these boys were the life of the party wherever they went. Y/n smile so proudly for the boys. After the euphoria of delivery of the pumpkins, the boys sat on the sofa with only a few students in the room, most of had already gone to sleep. Y/n was in an armchair by the fireplace, reading a book. Fred settled on the floor in front of the girl and rested his head on her knees. George sat next to Lee on the couch.

"Okay, now that we have everything set up, what will your fantasy be?" George asked to his friends.

"I was thinking of going as a werewolf" Lee replied playing with the hem of his shirt.

"What a cliché, Lee" Hermione who was finishing up her homework said from across the room. She, Harry and Ron were actually finishing up their homework. But everyone knew that the boys were just waiting for Hermione to finish copying hers.

"You're right, he should go as you Hermione, who knows, maybe someone will put limits on this party?" Ron replied laughing, immediately regretting because of Hermione's furious reaction.

"And what are you going to be dressed up for?" Y/n asked lowering the book, she had stopped paying attention long ago.

"Us? Secret too" Fred replied to the girl.

"You guys are getting unbearable with this, you know?" Y/n said looking at the twins.

"Just noticed now?" Lee said sarcastically.

Y/n snorted angrily and pulled her legs up so that Fred could no longer lean on them, causing the boy to turn his head to her laughing.

"You look so beautiful when you're mad" He said and stood up and give her a kiss on the cheek. "I think it's past time for us to go to sleep, we need energy to organize what comes tomorrow, Georgie"

George got up too and agreed with his brother, so the two went up to the dorm wishing everybody a good night.

"I'll see if I can get anything out of them before bed, good night, Y/n" Lee said and went after the twins.

Harry was already drooling at the table, Ron was almost, only Hermione was still focused. Y/n got up and headed for the girls' dorm.

"Good night, Mione" Y/n said.

"When are you two going to assume you have more than a friendship, Y/n?" Hermione asked before she went up. The girl laughed and shook her head.

"We are just friends"

The following days passed with Y/n listening to discussions to see what would be the fantasy of her friends. Lee really was a werewolf, Hermione was from an important witch that nobody really understood who was just that had something to do with defending giants, Ron was going as a auror, Harry as a  quidditch player, and of course the fantasy of Fred and George it was still a secret.

At breakfast on the day of the party, everyone was euphoric. The whispers came not only from the Gryffindor table, but from all of them, even some Slytherins were excited.

And because she kept her head elsewhere, Y/n ended up forgetting to think about her fantasy. Then, taking advantage of having a visit to Hogsmade that day, she asked Hermione for help in choosing a costume. The girls went to each clothing store until they found the perfect costume. That was it, they thought. It perfectly matched Y/n's personality.

The hours passed and now it was only an hour before the twins' Halloween party. The girls in Y/n's room were euphoric. They had pirates, healers, vampires, it looked like a children's book in one room. Y/n was finishing her makeup and would already be ready to leave. The outfit she had chosen was nothing less than court jester. Not a dull court jester, according to Hermione, and here I quote her words, she was a “sexually desirable jester”. A colorful short dress, socks to the thighs one of each color, hair tied with colored ribbons and a cute clown makeup. It was perfect.

"You look perfect, Y/n!" Angelina said to the girl with colored ribbons in her hair.

"You too, Angie, wonderful by the way!" Y/n said to her friend that was dressed as a fairy.

The two then descended together, meeting several people in costume in the main hall. And in the sea of mummies and mermaids, Y/n spotted the werewolf she was looking for.

“Lee! Lee! ” The girl called and Lee turned to see her.

"Y/n ... Bloody hell woman, now I understand what Fred talks about so much" Lee replied looking Y/n up and down.

"What does Fred say?" Y/n asked frankly eyebrows.

"He keeps saying you have phenomenal thighs," Lee replied, staring at her legs.

“Hey! Lee! Eyes up here! ” Y/n responded making the boy automatically look embarrassed, but then laughing.

"Let's go then?" Lee asked Y/n and she nodded.

The two then ate all the pumpkin and automatically the picture of the fat woman opening, looked like a passage of ghosts, no one was seen, all you could hear were footsteps and some muffled laughter through the corridors.

Finally, after walking a lot trying to make a minimum of noise, they reached the precise room. The door opened and the legion of students entered the place. When Fred and George said it was going to be the best Halloween party this school has ever seen, they weren't kidding.

There were already some students in the room, but the decor was clear. They had colorful and noiseless fireworks shining on the ceiling tirelessly, they seemed bewitched to last all night. The smoke on the ground made it look like a swamp, you could barely see people's feet. The tables set with various sweets with different shapes and a large bowl with punch, certainly alcoholic. The walls decorated with purple and orange ribbons all over the place. Of course, cobwebs, skeletons and pumpkins were placed in every corner. The music was loud, but it was not heard outside, they had also bewitched it. The only strange thing was that Fred and George were not yet in place.

More and more people were arriving and none of the twins. Y/n was having fun with Lee and other friends, but missed the redheaded duo. While some students were kissing in a corner and others were stuffing themselves with food, Y/n was dancing with a glass in her hand, like there's no tomorrow. She moved her hips from side to side without caring if she was drawing too much attention. Tonight was really for that.

The only part of the place that no one had understood was the stairway in the corner of the room that led to a balcony and a small door that nobody could open. After a while, Y/n ignored the stairs, and suddenly after the girl's third glass, the door made sense. It had opened up and the music had turned down the volume. There they were, Fred and George came out of the door in the costume of Kings. Y/n laughed with them and stopped dancing, looking at the boys.

"Feel free, my subjects, the party is yours today!" Fred said raising his hands.

"And remember, if you are not going to party like us, you can leave" George added.

"And let the party really start!" Fred shouted and everyone shouted in agreement.

The twins then descended the stairs, as if they were true kings. Strangely, their fantasy matched the boys perfectly. Y/n after seeing that the boys were already enjoying the party normally, she took another sip of her drink and started dancing again.

The music playing was sensual, and it is clear that the girl, with the courage that the drink gave her, took advantage of the moment. She had wanted to do this for years, and the opportunity never came, but now? Last year, she was going to do what she wanted without fear.

Y/n started to dance to the music, as sensual as the beat of each note. She knew they had several pairs of eyes on her, but only one interested her. Then the girl turned to where Fred was and she couldn't be more pleased to see that he was looking at her like a dog is looking at a piece of meat, with pure desire. She then danced looking directly at him.

Fred couldn't hold on any longer, he dodged the crowd and came very close to Y/n, grabbed her waist tightly and without thinking, he kissed the girl. It was as if everyone in the room had disappeared. They were just there, Y/n and Fred. The girl returned the kiss at the same time her lips met, placing her hands on the boy's neck.

The two separated only because they were forced to breathe. Keeping foreheads glued together. Smiling broadly. And you can hear George and Lee in the background shouting "Finally!" "Just friends, my ass!" And things like that. But Fred and Y/n couldn't care less.

"So.. hm, I think we're not just friends after all, huh?" Fred says laughing still being very close to you.

"I don't think we ever were just friends"