#A Graceless Spell

[fanfictionalraven]

Dream Warriors Chapter 9

Title: Dream Warriors Chapter 9

Summary: A plan is devised and set in motion to bring the reader back.

Characters: Reader, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Castiel, Rowena, other original characters

Word Count: 3,170

Warnings: Canon typical violence and peril

Author’s Note: The penultimate chapter!!

Read Chapter 8 here.

Dean leads Rowena up to Y/N’s room. He stops at the door and looks at her. The others weren’t going to be on board with this at all. He sighs and holds a hand up for her before going in by himself. Sam looks up and smiles at him, sadly. 

“Hey. You made your decision?” He asks. Dean pinches the bridge of his nose. 

“I want to try one more thing and if it doesn’t work then…” He trails off, unable to actually say it. 

“Try what?” Cas asks. Dean sighs and reaches back, pulling the door open. Rowena smiles as she steps into the room. 

“Hello, Boys,” she says. Sam shakes his head quickly. 

“No. Hell no,” he says. Dean runs his hands over his face and looks back at his brother, pleading. 

“Let’s just see what she knows. Hear her out. She says she owes Y/N and that’s why she’s here,” he tells him. Sam watches as Rowena walks over to your body and examines it. Dean looks over and frowns. “Don’t touch her.” Rowena rolls her eyes before walking over to the book on the table. 

“What happened?” She asks, picking it up and opening it. Sam looks at Dean before sighing and looking at her. 

“We were on a case. A witch. She put some spell on Y/N and disappeared,” he says. Rowena nods slightly. 

“Did you hear the spell?” She asks. Dean shakes his head. 

“No. There was too much happening,” he tells her. She nods as she flips through the pages casually. 

“Did the witch disappear or run away?” 

“Pretty sure she disappeared,” Dean says. Rowena closes the book and holds it close to her chest. 

“Has she been inexplicably injured?” She asks. Dean looks at her and nods, crossing his arms. 

“Yea. She got a burn randomly and then…a lot worse,” he says. She smiles and nods. 

“Somnium clipeum. It’s the Dream Shield,” she says.  

“Dream Shield?” He asks. She nods, setting the book back on the table. 

“It’s very complicated but a perfect escape route,” she says. The others wait expectantly as she walks back over to you. “The victim falls into a very deep sleep and the caster takes refuge in their subconscious.” The three men all stare at her. 

“You’re saying the witch is actually…inside Y/N?” Sam asks. Rowena nods once. 

“That’s impossible,” Cas says. The witch snorts a laugh. 

“Says the graceless angel,” she says. Dean shakes his head quickly. 

“How does this work?” He asks. “What’s happening in her head?” 

“Whatever the witch wants. If she’s smart, she’s just hiding in some fantasy world created to keep Y/N asleep,” she explains. “However, since she’s been injured, I’d guess she’s toying with her instead.” 

“What’s the point though? What happens if Y/N dies?” Sam asks. Rowena shrugs her shoulder. 

“Your witch can take control,” she says. Dean frowns quickly. 

“She’s trying to take Y/N’s body?” He asks. Rowena nods and Dean runs his hands over his face. “What can we do?” 

“Nothing. There’s no reversal spell. No true love’s kiss,” she teases, earning a glare from Dean. “Y/N has to kill the witch in order to regain control,” Dean frowns and looks over at your body. 

“Y/N’s smart. She’ll figure it out,” Sam says. Dean shakes his head. 

“So, we just sit and wait?” He asks. Sam frowns and Rowena glances between them. 

“Smart as Y/N is, the witch gains more control every minute she’s there. Killing her will be incredibly difficult,” she tells them. 

“Is there anything we can do? Anything at all to help her?” Dean asks. Rowena walks over to the window as she thinks. 

“There may something but it’s incredibly risky,” she says. 

“What?” Dean questions. 

“I could try to send her a message,” she tells him. Dean nods and looks at Sam who shrugs. 

“A message how?” The younger brother asks. She turns back to look at them. 

“I change the spell a little and I can send someone else in,” she says. Dean nods. 

“I’ll do it,” he says. Sam sighs and glances at him. 

“What’s the catch? The risk?” He asks. 

“If Y/N dies, Dean will be lost as well. If Dean dies in the dream, he dies in real life,” she says. Dean shrugs his shoulders. 

“I’ll do it,” he says again. Sam shakes his head and turns to his older brother, but Dean cuts him off before he can speak. “You aren’t talking me out of this. I can’t lose her, Sam. I can’t. She’s…everything.” His voice breaks and Sam sighs. He knew how important you were to Dean. He’d known long before Dean did. 

“What do we do?” He asks, looking back at Rowena. 

“I’ll need to gather ingredients and I won’t be able to do it here,” she says. Dean frowns and looks over at your body. 

“How do we get her out of here?” He asks. 

“I can help with that,” Arnold says, raising his hand in his seat. They all look over, having forgotten he was even in the room. Dean smiles a little and nods. 

“Alright. Arnold and I will get her to the bunker. You three go get the stuff for the spell,” he says, looking at Sam. 

Rowena gets a list of ingredients together. Sam splits it between himself and Cas before the three leave to get everything. Dean looks over at Arnold. 

“What’s the plan?” He asks. Arnold stands and straightens out his tie.

“Let me do the talking. You sit there and look heartbroken for your dying wife,” he tells him. Dean nods and falls into the seat next to your bed. Arnold presses the call button and a nurse answers over the speaker. He asks to speak with the doctor. A few minutes later, the doctor comes into the room. 

“Is everything okay?” She asks Dean, glancing at Arnold. He nods slightly and Arnold clears his throat, pulling a business card from his suit pocket. 

“Good evening, Doctor. My name is Arnold Freidman, attorney,” he says, handing her his card. She takes it and looks at it before looking back at him. “I represent the Winchesters.” 

“Okay,” she says, nodding. 

“Mrs. Winchester doesn’t have long left, correct?” He asks. The doctor frowns and nods. 

“Off the ventilator, she’d probably only have two maybe three hours,” she tells him. Arnold nods and sticks his hands in his pockets. 

“Mr. Winchester has made a decision. He’d like to take his wife home so she can be comfortable and surrounded by family,” he tells her. She looks down at Dean to find he’s grasping your hand in his.  

“Very well. I’m sorry we couldn’t do more to help,” she apologizes. Dean nods slightly and she looks back at Arnold.  

“The family has gone on to get things ready and make sure everyone has a chance to get there to say goodbye. We’ll need a few hours,” he says. She nods and leaves the room. Dean lets out a breath and looks at Arnold.  

“That was easy,” he says. Arnold smiles a little and moves back to his seat. “Now we just wait for the word that they’re ready.” 

The two stay at the hospital and Dean finishes up your paperwork with Arnold’s help. Sam eventually calls Dean and tells him they have all the ingredients and Rowena has begun to work. Arnold informs the doctor that they’re ready and she releases your body to them. Dean lays you in the back seat much to the doctor’s dismay and thanks Arnold for all his help.  

Dean drives back as fast as he can, constantly glancing back at you in the back seat to make sure you’re still breathing. As he approaches the bunker, you begin to thrash around once again. He looks back to find your side is bleeding. 

“Dammit,” he roars, punching the gas a little harder. He whips the car into the garage and jumps out as Sam comes in. “Something happened,” he calls to his brother. Sam runs back out the door as Dean pulls you from the backseat. He carries you all the way to your bedroom where the others are waiting before laying you on the bed. Ripping your shirt open, they all stare in horror at the wound in your side. 

“That’s a gunshot wound,” Sam says. Dean rolls your shirt up and presses it against the wound as Cas rushes from the room. He comes back a minute later with some supplies, alcohol, a needle, and thread. 

“We don’t have much time,” Rowena points out. Dean frowns and looks at Sam then back at the witch. 

“Can he stitch her up while you do the spell? Will that work?” He asks. Rowena nods and Cas takes Dean’s place, pressing against the wound. “What do I need to do?” 

“Drink this,” she tells him, holding up a glass. It’s filled with a thick, dark substance almost resembling cough syrup. Dean takes it and downs it quickly, no hesitation. “Lie down and close your eyes,” she instructs. Dean glances over at Sam who has just begun to clean your wound. He lies down next to you on the bed and takes your hand in his. 

“Be careful,” Sam tells him, looking up from his work. Dean nods once before closing his eyes. Rowena holds her hands above his body as she begins to chant in Latin. Cas watches her as Sam works, stitching up your side. She drops her hands then sits in a nearby chair. 

“Did it work?” Sam asks, rising to his feet as he wipes his hands off on a towel. She looks at him, insulted. 

“Of course it worked,” she says. Sam nods and looks at the bodies of two of the people who mean the most to him. 

“What do we do now?” He asks. 

“We wait,” she tells him. He frowns and shakes his head. 

“I need a drink,” he mumbles before leaving the bedroom. 

***

Dean opens his eyes and sits up, looking around. He’s on the ground outside a bar that seems vaguely familiar. He rises to his feet and brushes himself off before pushing the door open. Music greets him instantly, your favorite song blaring from the jukebox. He looks around and only spots you sitting at the bar, a bottle of whiskey and a glass sat in front of you. You look over and frown. 

“Great,” you mumble, looking back at your glass. You down it quickly and stand up. “So, who are you supposed to be this time?” 

“What?” Dean asks. You shrug your shoulders and cross your arms. 

“Best friend? Husband? Boyfriend? High school sweetheart who went away to the war?” You ask, mostly to yourself. Dean stares at you and shakes his head. 

“It’s me, Y/N. You’re under a…” 

“A spell. I know,” you tell him. He nods and starts to walk over. 

“Okay. You remember the spell and the witch?” He asks. You roll your eyes and turn back to the bar. 

“I don’t like this one. Can we hit fast forward?” You ask no one in particular. Dean reaches you and puts a hand on your shoulder. 

“Y/N, I’m here. You’re dying out there. Rowena showed up, said she owes you for something. She sent me in to help,” he says. You turn on your barstool before downing another glass of whiskey. Looking him over, you start to laugh. 

“This is the most convincing one yet. Although, you’ve never shown up here before. She only puts me here when she’s resting so I’m always alone,” you say, reaching up and touching his cheek. He turns into your hand and puts his own over yours. 

“You have to believe me, Y/N. We’ve got to kill her or she’ll take over your body,” he tries to convince you. It almost works but you know it’s too good to be true. You shake your head and lean back against the bar behind you.  

“You know I’ve tried to kill her. It never works. She knows what I’m thinking before I do,” you say with a shrug of your shoulders. The music on the jukebox stops and you sigh, looking over. “Last call.” 

“What?” Dean asks, glancing over at it. 

“She’s got a new one ready to go. The music only plays when, ugh…I’m on hold,” you laugh. Dean looks at you and frowns.  

“Y/N,” he says. You put a finger over his lips and look around.  

“You remember this place?” You ask. He looks around the bar and shakes his head slightly.  

“I recognize it but I can’t place it,” he says. Your arms wrap around his neck and he looks at you suddenly, taken aback at your affectionate gesture. 

“This is where we celebrated my first successful hunt,” you tell him. He looks back around and nods, remembering.  

“Right. We got so drunk that night,” he says. You laugh and nod before yawning.  

“Here it comes,” you mumble, slumping against his chest. He frowns as he looks down at you.  

“Y/N??” He calls trying to wake you up. The room grows dark and he feels your weight slip from his arms. “Y/N??” 

Light begins to grow around him slowly and he realize he’s in a different room now. He’s standing just inside the front door of a house. Footsteps approach from the top of the stairs in front of him and he frowns, peeking up. You come down towards him, a big smile on your face and a hand resting on your suddenly very pregnant belly.  

“You’re home early. Everything okay?” You ask stopping in front of him. He stares down at your stomach. “Dean? What’s wrong?” You ask, reaching up and touching his cheek. Dean meets your eyes now and you smile. “Babe, you okay?” You ask.  

“You’re pregnant,” he says, voice shaky. You laugh and nod.  

“Yea. Congrats, it’s yours,” you say before standing up and kissing him. His eyes widen quickly when your lips meet for the briefest of moments. “I’m gonna go start dinner.” He stares after you as you go into the kitchen before shaking his head.  

“This isn’t real. Calm down,” he tells himself before following you quickly. “Y/N, we need to talk.” You glance over at him as you start to chop some green peppers.  

“What is it?” You ask. He takes a deep breath. 

“This is gonna sound crazy but…this isn’t real. You’re under a spell. It’s got you in a coma, dreaming like this. It’s gonna kill you if we don’t act fast,” he says. You stare at him for a moment, shocked, hands starting to shake.  

“What?” You ask, your voice trembling. Dean walks over and takes the knife from your hands carefully.  

“You have to believe me. We have to go kill this witch or you’re gonna die,” he says. Your eyes fill with tears as you look up at him.  

“Are you…are you really here?” You asks. He nods quickly.  

“I am. Rowena cast another spell so I could help you,” he explains. The tears slip over as a sob breaks through your chest.  

“Oh my God,” You cry, throwing your arms around his neck. He sighs and wraps you up in a tight hug. 

“You believe me?” He asks, rubbing your back soothingly. You nod your head as your cry. 

“You’re either really here or this is more elaborate than her normal dreams,” you tell him, wiping at your eyes. He looks down at you and his eyes fall to your stomach again.  

“This is weird,” he says. You look at him then down and run a hand across the significant bump. 

“You’re telling me,” you say. “I usually play along with the dreams now. It’s the easiest way to get to her.” He nods and reaches a hand out, hesitating.  

“So this…this is supposed to…supposed to be mine?” He asks. You laugh lightly and nod, allowing him to touch your stomach. 

“Our little miracle baby apparently,” you tell him. He raises an eyebrow at you. “I have my own memories and the ones that she plants. Several miscarriages and years of fertility treatments led to this little guy. Any day now,” He nods, eyes still glued to his hand on your stomach. 

“How, ugh…how do we find her?” He asks.  

“She always makes herself known. She’s never not been in one of these. Bit of a drama queen,” you say. Dean nods slightly and you reach up, lifting his chin to meet his eyes. “You can stop panicking. This isn’t real.” 

“I’m not panicking,” he says. You smile and shake your head. 

“So, what’s been going on out there?” You ask him. He sighs and his hands come to rest on your waist. 

“We got you to the hospital and they didn’t have a clue. It got even weirder when you started getting hurt randomly. Whatever happens here, happens to you for real. A burn, broken ribs…just before I got here, you ended up with a gunshot wound or something,” he says. You frown and nod. 

“Yea, that was a weird one. Very…Bonnie and Clyde,” you tell him. He nods slightly. 

“We don’t have a lot of time. She’s draining your body. You were on a ventilator, but we had to get you back to the bunker for the spell. We have an hour, maybe,” he says. You frown and shake your head, as you think. 

“I don’t know what to do, Dean. I’ve tried to kill her, I have. But she…” 

“Knows what you’re thinking before you do. Right,” he says, nodding. You sigh and runs your hands over your face. 

“Okay. Best way to find her is to play her game. So, we just…go about our business,” you tell him, taking a step back. “Dinner.” You turn back to your cutting board and pick the knife up before a pain shoots through your side causing you to scream out. Dean rushes to your side and wraps an arm around your waist. 

“What is it??” He asks. You shake your head, cradling your stomach. 

“Something’s wrong,” you say, dropping to your knees. Dean goes down with you, holding you close. 

“I’ll say so,” another voice says from the other side of the room. You both look up to find the witch standing in the entrance to the kitchen. “You aren’t the Dean I created.”  You scream out again and grab at your stomach. 

“Stop this!!” Dean tells her. The witch smirks and crosses her arms. 

“It’s only a matter of time now,” she says. 

***

Rowena’s sitting in the chair still, the spell book open in her lap. Sam and Cas are both standing in the room, waiting.

“This book,” Rowena starts, flipping pages delicately. “It’s…ancient.”

Your body begins to thrash in the bed and they exchange looks before rushing to your side. Cas tries to hold you steady as Sam checks your pulse. 

“She’s fading fast,” he says, frowning up at Cas. 

Read Chapter 10 here.

Forever Tags: @roseblue373

Jensen Tags: @call-me-mrs-winchester

Dream Warriors: @aylacavebear @winharry @djs8891 @suckitands33 @rickgrimeswifeu @deans-spinster-witch @jackles010378 @foxyjwls007 @alisyacsa @lailawinchesterr @urinternetmom @justrealizedimmascifygurl @kr804573 @thej2report @just-levyy @snowayumi @deans-baby-momma @demons-eats-pie-too @brightlilith @kazsmr67 @onlyangel444

[book--brackets]

The Magic Thief by Sarah Prineas (2008-2014)

In a city that runs on a dwindling supply of magic, a young boy is drawn into a life of wizardry and adventure. Conn should have dropped dead the day he picked Nevery's pocket and touched the wizard's locus magicalicus, a stone used to focus magic and work spells. But for some reason he did not. Nevery finds that interesting, and he takes Conn as his apprentice on the provision that the boy find a locus stone of his own. But Conn has little time to search for his stone between wizard lessons and helping Nevery discover who--or what--is stealing the city of Wellmet's magic.

100 Cupboards by N. D. Wilson (2007-2010)

Twelve-year-old Henry York is going to sleep one night when he hears a bump on the attic wall above his head. It's an unfamiliar house—Henry is staying with his aunt, uncle, and three cousins—so he tries to ignore it. But the next night he wakes up with bits of plaster in his hair. Two knobs have broken through the wall, and one of them is slowly turning...

 Henry scrapes the plaster off the wall and discovers doors—ninety-nine cupboards of all different sizes and shapes. Through one he can hear the sound of falling rain. Through another he sees a glowing room—with a man strolling back and forth! Henry and his cousin Henrietta soon understand that these are not just cupboards. They are, in fact, portals to other worlds.

Princess Ben by Catherine Gilbert Murdock (2008)

A girl is transformed, through instruction in life at court, determination, and magic, from sullen, pudgy, graceless Ben into Crown Princess Benevolence, a fit ruler of the kindgom of Montagne as it faces war with neighboring Drachensbett.

Little Thieves by Margaret Owen (2021-present)

Vanja Schmidt knows no gift is freely given, not even a mother’s love. Abandoned to Death and Fortune as a child, she has scraped by as a lowly maidservant with her quick wits and the ability to see her god-mothers’ hands at work in the world. But when they demand her lifelong servitude in exchange, Vanja decides that gifts not given freely…can always be stolen.

When an opportunity rises to steal a string of enchanted pearls, Vanja seizes it, transforming herself into Gisele, the princess she’s served for years. As the glamorous princess, Vanja leads a double life, charming the nobility while ransacking their coffers as a jewel thief. Then, one heist away from funding an escape from her god-mothers, Vanja crosses the wrong god, and is cursed to turn into jewels herself. The only way to save herself is to make up for what she’s taken—starting with her first victim, Princess Gisele.

Valdemar: Mage Wings by Mercedes Lackey (1992-1993)

High magic had been lost to Valdemar when he gave his life to save his kingdom from destruction by the dark sorceries. Now it falls to Elspeth Herald, heir to the throne, to take up the challenge and seek a mentor who will awaken her mage abilities.

The Numair Chronicles by Tamora Pierce (2018-present)

Arram Draper is on the path to becoming one of the realm’s most powerful mages. The youngest student in his class at the Imperial University of Carthak, he has a Gift with unlimited potential for greatness–and for attracting danger. At his side are his two best friends: Varice, a clever girl with an often-overlooked talent, and Ozorne, the “leftover prince” with secret ambitions. Together, these three friends forge a bond that will one day shape kingdoms. And as Ozorne gets closer to the throne and Varice gets closer to Arram’s heart, Arram realizes that one day–soon–he will have to decide where his loyalties truly lie.

Derkholm by Diana Wynne Jones (1998-2000)

Everyone - wizards, soldiers, farmers, elves, dragons, kings and queens alike - is fed up with Mr Chesney's Pilgrim Parties: groups of tourists from the world next door who descend en masse every year to take the Grand Tour. What they expect are all the trappings of a grand fantasy adventure, including the Evil Enchantress, Wizard Guides, the Dark Lord, Winged Minions, and all. And every year different people are chosen to play these parts. But now they've had enough: Mr Chesney may be backed by a very powerful demon, but the Oracles have spoken. Now it's up to the Wizard Derk and his son Blade, this year's Dark Lord and Wizard Guide, not to mention Blade's griffin brothers and sisters, to save the world from Mr Chesney's depredations.

Traveler's Gate by Will Wight (2013-2014)

Simon can only watch, helpless, as his family is killed and his friends captured by enemy Travelers-men and women who can summon mystical powers from otherworldly Territories. To top it off, another young man from Simon's village discovers that he's a savior prophesied to destroy evil and save the realm.Prophecy has nothing to say about Simon. He has no special powers, no magical weapons, and no guarantee that he'll survive. But he sets off anyway, alone, to gain the power he needs to oppose the Travelers and topple their ruthless Overlord. It may not be his destiny, but Simon's determined to rescue his fellow villagers from certain death.Because who cares about prophecy, really?

Deltora Quest by Emily Rodda (2000)

The evil Shadow Lord is plotting to invade Deltora and enslave its people. All that stands against him is the magic Belt of Deltora with its seven gems of great and mysterious power. When the gems are stolen and hidden in dark terrible places throughout the kingdom, the Shadow Lord triumphs, and Deltora is lost.

In secrecy, with only a hand-drawn map to guide them, two unlikely companions set out on a perilous quest. Determined to find the lost gems and rid their land of the tyrant, they struggle towards their first goal - the sinister Forests of Silence.

Furthermore by Tahereh Mafi (2016-2017)

There are only three things that matter to twelve-year-old Alice Alexis Queensmeadow: Mother, who wouldn't miss her; magic and color, which seem to elude her; and Father, who always loved her. The day Father disappears from Ferenwood he takes nothing but a ruler with him. But it's been almost three years since then, and Alice is determined to find him. She loves her father even more than she loves adventure, and she's about to embark on one to find the other.

But bringing Father home is no small matter. In order to find him she'll have to travel through the mythical, dangerous land of Furthermore, where down can be up, paper is alive, and left can be both right and very, very wrong. It will take all of Alice's wits (and every limb she's got) to find Father and return home to Ferenwood in one piece. On her quest to find Father, Alice must first find herself--and hold fast to the magic of love in the face of loss.

[lemongrace]

Mine, all mine

Content Warning: vague corpse description, grave-robbing (whoops!) The ancient stone cracked like ice as the spell that had sealed the tomb came undone, snapping along the lines her fingers had traced over its surface. The destruction brought her no pleasure - hands of a skilled artisan of a bygone era had chiselled an intricate bas-relief into its walls, vines of coiling ivy that choked out the crescent moons they seized; the Venomleaf family’s chosen sigil. The lid shaped into a silhouette of a sleeping elven woman rested on top, her features vague and unidentifiable; subtle enough for tweaks to be applied at the hour of the passing. Now she lay split in half where the stone had ruptured, her solemn visage marred forevermore.

But the dead didn’t so much as stir, and no voice rose to stop her– not even when Eluein pushed the lid aside, the whisper of death and decay not nearly harrowing enough to prevent the Highborne from desecrating the grave. Skeletal fingers still held onto dry blooms woven betwixt them, colour long gone from their petals. An elegant gown of once vivid crimson gently wrapped the remains of the elf laid to rest inside, wisps of dark hair sparsely clinging to the skull. The late Lady Venimeux, reduced to naught but bones and dust.                                                                                                             Canting her head, Eluein regarded the corpse– what was left of it. Though the marble was millennia old, the ward placed upon the sarcophagus sealed it for no longer than a few weeks - yet the body decomposed unnaturally quickly despite its protection, leaving only a skeleton to be found inside. She’d never seen bones so beautiful.

By all means, she deserved to be damned for the mere thought of it - hadn't she caused Idyssa enough grief already? Even in death, the Nightborne had known no peace. But the notion of what they would call her upon her return vanished the moment Eluein slipped the glove off of her hand, exposed digits grasping at the stone. Insults stopped cutting so deeply when the mere utterance of her name fell like a curse from their mouth. Like a graceless feline, starved, Eluein scaled the tomb of her late lover. The damaged lid groaned beneath her weight, threatening to break at any moment, but she cared not for its protestations. The gauntlet-encased arm propped her up while the other, bare and yearning, reached out for the bones within. Following the length of the spine with her fingers, she found it - the misaligned vertebra she had broken out of place, a part of it still stubbornly clinging to the skull. A firm snap of her hand was all it took to free the latter.  The surface of her felt familiar despite the deathly chill that had embraced the remains - the outline of her jaw, the curvature of her cheeks; elegant and timeless, more akin to an art form carved in ivory than just a simple piece of bone. Eluein’s fingertips traced the intricacies of the cranium with a gentle caress, sweeping away the ghastly remains of the Nightborne’s hair. Death wasn’t fit to lay claim to one such as her. Slipping the hand beneath the skull, Eluein carefully removed it from within the tomb, not once breaking away her gaze from the empty sockets. Unbeknownst to the Highborne, her own features relaxed as she beheld it - frown that seemed permanently seared to her brow softened, thumb brushing against the skeletal cheek to wipe away a non-existent tear. If the ghost of her was watching, it had remained silent. Quiet even when Eluein leaned in, pressing her pallid forehead against the equally bleached skull. Death wasn’t fit to lay claim to one such as her - not while the other yet lived.

[abigailmoment]

Sometimes it was obvious from a distance when something was wrong with prey. But other times, you didn't know that there was something sickly about blood until after you'd drunk a deer-ful of it.

The heavy sensation of nausea was a familiar feeling. Astarion's old diet had never been what one might call hygienic. The rats of Baldur's Gate suffered from many blood born maladies. Repeated exposure had made him resistant to those, but the beasts of the wilds had exciting new diseases. One of which had him curled up in the corner of his tent, too dizzy to stand and wracked with cramps every hour or so.

He wanted to retch, but he didn't want to lose the blood and he was afraid of being ill too loudly. The others might hear and Lae'zel might make good on her promise. Was this bad blood or ceremorphosis? Can't be too careful and he wasn't in a position to object. You needed to be able to stand and see clearly to argue with a gith and a greatsword. Snicker-snack and then the party would just use magic to open locked chests.

That's how the world worked. Bad things happened when people saw that you were weak.

Full text below. Full Text On AO3

The pain waxed and waned. When it waned he dipped into fitful periods of meditation. Which was good. Unconsciousness passed the time. But it also meant that morning came as a surprise. He startled awake because someone was knocking on a tent pole.

"Rise and shine, Ancunin. Time to be the only vampire in the realms who's a morning person."

He twitched awake and up into a crouch, but then his catlike reflexes slammed into vertigo and made that into a graceless scrabble to half sitting up. All the movement woke his head to the fact that it was apparently supposed to be aching terribly. He groaned.

The person at the tent flap crouched down and peered inside. "Are you okay?"

It was Tav. That was workable. He had pull with Tav. He tried to compose a response. It needed to be casual, minimize this, and give an explanation that had nothing to do with mindflayers. It took far too long, but he came up with:

"I'm afraid I'm not up for adventure, darling. I ate something that disagreed with me. About more than just being eaten."

The cavalier words felt heavy on his tongue. He couldn't roll them off with the careless lilt they were supposed to come with. But he got it all out without mumbling at least.

"Got it," Tav said, peering in at him. "I don't know what spells she has today, but I could get Shadowheart to come over and…"

"No," Astarion snapped much more harshly than he meant to. "No, that's…that wouldn't work on this."

He actually wasn't sure, he'd never had access to someone with Restoration before, but he absolutely could not stand the idea of the imperious cleric looking down her nose at him huddled on the ground.

"Okay," Tav said immediately.

He couldn't see her clearly. The dizziness was still with him and made blurry multiples of anything he tried to focus on. Tav was a violet blotch rimmed in sunlight at the entrance to his tent. She wasn't immediately leaving, which made him nervous.

"What do you…" She started to ask something, but trailed off and turned it into a different question: "How does this work?"

Ah. She wanted to know when she'd have a functional rogue back. That was reasonable.

"It won't last more than a day," he assured her. Which wasn't necessarily true, but the pain wasn't acute anymore and after a day he'd be able to conceal whatever was left.

"Got it," Tav said again, a little more slowly this time.

And then she left. She'd gotten what she needed from him. That was good. He could rest again.

Astarion shifted slowly so that his back was to the back of the tent, flush with the rock wall it was pitched against. The acute pain was gone, thank the Gods, but he still felt nauseated in a way that made him want to crawl out of his skin. He closed his eyes and listened to people moving around the camp. He didn't want to lie down again until everyone else had settled down. The clatter and banter of a group leaving for the day was easy to track because Karlach was among them and she was excited about something. After that everything was quieter. He started to relax.

And then he wasn't relaxed anymore because there were footsteps next to his tent and a shape at the entrance.

"Hey. Can I come in?"

It wasn't Lae'zel. It was Tav again. And he was so relieved he told her "Yes." immediately without really thinking about it.

She ducked inside and sat down opposite him. Her arms were full of random things. It was like when she went around compulsively looting everything in a room, only she'd done it to the camp. Which was strange on multiple levels.

"You're still here?" Astarion asked, a little muddled. Tav never stayed at camp.

"Sure," she said easily, as if this were in any way normal. "Wyll and the girls are going looking for buried treasure. They don't need me for that."

That meant Lae'zel was gone, which was exceptionally good news for Astarion's ability to unclench his shoulders. Tav shifted her armful of nonsense to her lap and fished out a bottle. She uncorked it and held it out towards him.

"We don't have any antidotes left after that spider debacle, but Gale thought an infusion of mugwort would help," she explained.

Astarion took the bottle carefully. It smelled like grass. He supposed it couldn't do him any more harm, so he drank some. It tasted like ashes, but so did everything that wasn't blood. It at least didn't make him feel worse, so he drank some more.

Tav deposited the rest of her burden, which consisted of pillows, a sleeping mat and a blanket.

"When I'm sick all I want to do is be surrounded by soft things," she explained. "So I grabbed a bunch of soft things. Do you want them?"

Yes. Of course he wanted them. He had a general policy of wanting all of the things. It was just perplexing when he didn't have to steal them. The blanket was the very nice sheepskin one Tav had decided to go back into a burning building to rescue after she'd finished saving all the people.

(After the fourth time she'd ducked back inside to save sausages of all things Lae'zel started howling that the tadpole had eaten her brain. She and Shadowheart had joined forces to literally drag Tav away as the tiefling argued animatedly that there were still potato wedges in the kitchen. It had been very funny.)

Then an explanation sidled into his head, illuminating his confusion--this was about the sex. People in alleged relationships did all sorts of odd and particular things for each other. He'd forgotten.

She'd asked him a question, hadn't she? He hadn't answered. He'd been running his fingers over the very soft sheepskin. Now he'd been quiet for too long and now the silence stretched out strangely. He didn't quite know what to fill it with.

Tav broke it with another question: "Would you like me to stay?"

He really wasn't sure. He didn't want to perform. That was so tiring. But it felt safer to have a body between him and the outside world right now. When he wasn't sure he could stand and definitely couldn't stab anything worth a damn. He had pull with Tav. She didn't want him to die.

It was really such a nice thing, to have someone else care that you were alive.

"Do as you will," is how he managed to respond.

She stayed. She helped him lay out the extra mat so that it lay straight on his usual one. She cleared away a pile of books and didn't comment or even look at him when he swayed slightly, or somehow stumbled despite the fact he wasn't even standing.

She ended up sitting cross-legged next to the entrance, looking out and fiddling with a lyre. The one she'd stolen from that drow they'd killed. Astarion had shifted the sleeping mats so that he could lie down with his back to the comforting solidity of stone. He had two pillows and the sheepskin blanket. He thought the mugwort might be helping because the heavy feeling of illness had gentled from claw-skin-off-to-distract-yourself-bad to just deeply unpleasant.

He rested. It was easier now. He even drifted off at one point. He closed his eyes and when he opened them the sunlight was slanting in a different way and Tav had picked up one of his books.

"Hey," she said, noticing he was awake. "Can I touch your forehead?"

Random sort of a question. But fine. Astarion made an indifferent noise that could be interpreted as assent. Then he went very still because she was touching his forehead and that was…odd.

"You don't have a fever," Tav observed.

Astarion pursed his lips. Now that he didn't have to concentrate on sitting up, he could inject just the correct amount of condescending archness into saying: "That would require having a body temperature."

There was a pause.

"Right," Tav said, sounding duly chastened.

"Don't quit your day job, darling."

She laughed. "And here I had my heart set on becoming a vampire nursemaid."

He snorted at her. Her fingers hadn't left his forehead, and when they did they curled away slowly. Trailing through his hair in a lingering way that made him very aware when the touch was gone. She went back to reading his book.

He felt better. Almost normal, as long as he stayed still. And he didn't need to move, right now. The camp was quiet. The only things he could hear were birds and the scrape of paper as Tav turned pages.

This was…nice?

This was nice.

***

This is the start of a series. The rest of the story is on AO3.

***

[mylordshesacactus]

Hold Fast: Countdown

As I mentioned previously in this post, the climax of the Suncrest campaign involved our bard having to hold concentration as long as possible, maintaining his grip on a casting of Wish to determine the degree of monkey's-paw involved in how that Wish would manifest.

(The party's Wish: "I wish for the Fae Queen of the Summer Court to lose all interest in the Spellbound Dominion.")

The challenge: Ten rounds. Combat would continue for the full ten regardless of when concentration dropped, as well--if they lost concentration early, they still had to survive the battle, just without the benefits. I counted down from ten, and each round had an associated additional twist (I wrote two variants--one for if they fought in the Court of Summer itself, and one for a battle in the city of Suncrest), as well as a consequence for what would happen if Max lost concentration during that round.

Keep in mind I had JUST given the party access to the Die of Fate--if Max had somehow managed to drop concentration in the first few rounds, they would deserve whatever they got!

Round 10: Psychic Backlash. The Faerie Queen is one step away from a god--she KNOWS, she can feel, that these mere mortals are trying to rewrite her mind. She lashes out viciously, with all her considerable power. Consequence: Catastrophic detonation. The spell takes effect, and the world as a whole is saved--but the party, and every living thing within 10 miles of the border, takes 10d10 points of psychic damage. This would instantly kill every civilian in range....including the entire city of Suncrest, and the Ranger's whole family.

Round 9: Spike Growth. Centered on the party, the Fae-infused magic of the area moves against them to hold them in place while the army occupying Suncrest rushes to confront them. Consequence: Permanent limbo. The Faerie Queen stops trying to annex the Dominion, but it remains half-phased into the Faewild forever.

Round 8: 1d10 Archfey Warlocks enter the battlefield. (The original number was 1d10+10! But the party went out of their way to find the warlock contracts in the Summer Palace and destroy them, preventing the Queen from calling on them.) Consequence: The spell takes effect with no nuance, a panicked, graceless shove at anything fae-touched....including the party, who by this point have collected several fae boons, magical effects, magic items, and even warlock pacts. It would also drag all of their werewolf friends into the faewild and bind them there.

Round 7: Eledrin enter, Sparrow enters. (Sparrow is the fae pegasus that our Ranger bonded with--he can be summoned, but it took him a few rounds to catch up.) The eledrin represented higher-level elite soldiers, a bigger challenge than the infantry pawns the party fought earlier in the war. Consequence: The fae directly under the command of the Summer Queen are banished--but the Wild Hunt, which she unleashed on the Dominion but does not command, remain, and will be a threat in this region forever.

Round 6: Commander enters. This is the cold sadistic commander who killed the party's friend Olassa, the guard-captain of Suncrest, during the initial attack, and who nearly performed a coup-de-grace on a downed Andromeda before Audie saved her life with a clutch Banishment. She has not mellowed in the months since we last saw her. Still a fucking bitch. Consequence: Permanent portals. The armies are banished, and since the Summer Queen will no longer be interested in this war once the spell takes effect, they won't return as a full invasion--but the portals they ripped open remain, and will always be a problem, allowing fae leakage and incursions that will need to be eternally fought.

Round 5: Wild Court Reinforcements. Not all the twists are bad! Round 5 is the midpoint--a good moment for a twist. The timing was perfect, too--things were starting to look bad for the party, and when I described another portal opening I got audible wincing from around the table...and then Shasta, the lesbian androsphinx who's been a long-time ally, roars onto the battlefield at the head of the Wild Court of Summer to shore up their defenses, and the badly-flagging party gets a much-needed infusion of hope. Consequence: The fae are banished, no exceptions--but the damage done to the ecosystem, and to the city, remains. Cleanup will be difficult, and repairing all the damage will take the better part of a decade, if not longer.

Round 4: Wall of Fire. The dry, oppressive heat of a parched summer has been concentrating around this battle--now something, maybe the spark off clashing swords or maybe just malice on the Summer Queen's part, ignites the kindling deep beneath the roots overgrowing the massive, fae-touched tree dominating what used to be the market square of Suncrest, choking the life from the city. It blazes into a wildfire, scorching the party and cutting off their ability to flee deeper into the city. Consequence: Neutral. No drawbacks, but no benefits either. The party is now fighting for 'yes, and'.

Round 3: Earthquake. Hunters of Shroudpost enter. The Queen of Summer is coming. The earth rips open and shudders with the force of that power, knocking party members down. They're already on difficult terrain--they've been driven from the gates and deeper into the city, across rooftops before being forced down, and are currently fighting in and around the massive root system of that towering fae oak tree. In another much-needed infusion of positive energy, the Hunter militia from the party's very first adventure are revealed to have made their way to Suncrest and connected with the Resistance. They fire off a volley from high in the trees and call down to the party to hold on a little longer, the Resistance is on its way! Benefit: Unconscious friendlies will stabilize at 1hp once the Wish triggers.

Round 2: Faerie Queen Enters. Everything is fucked. She can cast any druid spell at will, including as a legendary action; she cannot be charmed, is essentially immune to psychic effects of any sort, and also holds two silver hunting knives and can make six attacks per round, or another as a legendary action. I searched LONG AND HARD for an archfey statblock that suited the level of threat I was going for here. This is not an enemy you try to kill--it's going to be hard enough to survive. Benefit: The love and power of the Wish seep into the very earth around this city the party has given so much to defend--Suncrest remains under the effect of a Hallow spell for ten years. (I'll get more into this in another post.)

Round 1: Sunburst. Having just brutally cut down a brave young paladin of Pelor, and entirely seeking to rub salt in the wound, she casts a brilliant explosion of blinding sunlight into the battlefield, dispelling the field of Darkness that our tiefling fighter had thrown down in order to shield some badly-wounded party members from directed attacks, searing everything in the area and taking out the fighter herself. (This was originally going to be a last-ditch vicious casting of Power Word: Pain on Max to break concentration, but Max was under two layers of Banishment at the time so I pivoted. Fuck a RAW; it was clever and creative, so DM fiat said that in THIS SPECIFIC instance--Max was forewarned, consenting, and holding concentration on a) a fucking Wish, which works however I say it works and b) not a battlefield effect--he could absolutely do it.) Benefit: Tree of Charm Resistance. The great fae-growth oak tree around which this final desperate scramble has taken place becomes a permanent, powerfully magical fixture in the city of Suncrest. I'll go into more detail in the epilogue post!

Round 0. There's no twist. I made it clear to the party that Max could release concentration now and get everything he wants, no drawbacks, some beautiful gifts--or he can hold it, for one more round, and see what crystallizes. Unanimous call was to keep fighting. Benefit: All fae curses in the Spellbound Dominion break. Every single one. Hag curses are broken; werewolves who choose to be are cured...And far away, in a vault beneath the city of Requiem, five adventurers stir for the first time in fifty years.

[phoenix761fics]

Masterlist

Links broke on the old ones, so here's a single, much more organized new one. All fics tagged appropriately on their respective pages, including relevant content warnings. Enjoy!

The Boondock Saints

Eyes On You - PDA exposes one of Connor's kinks (Connor x reader x Murphy, smut)

Just Being Neighborly - a locked door, a broken elevator, and the beginning of a night they’ll barely remember (Connor x Renata x Murphy)

Getting Mouthy - Murphy isn't the only one in trouble when he runs his mouth (Murphy x reader, smut adjacent)

The Grocery List - In which Connor learns not to snoop (Connor x reader, smut adjacent)

Last Rites - the Saints’ final mission (angst, MCD)

Starving - Connor and Murphy loving on their lady (Connor x reader x Murphy, smut)

Two Saints and an Archer - Connor and Murphy MacManus were vigilantes on a mission from God before the zombie outbreak, now God only knows how they ended up with Daryl Dixon, reclusive redneck and crossbow extraordinaire. There’s no doubt the three of them can survive the apocalypse, but can they survive each other? (gen fic, crack, crossover)

Warrior Shepherds - They were called to destroy evil, but crossing paths with a wayward soul meant compromise. And in compromising, the MacManus brothers get more than they bargained for. (Connor x Renata x Murphy)

The Phantom of the Opera

Another Alternate Ending - didn't the Persian give Raoul a gun? (gen fic, crack)

Supernatural

A Dangerous Game - Ten years. No more and no less. Now the clock has run out and it’s time to negotiate a new deal with the King of Hell. (Crowley x OFC/reader)

A Work Of Art - after sealing the rift and trapping himself in an alternate dimension, Crowley gets the chance to observe humanity (Crowley x plus-size reader, fluff)

The Familiar Winchester - a spell of Rowena’s has unexpected results (gen crack, Sam and Dean)

The Fast Lane - After Rowena’s magic brought her back from the dead, Charlie still can’t find any peace. On the open road, with the witch as her reluctant companion, there’s no telling where she’ll find it. (gen hurt/comfort, Charlie and Rowena)

Friction - Friction: 1.) the clashing between two persons or parties of opposing views, 2.) the force that resists motion between two bodies in contact (Crowley x Gemma, smut)

Geek Squad - It's a quiet afternoon in the bunker until disaster strikes. (gen humor, Sam and Dean)

Going Up - "One aspect of humanity it was taking time to get used to was how bloody slowly they had to move." (Dean x Crowley, smut adjacent)

Graceless - After his release from the Winchesters’ dungeon, Crowley’s hold on the throne of Hell is more vulnerable than ever. Determined to strengthen his claim, he seeks to produce an heir with his mistress, young Annabel Allan, a human with no family and a powerful secret she doesn’t know she keeps. (Crowley x Annabel)

Heir Of Nothing In Particular - On the edge of another apocalypse, Cas and Crowley contemplate life, emotion, and all things human. (gen fic, Cas and Crowley)

Hell And Apathy - “Sam and Dean, but not her Sam and Dean…she trusted her friends with her life, and whatever the hell was going on with them right now…they were far from the men she knew.” (demon!Dean x reader x soulless!Sam, smut)

Howling - “The court was nearly returned to normal…as normal as Hell can get, at least…” (gen, Crowley and demon!Dean)

If You Need Anything - when everything starts getting to you, your friend Cas is there to help you keep going (Castiel x reader, hurt/comfort)

Original Prankster - Your favorite fictional hunter turns up in your kitchen, and your boyfriend knows more about it than he’s letting on (Gabriel x reader, crack)

Pie and Produce - kitchen fluff (Dean x Tara, fluff)

Ridiculous And Needy - “You really need to lock your doors. Anybody could sneak into your room and leave a few surprises in your closet.” (Crowley x reader, smut adjacent)

Roadside Assistance - “…when Crowley got the text from the bunker’s other resident, he didn’t think anything of it…” (Crowley x reader, FicFacers 2020)

She’s Buying A Stairway To Heaven - “His grip felt a lot more reassuring than any stranger’s had her entire life, but she supposed being menaced by a girl who committed suicide fifty years prior had a way of making things like that a little less odd.” (gen casefic, Dean and OFC)

Something You Don’t Know - a few mishaps on a hunt leads to a few confessions (Sam Winchester x reader, fluff)

Topeka Calling - Cas has caller ID. That hunter from Topeka has an itch. Dean just wants a refill. (gen humor, Cas and Dean)

Welcoming Committee - A tragedy prompts a new start for Sam and his son Jack (fluff AU, Sam and Charlie)

Why Can't There Be A Santa? - "There's no point in wasting that, because there's no bearded guy in a red suit coming to drink it." (gen fluff, Weechesters)

With The Touch Of A Button - One last End Of All Things, one last solution (gen crack, Team Free Will 2.0)

The Walking Dead

Bad Influence - “Her warmth was sinking under his skin until it felt like a little fire flickering through him…her voice soft and her words so full of that hope he was starting to think nothing could destroy…” (Bethyl Smut Week 2018)

Blue Into Black - Beth was a good girl, but something about Daryl Dixon made her want to be bad. Sequel to "I Don't Mind" (Bethyl Smut Week 2018)

Can't Tell Her No - Beth found something in her cell, and she can't wait to try them out (Beth x Daryl, smut)

Caught Staring - Beth goes for a walk in the prison yard (Summer of Bethyl 2018)

Entertaining - Beth is expecting two certain someones for dinner, and nothing could possibly go wrong (AU, Brickyl Week 2018)

Get Bit - Maybe if he’d just left that damn door closed… (Bethyl Smut Week 2018)

I Don't Mind - He’d never done anything like this before, never had an ongoing thing with someone. Whatever this “thing” was, cause damned if he knew. He’d never wanted to hold someone’s hand before, and he’d damn sure never wanted to kiss someone…not before Beth. (Bethyl Smut Week 2018)

Keep Singing - Daryl in Alexandria (Beth x Daryl, angst)

One More Song - The war is over and peace has been a long time coming, and it comes with someone Daryl thought he’d never see again (Bethyl Smut Week 2018)

The Parting Glass - a long night with memories and regrets (Negan x Lucille, angst)

Robin and Marian - They called him Robin Hood… (AU, Beth x Daryl)

Rushing, Racing, Running - They always had to be ready to run (Summer of Bethyl 2018)

Take Care Of It - Beth has been thinking about Daryl, and she’s kept it to herself so far. Now, though, she might let him hear about it. (Bethyl Smut Week 2018)

Talk Like That - You don’t talk back to him like that and get away with it. (Negan x reader, smut)

Trade You - “He needed somewhere to cool off, somewhere with a decent breeze that wasn’t crowded with people seeking his attention…” (Negan x Wendy)

Wake Up, Dollface - Negan visits after a shared glance (Negan x OFC, smut)

While You're Awake - Daryl can't sleep, and Beth doesn't want to. (Bethyl Smut Week 2018)

Why Ain't I Running - They never built a wall that high/Or made a chain that strong/And God ain’t never made a place/I felt like I belong (Bethyl Smut Week 2018)

Support your local scribbler! Likes are good, comments are better, and reblogs are best of all. ❤️

[netherese-blorb]

Blackstaff Ball

(View on ao3)

As a reintroduction back into Waterdhavian society, Gale has secured an invitation to Blackstaff Academy’s Annual Ball. He’s excited to introduce his beloved fiancé, the hero of Baldur’s Gate, to his peers and colleagues. But the idea of once again being among highfalutin academics brings up old insecurities for Cerela herself. Gale promises some... reassurance. - Lightly NSFW (Mature, but not Explicit) CW: mild mentions of bullying, body image issues, classism - There will be a Chapter 2, but this can be read as a cute little standalone piece.

“I’m certain you look wonderful in it, my love.” Gale called out from his sitting position on the bed, thumb tapping rhythmically against the book he had picked up to pass the time. “As I’m equally certain you did in the last three, had I the privilege of seeing them for myself.” 

Exasperation was beginning to soak into the edges of his mind. His fiancé had seemed so elated when he announced that they’d be attending her very first high-society event. Yet now, the selection of custom-made gowns he’d surprised her with was not getting the reception he had hoped for.

And, to be fair, Cerela was elated - for him. In the months since she’d returned with him to Waterdeep, Gale had been working hard to reestablish himself in academic circles in the hopes of securing a professorship at Blackstaff Academy. Receiving an invitation to their annual ball, she knew, was proof that his efforts were paying off. 

She was less enthused about her own attendance, however. Her previous experiences with the formally academic side of wizardry had been… troubled, and seeing the dresses laid out for her this afternoon - the level of finery she was expected to live up to - left her in a state of thinly-veiled panic. 

Growing up in Baldur’s Gate, their local academy was known more as a place for noble families, primarily of well-bred elf and human stock, to send offspring who were too snobbish for knighthood but too ill-mannered for politics. It wasn’t unheard of for some merchant or tradesman to roll the dice at their child being the exception, but few put up with the toxicity for more than a couple of years.

So no one but herself saw it as a failure when Cerela, the dwarf, the fisherman’s daughter, the soft-hearted baby of the family, lasted nearly five. 

It would be easier if the proof of that failure didn’t stare back at her in the mirror every day. She knew there were rules against altering spells, but the hours that immediately followed a particularly brutal round of insults from one's peers are never ideal for rational decision-making. Recreating something like a Disguise Self spell using transmutation magic should have, by her teenage reasoning, created a more permanent appearance-altering effect. She decided to start small; turning the mismatched eyes she got from her father into the bright, symmetrical blue she so desperately envied in her elven classmates. 

To her credit, she did get the blue to permanently cover one eye. But when she tried to bring it across to the other, it began to spread uncontrollably. A cloud of cerulean shadows reached across her face like monstrous two-dimensional tentacles. It extended beyond the boundaries of her body; onto the wall behind her, the bed beneath her, over every surface before spilling out under the door into the rest of her dormitory. It had taken several faculty members to contain the spell’s effect to its source: the swirling marks that, over a decade later, still cover the left side of Cerela’s face and spill into her hair like a stain. She was expelled the next day.

It’s those marks she sees now in the mirror. As she takes in the rest of her reflection, she remembers every word that’s been said about her short stature, the broadness of her chest, the gracelessness of her movements. It all looks so comical when placed up against the sophisticated gown she was fumbling into. Like a street cat that’s been given a lordly name. Even those endeared to it understand that it’s, ultimately, a joke. 

On any other day, she would welcome feeling a little foolish. Embracing the whimsy in her flawed appearance was the only way she’d learned to accept herself. But this would be Gale’s moment. She cannot risk him becoming part of the joke.

As she worked herself into an anxious lather, all she could think was what would happen if she failed at playing her part, and she was sure she would. She imagined fellow attendees sniggering over wines she couldn’t name, gossipping in their oafishly posh accents.

‘Have you seen that odd little thing Dekarios brought? Where in all the realms does one even acquire such a creature?’ 

‘Some tart he picked up in Baldur’s Gate, most like. A clumsy little street magician, judging by that dreadful eye, or else, uneducated enough to fall victim to one. 

‘Yes, she did seem quite simple, poor dear. Unthinkable of our man to keep such rabble among polite company.’ 

‘And says he’s to marry her! His reclusion must have cost him half his wits.’ 

‘Such a pity how far Mystra’s chosen has fallen.

On the other side of the divider, concern was cooling Gale’s impatience as he struggled to make out the frustrated mumblings emerging from behind the screen. “I’d love to help if I can. Did I misremember your measurements? “Or are the styles just not to your liking? I figured I would have procured at least one that suited you.” 

Cerela sighed heavily. Of course he would assume he’s at fault, gods bless him. “It’s not-” a breath,  “They’re all beautiful, Gale. It’s just that I’m- Oh! But what if…!” She trailed off excitedly and Gale heard her rummaging for something. A deep affection rose in his heart, melting away the day’s exasperation. 

It reminded him of her at camp, single-mindedly hunting through drawers and packs for some elusive elixir component. He imagined her doing just that back in his tent, wearing one of the dresses he brought her; the red one with an open neck he knew would frame the slope of her shoulders. In her enthusiasm, she would forget to accommodate for the restrictiveness of the garment. The skirt would quickly become rumpled by her constant movement, as her hair always did. Her bodice would threaten to spill over at every extension of her arms. 

Perhaps he’d let her finish her work and take the opportunity to tell her how brilliant she was, how she was one of the most brilliant, beautiful people he’s ever known. She would grin at him disbelievingly, like it wasn’t the most obvious truth in the universe. She would look at him like he had just given her the entire world.  

Or perhaps his propriety would fail him. One can’t always be a gentleman, after all. Perhaps he’d sweep her up into a heated kiss and place her down on the worktable, knocking aside any the vials or potions that dare be in his way. She would pull away from him flushed and breathless, the heaving of her chest straining at her bodice. It would only take one sharp tug…

“My knight, Could you hand me that hatbox over on the dressing table?”

His thoughts were interrupted when the subject of his daydream had popped her head out from behind the partition. 

He retrieved the box in question. But as he turned to walk it over, he could see just enough of her to tell she was, in fact, wearing the red dress he’d been picturing. He halted in place and, giving her a teasing smile, held the box out in front of him. 

“Dearest, I can’t quite seem to reach you,” he says with a sweet, casual smile. “Why don’t you step out a bit more?” 

She narrows her eyes at him. If they still had the tadpoles to connect them, she would undoubtedly be filling his head with all manner of curses and threats. But without psionic influence, all she had was what little intimidation her half-dressed, 4-and-a-quarter-foot self could muster. Which was to say, none. 

She turns her eyes away from him, looks back, looks away, and takes her first tentative steps out from the partition. When she meets his eyes again, Gale’s smug expression has vanished and he’s looking at her with unabashed awe.

“Gods, look at you.” He put down the hatbox so he could steady himself on the dressing table.

Suddenly feeling very vulnerable, she tugs at the garment. “I’ve already done far too much looking at myself today, but thank you, love,” she responds, barely resisting the urge to argue away his compliment. “Besides, I’m not even in it properly. These damn laces in the back.”

Gale exhales into a laugh, “I assure you, there are no complaints from present company,” He extends a hand to the empty room before giving her a small but gentlemanly bow. “Perhaps the lady may even allow me to offer some assistance?”

Cerela smiles despite herself and does as much of a curtsy as she can manage without losing her hold on the dress. As she crosses the room towards him, he knows his imagination didn’t do her justice. The draping shoulders of the gown created a neckline that perfectly matched the heart shape of her face, while leaving an open expanse to admire the contrast of soft, delicate skin over a strong frame. Deep red silk brought out the blue that swept across the left side of her face and into her hair. Like rivers into a bright, brilliant sea. 

Unlaced, the bodice dipped and hugged in unexpected places as she clung to it. She was always most irresistible when slightly disheveled, he found, like he had caught her in the middle of something. Unposed and perhaps a little scandalized. 

She walks over to stand at the dressing table with her back towards him. As he navigates the tangle of crisscrossing ribbon on her bodice, she removes the bejeweled tricorner from the hatbox and places it strategically over the most eye-catching parts of her hair. 

It was ‘Birthright’, the hat she’d purchased from Rolan at Sorcerous Sundries. Conveniently, she had dyed it a soft tan with red accents, which suited the dress well. It was a favorite accessory of hers as they bluffed and bartered their way through the final days of the Absolute. Whenever she wore it, people seemed to take her more seriously. She didn’t stumble over her words like she usually did. It made her feel almost charming. 

It also didn’t hurt to know it obscured the ‘worst’ of her face. 

A somewhat patronizing chuckle escapes Gale involuntarily and Cerela bristles. “Laugh if you like. I’m going to look ridiculous no matter what. At least the enchantment on this will keep me from sounding ridiculous, too.” She turns to make her retreat, but doesn’t get two steps before strong hands encircle her waist and bring her back against his front.

“I assure you, your eyes are much more enchanting than any imbued trinket.” he lifted the piece from her head and held it out in front of them both for inspection. His movements were gentle and his voice, even gentler. “But even if such powers were necessary, I would recommend against a sorcerer’s cap for an academy event.” 

Cerela’s heart sank. Idiot, she thought to herself. How had she missed such an obvious faux pas? She stared daggers into the ugly, stupid, retched hat as Gale placed it off to the side. 

“Oh. Right. Of course.” she replies, flatly. Though inside, a hellfire of shame and anxiety was screaming white hot in her mind. It was a small thing, she knew. But how many more unintended offenses would he have to save her from? How could she be anything but a complete embarrassment to him?

He walks them backward so he can sit on the edge of the bed, facing them both toward the vanity mirror on the dressing table. Now at eye level and with an unobscured view, he sees the misery written on her face. 

He presses a kiss into her shoulder. “What is ridiculous” his hands set to work again on the lacing, “Is my brilliant, beautiful fiancee thinking she would need any assistance in dazzling a room full of doddering old swotters like me.”  

Cerela fidgets uncomfortably with the sparkling tulle overlay of her skirt. She tries to play along with him, but her words come out more pained than she meant them to.

“If only all the wizards I’d met really were like you, my knight.”

Seizing the opportunity to distract from her ruminations, he uses the laces to pull her against him and melts at the gentle “Oh!” that escapes her as she stumbles. 

“While we could certainly do with fewer of those foul creatures you had the misfortune of encountering,” He says with a kiss to the marked side of her face, “I’m not sure I’d welcome the competition of all wizards.” 

She stifles a laugh and he lowers his lips to her neck, “As it is, I’m already dreading the cavalcade of hapless fools that will be vying for your attention all evening.” He smiles against her skin, “Gods know what I’d do if any of them had my smoldering charm.” 

That does get a full-bodied giggle from her, but as she bends forward, it pulls the laces, sinching the dress sharply. She gasps back upright and he quickly drops the ribbons to allow the bodice to expand back out. Laughter bubbles back up from both of them. As it calms, he slides his newly unoccupied hands around her waist and pulls her even closer against him. 

“Perhaps I might steal you away at some point in the night, if it becomes too much.” He perches his chin on her shoulder so he can see her reaction in the mirror; the reluctant smile and deep blush he’s made it his life’s mission to wring from her as often as possible.  

“Would you like that, my love?” He asks, with that edge of smugness he knows she’s weak to. “For me to sweep you away from the riff-raff so we can have a quiet moment of… mutual reassurance?”

She nods shyly and they each give each other a wide smile. “I look forward to it” he murmurs into her ear and returns his attention to the back of her gown.

[writernopal]

🏴‍☠ Captain Frère, The Vanishing Pirate 🏴‍☠

The waves bring to shore many tales. Of sailors lost. Of treasure found. Of lands swallowed by the sea. Of graceless winds raising great storms. By now I thought I'd heard them all.

But I've heard a new one of late.

One of a ship which cuts not just the sea, but the veil of time itself. Of a ship so nimble, so lucky, that she escapes any fate that might befall her! But I can't write about it. You have to come and hear it for yourself.

The name Rabbit's Foot is spelled across her stern. It's clever. I thought you might like that.

At her helm is the mysterious one known only as The Vanishing Pirate to strangers and Captain Frère to her crew. What do her friends call her I wonder... Do they know her name? Perhaps not. Maybe she's bad at introductions.

It doesn't matter.

She comes to port. I wait.

She comes to our stall. I take off my hat.

She buys exactly six barrels of fish. I tell her it will be thirty pieces.

Her quartermaster gives me the sum and she smiles at me. I like it...

Grandma, the story I've heard is incomplete! I can tell you with certainty, she is not a woman, but a sea nymph come to life! And I fear one day her call will bring me to the water's edge...

And I'll dive in.

A fun little AU based off the sketch at the top of this post, gifted to me by @illjustpretend wherein Mariel has been re-imagined as a pirate captain 🥹 I've decided in this AU, Axtapor works at his family's fish market stall in Port St. Croix. He has a longing for adventure on the high seas, so he goes around to taverns and inns to hear stories about the wondrous things that happen all the way out there.

Eventually he hears the story of Captain Frère and how mid-chase her ship and crew, vanished from the waves, only to be sighted by her assailants disappearing over the horizon moments later. He can't help but go to the docks to see her ship for himself after. And he's unimpressed. He's expecting something much grander for a ship that's supposed to have done the impossible but he gets a kick out of the name, Rabbit's Foot.

The next day she visits his stall for the first time and in spite of his disillusionment with her ship, he's absolutely dumbstruck by her. He writes to his grandma after a few of her visits, because the urge to join her crew and follow her into the sea grows stronger and stronger each time he sees her. She warns him that it might be a dangerous ploy, but he goes after her anyway, and thus begins the story!

Maybe one day I'll write it because I love the idea of star-eyed landlubber Axtapor and the littol lady pirate Mariel 🥺

[tinyluminaryzombie]

Graceless

@jilymicrofics | May Prompt #7 - Seething | 686 words tw: mentions of violence and blood (not gorry/extreme) Read on AO3

Lily kept replaying the scene. Time was fuzzy but she remembered every detail of when Severus's pack of wannabe death eaters cornered her.

It was stupid, walking all alone in deserted hallways. She had just finished her head girl duties and she had convinced James to leave early after he was about to chug another black tea just to stay awake. Quidditch schedules weren’t for the weak. 

Lily thought she’d be fine. Ultimately, she supposed she was fine. At least, she was alive. Minutes ago, she arrived in the common room seething, tears from her eyes and blood from her hands mixing on her face. 

Stop crying. Stop crying. Stop crying! echoed in Lily’s head. Crying would be her admission of weakness, her final surrender. She didn’t know what made her weaker: being paralyzed by Severus’s violent betrayal or disgusted by her acts of self-defense. 

It had started with a gasp. A portrait clutched her chest, looking ill. As Lily opened her mouth, ready to whip her head around, the portrait fearfully shook her head in warning. She kept walking, relying on the portraits’s reactions and the frames’ reflections. It quickly became clear. Four masked figures were following her. Lily was outnumbered. She kept walking as long as she could, whispering protective charms. There was no way to attack all four at once without putting the whole castle in danger. She was trapped. 

“Lily! Lily!” a voice called out. 

She blinked twice, reminding herself she was back in the common room, sitting on the gold rug, feeling the cold stone on her back, smelling honey and lemon. She was safe, for now. James came into focus.

“Lily,” he said again. This time, it felt more like a deep whine. She hummed hallowly. “Oh my god. Where are you bleeding? Shit, shit, shit. Lily, we need to get you help, right now.”

“It’s not my blood,” Lily said, looking at golden threads instead of warm eyes. She held her hands up. “It’s not mine.” She crumpled into James’s arms, her head in his chest. She balled her hands up tight fists behind his back. 

“I’m here. I’m here. I love you. I love you. I’m not going to let anything happen to you,” James whispered through her hair. 

“He hesitated. I didn’t.” Lily said. 

“What do you mean?”

Lily let out a shaky laugh. “Severus, he hesitated. Three of his death eater friends pushed him to the front and ripped his mask off. Told him to do his worst. Sev–Severus grabbed my arm and then froze. I yelled one of the blood curses that we were banned from learning in class. As soon as it hit, I yanked my arm away and ran.” 

She heard James sniffle. 

“So it’s Severus’s?”

She nodded. “James?” He needed to understand. 

“Yeah?"

“I just used one of the vindictive and painful curses on someone who I used to call my best friend.”

“I know. I’m so sorry, Lil.” He head, holding her tighter.

“But– but how can you still hold me? How can you still love me? You’re the most loyal person I know. You would never purposely hurt a friend. You’d never use a spell half as bad on them. And your girlfriend just–,” she paused, not wanting to say it again. “I just did that! ” Lily started sobbing again. 

James tried to brush her tears away, his thumb damp from his own. 

“Lily, I have never been more grateful that you’re the top student. I have never been more grateful for vindictive and painful curses. I have never been more grateful that you’re alive .” She feels his lips on her head. “The boys would never hurt me—or you—like that. But he doesn’t understand loyalty, doesn’t warrant loyalty. Just because he hesitated doesn’t mean he deserves your mercy. That goddamn graceless asshole doesn’t deserve your grace.” 

James kissed her temple. “I love you, I love you.” Lily continued to cry as he whispered to her. She reached over to squeeze his hand. I love you. I love you , she thought. 

Maybe together, they could get through this.

[eastwindmlk]

Looks like a big @jilymicro-oops part 1 is for prompt: Liberate, Jan 3 Word count: 1661

The half moon shone brightly through the windows of the fourth-floor corridor, the sconces lit and flickering as they lit their path on the last round of their patrol. It was Friday evening, and she and James had planned to hunker down with a large glass of mead after getting back to the common room and their friends. 

As she rounded the corner, a gust of wind caught Lily’s hair, blowing it in her face from an open window. She was shivering in the March chill as she climbed up the windowsill to push it closed. She was wrestling with the stiff handle, the old metal creaking as she finally slotted it in place. 

James stood and leaned against the wall, watching her struggle with an amused smile on his face. “If you can’t reach, you can just ask,” he teased, flashing her that crooked smile she couldn’t resist. Butterflies were fluttering in her stomach. 

“I can handle it myself. Thank you very much, Potter,” she shot back with a roll of her eyes and a chuckle. Stepping back down, the redhead nearly slipped on a piece of parchment. Landing hard on the bench in the alcove. 

Wincing, she rubbed the spot and reached down to take the leaflet that had caused her graceless moment. Huffing to find it empty, bar from a few scribbles at the top.

‘sacram libera’ wasn’t a spell that he was familiar with, which meant it was likely homemade. The thought of that or his girlfriend trying it out made his stomach swirl uncomfortably. 

“Can I see?” he asked, hand outstretched, ready to take the mystery paper away from her. She extended it a little further when she looked at him questioningly. “Please.” 

Her eyebrows knitted together as she handed it over. “It is probably nothing,” she said, though the tone in her voice betrayed the fact that she was trying to speed things along. There was something shady about this paper, and it was definitely getting in the way of getting buzzed in the common room. 

“I think we should go back to the office and get to the bottom of it,” James suggested, turning it over in his hands as he started towards the prefect’s office. Expecting Lily to follow. 

Sitting down at the desk, James dug his two-way mirror out of his pocket and set it against a stack of books. The piece of empty parchment was in front of him while Lily pulled up a chair, peering over his shoulders. 

“What are you thinking?” she asked, squinting at the paper. There was clearly something about it that worried him. 

His eyes met hers, about to explain his thoughts, when a voice came from the other side of the mirror. “Prongs? I thought you were on patrol.” Sirius’s face appeared as he looked at them curiously. A glass of deep red cherry mead lifted to his lips. 

James hummed, shooting him a disapproving look that made Sirius snort and answer as if he actually said something. “We started a little early; we kind of assumed you two would be late.” 

“We found a piece of parchment-” 

“Sounds exciting. Is that what you need me for?” Sirius interrupted sarcastically, making a point of slurping his drink. 

Lily leaned a little closer to James just to share a look of caution with him, earning a toothy grin before James pushed on with his sentence. ” 

“I think it’s enchanted. There is an incantation at the top.” 

“I still think it is just the tail end of someone’s notes,” Lily clarified, but she could see that it had piqued his interest. Sitting down and drawing some paperwork her way. Leaving the boys to go about their investigation. It sounded like they were having fun with it. 

Occasionally, Lily looked up to see swirls of magic, followed by frustration. Giving it fifteen minutes before chiming in from the other side of the desk. “Have you considered just using the incantation?” 

Both James and Sirius hummed curiously at that, exchanging a look in the mirror before she could see James nod. “I suppose we could try that.” 

James’s wand pressed into the parchment as he practically whispered the words ‘Sacram libera', and from the tip of his wand, words blossomed onto the paper. Words started to appear: 

‘Liberate Wizard kind!’ read the title that Lily could read from where she sat. It certainly was an interesting title, stirring something in her chest. “Think they are recruiting for The Order?” she asked, pushing aside the schedule she had been working on. 

“I don’t know,” James muttered in response, bending over to read the rest of the text. “They are meeting tonight at the library, though.” 

Lily’s eyes lit up as she heard this, excited to see who was planning this revolution. Who was clever enough to make flyers like this? This might be her in. “We should go and see!” 

The silence that followed was only filled by another loud slurp as Sirius drained his glass, as evident by the sound of his glass slamming on the table. “I don’t know if it is a good idea, Little Red.” 

Rounding the desk, Lily leaned down to be able to actually see Sirius while she was gearing up to give him a piece of her mind. Only for James to agree with his friend. 

“I’m sorry, love. But I have a bad feeling about this.” His lips pressed into a thin line, and he looked at her with that pained, apologetic expression on his face. “I think it would be better if Padfoot and I went.” 

Sputtering, Lily set her hands on her sides, deciding to be stubborn about this and insisting she was coming at the very least. “If this is what I think it is, I want to be there!” 

He met her with equal fervour and a stern shake of the head. “If this is what I think this is, you’re not safe.” 

“All the more reason for me to be there,” Lily argued, her mind made up. She was going to go, get to the bottom of this, and act accordingly. This was her responsibility, after all. If Sirius was going, so could she. 

James did not seem to be swayed by her determination. “How does that make sense?!” 

“As Head Girl, I-” 

“Evans, please.” He pinched the bridge of his nose as he said that, looking at her with a tired expression that staggered her. All the bravado she had built up crumbled with just one look. 

Her voice was small. She agreed to let James and Sirius check it out first. “But when you figure out I was right, you come to get me.” 

With an exasperated sigh, he pulled her into a tight embrace. “If that is the case, I will come and get you,” he promised, swaying them back and forth for a moment before gripping her shoulders. “Promise you will stay here until then.” 

Lily swallowed thickly, lips pursed, before she lied to him. “Sure.” Having absolutely no intention of sitting here and waiting. So, when he set off to meet Sirius at the library, Lily waited a minute before following behind. 

Winding through the castle, taking the long route to the first floor. She hid in the shadows of a tapestry while watching out for the boys. She was waiting impatiently for them to go in so she could follow behind.

Creeping along the stacks, Lily did her best to avoid everyone without really knowing where this meeting was being held. She assumed it would be somewhere near the back. Somewhere, that offered some concealment from the casual wanderer. 

Doing her best to be stealthy, she clutched her wand clutched in her hand just in case. It was better to be safe than sorry. 

Lily pressed herself against the shelves as shadows passed her by—shadows she could recognize all too easily. That had haunted her nightmares ever since they got to Mary in the fifth year. 

The cold drawl of Severus greeted Mulciber and Avery. And she knew that James had been right to keep her out of this. Had he known? Surely he had suspected it, or he would not have been so adamant. 

Heart-hammering panicked, the redhead decided to get out of there. She was turning on her heel to make her way back to the safety of the office when Sirius’s voice stopped her in her tracks. 

“Evening fellas, Alecto,” sounding incredibly unbothered by the fact that he just crashed their clandestine meeting. 

Clearly, they were not all too happy about his arrival, and a voice she decided was Evan Rosier’s hissed at Sirius. “What do you want`? Blood traitor!” 

The word made her skin crawl, even if it seemed to not faze Sirius at all, who laughed it off. “You’re going to have to do better than that. Come on, give me a real insult!” He almost sounded threatening. 

Going by the sound of chairs scraping against wood and shuffling feet, wands had been drawn. Leave it to him to decide to draw despite being outnumbered five to one. Six to one? She wasn’t even sure. 

This was when she realized that she had not heard from or seen James. Inching closer, trying to discreetly peer around the shelves to get a lay of the land. Taking advantage of Sirius and drawing their attention. 

Her eyes scanned the table. All the people she expected to see there were present. Mulciber, Avery, Severus, Rosier, Regulus, and Alecto. 

Lily was just thinking that it was odd to see only one-half of the Carrow twins—the pair was usually inseparable, joined at the hip—when a wand pressed into the back of her neck. The point was twisting and pulling at the tiny hairs at the base of her skull. 

A voice was cold and quiet right next to her ear, making her stiffen in fear. 

“Why don’t you join us, Mudblood?”

[slowfalter]

Mitski ranked in order of sadness

————

Nothing was worse and more perfect,

than those phone speakers crackling,

by the river, the sky

dripping sorbet into our palms,

a peach and delicate

tinge of disgust on the air,

As always, some boy jumped in

and we weren’t as impressed as he had anticipated

as the swans, graceless on grass, snapped at some girl,

drunk already on birthday whiskey and insecurity.

Brittany spelled like the place in France.

Brittany like a dog kicked one too many times

had passed through helplessness and arrived at a quiet viciousness.

We already half hated each other the first time we kissed

but I still got that feeling.

The one where the world has just been born and everything,

sparkling and gross, is all too detailed,

like life looks so real that it becomes a dream again.

You know that feeling?

That day and all days,

reality was a blunt instrument for Brittany like the place in France,

falling down the riverbanks,

all the way down the train, crowded with concerned expressions,

all the way down to the party, lurking in some forgotten outer suburb,

all the way

to sleep, a princess on a pile of backpacks,

while I tried all night to be funny

because I knew I couldn’t be pretty,

like I suppose she was,

back then

Before her mother hit her with the frying pan

and more blame than would fit

on 16 year old shoulders, one too many times

and she fell through what I knew

and all the way down, to where I couldn’t follow,

back then

Early summer made promises

in the ripe glow of the evening’s uncertainty.

Almost always underdelivered

————

[dramioneasks]

Hi, I’m sorry to bother you, but I’ve been searching through the tags and can’t seem to find what I’m looking for. Are there any fics where Hermione is an accomplished Occlumens or Legilimens?

Try these:

Interlude: Eighth Year by alexandra.emerson - M, 29 Chapters - Hermione is back at Hogwarts for 8th year. She’s feeling lost and finds comfort with an unlikely person, Malfoy. He’s returned to school for mysterious reasons and his plot involves Hermione, which is why he requested her as his Arithmancy partner. Malfoy is determined to get what he needs before she discovers his plot, or before he loses his nerve (again). Dark Dramione slow burn.

A Lesson in Occlumency By: makesmewonderx3 - T, one-shot - Dumbledore asks Draco to teach Hermione Occlumency. What secrets will he learn about her? And what truths will Hermione uncover from Draco? D/HR.

Obstrigillate By: tyrantsandcreampuffs - T, one-shot - In which Draco teaches Hermione Occlumency, and they both find themselves simply giving in to more than what their minds can handle. / Oneshot for dhr!challenge01. #01

I don’t mind if you don’t mind (can you read my mind?) - SultryNuns - E, one-shot - She’s miscalculated, staring at him openly, so she captures the abrupt way in which his head snaps up from his work. As a consequence, they’re now looking at each other, which is awkward, but at least he doesn’t know what she’s been thinking about. And then, Draco, usually still as a graveyard if never as quiet as one, twirls his wand again. And again. Watching her all the while, considering her. Hermione has a good sense for when she’s in danger, or an overwrought system that feels as though she always is, but either way, she slams a barrier around her mind, exerts her own graceless occlumency. He knows. And worse, he’s been driving her insane intentionally. 

Through his eyes by HCB123 - G, one-shot - Hermione wants to learn legillimency - of course she does. Draco teaches her but accidentally lets her see something he didnt mean for her to.

Seek and Find by SilverDragonGemini - M, one-shot - As part of his post-war sentencing, Draco is ordered by The Ministry to undergo Legilimency sessions to help them find any dark artifacts that may have been hidden at Hogwarts during the war. However, Draco is only willing to participate if Hermione is the one to perform the search on his mind and memories. Or: A legilimency journey through Draco's greatest hits and some of his most hidden secrets.

Legilimens - Ahimadala - E, 27 chapters, Words: 106,871 - Hermione Granger did everything she could to restore her parents’ memories after the war ended. However, in an attempt to fight her own spell something went wrong. The heroine of the Wizarding World will find herself with a very rare and uncontrollable gift, which will force her to discover shocking and embarrassing truths.

-Lisa

[dailycharacteroption]

Retrograde Revision 2: Arcane Duelist

(art by NatteRavnen on DeviantArt)

And now we move on to the arcane duelist, an archetype I was somewhat dismissive of my first time writing it. However, I’d now like to take the time to look over it with fresh eyes.

The first thing I noticed looking back at this archetype is that some of it’s abilities are almost a prototype for the powers we would later see with the magus class, and overall, one could imagine this being a sort of proto-magus in general, albeit one built from a bardic perspective and origin.

Indeed, this archetype is all about using performance to bolster one’s combat prowess and that of others through the graceful dance of combat, tying into how many combat styles are almost dancelike in their motions, and in some cases, are also literally dances. “bladedancing” has long been a thing in the hobby, though others might choose to blend their combat with other performances, using song or oratory to control their own breathing, or even acting or comedy in place of dance to coordinate their movements, particularly in a way that seems deceptively graceless in the latter case.

Additionally, these mystical duelists learn arcane secrets to briefly enchant their blade similar to the way a magus does, but theirs only lasts as long as they maintain it, making it mostly useful in short bursts.

Honestly, now that we have the benefit of time, seeing how this archetype might relate to the magus class in terms of theory and expression could be very fun to explore.

At the most basic level, these bards learn how to focus just enough of their magic into their weapons to help them pierce foes that resist mundane weaponry.

However, they also learn a variety of performances to enhance their ability as well. The first let them call out a rallying cry or song to bolster the spirits of allies, helping them overcome fear and despair. (technically there is nothing explicitly call a “despair effect” in Pathfinder, but we can assume this is things similar to doom or the crushing despair spell).

The second, however, is the real meat of the class, letting them enhance their own weapon, be it melee, ranged, or even an appendage, with magical power, even tailoring the effects from a short list.

Among the most powerful, however, can grant this magical blessing to allies as well, albeit with reduced potency the more allies they bolster the weapons of this way.

These duelists also learn various combat techniques, specifically drawing upon those that make them effective against other casters in close quarters as well as those that help them break the defenses of especially tough creatures.

Additionally, they invest power into their weapon to make it a bonded item similar to that which a wizard uses, letting them cast one extra spell from their arsenal that day, and of course letting them enchant it without other training.

They also slowly learn how to cast effectively while wearing heavier and heavier armor, allowing many such duelists to become as armored warriors while still retaining their magical ability.

This archetype is interesting in how it sets up many of the abilities we see in magus class, and if you wanna just say that magus replaces arcane duelist that is perfectly fine, but I think there is still a place for it at the table. If you do decide to utilize it, I would recommend taking extra performance a few times so that have plenty of daily rounds for your weapon enhancing. However, remember that this does not replace the classic Inspire Courage/Competence/Heroism and so on performances, so you can easily switch between personal buffing and buffing the whole party as needed, perhaps reserving the weapon enhancement for when they actually get involved in duels or other one-on one fights. Also, don’t forget that their bonus feats are heavily geared towards being anti-caster, making them useful for singling out and disrupting spellcasting enemies.

In a way, this archetype also taps into the dilletante aspect of the bard, as we can see aspects of wizardry and what would become the magus in them. They might belong to a dedicated style that blends these things together, or they might be unique individuals with their own reasons and history for blending these aspects. All of which are interesting questions to ask about the character and the setting around them.

The so-called “chaplains” of the orc nation of Golvakk are not affiliated with any religion at all, but are master arcane duelists, bellowing out war-cries to their bloodthirsty gods, bolstering warbands such as the one that now looms on the hills above Golvakk’s verdant coastal nation, Irdiz, where the heroes have been acquiring the favor of the king. They must fight if they hope to continue swaying him.

Hardgg Oakbreaker is the last of his clan, an ancient dwarven lineage stretching back hundreds of years, reknowned for their skill in fighting surface elves and drow. After the shaky alliance with the elves solidified, the Oakbreaker prestige shriveled, now regulated to defending against drow incursions from below. He won’t speak of the rest of his clan, except to say that they have perished, and has been seen headed towards elven lands. Is the old soldier returning to the sites of old battles to reminisce, or does he have something darker and more foolish in mind?

Rumor on the Bitter Coast speaks of a strange masked man wearing mithral armor and wielding both magic and longsword together. They say he travels up and down the coast, hunting down criminals, his every clever quip seeming to make his blows bite deeper. Who is this mysterious man, and why is he never in the same place as the local merchant lord?

[marnie1964]

Thanks for tagging me, @ryanxross <3

Rules: Spell your url with song titles and then tag as many people as there are letters.

Glycerine; Bush

On to the next one; Jay-Z

Right down the line; Gerry Rafferty

Ever fallen in love (with someone shouldn't've); Buzzcocks

Voyage voyage; Desireless

I live now as a singer; Julie Byrne

Dollar bill blues; Townes Van Zandt

As long as I have you; Garnet Mimms

Love is a losing game; Amy Winehouse

Straight tequila night; John Anderson

Call the police; LCD Soundsystem

ATLiens; Outkast

Lucretia my reflection; Sisters of Mercy

Is it a crime; Sade

Graceless; The National

Up the creek; Tori Amos

Legs; ZZ Top

Anti-hero; Taylor Swift

I'm tagging: @flashbulb-memory @hoodienanami @whorelandoflorida @alienfuckeronmain @buildaballroom @courtesyname @eggtrolls @whorevidal @bluestockingbaby @queenofnots @commonpigeon @frodoshaggins @wolfalicesilk @katharine-hepburn and @findmeinthealps

[tiianwens]

𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆: @xiianxias — YĪNG JIĀ

in the end, it's all yīng jiā's fault: being sick in the first place is a divine punishment, a sign from the heavens above that he must be a fundamentally flawed person --- because if he were good and worthy, he'd be rendered whole again; the fact that he hasn't been is a damning one. he should've known today was going to be a bad day --- he'd woken up drenched in sweat, was too nauseous to eat anything, and had gotten lightheaded even during his morning meditation. his chest is aching and burning, like something is trying to claw its way out of his lungs. yīng jiā holds a hand against the wall for support, vision clouding over with each shaky step he takes. it feels like he's dying. this time, he wonders if he really is. he tugs a bloodstained handkerchief from the sleeve of his robe and coughs into it, but this time, there's too much blood --- it soaks through the fabric and splatters down the front of his robes; in between fits of agonized coughing, he struggles to suck down even half a breath of air. the world tilts, and he steps wrong; with an uncharacteristically graceless stumble, he falls as if in slow motion, slumping on the ground. yīng jiā doubts his master is nearby; even so, to call out for him feels instinctual. after all, his master is the one who's going to teach him the cultivation techniques he needs to get better ... ! "shizun," he manages feebly. blood dribbles down his chin. he coughs again, and his vision nearly whites out. "shizun, please ... help me ... "

THE PRISTINE WHITES of his robes always shied away from the dirt and blood of worldly affairs — such is the nature of a man devoid of warmth, a wildfire raging without a spark. Disgusted at the thought of being stained, of being tainted, afraid of being too exposed, yet the gut-churning sound of such violent coughing adds vigor to his step. Chu Wanning allows it to get under his skin. He allows the words to pierce his heart. So similar to the gentle, childish voice from years ago, so vulnerable to trust. 'Shizun, please pay attention to me...'

So he lowers himself, catching the other in his arms. A glowing trail of spiritual energy flows through his fingers pressed against Yīng Jiā's chest to place a temporary seal and hold back the damage. White sleeves are so easy to stain, fresh crimson soaking through delicate fabric — there's not enough time to take out his own handkerchief, embroidered with a flower of haitang, and this amount of blood would never wash off completely, it would never–

His hands are shaking but his voice is cold. ❝ Breathe, ❞ it commands, and the glow of golden light still lingers, as soothing as he can muster, as gentle as his hands know how to be. Brows knit together, blade-sharp, nothing but collected hollowness and familiar disapproval behind his phoenix eyes — the healing spell is superficial, too weak to save a life but wilful enough to drain the life force of its caster until the flow of blood subsides. ❝ Focus on my voice and keep breathing, ❞ Chu Wanning instructs again, but with his chest pressed against the other's back, wouldn't the violence of his heart be too obvious? It's pitiful, almost, how he cannot find it in him to muster a gentler 'I'm here'. How he listens to the frantic, ragged breathing, a hand resting briefly upon the burning forehead. How he wishes to find a way to never see so much blood again.

❝ You shouldn't have exerted yourself this much, ❞ there must be a way, there has to be a way... ❝ Don't move, just breathe. I'll take you to your room when you're able to walk. ❞

[neallo]

untitled hallebirthdayfic WIP

simply will not get this finished in time for halle's birthday, so instead, have a preview. nsft below the cut; matt x halle.

“Lemme eat you out again,” Matt murmurs against her mouth. “Will you let me? It’s— it’s your birthday, and— fuck, I want you to sit on my face.”

“I guess I can do that,” she says, the nonchalance of the phrase decimated by her breathlessness. “Since you asked so nicely and all.”

Even with her long dry spell over the course of her time working for the SPK, Halle has received oral sex plenty of times throughout her life. She’s categorically avoided dating anyone who was put-off by cunnilingus since she was twenty-one. Somehow, though, she’s never tried it in quite this position.

Back in her bedroom she carefully straddles Matt’s face, her knees on the pillow on either side of his head, and delicately lowers herself so that his mouth is roughly level with her clitoris.

“Do I have it right?” She asks.

Matt runs his hands up the sides of her thighs and squeezes her ass. “Seems pretty damn good to me,” he says, leaning up to lick a long, graceless stripe up the center of her cunt.