#Price and Witch's magic has sort of reached an understanding

[ghouljams]

not to be a slut but what if price tapped witch?

:)

"Why don't we just wipe her and try again?" Gaz asks, already on his feet and moving towards you with an efficiency you haven't seen in years. You try not to be intimidated by the threat. Price wouldn't let anything happen to you, at least you don’t think he would. You trust him, and he must trust Gaz or he wouldn't have brought him. So you’re doing your best to trust Gaz as well.

"Not a good-" Price's words are cut short by Gaz's fingers pressing against your forehead with a soft tap before you can even think to swat his hand away. Price shoots to his feet almost as quickly as you feel the pierce of wild magic sliding through your brain. A jagged knife pushing home between the hemispheres of your brain, snapping synapses and tearing tissue. Your eyes go wide as agony sweeps over you.

"Price?" You don't know what you mean to say after that, or even what your intentions with it were in the first place. The sharp block of fae magic sits menacingly between your thoughts, pushing out everything else with increasingly painful precision. When you look at Price for help you taste blood, feel tears spill down your cheeks. Price's face contorts into something akin to panic as he reaches for you.

The two fae are snapped from your home, your wards identifying and expelling the threats as you stumble to your feet. You can't make your eyes focus on anything but the bright crimson blood that coats your fingertips as you draw them away from your lips. Your nose is bleeding.

Price pounds on the door, yelling for you. You do your best to ignore it and drag yourself to your kitchen, hands shaking and breaths shallow as you open your apothecary cabinet. You grab- no you- you can't remember what you're supposed to grab in this situation. The pain is starting to make it hard to think, and your vision won't clear enough to read the scrawled labels on the bottles in front of you. 

"Let me in Sweetheart," Price calls through your door, "please let me in," his voice sounds as desperate as the bang of his fist against the wood, "I can fix this, please."

You can fix this too. You're sure you know how to fix this. You just cant- you can't recall it. You grip your head with a whine, dig your fingers against your hairline as pain shoots against the back of your eye. You need a proxy. You need something to take this pain so you can think about how to get the twisting knife out of your skull.

You try to open the large drawer in the middle of the cabinet and find it stuck. You jiggle the handle to try and coax it open, tugging blindly at the drawer. There’s poppets in there, raw materials, you’re sure- you’re sure if- fuck you’re not-

You press your shaking hands to your eyes, clawing at your head to try and release some of the pressure. It feels like your skull is about to explode. You try not to scream in pained frustration. Everything is too much. Too bright and searing. You’re losing parts of your brain as quickly as you can remember them. You feel like a cup being poured out, the profound loss of yourself a threatening undercurrent to the pain. 

You need this -whatever it is- out of you. You try to remember your spells, your magic, the things your mother and grandmother have drilled into you since you were small. You don’t have time to think (couldn’t hope to anyway) you can only rely on the instinct that’s been nurtured in you.

You are raw unfiltered magic, built on generations of magical blood. It courses through your veins like a guiding compass and forces you forward, self preservation and adrenaline carrying you when your feet don't want to. The pounding. The pounding on the door. It's like a never ending drum beat, tattooing itself over your eardrums. There's someone very insistent at your door. A proxy, your ancestors whisper to you.

You rip the door open, grab the face of the man banging on it, and press. Press all the pain out of your body and into him, push the knife out of your skull and drive it as deep as you can into him until it doesn't hurt anymore, until you don't feel anything anymore. And he lets you. Whoever he is, he lets you pour the invading magic into him, his hand tight around your wrist as you do, holding you steady. He catches you around your waist when the adrenaline leaves you in a rush, and your legs can't support you anymore, holds you tight to his chest and murmurs soft kindnesses to you. You're not sure why when you've surely given him every painful reason to spit and curse at you. 

"It's alright Sugar, it's- Christ what took you so long, I thought-" He presses his lips to your forehead, wiping away the last of whatever invading force was putting you through hell. 

“Price I-” There’s another person here, you flinch away from his voice.

“Save it, you didn’t know.” Price, that’s a familiar name, cuts him off. Price crouches, adjusts his hold on you and slips an arm under your knees to lift you. “Witches are a rare breed,” He grunts, bouncing you a little in his hold to coax you to hang on, “and even if we didn’t mix like oil and water this one’s warded to hell and back.”

“Generational,” You mumble, trying to deepen your breathing, eyes squeezed shut against the sunlight.

“You comin’ back to me already, Sweetheart?” Price murmurs, there’s something rumbly and comforting in his chest. It makes you feel safe and held. You hum, not sure what he’s talking about. He smells good, cool like the winter breeze, after the horrible burning it’s a nice change. Price is mumbling something to himself, the rumbling starting to peter off as he does. That’s alright, it’s done its job leading you towards sleep. You’re jostled back to wakefulness with a few purposeful bounces. “You want me to put you to bed?” He asks softly, you think that’s a funny question considering he’s already trying to put you to sleep.

“Please.”

“Atta girl,” You feel when he passes through the threshold into your home. The wards raised and poised to attack the magic that had threatened their owner. You wish they wouldn’t bother you when you’re so worn out. That seems to work well enough for them to settle, humming in annoyance as Price carries you through the little archway separating the bedrooms from the main room of the house.

You’re set on a soft surface, your bed you think, and Price’s hands leave you to let you cuddle into your pillows. You open your eyes as he pulls the curtains over your window. The dim light makes you feel soft and selfish, reaching a hand toward him as he turns. He catches your fingers with his own, crouching to meet your eyes. He kisses the tips of your fingers, your knuckles, he looks… regretful. His brows are drawn and his smile doesn’t reach the soft look in his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” You wonder how many people have heard him say that, something soft and warm settles between your ribs. You pull at his grip, push your cheek against his rough palm. He lets out a pained noise and draws back, “I can’t, Gaz and I-”

“S’okay,” You sigh and close your eyes again, pulling a pillow under your aching head, you’re starting to feel a little more yourself, “I’ll be here.”

“I know,” His fingers brush your hair from your face, “I’ll be back.”

You smile when his fingers don’t leave, tracing your features lightly, reverently, “I know.”

[space-mermaid-writing]

The witchling and the god [Loki x Witch!Reader] Chapter 23

Summary: The Avengers were looking for someone to help Loki fit in with the team. To become socially acceptable, so to speak. He had been given the choice of sitting in a cell in Asgard or serving some sort of community service probation on Midgard. The Avengers and Shield both felt that as long as Loki was on Earth, he should be under supervision. This is now your job. Why? Because you’re a witch. You’re not sure why this qualifies you, but here you are, giving it a shot. What could possibly go wrong?

Tags: Witch!Reader, Magic, Witches, slow burn, everybody lives in the tower, character development, Loki‘s redemption, Stephen Strange is a friend, Loki and Stephen are frenemies, Tony Stark is a good bro, kids love Loki, Tony has stupid nicknames for everybody, eventual smut

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Read it on AO3 | Previous | Next

Chapter’s Note: You guys deserve some fluff after all that angst. Beta by @zaria-04

Chapter 23: Healer Josiah

When you wake up, you feel like you've never been in a more comfortable bed. The mattress is like a cloud, the blanket is the perfect weight, and there is a source of warmth next to you. You turn your head and see Loki sitting, leaning with his back against the headboard of the bed and in his hand a book he is reading. Sensing the motion, he looks at you.

"Ah, you're awake," he notes, flipping his book closed.

Muttering softly, you reach for his hand. Loki smirks. "You'll have to be a little more eloquent for me to understand you."

"Everything hurts," you complain a little louder. You've used too much magic in such short time, and this is the price you pay. The kind of magic you used on your brother draws energy from the user's body. It feels like sore muscles or a hangover. You feel like someone ran over you with these machines they use to resurface ice at rinks. You’re glad you’re alive, but still, you don't feel the like getting out of bed today.

Sympathetically, Loki brushes a few strands of hair out of your face. "Get some more rest. You deserve it."

Nodding, you snuggle back into your pillow. "How long was I asleep?" you ask, though.

"We arrived here yesterday at noon. Now it's almost night."

Horrified, you tear your eyes open. "Oh shit! I have to call Tony and let him know. And check on Gabe..."

Despite your aching muscles, you sit up to look for your bag but Loki gently holds you back.

"Relax. I talked to Stark on the phone and explained what happened. You're to report to him later, when you're rested. Your brother is alive. Your sister is with him." His words reassure you and you let yourself be drawn back to him. You're touched that he's thought of everything.

"Thank you," you murmur.

He presses a kiss to your forehead. "Sleep. I'll get you something to eat."

~~

The next time you wake, you feel better. Loki is nowhere to be seen this time, but next to your bed is a tray of something that looks suspiciously like huevos rancheros. You take a good bite, feeling like you're on the verge of starvation. Unfortunately, the food is not quite warm anymore, but you are fine with it. You are glad to be able to fill your stomach and when you have emptied your plate, you are still not completely full. But before you go to the kitchen to get a second helping, you reach for your bag, which someone - probably Loki - has left next to the bed.

You pull out your phone and dial Tony's number. You remember that he went all out of his way and offered you his help before you left in a hurry. That's more than a normal employer would do. No, Tony is a friend. He doesn't pay you anymore, you don't work for him anymore. It had not been a matter that had directly affected Loki. And yet he would have jumped right into action. He is a good man.

He proves that right away with the words he uses to greet you. "Hey, Sabrina, are you alright? Do you need backup?"

It makes you smile. "I'm fine, sorry for the trouble. It's complicated..." You hesitate, thinking how much you should tell. Not because you don't trust him, but because you're unsure how much you want him to hear. But then you decide to stick to the factual truth. At least as factual as you can stay under the circumstances. "My brother... they tried to kill him, but we were able to safe him... at least I hope so. I need some time to sort things out. We'll be back in a few days."

Tony doesn't answer right away, and you think it's because he needs time to process the information you've given him. But then you hear a repulsor blast and Jarvis' voice in the background.

"Are you guys in a fight?"

"Huh? Yeah, don't worry about it, there's just a mechanical hydra bot loose in the city," Tony mentions as if it doesn't matter at all. "We have it under control." There is an explosion somewhere in the distance. "Who tried to kill your brother?"

"Witch hunters.” You need a moment to focus on the conversation. “Do you guys need help? I can send Loki to you."

"Totally under control."

"Shields are at fifty-six percent," Jarvis interjects.

"I've had worse," Tony reassures either you or himself, you are not sure. "Cap, time for your frisbee extreme move. I gotta go, Sabrina. Call Jarvis if you need anything."

"Sure, be safe," you say, but he's already hung up. You stare at your phone, torn about whether to create a teleportation circle there and now and jump over to help. However, you're still banged up and wouldn't be much help. Besides, they're the Avengers. They can do it.

You decide to see where your sister is instead.

Conveniently, you find her in the kitchen. It is quite large and more modern than you would expect. There are several stoves and two cooks working there. You've encountered close to a dozen people on the way from your room to here, and you can imagine that the house is home to many more. They all need to be fed, of course.

A smaller dining area is set up in the back of the kitchen, where your sister is sitting at the table. You catch her glance and wave at her, but turn to the cooks first to ask for seconds before joining her with your plate full.

Elizabeth pulls you into her arms. Being close to her does you good and calms your nerves. She is your family and whatever else comes your way, you will face it together. You siblings stick together.

You sit down across from her, but continue to hold her hand. "How's Gabe?" That's the first thing you want to know. The most important question.

"Stable, but still unconscious."

Well, it’s something. It could be worse. "And how do you feel?" You ask her. She still looks pale and taken, but has apparently been awake for a while. "Holy moly, you walked into a burning house. That was so badass."

Elizabeth smiles wanly. "I know right? I got this tattoo for diving in coral reefs, but I'm glad it lets me breathe in every environment."

"What about the vacuum of space?" you ask, finally letting go of her hand to attend to your second breakfast.

"If I'm in space, I'd have various more serious problems at hand than breathing."

"I guess you're right." It's good to talk about this nonsense. A piece of normality that distracts you from worrying about your brother. From all the other worries that automatically come along with it. You don't want to think about how present the threat of witch hunters still is after all these decades.

Your sister, meanwhile, has something else on her mind and she hesitates with her next question. "What exactly did you do? I mean that spell. That was hella scary. Does it have any... consequences for Gabe?"

You can hear that this topic seems to be on her mind a lot. You can't blame her. You look at your food and then at her.

"It was a strong healing spell combined with soul binding." That the arms of the damned appeared probably means his soul was already leaving. You swallow hard as you realize how narrowly your brother escaped death. "Honestly, I'm not sure what it means for Gabe when he wakes up. If he wakes up." You sigh heavily and hang your head. "I may have cursed him. I know we have rules. Mama was always strict about that… but I couldn't lose him, Bell." Your eyes get wet, but you swallow your tears, aware that you are not alone in the kitchen. "I'm sick of losing siblings. We are the only ones left."

Elizabeth purses her lips. Her face is not totally disapproving, but she's not happy either. "The only thing certain in life is death. We all have to die one day," she reminds you what you mother taught you.

"I know. But Gave didn't deserve this. Not like that." All your frustration is in the words, and they're louder than intended. The two cooks' heads turn toward you, but you pay them no mind.

"How do we know what any of us deserve?" Your sister shakes her head and she lowers her voice a little. "We should not play god."

"I’ve met gods and they don't seem so different from us." You're frustrated. You don't actually want to argue with your sister. Not now. Not here. But you realize you may have crossed a dangerous line. There are dangerous kinds of magic. It’s one thing to have theoretical knowledge of it, but another to actually use it. You remember the witch cave in Club Enchant and the chill you got when you entered it. Evil magic lied there.

"Then call it fate or the universe. There are things above us, above our understanding," your sister continues.

It's a discussion of principle, but you don't have the nerve for it right now. Not after what the two of you have been through the last few days. You push your plate away from you. You've lost your appetite.

"Are you angry with me?" you ask her, "Because of what I did?"

Elizabeth looks at you in silence for a long time, and you suddenly see her age. You see her concern for you, for Gabriel, and you see the pain for everyone you've already lost.

"I'm not angry that you tried to save Gabe. I'm just not happy about how you did it. But I know it was a unique and very stressful situation. I just wish it didn't have to come to this."

"Me too," you whisper.

Your sister reaches for your hand and squeezes it.

There is a brief pause, during which you are both preoccupied with your own thoughts.

"How are things with Loki?" she asks you then, and you're glad for the change of subject.

"Good." You smile faintly. "He's doing a great job with the Avengers."

Your sister pushes your plate back toward you and you roll your eyes. Definitely the mom type of sister. "I saw the news about the hurricane clean up," she tells you, ignoring your silent protest.

"Yeah, I was kinda worried because of..." You suddenly remember something you'd forgotten under all the stress. "Oh shit! I didn't tell you about the cards, did I?"

Elizabeth frowned. "No, what cards?"

You hurry to tell her about your tarot cards.

"And I was afraid something bad would happen, even if it wasn't a dangerous mission. You know, no alien fighting. But if I'd known it would be about Gabe..." You would have been saved a lot of trouble. You realize the full extent of it. After Loki and the Avengers returned and your sister called, you had been so worried that you hadn't even thought about the obvious. "I should have told you. Both of you. Maybe he wouldn't be- "

"Hey, stop," your sister gently interrupts you. "You couldn't have known that. The cards are vague. Even though this does sound quite unusual. But there's no point in blaming you. It's the hunters fault."

Taking a deep breath, you nod. "You're right." You say it more to reassure Elizabeth than being convinced yourself. "Next time I'll tell you regardless. I tried to ask Mama about it, but I haven't heard from her since the convergence."

"Me neither. You know how she is."

Unpredictable, unreliable, uninvested. You feel anger boiling up inside you, often a companion emotion when you think of your mother. But now is not the time, and you swallow it down. You're too upset to stir up old stories.

"Good morning, ladies." You look up as Loki walks through the door. When you see him, you instantly have a smile on your lips and feel better. Funny how feelings can change. When you think back to when you had taken the job from Tony and met the Asgardian for the first time.

"Am I interrupting important sister bonding time?"

"Not at all. Please take a seat," your sister invites him.

Loki sits down with you and after a quick glance at your plate, he conjures up an exact copy of your meal. An offended 'Tsk' comes from one of the cooks, which Loki ignores.

"I haven't had a chance to thank you yet for helping Gabriel. I really appreciate what you did for us." Elizabeth's words draw Loki's attention to your sister and he nods.

"Of course. I have a brother of my own," he offers as an explanation.

"Thor, right? Are you two close?"

The Asgardian hesitates with his answer. His eyes briefly wander to you, but you have leaned back and are silently listening to the conversation. "It's complicated. But I do love him and would do anything to keep him alive."

Elizabeth nods in understanding. "Family is important," she trails off, looking at you.

And that's true. You realize how close you are to your siblings. Both Elizabeth and Gabriel. Even if you live in different countries or even continents and don't see each other often, you have a special bond. You know you can rely on them should the need arise. The recent incident has made that clear once again. You can visit them any time to share happy feelings and memories.

It's a special kind of love. Absolute and unconditional. It doesn't matter if you talk, cry or fight with your siblings. You can't imagine a scenario where you don't love them.

You share a long look with Elizabeth and are sure that she feels the same.

Your gaze wanders to Loki. It's different with him. You realize that you have deep feelings for him, too, for quite a while. And day by day it seems to become more and more. You don't dare to call it love yet. The circumstances are difficult. He is a god and you're just a simple witch. You are not sure if your time together is limited and that holds a part of you back. A part that is still unsure after everything you've been through together.

"How long are you planning on staying on Earth?" Elizabeth asks, addressing the Asgardian, pulling you out of your thoughts. "Do you visit home often?"

Oh, right. You haven't told her why Loki is staying at the compound.

"No, my father banished me because of what I did in New York." Loki's expression turns stony, as he struggles to keep his voice neutral. You put your hand on his leg to show your support and he sighs softly. "I'll stay here until he pardons me."

"And when he does? What are your plans?" Elizabeth presses further and looks at both of you. It's clear she means your relationship.

You frown at that. Normally, she has more tact to drop an uncomfortable subject, so you don't understand why she insists now. "We haven't talked about it yet," you reply in Loki's place, but turn your head toward him, because you're basically asking yourself the same questions.

Loki thinks about his brother's words on the Quinjet when they flew to the Appalachians. "I'd love to show you Asgard one day," he admits after a brief pause. "If you want to accompany me. My mother invited you to tea anyway."

"I can't say no to the queen," you smile softly, for it is like the beginning of a promise. And you certainly can't say no to the prince.

Loki presses a kiss onto your knuckles.

Elizabeth seems satisfied with the answer, as she watches you with a soft smile.

"What's your plan now? With your brother?" the Asgardian then asks, directing your thoughts to more pressing matters.

This is indeed something you and your sister need to discuss. It's clear that Loki and you need to return to New York soon. Gabriel is in good hands here and as long as he is not at least conscious, there is little you can do. Elizabeth is also already missed by her husband, but since he is absent often enough himself, she doesn't feel too bad about it.

Elizabeth and you decide to take turns checking on your brother and discussing everything else once Gabriel is awake. Whenever that may be.

You really hope he will recover. The effects of the spell are still unpredictable.

After your meal you go to see Gabriel. His room is on the first floor. It is simply furnished, visibly serving the purpose of accommodating patients. Through the window you have a nice view of greenery.

Gabriel's breaths are regular, it would seem like he’s simply asleep. But otherwise he looks bad. His skin is burned almost all over his body. A magical film lies over him, like a dimly glowing, delicate spider web.

You step only slowly closer and sigh as you still see the burned cross on his forehead. You had already noticed it when Elizabeth and you had given first aid, but now you realize once again the actions of the witch hunters. You clench your hands into fists and swallow a few angry tears. While you've never been the type for revenge, at this moment you're certain: if you ever encountered a witch hunter, you won’t hesitate to collect the debt.

"He needs time, but he'll survive," you suddenly hear a voice from the door, and as you turn, you see Josiah enter.

He is a small man, his best years already behind him. His hair is thinned out and he wears thick horn-rimmed glasses on his nose. You've met him a few times already and his style of dress never seems to have gone beyond the 60s or 70s. Although you're not sure if it's really old fashioned or if it's just his charm that contributes to it.

But he's one of the best healers you know.

Josiah steps up to Gabriel's bedside and moves his fingers over the film. The web lights up as he weaves more threads into it.

You sit down on a chair on the other side of the bed so you're not in his way, and watch him.

"Do you need anything?" he asks you without looking up from his work.

You shake your head. "I'm fine. Thank you for your help."

"Always."

_______________

Loki: makes a copy of your food The cook: "You come into my house and dare to disrespect me?!"

Y'all were worried about Gabe after the last chapters and I'm kinda happy about it, since he's "just" an OC and a side character. Thank the gods, Gabriel is not dead. One (1) person will die in this story, but it won’t be our precious ginger boy.

Tag List: @lokisgoodgirl @lokixryss @itsybitchylittlewitchy @yokshi-unbeliebubble @fictional-hooman @elennair @all-envy-suyu @purplekitten30 @elisadmaggiore @nothing2113 @baebeepeach @ceo-of-stfu @moonlightreader649 @ronipiamka @fluffybunnyu @ninjarose23 @ozymdias @huntress-artemiss @thedistractedagglomeration @rosaline-black @sofi786 @moonlightreader649 @paetonnn @eldriidd @r4inlov3r @eleniblue @eleniblue @maeisonline @marvel-love24 @sinsandguilt @kalinaselennespeaks @ohtellmelove @eleniblue @msrawog @hyojin-2579 @just-someone11 @marygoddessofmischief @fall-myriad @melavoris

[dragons-and-dwarves-are-nice]

To the Shadows that Cry Witch - Prologue

Hello! Welcome to the Prologue of 'To the Shadows that Cry Witch'! I'm so excited to be posting the first part of my fic (even if it is just the opening) and I really hope you enjoy it too! Like I have said, this is going to be a lengthy one, so I hope most of you are willing to be in for the long run. Anyways enough of my rambling, see you on the 17th for Chapter 1! Enjoy! <3

Summary: Magic was real, but it came at a price. So when two girls from England ended up in the one place they never thought they could reach, strange things began to happen. Good or bad? That's up to them to find out.

Tags: Kíli x oc/reader - Fíli x oc (POV to be written soon) - Thorin's company x ocs/reader (platonic) - fluff - angst - SUPER slow burn - crack

Word Count: 266

Warnings: Nothing, just two wizards squabbling.

Taglist - comment or message to be added!

You want background music? Check out my Soundtrack Playlist!

Now available on Wattpad and AO3

Go back to Masterlist

Prologue // Chapter I >

To the Shadows that Cry Witch - Prologue

Witch (Definition): A practitioner of witchcraft; (or) A person (especially a woman) who is credited with having supernatural powers.

Isengard – 2764 of the Third Age (1164 Shire Reckoning)

“How can you know? These visions of yours could be just a fantasy, something your mind created to entertain whilst you reside in this mortal realm.”

“Saruman I can assure you this is not something to be swept aside!” Gandalf exclaimed, almost desperately. “For me to dream, let alone one so vividly and recurrently; it has to be some sort of sign!”

“Yet you dream of the impossible.” Saruman replied sharply. “Creatures not of Middle Earth? There is no evidence to prove the existence of another dimension. And you say they will come here? Absurd!”

“Saruman—”

“I will not discuss this any further Gandalf.”

“But I can sense their power. They retain magic that would take a millennia for any of us to even begin to comprehend—“

“Unless you return baring physical proof of your.. theories, I will not waste anymore time dwelling on a vision you had during some nap of yours. During the highly unlikely chance that they do exist, it will be discussed how big of a threat they are.

"But—"

"If they prove to be a danger to Middle Earth, they will be taken care of how I see fit. Do you understand?”

Gandalf sighed, exasperated, before nodding reluctantly at his superior’s commands. Turning on his heel, he practically stormed out of Orthanc, his muttering and grumbling echoing within the dark halls.

Within minutes he was back on his horse, the feeling of Saruman‘s eyes burning into his back as he galloped away from the towering citadel of Isengard into the forest beyond.

Prologue // Chapter I >

I hope you liked it! See you on the 17th March for Chapter One!

Taglist:

@opheliasdrowningg @mrsdurin (I know you haven’t asked to be on the taglist, but I just wanted to make sure you could find it :))

[mobagehelllocal]

"closer"

twst oc week - day five: unique magic or magicless

*special au where ai grew up in twst and develops a um!

"all that is near us we must know could disappear any day be careful the main key to finding happiness lies nowhere else but in our souls"

Octavinelle would have one prominent student amongst the first years. And this would be none other than—

“Raina.” Said girl snapped into attention at her dorm leader’s voice.

“Yes Azul-senpai?” Azul peered at her from the corner of his eyes. She stood slightly off to Jade’s other side. One hand curled at her chest and eyes attentively staring at him. She was their junior back in the Coral Sea, so imagine their surprise when they found that she had followed them all the way to Night Raven College.

“A client of mine... that is. Idia-san wishes to borrow your presence and Unique Magic once more.” He paused, “is your Unique Magic ready?”

She blinked and nodded cheerfully.

“Yup! I set another microwave on fire at the Mostro Lounge today! And I also tripped down the stairs this afternoon!” She gave him a wink. “My Unique Magic is probably charged to full again!”

At her words, Azul’s eyes twitched and Floyd let out a loud laugh. Jade peered at her, eyes scanning her head to toe for any visible injuries.

“Aaaah~! Ai’s accidents are way too funny! It’s always fun to see the things you accidentally get into..!”

“Thank the Sea Witch that Idia-san seems to believe so strongly in your abilities... He is paying us a high price. So make sure you don’t fail us tomorrow.”

“Of course senpai! Gotta pay back for that ruined microwave.” Azul grumbled at her words, before he turned to Jade with a deadpan expression.

“Of course. The damages have been calculated, and the loss of another microwave will barely make a dent in our finances.” Jade inclined his head. “I believe it was a great idea to sell Raina’s presence and the use of her Unique Magic. We are earning much from it.”

“Anything for my beloved seniors~!” Ai smiled, goofily. Truly uncaring—what mattered to her was that she was making her three seniors pleased with her contributions to Mostro Lounge... albeit the fact that her services weren’t really connected to the Lounge itself.

“There there.” Ai flushed happily as Jade reached out to pet his junior on the head. “You are doing such a good job for us, doll. We expect nothing but the best from the stubborn mermaid that seemed to have followed us to Night Raven College...fufufu.”

“Yes…! I’m happiest when fulfilling my seniors' wishes…!” They all shared an amused glance, what a frighteningly naive and absentminded girl… Not that it mattered—as long as she only showed such intense devotion to them.

“Jade will escort you tomorrow. (“Eeeeh? If you’re going to Ignihyde, then I’m coming too! There’s someone I wanna bother…!”) Don’t want you getting into any last minute accidents and never finding your way to Idia-san... he’s a very important client after all!” She nodded in excitement. “Well, I’ll dismiss you for now. Go get some rest. And try not to get into another accident before you get to your room!”

“I will try my best but I make no promises, senpai!” At that, Azul could only groan, Floyd laughed—and Jade’s smile… faltered.

—

Had it not been for Jade clutching her elbow throughout her entire trip to Ignihyde, Ai would've gotten into at least eight accidents (Floyd was, of course, content to watch and laugh). Luckily, Jade had been present to steer her away. He shook his head.

He truly had no idea why or how her magic worked—only that he had seen it first hand enough to say that the girl was capable of manipulating fate… in a manner of speaking. Her Unique Magic was, by all accounts, incredibly powerful. Azul didn’t really understand it and he had a difficult time believing in it but Jade—and his brother, Floyd—had found it to be an incredibly amusing power. At times, they would allow themselves to be subjected to it. It has always served to give them an incredibly enjoyable time.

The repercussions of it, however… He peered down at the girl. She was, like him, dressed in her school uniform. She wore the blouse, with her ribbon, the Octavinelle vest and her thick cardigan. Her bottoms on the other hand—she had switched and wore the pants version for today. As she did on days when the scraps and bruises on her legs were a bit too excessive and easier to cover with pants… Yes, the repercussions weren’t good. While the positive effects of her UM can be shared with other people (generous, this doll of his was—), the negative effects only affected her.

(It almost made him frown. He hadn’t particularly enjoyed the days when the backlash hit her harder than usual...)

(What? Jade Leech worried? Whatever gave you such an idea?)

“Jade Leech! Raina Sorte!” The little Ortho Shroud appeared in Ignihyde’s lounge. (Floyd had long since abandoned them once he caught sight of a certain classmate…”There you are!” “W-wah? Floyd, why are you here? I have to go meet C—” “Eh? Spend time with me instead!”) “My brother has been waiting!”

“Hey Ortho, hey.” Ai greeted as she hopped onto her feet, she stumbled briefly then blushed as Jade immediately placed a hand on the small of her back to steady her. Ortho peered at her with slightly worried eyes.

“Will you be okay, Raina Sorte?”

“Yes! Jade-senpai is with me after all!” She turned to him, eyes aglow with nothing but trust. He let out a soft laugh at that.

“I will certainly do my best to keep m—our doll safe… Or else we wouldn’t be able to fulfill our contracts now, would we? Fufufu.” he said, a pleasant smile on his lips. When they’re finally brought before Idia, whose expression brightened at the sight of Ai.

“Oh Best Girl is here. GG.” Jade followed close behind as Ai stood right next to Idia’s chair.

“Oooh, so what game is it this time, Idia-senpai?”

“Upright Underland!” He chirped up rather happily—Ai was one of the very few people he had opened up to about games because she had been genuinely interested, “I had to grind some gems because I just MLB’ed Flora-chan and Castle-chan from the Flower Day Event--but then they suddenly dropped Sterling-chan’s Birthday Banner and I really want her…!” He played around with the game’s interface and showed Ai, Sterling’s card art. “Look! Her baton matches her mom, Lilith-chan’s bat aesthetic…!”

“Oooh! Lilith’s the MILF character, wasn’t she?”

“Yes! I need to bring her daughter home…!”

“Aww!” Ai cooed as she peered at the screen. “I’ll do my best for you, Idia-senpai!” Idia clapped his hands and put his phone down in front of her. Jade and Ortho took this as their cue to step away. Her Unique Magic was the type to spread out and affect everyone around her—so they could only hope that stepping away, even a little, would help ensure that her magic would be focused. Ai closed her eyes and chanted:

“Lucky Ending..!”

--

“—Oof!” Ai tripped, again and even as Jade attempted to catch her, she still fell, hard—on the ground. “Owwie…” He sighed deeply and bent down slightly to pull her up again.

“My, I don’t quite understand why getting the same card five times in a row could use up so much of your Lucky Ending.”

“Well! It’s a gacha.” Ai winced as she stretched out her injured legs. “It’s technically gambling. And I got enough copies to MLB Sterling-chan in one ten roll. My luck was certainly at peak performan—woah!” She tripped again—she waved her hands frantically around before this time Jade was finally able to catch her. She looked at him, surprised.

“You know senpai. You don’t have to catch me when I fall. It’s better if my luck builds back up with small accidents like this.”

“You speak as if…” I don’t want to catch you when you fall. As if I don’t mind seeing you in pain. He held his tongue, and smirked instead.

“I was simply growing tired of you falling and making whiny noises.”

“Oh. That’s valid.” Ai hummed as Jade pulled her up, and tucked her into his side. At his actions, her face turned red. “Senpai—!? W—what?”

“We should go back to the Mostro Lounge quickly, doll.” Jade said smoothly, “I’m sure Azul will be pleased to hear that Idia-san was very happy with your services.”

“A—ah… of course.” Jade’s arm tightened and secured itself around her waist.

“Since when was it that I could no longer stand to see her like that…? My oh my, what have you done to me… little doll?”

--

"you know the closer you get to something the tougher it is to see it and I'll never take it for granted"

[merelliahallewell]

The Drust in Battle for Azeroth

This is the second of four? posts looking at the Drust using the in-game and developer information we have available to us. I find the Drust incredibly interesting villains who manage to have some understandable motivations (at least in BfA) and also a neat aesthetic. The Drust and their history and influence are what elevate the questing zone to being more than just a Witcher ripoff and gives it its own cool identity. 

You can find Part 1 here. Anyway, here we go with BfA lore. This one is a bit of a doozy, be warned.

Part 3 - The Drust in Ardenweald

Part 4 - The Drust in the Night Fae Campaign (1)

Part 5 - The Drust in the Night Fae Campaign (2)

Before BfA

It isn’t known how long it took for the Drust to be defeated- we’re only given very rough timeframes. The dungeon journal suggests that they were defeated two thousand years ago, but that leaves 700 years between human settlement and the final end to the Drust, which seems a touch long. Ultimately, the timeline doesn’t matter so much as the impression that the Drust have been there for a long time. 

Most Drustvari have a healthy superstition of witchcraft that comes from even before the Heartsbane rose, and it does not necessarily seem to be tied to Thros in their minds. As shown by Emma Mayfield and the Witch in the Woods, one also does not need to be a Heartsbane witch to utilize the power of Thros. It is possible that many generations of Kul Tiran witches could have been communing with Thros in various ways, just as they are implied to have made pacts with demons. 

Drust Incursion

The Heartsbane Coven was formed at Gorak Tul’s command, after a dark bargain was struck between him and Meredith Waycrest. Tul promised her that her ailing husband would be safe from death, and it seems as if his price was that she would follow his commands and free him from the prison of Thros.

The Heartsbane Coven has a neat history that can be read through the eyes of the citizens of Corlain. I love the Coven and I think they’re really interesting- but since this post is focused on the Drust, we’re going to try to stick to viewing them through that context. 

It seems as if the Heartsbane are portryaed as the successors in inheritors of the Drust’s legacy. They wield not only their power, but utilize the same sorts of horrific rituals and strategies that can be seen in Ardenweald.

The most potent weapon the Coven wields is the Heartsbane Curse. This curse allowed them to mentally enslave hundreds of residents of Corlain and most members of the Waycrest Guard. This curse, likely created by the Drust, is eerily similar to something we will see later on. On top of that, they used the curse to great effect on the local fauna, turning the birds and beasts of Drustvar into servants.

As the war with the humans turned against them, the Drust crafted many constructs in order to house the spirits of the fallen, allowing them a second chance to battle against the humans. The constructs were made of incredible materials such as Revlis and Hailstone. Though they could not craft the powerful constructs the Drust had once created, they mimicked them with wood, bone, and wicker. They made a number of various wicker monsters as well, the majority crafted deep within the Crimson Forest, though others were made across the mountains in Barrowknoll. They stitched monstrosities together from pig and human flesh, animated with dark magic. 

“There is more to worry about in this land than simple beasts. Our enemy employs constructs of wicker and bone that can rip a man apart…”

These armies of flesh abominations and “wooden demons” were more than enough to to match whatever forces in Drustvar had not been enslaved by the Heartsbane already. The constructs were enough to defeat even the Lord-Admirals elite guards. The Coven took Drustvar by storm after taking Corlain with ease. Some witches were sent to infiltrate towns such as Arom’s Stand and Fallhaven, while they used their forces to directly attack Falconhurst, take control of the Crimson Forest, and attack Fletcher’s Hollow after they discovered a powerful artifact. Glenbrook not only lost much of its population to the Coven or the monsters in the woods, but also had the very land around it darkened by their magic. 

If they had not been stopped by the hunch Lucille Waycrest had regarding their magic, it is entirely likely the Heartsbane would have overwhelmed Kul Tiras, which was entering a three-sided civil war at that point in time. The Drust would most certainly have been released from Thros at that point, with the Heartsbane as their eager servants. Drustvar was near-completely under their control by the time the Adventurer showed up. 

It is an important point to mention that the Drust had direct involvement with the armies the Heartsbane raised. The wicker constructs were inhabited by either souls that were tormented and broken into serving the Heartsbane or Drust spirits called from Thros. Generally the ones in the Crimson Forest appear to house Drust, while the Soulbound Goliath and wicker men in Barrowknoll held enslaved souls. The Heartsbane also adopted the standard of the Drust, painted in blood (right). On the left is what is used in Ardenweald. It appears that the strength of an enslaved soul (or combination of numerous souls) directly corresponded to the power of a wicker construct.

Even as they fought for control of Drustvar, the Heartsbane worked feverishly to bring their master back to the world via a magical ritual held deep underneath Gol Inath. This ritual was called the Grand Rite, and required a massive effort held across the whole Crimson Forest. It appears the Grand Rite was meant to rip open a hole in reality to allow Thros’ minions in. While this rite was somewhat weakened by the activity of the Adventurer, Gorak Tul was still able to cross over briefly before retreating back into Thros. It is possible the Grand Rite was later completed fully within Waycrest Manor so that the events of the dungeon could occur.

Gorak Tul arrives in Azeroth for real this time via a set of ruins buried far beneath Waycrest Manor. He’s hugely threatening here, and summons additional Drust to aid him in battle. Tul still bears his vrykul frame, though he’s changed greatly, acquiring a strange amount of growth on his body like a tree almost, and his skin looks like bark. He even has a third eye. Seriously, this guy is menacing. These other Drust can also be seen being summoned by Heartsbane ritualists within Corlain, and it’s very unusual just how twisted and blighted they look compared to Tul. They seem absolutely malformed, more like Gollum than a vrykul. Could this be some effect of Thros after their long imprisonment?

A small aside: Drust undead were stirred from their long slumber by the Heartsbane magic. It seems as if it is capable of waking the dead in some fashion, though it almost seems to be from ambient magic rather than directed necromancy. Kinda neat. 

Into Thros

Just a few things to wrap up with BfA and the Drust. There are minor bits of their lore I didn’t mention that are doable in Archaeology, which is worth it if you want to fly around pretty zones and dig up relics. 

The isle of Fate’s End is located some distance from Stormsong Valley, and features Drust ruins upon it. Apparently, nobody returns from Fate’s End if they’re sent there. It’s here that Jaina appears to have been taken into Thros. Is it some sort of a natural gateway to the place that’s one way only? Maybe a place where people were unknowingly sacrificed to Gorak Tul? Whatever it is, it’s wild. You can fly there in-game, but in the story only a Tidesage can take you out there. It’s interesting that the Tidesages have developed a special rite in order to reach it, and I’m curious if that implies that the Tidesages dealt with Drust magic in the past or know how to negate it with their own power. It’s food for thought, for sure. 

Thros itself is nothing special, alas. It’s just a color-swapped Drustvar with some more of those weird Drust and Gorak Tul hanging out. Honestly it’s a bit disappointing, but there is some interesting lore that comes from Ulfar during these quests. Ulfar also says some pathways are best left closed- lest those on the other side use them instead. Up until then, he was unaware of Tul’s return.

The entrance to Thros lies within the great tree, Gol Inath, but crossing the threshold will not be as simple as walking through. To open the path, you will need an effigy of great strength. Not one of the trinkets of the coven, mind you, but one of old, Drust magic. The path to Thros will be treacherous, but that is merely a fraction of what awaits you inside the Blighted Lands. Prepare yourself, <class>, for the minions of Thros will use your deepest fears and regrets as a weapon against you.

Once you have collected the necessary reagents to build an effigy and enter Thros, he says this:

I wish you luck on your journey, mainlander. Tread carefully, for Gorak Tul's eyes will be upon you.

He is vulnerable within his own realm, and he will go to great lengths to prevent you from entering it.

Katherine Proudmoore, the then-ruler of Kul Tiras, remarked that most people believed Thros only to be something of rumor and legend, not an actual place one could travel to. 

The Blighted Lands...

If the legends are true then inside we will witness suffering and torment the likes of which we have never known...

The whole journey through Thros is interesting, as Gorak Tul clearly considers Jaina his most valuable prisoner. Eventually you catch up, have a neat cinematic, and battle him to the death. Gorak Tul’s death speech offers a hint of what is to come for Ardenweald in Shadowlands. 

Your hollow victory... means nothing...

The Drust... will never... relent...

Dying with his last breath, Tul's corpse fades away. 

One final mystery

The Waycrest manor dungeon is pretty neat, but hardly contains anything Drust-related save for the ruins deep underneath. It is especially disappointing that Gorak Tul’s boss fight room is the same one you fight him in beneath Gol Inath- apparently the Drust really liked that design, or maybe it’s best-suited for portals to Thros.

However, there is one bit of unique architecture. Created by artist Fanny Vergne, there is some sort of a design etched into the ground beneath the organ the Waycrests are playing. It looks like a worm, or a serpent with runes carved into it? I wonder if it is supposed to be some sort of horrific Thros monster or something else. In the files of the game, it is apparently labeled as “Jormungandr“ which is a Norse mythological being. Interestingly, the runes do not match any known Vrykul or Drust runes used in the game’s environmental art. I wonder if the artist would be able to shed more light on it or if it’s just a neat design.

[wordynerdygurl]

Echoes of You

Author’s Note:  This is from a request sent in to my 500 Followers Challenge.  I’ve included it below... I did have fun with it!  As always, please feel free to re-blog, share, and comment!  Also, I’m accepting tag list requests and story requests!  *The GIF is perfect and I want to thank the original creator/ poster!* Pairing:  Loki x Female Reader Summary/ Request: “Loki is badly hurt on a mission and the reader has to make some sort of deal with a dark magical entity to save him. The price she has to pay is that everyone she knows is going to forget she ever existed. She takes the deal and tries to build a new life away from the avengers, however she and Loki keep running into each other and he's very drawn to her.  After a lot of pestering, she agrees to go on a date with him on the condition that he is going to leave her alone after that. Their date goes great and they're almost about to have sex, but she stops him because she thinks he would've never wanted her if he actually had his memories. Obviously he knows though, they both confess their feelings and it ends on passionate, rough smut. Hope that's not too much and you have fun with it :)” Warnings:  Battle scenes of the MCU variety, talk of blood/ death, angst and SMUT

"LOKI!"  

Time freezes in that screamed second.  

You feel yourself running, feet sliding in the gritty sand beneath your boots, desperate.  He is impossibly far away but you can make it.  You have to.

Skidding into the gravel on your knees, you shout his name as you watch him crumple.  He's gone pale, limp, boneless in your arms.  There's blood, lots of it, too much to stop on your own.  It flows freely, drenching you down to your skin, warm and sticky.  There’s no way to stem the flood.  

In your dreams you always catch him in time.  Keeping him off the cold ground, hugging his lean body to yours, ignoring the others as they fight around you.  His twinkling eyes flutter but they stay open, struggling to focus on you.  You watch his soft lips part, they form words, sounds that never reach you in the vacuum of your panic.  

"Hush… it's ok… I'm here.  I got you."  Gurgling platitudes gush from you but there's no way to know if he hears them. A smile, young and sweet spreads across his unbearably handsome face.  Using his last measure of strength, Loki strokes your cheek as you press your hot lips to his too cool skin.  

You wake up wailing, the pillow beneath you wet.  Honestly, it's never dry, not anymore.  Because every night you try to save Loki.  Every night he speaks soundlessly to you.  And every morning you wake up to reality.

Dawn's dark hides you and your pain.  You let the loss of Loki roll over you.  Pulling you under in a rip tide of shuddering sobs, drowning you with memories of what you had before and what you have now.  Swallowing that hard knot of agony, bitter and jagged, your crying steadied then dried out after a few minutes.

This new existence, this new life, was lonely.  Awake now, well before the sun, you pushed out of bed and geared up for a run without much enthusiasm.  When you couldn't ease your mind you took it out on your body.  

Stepping onto the dim sidewalk you stretched just a little.  You wanted to punish your subconscious, your wayward brain, not tear a hamstring.  Setting off with a sigh, your feet slapping the pavement in an even staccato, you tried to turn your mind off.  

On the quiet streets of your new city, one you were struggling to make feel like home, you wanted to outrun the past.  Eager to put distance between you and all that had come before, forcing your legs to go further, faster, you ran by yourself in the shadows.  There was no one to disturb you, not at this ungodly hour.  Not that anyone would.  You used to be a SHIELD agent, one who looked mad at the world, which you were.  So you ran on, giving no thought to direction or neighborhood, welcoming any and all risk if it meant peace of mind. 

Most days the sweat and strain were enough to calm your demons.  By running your body down, your mind would let go too.  Not today.  Today, your dream, like a well directed film, played on a loop in your head.  Each scene was vivid, real, raw.  And not true.

---

"You come here freely?"

Hitching your chin defiantly, "Yes."

The ethereal being before you seemed to float on a crimson cloud, too beautiful to be benevolent, the aura around her dusky skin crackling violet.  Part sorceress, part dark queen, she was your last hope.  A final step you might take to keep Loki alive.

Slinking snake like, she sidled to your side, "I know what brings you here, mortal.  I know what you want."

"Then you know I need help.  Your help."  You weren't begging.  At least not yet, anyway.  But the smell of desperation curled around you, black and rotten, regardless.

"You are not the one in need.  Odin's adopted boy… the prince.  He is dying.  Is it not so?"

Her voice was everywhere and nowhere at the same time.  Strong, soft and sweet, the witch's words echoed in the close quarters of her stony temple.  Swirling around you in the rouge red ribbons of her eternal energy, she did not wait for your reply.  "What is it to you, child?  The death of a Jotun foundling can mean but little to a human.  And yet, you come to me willingly.  Why?"

Hot tears formed, threatening to splash, scalding your cheeks.  Your breath left your body as a gutted groan tore the words from your deepest soul, "I love him."

"Love.  Such a human emotion."  You felt her then, the physicality of her form, as she brushed an errant tear from your face.  The enchantress stilled, her beautiful dark skinned face emerging in front of you, scrutinizing your expression, reading your pain.

Questioning you quietly, "You say that you love the youngest of Odin's sons."

"I do."

"The magic you ask for, it carries a hefty price."

Hope at the thought of her assistance made you boisterous.   "Anything!  I will pay any price.  Twice over, if it keeps Loki alive."

Glowing plum colored, her gaze took you in, measuring you and your resolve.  "Your sacrifice will be great, make no mistake.  It will test the love you claim to feel for this demi-god."

What did you care of sacrifices if it kept Loki alive?  Was there a price too high for the life of your love?  Anger flashed through you, frustrated and flustered, "I heard you the first time.  Will you aid me or not?"

"So cross, so eager."  Silver laughter filled the cavernous space but was short lived.  "You do not know the full cost of your desires and yet... you are in a rush to see them come to fruition.  Child, I can do what you ask. I will do it, if you agree.  In return... no one will remember you.  Only this will purchase Loki's life."

"What?"

The Sorceress took your hand, testing its weight, turning your palm up.  "You heard me.  If this is truly what you want… to keep Loki alive, then your life… your history will be erased."

Gulping hard, understanding hitting you like a freight train, "My life for his?  Is that it?"

Violet eyes bore into yours, purple orbs that fill your vision, unblinking.  "No… you will not die, little mortal.  It is far worse than that.  You will live, but you will live in isolation.  You will be forgotten by Loki… by your family… by your friends.  You will meet them as strangers.  They will carry on without you."

"But Loki will live?"  He had to, you had come too far to fail your God now.

"Yes.  Will you be able to?"

"Me?  I don't understand what you're asking me."

"Will you be able to have a life without the man you say you love?"

Could you?  There had been no one like Loki in your life before.  Smart and strong, sarcastic and cutting, tender and kind.  Loki was all the things you needed in a partner and he made you better at the same time.  Taming you, just a little, being loved by Loki had softened some of your rough edges.  Would it be easy to know he was walking around, enjoying life, but not be a part of it?  No.  But how else could you honor the man who had given you so much?  

With a straining voice, "Loving him, having been loved by him, will have to be enough to satisfy my soul.  There is no other option for me."

Nodding solemnly, content at your knowledge of the bargain, the crimson conjurer drew a symbol on the pad of your hand.  Watching her with widening eyes, she pulled a gossamer green thread from the center of your palm.  A string of memories erasing you in order to allow Loki to survive.  

"It is longer than I would've thought, deeper too."  And you knew what she meant instinctively because your heart pinched as her hands gathered more and more of your time with Loki to her.  Dragging him out of your life with a sharp throb.  When it was over the witch had a skein of your history, emerald green and glossy, which she evaporated into a wisp of smoke.  

You had a small six pointed star shaped scar in the center of your hand.  It was your sole token of the life you and Loki had shared.  That and the memories that you alone carried.

"It is done."  There was finality in her words, a dismissive quality, and for the first time in her presence you were frightened.  Not of her, but of the new world you were facing.

Solemnly, you bowed your head, "Thank you." 

"We shall see, human.  We shall see."

---

By the time you return home, soaked with sweat, you're tired but feeling more like yourself.  It's a relief to feel the night's pain fade enough for you to shower and dress for work.  It's not a career.  But it is just enough to almost pay rent and buy food.

Working with people, although frustrating at times, really does keep the white light of your emptiness away.  Besides, the store offered a discount on clothes, which helped, and there was always something physical to be done.  Lifting boxes, moving racks, hauling trash.  Anything to keep you thoughtlessly busy.  Like you did everyday, you threw yourself into the job, mindlessly.  It was a life raft of sorts, a buoy keeping you afloat, a thing to cling to while trying not to let the weight of your past drag you down.

Listening to the consumer safe playlist, getting into a rhythm, you bobbed your head as your folded t-shirts.  Your co-workers hated restocking, rehanging, straightening the racks.  So, naturally that's what you were doing, lost in your own little world.

"I really don't see why we have to be here, brother."  Something about that voice made you pause.  Haughty and high handed, you could swear that it was…

"Jane has a birthday, brother.  I will not forget it."

"Then, for the love of Odin, bring her some lovely Asgardian silks.  Jewelry in gold or silver.  Or better yet, take her home, seduce her soundly.  Do anything but buy that hideous sweater."

"It's not hideous.  You know nothing of Midgardian fashion."

"Me?  I know nothing?  Dear brother, this suit is Armani.  That is designer.  That means something."

"It means you spent way too much coin, Loki."

Turning quickly you moved closer to the men, still listening, still in disbelief.  Peeking at the mismatched pair through a clothing rack, pushing two furry sweaters apart, your heart was racing.  Stunned, you recognized the strong back of the tall, broad blonde.  When he moved toward another display of shits your jaw fell open.  Loki was here!  Not five feet away!  

"Bah!  I don't see her size."  Thor sighed in frustration, the offending rack of clothes wobbling with the force of his displeasure.  

Loki, picking lint from his sleeve, "Find a clerk… ask for the awful thing in Jane's size so we can get out of this place."  Lifting his piercing blue eyes, he spied you, trying to slip away unnoticed, "You!  Hello?  Yes… can you help us?"

It takes you a second to register that Loki, your Loki, is addressing you.  Stiffly, you straighten up, your eyes rising to his inquisitive azure ones.  They snap with a vitality that was missing when you saw him last.

A cloud passes over his gaze.  Shadows of recognition, maybe?  Or is that just what you want to see?

"Um… sure.  What… uh, what do you need, sir?"  You sound like a robot.  Cringing at the put on voice you're using, awkward and uncomfortable, you smile at Thor.

Loki steps closer, brushing past his brother, not quite in your space but close enough for you to smell his skin.  A familiar combination of leather and vanilla, sugar and spice, reaches out to you.  Your breath hitches at the nearness of him.  Memories on the tip of your tongue.

He's holding a fuzzy sweater, one the color of spicy mustard, about to hand it to you when his head tilts.  "Do… do I know you?"

Heat climbs your face.  Yes.  Yes, Loki.  You know me.  You know me in a way no one else could ever know me.  You know the sound of my sobs and the sigh of my satisfaction.  Why I love the smell of the snow and hate lima beans.  You know me.

And I know you.  I know the strength of your character.   The depth of your love.  Which thoughts haunt you, songs your mother sang over your crib, poems written for no one else to read.  Oh yes, I know you.

But what you say is, "Me?  No… nope.  No.  We've… I mean, no.  You don't know me."  Kicking yourself mentally, the verbal diarrhea couldn't be stopped, and now Loki's surveying you even more closely.

"Are you certain?  It's just… I could swear that I know you."  For the first time since meeting Loki you hear uncertainty in his voice.  It's almost enough to weaken your resolve, tell him all of it, even if it's in the middle of The Loft.

"Have… have you been in the shop before?  I uh, I work a lot."  Looking anywhere but at the handsome man from your nightmares, you settle on the offending sweater, trying to seem like an eager employee not a stuttering mess.

"No."  His smile widened, the natural flirt in him coming out to play, "We have never set foot in this place."

Your thoughts jumbled.  Unprepared for facing Loki, unsure of how to handle seeing him again, you focused on the top Thor wanted to give Jane.  "Oh… well, maybe I just look like someone you used to know?  Um… what size did you say?"

Thor, watching the interaction between you and Loki, was just happy to get back into the conversation.  "Yes.  Size 2 please, my good woman."

Casting Loki a side eyed glance, chuckling at Thor, you made your way to the stockroom.  Stay calm, you willed yourself.  Keeping your back straight, your head level and your breathing even, you walked towards the back.  Your heart?  That jerk was pumping overtime. As soon as you are gone, Thor rounds on his younger brother, "She likes you, Loki!  And, she is rather cute."

Rolling his eyes with a groan, "Cute?  She is far more beautiful than that, brother."

Wagging his golden brows playfully, the God of Thunder teased, "You should take her on a date.  To dinner.  She might actually say yes!"

"It's creepy.  No woman wants to be courted while they're at work.  Although…"  Looking longingly at the “Employees Only” sign on the door you had disappeared into, Loki sighed.

"Yes, brother?"

"Although, she does remind me of someone."

"I have never seen her before.  And she is certainly Midgardian.  There's no other-worldly influence in her."  Thor was sliding through hangers, evaluating gift options for Jane, talking in what he thought was a whisper.

"Yes.  Yes… it's just so strange.  She is so familiar… too familiar."  Loki left his sentence hanging in the air.  You were striding his way, a soft, down turned expression on your face.  The urge to kiss the corners of your mouth overwhelmed him.

"Hi again."  Exhaling, you risked a full look at Loki.  He was scrutinizing you, closer than before, needing to solve the mystery of your connection.

"Hello."  

God, you missed his eyes.  The serious way they took in every detail.  How they lit up with Loki's laughing or glowed with mischief when he got up to no good.  

Swallowing dryly, you remembered his eyes darkening with passion.  Appraising you through dusky lashes, half closed in pleasure as you hugged his body snugly to your own.  His heavy heat inside of you, both finding release, breathing hard, holding onto each other while the world around you faded away.

"I'm… I'm sorry?"  

Loki, peering at you, smirked.  "I said, thank you for the hideous sweater.  My brother's fiancee will hate it but she will, inevitably, appreciate the oaf's effort."

Giggling, your body temperature rose a few degrees, unable to resist Loki.  It was so easy to be around him.  It always had been.

"My lady, thank you!  Brother, I am off to find the cashier.  I shall meet you outside…"  Thor nodded your way, encouraging Loki, failing at being discreet.  

Sharing a laugh with your former lover, Loki risked taking your hand.  You didn't shrug him off.  Instead, your breath caught, frozen in the familiar feeling of his fingers.

"Hmm… you say we are strangers but your body tells another story, little one.  Do you know who I am?"

You could answer that honestly.  Loki wasn't as popular as Thor or Captain America but his name was known publicly.  His reputation was a bit tarnished, surely, but that had always been part of your attraction to him.

Finding your voice, "Yea… I do."

"Uh huh.  Then you know I am not some mortal man, held to the rules and restrictions of this planet.  You understand that I am a God.  One who makes mischief."  Dropping his voice into that silky predatory tone had made your insides go liquid.  

He was too close now, his spearmint breath fanning your face, "Yes, I know where your… skills lie."

Watching your chest heave, your want apparent, Loki licked over his bottom lip, certain he could taste phantom strawberry bubblegum and grapefruit lip gloss.  An odd, yet enticing, combination.  One his mouth knew even if his memory couldn't recall why.

"Then you know I suss out falsehoods.  It's part of the deal, dove.  To lie you must spot lies.  And you…", pressed into a wall mirror, hidden by a rack of wool pea coats, "aren't being truthful."

What could you say to that?  “I… I am too.  Like I said, You don’t know me.” Leaning into you, not touching your begging skin, but still so near, “Little liar.  I think that there might be a way to solve our problem.  Over dinner, tonight.  My treat, assuming there’s a restaurant in this town that is not part of a chain.”

“A date?  With you?” A date was not a good idea.  Too much time to talk might lead to trouble.  Either you’d say too much or, and this was possibly worse, do too much with Loki.  Could you resist his charms?  You weren’t able to the first time around. Now, knowing just how much you missed him, how lonely your nights were without him, would you be able to stop things from going too far?  What if Loki learned the truth?  That you had sacrificed your past together so that he might have a future, would he still want you then?  Could he?

Loki, seeing all these thoughts pass over your face, “Yes.  With me.” “No.”  “No?” “Yes.” “So, yes then?” “No.  Yes to the no.” “I don’t think you know what you want little mortal.  Join me for dinner tonight and I won’t bother you ever again.” Always tricky, this could be another of Loki’s pranks, ready to backfire on you at the drop of a hat.  If he kept his word, walked away after your night out, then it would be worth it. You could do one evening and not lose your head or your heart. “You won’t bother me ever again?  You promise?” That sinister smile spread over Loki’s face, lifting his sharp cheekbones in triumph, “Oh, I promise.  One date.  Tonight.”

--- Years ago, when you and Loki enjoyed the first full flush of blossoming love, dating wasn’t always possible or convenient.  With missions to go on, HYDRA cells to investigate, and near constant alien invasions of one kind or another, dinners and movies weren’t a priority.  Staying alive was the rule of the day. In the moments when relaxation was possible, you and Loki found yourselves drawn to each other.  Bonding over take out containers and warm beers in the early morning hours, sleep elusive, sitting on the counter tops.  Sharing great music, digital from you, vinyl from Loki, led to dancing on the cool tile of the rooftop patio.  Cherished books, personal poetry and moving works of art passed between you at a rate that alarmed the rest of the team.  

You favorite times?  Watching films and must see TV from the comfort of Tony’s leather couches.  Snuggled under soft blankets, touching each other gently, testing and teasing.  Letting the connection you shared grow naturally was what made it so special. Tonight though, this was different.  Loki arrived at your door in full on romantic leading man mode.  His suit was jet with a shirt and tie to match, making him look long and lethal, but undeniably sexy.  There were flowers, an affectation that nonetheless made your heart swell.  Holding your door, pulling out your chair, effortlessly making all the right moves was just Loki’s style.  Why did it make your heart ache in equal measure? Because it was so different from your first time around.  The love that led you here, to a place where no one knew you, had been so organic.  Not forced or formulaic.

“I fear I’m boring you.”  Loki’s bright eyes glittered as he swirled his fork through the rich sauce skillfully. Dabbing your mouth, “No, not at all.  I just… I…”  You were lost in remembering.  Loki was telling a story that you had lived, but where you should have been was a hole.  A gap, created when you had made your deal with the purple eyed sorceress, brought reality crashing into the conversation.  It was a distracting detail.   “Lost in your thoughts.  You do that frequently, don’t you, dove.”  Dove.  Oh god, you hadn’t heard his endearments in ages.  It made your stomach tense from need.  Being Loki’s dove had meant something to you then.  It meant more now. “My past is never far.  It creeps up on me all the time.  But I’m sure you know nothing about that.”  Deliberately leading him to talk more about himself, you let the timbre of his voice take over, listening intently to the man who once was yours. The long night was over too soon.  You had been on eggshells, carefully choosing your words, the entire time.  As much as you wanted to keep him near, you knew that one night was already a calculated risk, and it couldn’t happen again.  If Loki kept his promise, tomorrow you would be back to your routine, the missing him would still be there but so would running and the store. “Uh… thank you for the lovely dinner.  I really enjoyed it.” “I believe you used to be a better liar.” Freezing, your key in the lock, you turned to face Loki.  “What was that?”  Panic rose in your throat tasting of bile and bucatini. Leaning his shoulder against your door frame, “You heard me perfectly well.  Like I said, you were better at this once.  At least, I think you were.”

“I don’t know what you think, but I’ve… we’ve…” “Never met?  Yes, that line is familiar.  But then again, so are you.” “Loki…”  Pleading with him to drop it, to let it go, would never work.  Besides, you hadn’t been able to.

And what would happen if you did come clean?  Would the spell be reversed?  You couldn’t risk that.  Not after all that you’d already gone through to keep Loki alive. At the sound of his name on your lips, Loki stepped into your personal space.  His long finger rested over your parted mouth, effectively silencing you, as he whispered in your ear,  “No more lies.  Not tonight.”  Reaching around you, Loki turned your key, opening the door to your place.   Clicking on your lamp, the circle of light small in the shadows of your apartment, you move towards the kitchen.  “I need a drink.  Do you want one?” Nodding, “I think I might need one.”  Barking out a hard laugh, you lifted two glasses down from the rarely opened cabinet.  Tossing in ice cubes, you quickly cover them with the amber liquid of bourbon, swirling the two ingredients together as you walk back to the man pacing in your living room. “Good stuff, right?”  Ruefully chuckling at the harsh burn of the booze, you looked at your date motioning for him to take a seat on your beat up sofa next to you.  Folding himself gracefully, Loki perched on the couch, his knee just barely grazing your own.  The contact was electric, shorting out your speech center for a second, and you moaned softly.  Moving your drink to the table, Loki’s digits circled your wrist, "Now tell me, why do I know these hands?  Soft but strong, with a scar across the middle knuckle…" 

 Turning your palm down, brushing over that exact imperfection, Loki searched your eyes for answers.  "Why am I drawn to you across space and time?  You are a ghost that haunts me.  The echo of a dream that is real and warm… and here."

"Loki…"  Chin quivering, "There are things you don't know.  Things about me… about us…"

Tilting his head, studying you, "Ah.  Us.  We, that is, you and I have history, do we not?  I… I know that is true.  Yet,"  Swallowing thickly, Loki struggled to control the swell of emotion bubbling through him, "Yet, I have no memory of you.  Tell me why that is."

A wild sob ripped through you making your shoulders heave.  "I don't think I can!"

Twining his arms around you, the smell of his skin surrounding you, comforting you, "Why is that?"

Eyes brimming with tears, you murmured, "Because… it might reverse everything.  I… I don't know what would happen if I told you the truth.  All of it."

"So, dark magic then.  Strong… but perhaps not strong enough.  Not nearly capable of keeping you and I apart."  Petting your knee, savoring the nearness of Loki, you parted your thighs in anticipation of his touch. Loki, unable to resist any longer, pressed a kiss to the corner of your mouth.  One of his palms skated under the hem of your dress while his other hand cupped your cheek.  Tracing over your jawline with his thumb, Loki deepened the kiss, his tongue tasting you in tiny sips. Pulling away from you, “We… We were lovers.”  His voice rose at the revelation no longer concealed by magic. “Yes, Loki.”  Swallowing hard, the raw truth finally said out loud. “But you, you erased yourself from my mind… My life.  Why did you do it?  Why would you take our… happiness from me?”  It was enough to break your heart all over again.  Loki’s voice, trembling, unsure, and clearly hurting.  

Whispering more for yourself than him, "I couldn’t let you go, Loki.  I… I can't, even now.  I watched you almost die.  I won't do it again!" “And this?  This is life?  Dove.  You know better than this.” “I saved your life!”  Needing to defend yourself, you nearly bellowed in frustration, struggling to make Loki understand. Standing suddenly, Loki turned from you, “What kind of life have I had without you?” “I don’t know the answer to that…”  Rising yourself, a hand to Loki’s chest, “But my life without you… you have no idea how hard it’s been.  I dream of you every night, Loki.  And in those dreams, I don’t rescue you.  You die in my arms.  Every night, Loki.  I saved you once with the help of dark magic.  But I’ve lost you every single day since.”

Crying in earnest now, you felt Loki wrap his iron arms around you, “Hush now.  Hush, darling.  Somehow, some way, I found you again.  I’m not letting you go.” Sagging into his warmth, letting Loki comfort you, felt like home.  Without realizing, you were swaying in each other's arms, dancing to the music in your souls.  You curled your arms around Loki's waist, his solid figure reassuring, hugging him closer.

Loki's hands drifted down, cupping your bottom, squeezing your curves firmly.  "I missed you, little minx."

Giggling at his pet name for you, one you never expected to hear again, you smiled up at your dark hued God.  Standing on your toes you touched your lips to Loki's.  Anticipating your move, Loki opened his mouth, capturing yours in a kiss.

Loki's grip, tugging you tightly to his firm form, became needy.  His mouth plundered yours, taking your breath, absorbing your moan.  A hand tangled in your hair, pulling your hungry lips from his own, giving Loki unchecked access to the column of your throat.

Closing your eyes, lost in intimate sensations that were both routine and refreshing, you lost yourself in Loki.  Stepping out of his grasp, you pulled the hem of your dress up, shrugging it over your head and tossing it to the floor.  "Loki, I love you.  I never stopped loving you."

Watching your nearly nude form, Loki shared his sweet, secret smile with you.  "I love you.  And even wizardry could prevent us from finding each other."

"Please, help me remember.  Let me forget."  He knew what you were asking.  Remember what you had shared, what you could have again.  Forget this time apart, this lapse in love.

"With pleasure, little dove."

---

Your bed, usually so lonely, was suddenly too small.  Loki's long body stretched across the mattress, reaching for you, impatient to relearn the things that made you melt.  And you?  You couldn't stop touching his satin skin.

First your fingers fluttered over his thighs, up his torso, over his chest.  But that wasn't enough to satisfy.  So you followed the same trail with your mouth.  Licking lovingly over Loki's abdominals, nipping at his tiny nipples, sucking against his Adam's Apple.

Straddling Loki, his hands on your hips drag you against his rigid rod.  Feeling his driving desire made your core quiver.  When he caught your nipple in his mouth, sucking forcefully, you howled like a wild woman.

"Oh, Loki!  Ah!"  Your hands tangled in his hair, encouraging the exquisite agony of his teeth biting into your tender bud.  

With a growl, Loki flipped you to your back, settling himself between your spread thighs.  Removing your panties with a swift tug, Loki spread your lower lips, licking into your luscious folds.  His tongue thrust into you, lapping at your liquid, drinking you down.

Convulsing when Loki's tactile tongue circled your clit, your core clenched in pleasure, your release is close.  When you announce that to the man pleasuring you, Loki nips at your inner thigh, kissing his way over your mound.  "Not yet.  I'm not through with you or your bountiful body."

As his lips closed over your own, Loki shifted your hips higher, your cleft cuddling his steel length.  Teasing your entrance with his wide tower, drawing a shivery moan from you, Loki slowly sunk into your yielding sheath.  Inch by inch, Loki claimed more of you as you impatiently waited to be filled by his hard heat.

Stretched by his searing shaft, Loki bent your knees, bringing them closer to your chest.  Rocking into you, his hips pressing your legs apart, Loki enjoyed the feeling of your velvet vice gripping his with each push.  He was slow, methodically moving inside of you, taking his time.  

Your body responded with slick skin, soft sighs, melting into a mewling mess.  "Faster Loki!  Please!"

"No.  I never want to forget you again."  Loki's words sparked your internal fire.  Plunging into your pulsing pocket, picking up speed, Loki pursued your pleasure.  

You couldn't keep your hands off of him.  His neck, his shoulders, his firm bottom, the cut of his hip.  Scratching your nails over his arms, along his back, across his chest, Loki grunted in delight.  

"Cum with me, little dove."  It wasn't a command or a request.  It was a plea.

"Always, Loki!"  Locking your arms behind his neck, Loki dug his fingers into the back of your thighs, your tongues tangling together.  Panting through your pleasure together, clinging to each other, determined to hang onto the only other person who mattered, you pressed your forehead to Loki's.

That night you slept curled around Loki, deeply and uninterrupted.  Tomorrow would bring a new dawn, a new day.  And everything before today would be an echo, losing distinction over time, replaced by the new life you would build together. ---

@procrastinatinglikeabitch​ @iamverity​ @jamielea81​ @archy3001​ @nonsensicalobsessions​ @just-random-obsessions​ @brokenthelovely​ @rorybutnotgilmore​ @thefallenbibliophilequote​ @lots-of-loki​ @mizfit2​ @vodka-and-some-sass​ @alexakeyloveloki​ @jessiejunebug​

[darkanachronism]

Keziah Mason Meets the Whateley’s

"Who 're yew an' what're yew doin' in my lab?"  Wilbur demanded, looking down at the old woman.

"Depends," she started, "on why you smell like Yuggoth."

~~~~~

What’s this, me posting writing on main?  More likely then you think.  Anyways have the Lovecraft crossover no one asked for. 

Wilbur had been preparing the shed for some time now.  He didn't have to yet, but he would eventually with Twin getting as big as it was.  

For now though, he just wanted a bit of space.  A little respite from his mother, from his brother.  From the Byhakee it had upstairs.

Just a quiet place to read, to write, to study.  

Admittedly it was a rather sad little makeshift lab, but it was his nonetheless.  The chairs and tables fit him, he barely had to stoop to get in the door, yes this was as comfortable as he could hope to get.  

Wilbur was just about to enter with another armful of books when he heard a crash from inside.

The crash, and accompanying string of curse words belonged to an old woman stumbling out of a corner, tripping over a pile of books and face planting onto the floor.

Keziah Mason has taken a wrong turn on her trip back to Arkham.  Something she immediately decided not to tell anyone about, in a rush or not this was an amateur mistake.  

She rolled onto her back and cussed again.  Being fairly certain she'd heard some bone or other make a noise it shouldn't.  And took in her surroundings, digging in the pockets of her robe for something to throw at whoever owned the place.  

The door creaked open and Keziah was staring down the barrel of a revolver.  

Fuck.

"Who 're yew an' what're yew doin' in my lab?"  Wilbur demanded, looking down at the old woman.  She looked harmless.  

So did lots of things.

Keziah blinked in surprise, trying to take in all of the massive figure that loomed above her, to place the unearthly stink that came off him, and come up with an answer to his questions all at once.  

"Depends," she started, "on why you smell like Yuggoth."

She managed two out of three, and to stall for time on the third. The gun lowered just a little, Wilbur's brows furrowing in surprise.  Not the answer he’d been expecting. Or for that matter one he’d accept.

"I’ll answer yew once yew answer me seein’ as I asked first an' I've got the gun."

No point in distracting himself.

"Both valid points.  I'm Keziah Mason, and I took a wrong turn.  Now you."  

Cryptic and sort of a non answer, but in certain circles her name preceded her, and in others bothering to explain that you were not just a common burglar but an fiendishly intelligent witch who could use her knowledge of advanced physics and arcane secrets to travel long distances via interdimensional shortcuts, well that sort of talk was just as likely to earn you a bullet as keeping quiet.  Even if the man towering above her could barely pass for human himself.  

" 's just how I smell is all."  He answered her first question.  "And I'm Wilbur Whateley."  She hadn’t asked for a name, but it seemed polite to give one.

Whateley, of course, everything clicked into place.

“Yog-Sothoth’s kid then?”  She asked quirking a wiry brow.  She’d expected more...Tentacles?  Maybe a tail or something.  Still, something around the eyes put her in mind of the fathomless space beyond spaces.  

The revolver dropped to Wilbur's side as he tried to puzzle through how to respond to being called out so casually.  He nodded.  Not sure what else to do.

"Help an old lady up would you?"  

Wilbur did, hauling Keziah rather artlessly to her feet, still baffled into silence.

"How'd yew know that?"

Keziah shrugged. “Your family’s been at this for a while.  Honestly I’m surprised things lined up."

"Yeah, guess et were a bit 've wurk on granpa's part."  Wilbur trailed off mumbling, scratching the back of his neck and looking around for something else to discuss.  The topic of his conception was awkward, he imagined that was one of the few things he had in common with any other teenager.

"Sorry, didn't catch that.  Tinnitus."  Keziah said, adding the explanation with a grimace.  It was a small price to pay for visiting The Court of course, but a deuced nuisance most of the time.  

"Uhh, Nuthin'."  Wilbur said, before changing the topic abruptly.

"Yew still didn’t explain why yer here."  

"Told you I took a wrong turn.”  She was trying to sound casual, but perhaps came off as a tiny bit defensive.  “Just a tiny miscalculation on my part.  We are in New England aren’t we?"

"Dunnich."

Keziah pulled a face and Wilbur laughed.

"Take et yew've visited before?"  

"Not if I can help it.  Is it still as painfully backwoods as it was in...1786?"  

Wilbur quirked a brow, sure, she looked old, but not that old.

"Nah, et's wurse."  

"You poor thing."  Keziah patted him on the arm, it was about all she could reach.

The condescension wasn't appreciated, nor was the physical contact, Wilbur pulled away from that, but since she evidently loathed Dunwich, he let it slide.

"Where were yew tryin' t' get then?"

"Arkham."

"That ain’t far,” Wilbur started helpfully.  “Yew culd take our horse, Long as yew return et."  

It’s not that he was a particularly generous man, he had no natural inclination to help a stranger out.  But it wasn’t as if he was planning to ride anywhere any time soon.

Keziah chuckled.  

"Thanks for the offer, but I can get there faster."  Keziah glanced around the makeshift magical laboratory, looking for something.  

"Do you have some graph paper I could borrow?"  She asked after a moment.  

"Uh, yeah I c-" Wilbur was cut off by a tentative knock on the half opened door.  

"Wilbur, dinner's rea-," Lavnia called out, opening the door as she did so.  Ordinarily she wouldn't but in like that, Wilbur had been so insistent on his privacy lately.  But he’d left it ajar, so she didn’t see any harm.

She paused mid step to stare. In what world did Wilbur have company?  And how had she missed the woman showing up in the first place.  

"Who's yer friend?" .

Wilbur looked between the two and stepped out of the way to make introductions.

"Uh, hi Ma, this is-"

"Keziah Mason.  One of Nyarlathotep's Thousand Favoured."  she said, brushing past Wilbur and offering the other woman a hand to shake.  No need to be cagey about who she was now.  

Lavinia very quickly wiped her hands on her skirts before accepting, clearly flustered by the title drop.  

"I'm Lavinia Whateley, pleased t' meet yew."  

Wilbur wasn't half so impressed, actually he had to wonder what she did to earn the Crawling Chaos' attention.  Or if she wasn't just full of shit like so many magicians turned out to be.

 "I'm sure it's mutual.  Don't let you keep you from Dinner though, I was just about to leave."

"Yew dun half tew, ef yew dun want. I mean, yew culd stay fer diner ef yew'd lak.  We dun often have guests, 'specially 'un so destingished."  

Wilbur winced at his mother's gushing and hand wringing.  She was special enough in her own right that she shouldn't be tripping over herself to impress some witch who couldn’t even keep her angles right.  

Admittedly Wilbur’s understanding of interdimensional travel and the mathematics involved in them were shaky at best. But he could make an educated guess as to what a wrong turn meant.  

Keziah considered the invitation, taking a quick look at each of the Whateley’s to guess at how much of an intrusion she’d be before answering.

“Why not, I don’t really need to be back until Sunday.”  She gave a casual shrug.

Lavinia positively beamed when the older woman accepted her invitation.  A reaction that made Keziah question the other woman’s sanity just a bit.  

“Well, house es this way ef yew tew want t’ follow me.  Sorry ‘bout the house bein’ in a state, et’s ain’t usually this much ‘ve a mess.”  Lavinia gestured for the other two to do just that, before backing out of the door way.  

Wilbur let Keziah go out ahead of him and locked up behind the trio.  

Dinner at the Whateley house was usually an awkward affair, consisting of strained attempts at small talk from Lavinia and increasingly successful attempts to avoid that small talk on Wilbur’s part.  So a third party was appreciated, and it really didn’t take much to set Keziah off.   

An idle question about how exactly she knew the Whateley’s from Lavinia prompted wild stories about Wilbur’s great great grandparents, questions about Yuggoth from Wilbur earned an even more energetic response.  All the while Keziah displayed the kind of table manners that startled even Wilbur.   

It was increasingly difficult to imagine the hunched old woman tearing into a drumstick with clawed hands and trying to explain the Dho Formula through a mouthful of chicken rubbing elbows with The Outer Gods, acting as a messenger for Nyarlathotep himself.  

But she did know things.  Gods did she know things.  His grandpa has known some and read some, and Wilbur had done his best with that meager tutelage and a plethora of crumbling books.  But Keziah, she rattled off facts and incantations and corrections to his magical theory like other people talked about the weather.   

The conversation was beyond Lavinia’s grasp, she nodded when she thought it was appropriate.  And was quickly forgotten by the other two.  She didn’t mind though.  It was a rare treat to see Wilbur so animated.   

Dinner ended with everyone in a good mood, Lavinia offered to clear up and let the other two retreat to Wilbur’s lab, Keziah still had to work out exactly where she’d gone wrong in her calculations earlier, and Wilbur was eager for a crash course traveling the space between spaces.

“Don’t worry kid, I’ll work slow so you can keep up.”  

The teasing earned her a sour look.  Even as Wilbur bent over the desk to see what she was working on.  

“I’m sure I’ll manage just fine, I’m sharper ‘en most folks.”

“So am I.”  

If Keziah made things a little unnecessarily complicated just to show off who could blame her.  Wilbur was a nice enough kid.  But she couldn’t let him think he was smart just because his dad knew absolutely everything there was to know.  

Still, she helped.  More than slaving over his books alone could.  And after some untold hours.  Keziah stood up, stretching and cracking her back and knuckles as she did.  

“I think that’s enough for the night.  I’ve got to get back to Arkham, and I really hate to travel when I’m tired.”  

Wilbur looked down at her with a frown.  

“S’pose ef yew’ve got tew.  Like ma said, yew can come back whenever yew like.  Jus’ use a door next time.”  

Keziah let out a low scoff and rolled her eyes.  “Absolutely not kid, doors are for people with no imagination.”  

She traced a quick sign in the air,  lines lingering that glowed a shade no human eyes could really appreciate, and without another word Keziah stepped through the corner of Wilbur’s laboratory and was presumably back in Arkham.  The space she just occupied tilting strangely before folding in and righting itself.  

Wilbur stared and wished he’d had his better eyes out to watch that.  Probably would have been quite impressive to see in five dimensions.

[mistbornthefinal]

Madoka Magica Aniversary Analysis: Part 7

Facing Your Pain

We find Sayaka returning to her home presumably just after the events of the last episode. She tosses down her Soul Gem onto the desk surprisingly carelessly given that she just learned that it’s literally her soul. As she addresses Kyubey he’s just there despite not being in any of the establishing shots.

“You tricked us, didn’t you?”

Kyubey’s response is complete bullshit because, yes he did. Kyubey reveals or conceals information according to his own interests in order to manufacture consent. Even if he never outright lies in the process it’s still blatant trickery and deception. 

(pictured bunnycat being a dick)

Of course if anyone still didn’t get the memo he then places his paw on Sayaka’s Gem and makes her experience the unfiltered pain of being stabbed. In light of this scene it’s hard to believe that Kyubey is some kind of dispassionate utility maximizer. Regardless of what he might later claim about not having emotions it’s clear there’s some degree of sadism at work here and later on when he shows up to Homura’s house to gloat after getting Kyouko killed. 

In particular his deployment of violence as an “educative” tool when his logic is questioned by those it exploits is all to human despite Kyubey’s claims of being beyond humanity. 

He then tells Sayaka that it’s possible to completely shut out pain though he dose not recommend doing so. Which is clearly just him trying to push Sayaka into a worse place in order to put more pressure on Madoka to contract. What a dick.

(cue connect)

At school we see Sayaka’s desk has been folded into the floor of the school indicating her absence. We get a brief cut to Sayaka at home staring into her Soul Gem. Then we’re back on the #aesthetic rooftop with Madoka and Homura. Madoka askes if Homura knew about the lich thing and why she didn’t say anything before if she did. Homura says that no one she has told in the past believed her. Madoka then wonders how Kyubey can be so cruel.

Homura outlines Kyubey’s philosophy as she understands it. Kyubey does not share human values and as horrible as his price is it’s still small one for miracle. Even if Sayaka had dedicated every waking hour of her life to caring for Kyousuke he wouldn’t have gotten better. Yet still the cost of curing him was only Sayaka’s life. 

Homrua tell Madoka again to give up on Sayaka. Madoka reminds us that Sayaka saved Madoka and Hitomi’s life back in episode 4, it’s not in Madoka to abandon a friend especially one who put her own life on the line to protect her. Homura tells her not to confuse gratitude for responsibility (you’re one to talk Homura-chan) and again asserts that Sayaka is beyond saving.

Madoka asks how Homura can be so cold to which she muses 

(don’t cut yourself on that edge)

Meanwhile Sayaka is still lying in bed when Kyouko calls out to her telepathically. As they walk together Kyouko says she’s mostly gotten over the existential panic of “everything that makes you you is in this fragile Gem”. Having magic powers and being able to live as she likes is enough to satisfy her even considering the price (though she is still unaware of the true price of course). She restates her philosophy of living only for herself. 

The two of them arrive at their destination the ruins of the Sakura family church, the ideal setting for Kyouko to relate her backstory. But first she offers Sayaka an apple, because symbolism. Sayaka tosses the apple away and an enraged Kyouko lifts her up by the collar and threatens to kill her. Kyouko doesn’t like it when people waste food for reasons that will soon be obvious.

Kyouko sets Sayaka down, picks the apple up, dusts it off, and returns it to the bag. Then she starts her story which is show to us through a filter of non-diagetic puppets. He father was a preacher, a kind soul who only wanted the best for people. However his desire to do the right thing let to him preaching an unorthodox dogma. He was excommunicated and his family fell onto hard times. A young Kyouko couldn’t stand how know no one would listen to him (though current Kyouko admits that from the outside it must have seemed like he was trying to start a cult.)

(this is what scientologists actually believe)

So Kyouko made her contract and the next morning their church was filled with believers, and the world gained another Puella Magi. For a time Kyouko considered her and her father as two sides of the same coin, each working to save the world in their own ways. Of course then her father found out.

Learning that his new followers were there not by his words but his daughters magic broke his spirt and caused him to turn against his daughter calling her a witch. He turned to drink and ultimately killed both himself and Kyouko’s mother and younger sister. Her wish destroyed her family, because she made that wish without knowing what the person she made it on behalf of truly wanted. So from that day onward Kyouko resolved to only user magic for herself. 

Kyouko the asserts that hope and despair have to ultimately have to balance out. Something other characters will repeat even though it’s kind of dubious. Sayaka points out a hole in Kyouko’s logic if Kyouko is preaching pure selfishness then why worry over her. It’s clear that Kyouko sees her younger self in Sayaka and thus want’s to both save her and have her to validate how she has spent her life since she lost her family. 

(insert Always Sunny style title card reading: “Sayaka regrets her actions”)

Sayaka isn’t interested in validating Kyouko. Instead while she admits that she had the wrong idea about Kyouko she reiterates her decision to never regret her actions. Sayaka then asks how Kyouko got those apples, when Kyouko is unable to answer Sayaka says that if she can’t say than there’s no way that she can partake. She turns to leave, she’ll continue to fight in her own way if that inconveniences Kyouko she’s welcome to try to kill her again. Sayaka no longer bares the other Puella Magi any ill will but neither is she willing to lose to her.

As Sayaka leaves Kyouko goes back to her old habit, attempting to fill the void of lost social connection with food. It doesn’t seem very effective.

The next day Sayaka returns to school and tries to play off her absence, but when she spots Kyousuke she is still unable to approach him. After school Hitomi calls Sayaka for a one on one meeting at the cafe. There she lays down her ultimatum. Hitomi also has romantic feelings for Kyousuke but in honor of their friendship and Sayaka’s longer relationship she will allow her to make the first move. However Sayaka only get’s 24 hours after which Hitomi will confess her feelings.

That night once again Madoka is waiting for Sayaka as she heads out on patrol. Sayaka asks why Madoka is so kind to her as her own opinion of her self has recently plummeted. She “almost” regretted something today, when Hitomi gave her that ultimatum she considered what would have happened if she hadn’t saved her. She’s already given up on being with Kyousuke as since she is a “zombie” having a romantic relationship is impossible. 

This isn’t rational so to speak, rather Sayaka’s depression about not being able to live up to her ideals is effecting how she processes the revelation about what has been done to her body. To a certain extent she would rather call herself a monster than admit that she doesn’t have the courage to confess to her crush or that the idealized standard she set for herself is unachievable. Despite her low spirits she resolves to go kill a witch.

We then cut to the outside of a labyrinth presumably the one Sayaka is fighting in as Kyouko looks on. Homura joins her shortly and Kyouko says she isn’t going to interfere with his hunt, this is a Witch and fighting it is not a waste by her measure. She then notes that Sayaka is having trouble.

Then we cut to inside the barrier, and some of the most beautiful animation that Madoka Magica has to offer. Elsa Maria’s barrier is a world of monochrome with both the humans and the witch rendered as black silhouettes. This witch extends the religious imagery we had earlier with the only color (beyond touches of the girls image color on their outline) is the orange monstrance before which the witch prays.  

Sayaka cuts her way through the witches familiars, animal heads on ribbons of shadow but when she reaches the witch proper an entire tree erupts from it’s body to engulf her. Kyouko comes to her aid cutting her free and offering to take over the fight. 

Sayaka refuses and charges at witch again. This time she is heedless of her own injuries hacking away at the witch with savage abandon. 

It’s true.

If I just detach myself...

it doesn’t hurt at all.

Madoka begs her to stop (cue magia)

Welp that was EP 7. Extrapolating backwards a bit we can sort of see how for the past few three episodes how Sayaka and Kyouko have arcs that are sort of inverse of each other. In EP 5 both of them them aspire to fill the narrative and physical space that was left when Mami died. Kyouko at first sells herself as the veteran magical showing the newbies the ropes while Sayaka swears herself to upholding the image that Mami projected to cover her loneliness. The two move to clash in ep 6 but the revelation of a part of Kyubeys system that neither of them (or Mami) was aware of shocked both to their core. 

With their foundations shaken Kyouko attempts to reach to the girl she tried to kill who reminds her so much of her old self, opening up and sharing her trauma in the hopes that Sayaka can validate her philosophy. To hope the two of them can find some mutual solace in their failure of their old dreams. It’s not to be however as though Sayaka gives up her anger at Kyouko she rejects the possibility of connection. Instead she chooses to accelerate her downward spiral by doubling down on her desire to live up to her idealized image. Now Sayaka is in freefall and next episode we find out what happens when a Puella Magi hits rock bottom.

[danyka-fendyr]

Wildfire - 1

Chapter 1: Bibbity Boggarty Boo

Should I have been writing the next chapter of Absence of Good? Yes. Should I definitely have been trying to write a Reylo oneshot I said I would write weeks ago? Oh, absolutely. But instead I got inspired to start a whole new series based off of Harry Potter, and so here we are. Sometimes I just have to follow where the inspiration leads, and if the several different Reylo drafts just aren’t working out, a George Weasley fic is what happens apparently. Anyway sorry to literally all of my followers who did not ask for this.

Taglist: @dreamwritesimagines @rhabakoli

Wordcount: 2501

Warnings: Death. Themes of war. Abuse of power. Injury/gore.

Magic is a tricky thing. It is alive in its own way, not a tool but a force, unstoppable and scarcely controllable, wild and bright. If you are lucky enough to see it, to touch it, to have it run through your veins and into your children’s, you can maybe understand something of the untamable nature of magic. It has been argued that magic does not choose, but that it is only transferred, passed down through those of the purest blood. But…over the years, you have come to see different. Much as the wand chooses the witch, you are inclined to believe magic chooses the witch as well, and doesn’t have much to say as far as blood goes.

Convincing Professor Binns of that in the longest essay you had ever been assigned would be considerably more work. The professor could be a bit archaic as far as muggleborn rights went, which was all the more infuriating for you as a muggleborn. However, the man was dead, so you felt you had to give him a certain amount of credit for even still grading papers and teaching class, half-hearted prejudice aside. Binns’ refusal to throw hands with Malfoy, while not perhaps relatable, was at least understandable. You also often found it difficult to feel any amount of passion or human emotion sometimes.

“I just want to go to sleep,” you groaned.

“Awww, is little Y/N tired?”

Fred Weasley cooed over you, clearly unaware of how dangerously close he would be to death if you just had slightly more energy. That being said, you didn’t have slightly more energy, so maybe this was strategically advantageous for him. Nobody ever accused the Weasley twins of being stupid. Well, except for you sometimes.

“Don’t mess with me right now Weasley.”

“Oh no Georgie, she’s using my last name.”

“Our last name, Freddie. Maybe she was talking to me. Y/N dear, which one of us were you talking to?”

“Yes.” Your voice was slightly muffled from where you had just leaned forward into the table, carefully avoiding your freshly inked parchment.

“Well now, that’s not very nice. What did I do?”

“I’m sick and I have the world’s longest paper to write from Binns and I am in turns hot and cold which means the fire is both my best friend and actual Satan.” Also we are on the verge of war. Also the Dark Lord is back. Also there is a pink toad trying to run Hogwarts like a dictatorship. “I’m not in the mood to be messed with.”

You glanced up tiredly, ready to give a baleful glare, only to find a concerned looking George Weasley. Fred hovered behind him, his face also worried as he took in your red nose, watery eyes and miserable countenance.

“Love, why haven’t you gone to the hospital wing?” George asked.

“Because I can’t bring myself to drag my way all the way through this stupid castle just to get a freaking Pepper Up potion. In short, I’m lazy.”

You patted the couch next to you, gesturing for him to sit down so that at the very least he could give you that concerned look in comfort. He sat like he was on pins and needles, which you shouldn’t have been surprised by.

As long as you had known him, George Weasley had never been one not to take action. Fred got much of the credit for being the idea man, but the truth was that if George Weasley wasn’t moving he was dying inside. He was also just a tad bit protective, especially of you.

You attributed this to the fact that when you were a sweet, innocent muggleborn first year you may have lost your temper and managed to completely eviscerate Marcus Flint without ever laying a finger on him. Not that it was hard to emotionally damage a 13-year-old boy with teeth that jacked up. Anyway, Marcus had decided to go for a less pacifistic method of revenge and George Weasley had swooped in to rescue you, Fred in tow. It didn’t take long to become friends with the guys who had saved you from the hospital wing.

You leaned into his side, sniffling quietly, only to have him launch up and swiftly be replaced by Fred trying to prevent you from falling over.

“I’ll be right back,” George said, a determined look on his face and no explanation on his lips.

You raised an eyebrow at Fred. “So, should I expect him back in 5 minutes or 3 hours?”

“I bet you a chocolate frog he’s back in 5 minutes.” Fred grinned.

“That’s not fair. You always win bets about George.”

“I wonder why.”

You rolled your eyes before resuming staring at the fireplace in the Gryffindor common room, its warm flames licking the faded brick, staining it soot black, Death Eater black. These days it seemed like everything in your head came back to Death Eaters. And if it wasn’t Death Eaters, it was Umbridge.

You had to admit to being petrified by Umbridge. It wasn’t that she didn’t make you angry. She did. But you also knew what she did to students who misbehaved, had seen the scars settling into Harry Potter’s hand, had once even caught George trying to hide blood from you.

 “Georgie, what’s that?” You stopped him on his way up to the dorms.

You were up late studying, and it was well past the hours any decent human being should be awake. You were up though, trying to puzzle out a potions assignment and meeting with very little success. George, apparently, was also up, and clutching his sleeve in a very odd, suspicious fashion.

“It’s nothing. Shouldn’t you be asleep?” He turned away from you, framing the arm in question in shadow.

“Did you hurt yourself working on new products again?” You asked, crossing the room to inspect his arm. You pushed the sleeve back, chatting as you went. “You really have to be more careful. I know there’s a lot of demand, but you can’t put your health at risk just fo-”

You gave a small gasp when you saw the words scrawled into his arm, blood still fresh, jagged little bits of skin speckled with red darker than his hair, more ominous. I must not make mischief.

“Who did this to you?” You knew the answer, but you had to ask.

“Really, it’s nothing. Don’t worry about it, Y/N. Go to bed.”

He tried to pull his arm out of your grasp, but you held on, careful not to hurt him. Gently, you edged a single finger around the clean skin surrounding the wound. Your other hand had found its way into his, fingers lacing together in your horror, tears in your eyes.

She shouldn’t be allowed to do this to him. No one should be allowed to do this to him. This shouldn’t happen to good people like George Weasley. He didn’t deserve it.

“Hey,” he said softly, wiping a tear off your cheek. “It’s alrigh’ love, I’m fine. Just a flesh wound.”

“We should uh..” You took a shaky breath. “We should clean it up.”

You lead him over to the couch, leaving him to wait while you headed to your room and grabbed some spare bandages and ointment from a first-aid kit your mother insisted you take to Hogwarts with you every year.

“We’ll have you better in no time,” You promised with false cheer.

 “Pepper Up potion!” George announced triumphantly. “Fred and I use it all the time when we’re testing products. We’ll have you better in no time.”

You had more reason to be afraid of Umbridge than just what you had seen though. The truth was that while you tended to be docile as a lamb when people attacked you, you didn’t like it when people attacked the people you loved. You had gone after Umbridge and paid the price in long sleeves and muggle makeup, but some mean, dark, spiteful thing inside of you said that every detention was worth it despite the pain.

You couldn’t let the twins know though. If George saw the words carved into the back of your hand and up your arm in your own loops and swirls he would have a fit.

I must not be a know-it-all.

You knocked back the potion quickly, shaking your head vigorously as it burned through you.

“I swear muggle alcohol has nothing on that crap,” You muttered.

“Hey, don’t complain. I just magically cured you of all your ails.”

You snorted lightly, grinning up at him. It was true though. Your stuffed nose and wheezing breaths were gone, replaced by perfect health, more or less.

“My hero,” you said.

“My angel.”

You blushed, shaking your head at him. Always so dramatic, the Weasley twins. Speaking of drama, some seemed to have found its way to you now.

Neville Longbottom ricocheted down the stairs, his face white with terror, as blank as a muggle who’d seen a ghost. If it were any other student, you might have been terrified, but Neville was somewhat more prone to bouts of fright. You stood calmly, smoothing out your robes and reaching casually for your wand.

“You alright there Neville?”

“B-b-boggart,” the boy stuttered.

“Don’t you worry Neville, Y/N will get it sorted. Never seen anyone cast a better riddikulus charm, myself,” Fred said.

“You give me too much credit, Fred.” You were already heading up the steps of the boy’s dormitory though, confident in your ability.

You could hear George speculating on how it must have gone missing from some closet in the deeper reaches of the castle. There were so many nooks and crannies in Hogwarts that there was always at least one boggart somewhere, even if you never saw it. Wand at the ready, you opened the door to Neville’s dorm, knowing exactly what to expect. Except you didn’t find what you expected.

You pulled in a deep breath, legs shaking as you stared at what was before you. It was supposed to be you tied up or in a straight jacket or just generally somehow trapped, your worst fear. Or it had been your worst fear, before you went to war.

His red hair was plastered to his pale face, blank eyes staring. All the light and mischief sucked right out of them. You fell to your knees just outside of the circle of blood pooling around his body, and a choked noise came out of your throat, the only sound you could make.

One of the boys must have heard you, because you vaguely registered Neville calling up to ask if you were okay. You couldn’t answer though, transfixed by the sight before you. You knew you were supposed to riddikulus it, but you couldn’t move.

At some point, the boys must have come up the stairs, because you heard a quiet voice behind you mutter, “Bloody…”

You thought it might have been Fred, but you weren’t sure.

“Come on, angel.”

George’s soft voice filtered through the cold mist that had a grip on your mind, his hands gripping your arms, gently but firmly lifting you back up to your feet. With a flick of his wand, he cast the charm, breaking the boggart’s spell over you as his dead body turned to a comically fake version of the same picture, ketchup and all.

An arm over your shoulders, George steered you away from the dorm as you tried to process the shock of what you’d just seen.

“I never…It wasn’t…It used to be…”

“I know,” George said. “It’s okay. You don’t have to explain.”

You shook your head. “Last spring…last spring it was just me being trapped.”

George pulled you closer into his side, and you realized that hot tears were falling out of your eyes and onto his uniform.

“A lot’s changed since last spring,” he said. “It’s alright though. I’m here. Everything is fine.”

You realized with a grateful start that George was leading you back to your own room so that you didn’t have to cry in front of everybody in the common room, shielding your body with his own. The stairs appeared to accept your unspoken desire for him to be here as permission enough as he lead you up them without a hitch.

“It won’t stay fine though,” you managed to work out.

“I’ll still be here then,” he said.

“You can’t promise that.”

“I can. No matter what angel, I can guarantee you one thing. You and I, we’re going to stick together.” He opened the door to your dorm room, blissfully empty as most of Gryffindor tower was out on the first winter weekend with clear skies you’d had in a while. “And Freddie, of course.”

“I thought that was a given,” you joked.

“There she is,” George said, watching you smile a little as you took a seat on your bed.

“It’s just been a little…harder lately.” You defended your tears. “With everything we know and what the ministry’s doing and the Order and Umbridge’s de-”

You cut yourself off, quickly revising your choice of words. “Umbridge’s devastating ability to make me want to kill her.”

George laughed. “Don’t let her hear you say that. She’d probably call it high treason against the ministry or something. Say you were in cahoots with You Know Who.”

“Ugh. You Know Boo is more like it. Never met a bigger buzzkill than the Dark Lord.”

“Technically we’ve both had the good fortune not to meet him yet.” George leaned against one of the posters of your bed.

“We will eventually. Then I can tell everybody whether or not Harry was making it all up.”

George stiffened. “You think he’s lying?”

“Yeah, kinda. I mean, a guy with no nose? He had to have made that part up. There’s no way the big baddie doesn’t have a nose. Harry’s just yanking our chain.”

He burst out laughing, sparks flying from his chocolate eyes.

“It would be a good laugh too, wouldn’t it?”

“Oh, the best. Positively historic.”

“Oi, Georgie!” Fred’s voice bellowed up from the common room. “What are you two doing up there? Don’t make me call Minnie!”

You heard a chorus of laughter from the common room and groaned.

“Could you please ask him to stop convincing the school we’re dating?”

“I’ve asked, but you know Fred. He can be…”

“Stubborn?”

“An independent thinker.”

You huffed another laugh. “Okay, well you better get down there before he gets everybody to start independently thinking some very inappropriate things about us. I have a reputation to keep, you know.”

“Reputation as a stick in the mud, when we’re not around.”

“You love it. I’ll see you at dinner?”

“See you at dinner.”

You watched his scarlet head of hair disappear down the hall, moving like wildfire with each step, and grinned to yourself. You supposed if they were going to spread wildfire rumors about anyone, it would be George Weasley.

[myinconnelly1]

A Life Unlived Ch. 3: Life Goes On Pt. 1

Masterlist / Previous

Word Count: 1,719

A/N: Season 4! Hope you all are still enjoying this total self aggrandizement 

Warnings: no warnings

May 2008

“Sam?”  Myin asked as Sam stood at the doorway to her new home.  “What are you doing here?  I didn’t think I’d see you again.”

“Who is it, Mommy?”  Dani called from the living room where she was playing with Penny.

“I need a place to stay.  I’m sorry it’s been so long.”  Sam said.  Life had taken a hard toll on the tall man, and Myin reached out to caress his cheek.  “Please.”

“Of course.”  Myin stepped back to let him in, pulling her hand away.

“Sam!!!” Dani shrieked as she came running to the front door.

“Hey, Dani!”  Sam responded lifting her and giving her a slight twirl in the air.

“I don’t like that!  Please put me down.”  Dani squealed in delight despite her words.

“Okay.”  He gave her a quick squeeze then set her down.

“Penny, come see Sam!”  Dani giggled.  The other little girl came walking unsteadily down the hallway and stared wide-eyed at the big man.

“Hi,”  She murmured.

“Wow, she’s gotten so big,”  Sam said bending down to pick her up, but being left with his arms outstretched as she ran off.

“Penny doesn’t like anyone to pick her up,”  Dani said laughing at the look on Sam’s face.

“Come on in Sam.  Girls get your stuffed animals for a nap.”  Myin called to her daughters.

“Aw, but Sam just got here.”  Dani protested in what sounded like a regular occurrence.

“And if your good and take a nap, he might still be here when you wake up.”  Myin sighed taking the girls to their beds for sleep.

“I like the new place,”  Sam said when Myin came out of the girls’ room.  “How long have you been here?”

“I put the old place up a week after you and Dean left.  I didn’t want to be there anymore.”  Myin put on a brave face as she faced her memories.  “This place is smaller but that just makes it easier to clean.”

Sam nodded looking around the place as Myin sat next to him.

“What’s going on, Sam?  You don’t call or text for a year and suddenly your find my new address and show up here needing a place to stay?”  Myin looked at him seriously.

“Dean died last week.”  Sam’s shoulders stooped as he said the thing that he had been dreading for a while now.

“Oh, Sam.”  Myin scooted across the couch to wrap an arm around him.  “Your line of work is dangerous, I’m not gonna ask how.”

“No, it wasn’t like that.  He sold his soul.  He’s in hell, and I have to save him.  He died to save me.”  The words tumbled out of his mouth for the first time in their entirety.

“If you have to save him, why are you here?  Are you in danger?”  Myin asked cautiously.

“Actually, I was hoping that you would be able to help.  I’ve been doing research, and I’m willing to do anything.  You were always good at preparing for a test.”  Sam shrugged.

“Of course,”  Myin said again, giving him a light kiss on the cheek.  

It was weeks before either Sam or Myin came up with the first thing to try.  They had found a comfortable place, despite the grief of their situation.  In Myin’s two-bedroom home, they shared a bed out of basic necessity, and Penny and Dani were accepting of the situation in the way only children can be.

“This one requires a witch,”  Myin said hesitantly.  “You don’t have a witch.”

“Well,”  Sam gestured to her.  “Maybe your dad let something that could be helpful, and you just don’t know it?”

“I don’t know, Sam.  Magic always has a price.  Even if you don’t know what it is.  It’s not safe.”

“We have to try,”  Sam said desperately.

“I’ll look.  But no promises.”  She brushed his hair out of his face, then kissed his lips.  

September 2008

“Bobby?”  Myin gaped as she walked away from the nurses' station in the ICU.

“Myin what are you doing here?”  The old hunter ended his call and put his phone away.

“I work here, what about you?  Do you know someone here?”  She asked looking around at the various rooms.

“Yeah my friend is here, bad accident burned her eyes.”  He muttered looking around rather paranoid.

“Come on, you can come tell me about it in my office.”  She said, then led the way to the accounts receivable department where her office was.  “Is Sam with you?”  Myin asked.

“No, I thought he was staying with you?”  Bobby asked as Myin closed the door and motioned for a seat for him to sit in.

“Not for a while,”  She said looking away for a moment.  “Is there anything I can do to help your friend?”

“No she’s a pretty normal person, just leave my name out of it,”  Bobby shooed her question away.  “Where are your girls?”

“With grandma.  They all moved nearby after everything that happened.  She understands how hard everything has been between Jay and Sam.  Dani and Penny spend a lot of time with her, while I work.”  Myin sighed at the end recomposing herself.

“You know, now that I think about it,”  Bobby looked at her with a furrowed brow.  “Your daddy was a witch of sorts wasn’t he?”  Myin looked at him eyes wide.

“I don’t do that anymore, Bobby.  Not after last time.”  She crossed her arms in front of her.

“I don’t need you to cast anything.  Maybe you can come by the Astoria Motel.  We could use some out of the box thinking,”  bobby finished rubbing his beard.

“We?”  she asked noticing the word, much to Bobby’s displeasure.

“Me and Sam, he is at the motel, I know things are hard between you too, but we are really out of our depths.  We held a Séance and some monster burned my friend's eyes out of her head.”  He whispered.

“Fine, I’ll be there when I get off work.”

Myin stood outside the room adjusting her hair nervously.  She hadn’t seen the Impala or Bobby’s beater in the parking lot, bit knocked on the door regardless.

“Myin?”  Green eyes stared at her from beyond a cracked open door.  The chain was still attached and she could see the gun the man was holding inside the room.  She held her hands up.

“Dean?  Bobby asked me to come by,”  She whispered, unsure.  He closed the door and she heard the chain rattle before it reopened and he let her in.  “You’re alive?”  She muttered raising her hand to press it against his chest half expecting it to pass through him.

“Yeah, what are you doing here, I thought you were in Florida.”  He placed his hand over hers and pulled it from his chest.

“Needed a change of scenery.”  She was just starring at him as if she was in shock.

“I half expected you to be with Sam when we found him earlier,”  Dean chuckled as he let go of her hand finally.  “How are-”  He cut off raising his gun up at the door again as a high pitched ringing sounded and static played on the TV.  They covered their ears trying to block out the noise to no avail.  The mirror on the ceiling cracked as Dean dropped his shotgun and they both fell to their knees.

“What is that?!”  Myin shouted trying to be louder than the whine.

“Cover your head!”  Dean shouted as the windows blew out and glass sprayed them from the side.  He grabbed and arm around her middle and pulled her towards the door.  He fell mostly on top of her as the cracked glass on the ceiling fell where the had been standing a moment before.

The door to the motel busted open and Bobby was there calling for Dean as more glass threatened to fall.

“Why the hell didn’t you tell him?”  Bobby asked when they were all in Bobby’s beater and Dean has lied to Sam on the phone.

“He’d try and stop us.”

“From what?  Bobby asked

“From summoning it,”  Dean responded.  Myin stared wide-eyed at Dean.  This was not what she had signed up for.  “It’s time we face it head-on.”

“No, wait.  I just got clear of all the shit in Florida.  You will not put me of my kids in danger again.  Pull over and let me out I’ll walk.”  Myin said throwing her hands out in front of her.

“You were there with me when it attacked, you’re already a target.  You and your family are safest if we deal with this thing.”  Dean said firmly.

“I hate this plan,”  Myin muttered.

“It’s high noon baby.”  Dean grinned.  Bobby and Myin rolled their eyes.  “We got the knife, you got an arsenal in the back, and we have a witch.”

“This is a bad idea,”  Bobby agreed with Myin.  “We could use Sam for this.”

“He’s better off where he is.”  Dean murmured.

“Maybe you did the spell wrong,”  Dean offered after the group had sat in the warehouse quietly for what felt like forever.

The structure started to shake as thunder rumbled and crashed outside.

“What did you say this thing was again?”  Myin asked raising her rifle.

“I didn’t,”  Dean muttered as the doors to the building were flung open.  

A man in a trench coat walked towards them, and Dean and Bobby began firing rounds at him.  Myin gasped as she saw him, entranced by something about him, and dropped her gun.  The chambered round went off on impact and ricochet off the metal walls.

“Myin, watch where shooting!”  Dean shouted before he saw the look of aw on her face.  “Son of a bitch!”  Dean shouted.  The man stood in front of Dean and Dean stabbed him with the demon blade.

The angel removed the blade then touched Bobby’s forehead and the older man dropped to the ground.

“Bobby!”  Dean dropped to the ground to check on the old man, as the blue-eyed stranger looked at Myin.

“You’re friend is fine.”  He said.  A tear fell down Myin’s cheek as she stared at him.

“Who are you?”  Dean asked.

“Castiel,”  The stranger responded and scooped Myin up to sit here by the workbench.  “We have work to do.”

@waywardbaby​ @destielhoneybee​ @snffbeebee​ @deangirl7695​ @spnbaby-67​ @maddiepants​ @tabrown2021​ @ladywinchester1967​ @woodworthti666​ @miraclesoflove​ @tumbler-tidbits​ @emilyshurley​ @akshi8278​ @mannls​ @wendibird​ @bobasheebaby​ @flamencodiva​ @theoneandonlymelol​ @chelsea072498​ @donnaintx​ @justsomedreaming​ @supernaturalenchanted​ @kalesrebellion​ @prettydeaneyes​​ @emoryhemsworth​ @yourdommelb​

[rayonfrozenwings]

WAITING IN THE FREEZING DARK: CHAPTER 14 - Home Cooking

Spoiler Alert: Contains references to ACOFAS.

Authors Note: Apologies for quick succession. It’s writing season apparently.

A Nessian Fan Fiction: Characters all belong to Sarah J Maas and her book series A Court of Thorns and Roses. This Story takes place after ACOFAS. The story has Multiple POV’s, taking place in the Illyrian camp, Windhaven, Nesta and Cassian are living together at the behest of the high lord and lady of the night court.

Chapter 14 - Home Cooking. Nesta and Cassian are at the Market deciding their next course of action.

Previous chapters are here: 1, 2, 3, 4 , 5 , 6 7  8, 9, 10, 11 , 12 , 13 and Masterlist here.

I have also put this on AO3: Series Link  :)

WC 1913

Nesta The walk around the lake felt more peaceful than Nesta thought possible, fireflies flew through whistling reeds and up around the various fae and night court creatures. Twinkling in the night, drawing Nesta’s attention to the many delicacies laid out on blankets in the tree lined space before the clearing. Beautiful faeries of all types clustered around the blankets, or at least what looked like blankets - the one closest was made of frosted silver leaves and yellow flowers, noticeably different from the surrounding greenery and moss.

Nesta continued to assess, taking in all around her.

The majority of the groups looked like families traveling together and others looked like romantic pairings, cuddling close and sharing food. Amazing how this place can exist in such isolation from everything else she had experienced in the night court. Fires and stalls filled the clearing and behind them, under the canopy of the trees she could see caravans and tents all set up to house the people running the market.

The very busy market - fairies of all types moving about to get something to their taste. Mole like creatures with large eyes and claws, small balls of fluff with long twig like limbs, and more humanoid Fae with wings, scales and all manners of colours moved about the space. It was busier near the food than it had been inside the cavern.

Cassian had been gone for a while now and she hoped he could see her among the crowd. Nesta shouldn’t have worried, he leaped over a small child - legs kicking up to the side while still holding the food. The child continued on oblivious to his near crash, chasing a possibly older sibling through the chaos. Cassian turned his grinning face her way, clearly glad that she saw his feat of agility and gesturing to an unoccupied place to sit with his full hands.

“That was close.” he said, handing her something that instantly reminded her of Elain. The smell of bread wafted up from the parcel and Nesta was overcome with homesickness. Opening it up she took a large bite and then another one. Savouring it as much of the dish as she could, letting the flavours move over her tongue. She closed her eyes and let the happy memories of her sisters drown her, all three at peace, before pulling everything back inside as she opened her eyes again - locking the thoughts away behind the blue glass.

A deep breath.

“So, they are nomads?” Nesta said through another bite of her delicious saucy bread dish.

Cassian used his own bread to wipe some sauce from her cheek as they walked. It hadn’t quite made it inside her mouth.

She gave him a wan smile and then said “Thanks.”

“You are most welcome,” he popped the bread into his mouth, “I think your red sauce is better than my green one.” he ripped another piece of his bread and dipped it into her dish and ate it. “Oh yeah, much better, definitely getting the red one next time.”

Nesta let out a sigh, “Nomads?” she asked again.

“Yeah, kind of. Not all of them go to every market, each market location has a kind of guardian group that stays all year round to mind the place, and then the rest move around. I’ve never really thought about it, it's just always been this way. But nomads might be the best way to describe it.”

“Does everyone know about the Market?” she looked towards the mainly lesser fae, they were so different from the High Fae, so different from humans, even from the illyrians, it was easy to forget how diverse Prythian was when you were cloistered away.

“Most people in the Night Court do, it is frequented by Lesser Fae more than High Fae but that's part of the reason it's stayed this way. No High Fae to tell them what to do. Plus Velaris has its own market and I'm sure the Court of Nightmares does as well - though I can't say I have been."

"Illyrians prefer trading posts - less illyrians all in one place…you know," he made a face "- because brawls are bad for business.” he rolled his eyes like he didn't believe it and carried on, “Since the Market keeps all his subjects happy Rhys hasn’t really worried about it. He sends Mor, Azriel or I around every so often to make sure everyone is happy, no shady stuff going on, no rebellions, but it runs pretty well without interference.”

“So why are we at this particular one?” she asked.

“Ah, well I was meant to check up on it before it moved on - so yes, an element of work but I could have asked Mor if I didn't want to come. I actually wanted to get you a book, wanted to get you out of that house, spend some time with you...” his voice trailing off near the end.

“You know - I have books.” she said, avoiding the topic of spending time together, there was no need to label what they had and she was just getting used to the idea that he wasn’t always a pain in her ass.

“Yes, But I - wanted to get you a book.”

Nesta looked at Cassian as he finished off his food, using the last of the bread to mop up his green sauce.

“What sort of book?” she asked, trying to think of all the special types of books they might find. Did he actually have something in mind, was he not telling her something.

“A history book or a romance book, or a magic book, or a book about the mountains…. I wasn't really sure, I just knew that this was the best collection of books in the night court except the ones kept by Rhys.” He pulled a cloth out of his satchel and wiped his hands offering it to Nesta to do the same while they continued to watch faeries move about.

“You mentioned there were other things at the Market, different things. Different locations - different merchandise… that’s what you said, so what’s this one's speciality?”

“Did you notice the walls?” he looked up to the caverns through the trees behind them, the light filtering through.

“I did.”

Cassian turned into a storyteller.

“Well, for starters - The Night Court is known for its jewells, this used to be a mining location. You will see, the further back into the caves we get, the more jewels have been left there sticking out of the walls - some too big to remove. The caves go back a long way. The High-Lord at the time was searching for something, no one really knows what, but it led to this incredible network of caves, caves that were made into homes for the workers, who then sold the gems that the High-Lord did not want. The High Lord got bored - they basically ran the operation for years with the explicit understanding that if they found what he wanted they had to give it up. I don’t think anyone even knows what he wanted anymore. So now those caves are filled with books, antiquities, jewellery, and other things that people bring to the market to sell.”

Cassian lowered his voice to a whisper and moved closer.

“The group that stays here - the guardians, they look after the books, but deeper inside, behind the book stalls and the scrolls and their homes are rumours of some hidden caverns with rare magical goods.” Cassian looked around before continuing a little quieter again, “Some say there is a myth that the tunnels were occupied by witches at one point, and that the items in the back are being protected because they belonged to them but I happen to know that the odd item has been sold over the years, so I think the Myth just helps to drive up the prices. Someone very crafty knew how to sell their merchandise.” He let out a big laugh, “These days, you just need to know who to talk to, so you can find the right tunnel.” he shook his head and sat back up, giving Nesta some air.

“Witches?” she asked.

“Yeah, witches - but I’ve been here plenty of times and haven't seen anything too weird. I’m pretty sure they are just a myth.”

“I see.” Nesta flicked her fingernails, trying to decide what she wanted.

To go inside or not.

Confronting fears was a good thing. Maybe it would help her with the nightmares - fewer things to be scared of. Going back into a cave meant she could return to the library in Velaris one day. That she could go underground. That she could roam the House of Wind, her first home in Velaris - without fear.

The witches component was slightly more concerning. She hadn’t told Cassian that her research made it seem likely that the High Lords had been changing the past to suit their purposes. Or at least changing how the past was remembered.

Witches didn’t seem as far fetched to someone who was reborn from the magic of the cauldron into an entirely new form. What was the High lord looking for that it would be buried so deep into a mountain? After speaking to Amren, Nesta knew some myths were just forgotten truths, was this one of them.  

“Look, we don’t have to go in there, I’d like to look at books with you but I’ll understand if you don't want that.” She saw the switch as storyteller Cassian vanished and the commander came out, she did enjoy it when he planned and tried to plot the best way to reach his goal. She could see him ticking things off on his hand as he mentally prepared an argument. “I can draw a quick map. There are multiple exits and they all come out to a wooden path and then lead to the lake and connect to the loop track. So we have a meeting place if we need it. We can meet back here if you get spooked for any reason. There are a few sellers I trust and I'll point them out so if you see trouble you know who to ask for help - if I’m not with you that is. I also have a few additional knives in my bag.”

“I have some knives already.” a long finger poked into his chest.

“Okay, extra knives.” He smiled at her.

“Do you always have to get the last word!”

“Do you?”

“You did it again.”

Cassian laughed. “Look , I have to go check out a few things and make sure certain goods aren’t being sold, I can do it before or after?" he left some space for her to reply but she didn't, she just waited.

"So, do you want to go look at some books with me Nesta Archeron?”

“Very Well.” she said, losing the argument she had stopped fighting long ago, “I do see another problem coming up soon though.”

“Oh?”

“Where are we meant to sleep? I thought there might have been a camp nearby. I didn't realise we might be sleeping under the stars. I don't have fur like those little fluff balls over there.” She moved her hands to wrap around her arms in her own form of a hug protecting herself from the cold.

He stood and offered her his hand, satisfaction in his eyes.

“I always think of something.” he grinned and winked at her.

---

[kurtty-drabbles]

The Omen au (part 14)

N/A: Just something sort fluffy with the Maximoff twins because of FUCK CANON.

@djinmer4 @dannybagpipesarecalling @bamfoftheundead

How two Romani orphans managed to purchased such house is not linked to magic, as some people speculate in a way that Wanda likes to label as Disney Frollo, in fact, it was thanks to their good paycheck that billionaires like Tony Stark and his friends offer to the Avengers for their heroic deeds.

Of course, Wanda can say how the group is not exactly the "found family" she was hoping, in fact, they blatantly ignored how sick Pietro was until Wanda, did return from her mission in Hungary, was the one to see her twin at the verge of dying and no one seems to notice or care and this, that little moment, should be the end of the Avengers, but, Pietro was almost coughing blood and she prioritizes his condition first.

How Wanda went to Doom? It was a desperate call as Doom is Romani like they are and it was shot in the dark if nothing else, and to her surprise, Doom helped them. Doom, of course, has the cure and it brings the health on Pietro´s form slowly but surely.

The price? Serve Doom until Doom is done. And right now, Doom is planning something big, in fact too big, that can change reality as everyone knows.

Her distress is evident as her twin, now fully healed and with his powers under control, offer a shoulder for Wanda to land in even not provided all information about Wanda´s deal with Doom, Pietro can at least offer to hear her woes as she always does with him.

"Wanda? What Doom truly wants you to do...is something you can do?" Is a question with a hidden meaning that´s too obvious for the Scarlet Witch. And this makes her smile a little, if anything, she can understand her twin.

"To be honest, I´m not sure of all the details, but, he wants to destroy the Avengers...the X-men, I think, he´s not taking in precaution and his main goal is to control a kid who has powers to do anything...Doom wants to control the antichrist" Wanda concludes holding her hands together as Pietro process this information.

"Wanda...are you sure it was..." she didn´t let him finish as she spoke faster than Quicksilver and her eyes hold a strength that´s not common associate to Wanda Maximoff, at least, not usually seen.

"Please, don´t say that, don´t even think that...don´t say I should have left you die" she speaks with urgency. "You´re my family. I love you. How can you think I would let my brother die...and dying like that? Why you would think your life matters less than mine? Pietro...if you say you lean on me to carry on... then I´d the same. We need to stay strong together. We´re family and I...Goddamit, Pietro, I´d not want to go to your funeral" she then takes a deep breath and concludes now. "Can you see why you´re important?"

Pietro´s face twisted into something akin to crying and a small sob escapes his lips and him, not sure of what word to use right now, just nods as the twins hug each other.

"I know you, Wanda, and I know what you´re going to say...if the worst comes to go by...if Thor is killed by the Avengers or worse...you want to save that kid, don´t you?" Pietro asked in a sweeter tone, well, as much Quicksilver can be.

"The child is with Clea who is working with Doom and ...she´s a bargain piece if anything else"

"If the worst has to come by...we can raise the kid, and I now notice...why Simon make those ''jokes'' about us"

"...One day, Pietro, you´ll fall in love with a douchbag and I´ll never let you forget this"

___________________________________________________________________________________________

Amora is an Enchantress. How one reaches to her level? Well, by the only way she knows, studying and being cunning than the others and sure, people love to talk about her unrequited crush on Thor, as if she has nothing going on for her side, and that´s a big mistake that Doom will soon learn.

Clea is taking care of the child on Doom´s behalf, Amora wonders privately why Clea is with Doom, maybe is a way to spite her ex-lover who was her teacher or maybe Doom had good plans to Clea, either way, Amora does not heed anyone´s words but her own.

"Hello, Veela, do you remember me?" Amora asked and has a flashback of the times she was taking care of her sister. The young Veela looks at Amora with awe and pulls a book that was hidden under a pink pillow and shows to Amora with excitement.

"Are you a fairy? like in the book?" Veela asked with her eyes glowing slightly, literally, and yes is pretty clear why Doom wants this child and Amora won´t help him in the slightest.

"No, I´m a Godness" is her simple reply and is enough to make the girl even more energetic, again, it does remotes to Amora´s little sister and how she used to be marvel by Amora´s magic.

"Even better, you´re so pretty," she said and points other fairies in the book as she explains it was Clea who gave the book to her and it was a really good book. Clea still is under the impression that Amora is also working to Doom and well, Clea´s spells and charms will warm her otherwise in less than 2 minutes.

"Veela, do you want to come with me? I ..." she could lie to this child and take her away with her, but, no, Amora prefers to not go to this route. "I know what´s really happening with your father"

"He´s...fighting the Avengers because what he has done?"

"No, he´s fighting the Avengers to keep you safe and Clea and her boss, you know the one with a metal mask, " she jokes as Veela does not get how dangerous Doom truly is, then again, she lived with Hela, Doom has to do the impossible to be worst than her. "So you can have a normal life and I´m here to help you...to be secure."

"Or you could be using me to manipulate me and Thor too"

"Thor came to me to ask help and we made a deal...I´m to protect you until he has everything figure it out"

"...Would you teach me how to really use my powers without hurt myself?"

"Of course"

Clea enters in the room too late as Veela made her choice and now Doom lost her bargain´s coin and Clea has to ponder on what to do to appease her new boss. "If I defeat Dr Strange...maybe he´ll not mind too much"

__________________________________________________________________________________________

Rogue is whispering with Remy, the Cajun is not silent about the whole rescue plan nor about Raven Darkholme, and Rogue as much she loves her mother can´t pretend much longer she feels something is wrong.

"Look, I feel awful...and I know those good intentions does not justify what we did, but, with his powers and his origins...we were so afraid..." she explains to Remy who nods but is still not letting the matter go.

"I get it, Cherri, I get it. You have a big heart and loves your family, but, ask yourself: would you like to be trapped in an attic because of your origins and powers?"

Rogue lower her head down and the silence is the answer enough.

"So, what you want to do?"

"Talk with him...just talk. And no, mother does not need to know"

"See, that´s Rogue that Remy loves"

[snowbellewells]

Face to Face in the Broad Daylight:  Chapter Four

I really can’t apologize enough for the long wait between chapters here.  There all sorts of plausible excuses, but I’ve basically just fallen behind with starting back to school and getting into the teaching routine again. Hopefully, I won’t keep you waiting on this story so long again, and that you will still enjoy what I’ve cooked up this time around...

Also, I still don’t think it quite needs an M rating, but fair warning, Emma and Killian do get up to a bit of mischief on a stakeout...

Thanks again to @branlovestowrite for the gorgeous story banner; I continue to just love it and smile every time I add it to the chapter post.  And to @cssns for inspiring so many wonderful stories and such a fun community outlet. I’m so glad it gave my little werewolf story an outlet and a reason for me to finally get down to business and commit to it the page!

~chapter four: sinister stirrings, signs of life

Gold did not allow his accomplice’s taunt to hang in the air for long; instead, speculation lit his serpentine eyes with cunning curiosity. “And just what is your price, Morgana? What is it that a powerful witch like you cannot simply conjure for yourself with ease?”

“I seek vengeance,” she bit out, tone icy cold with the fierce utterance. “For my father’s life, for my mother’s pain… and what I have lost to that ingrate King… Arthur of Camelot.” She spat the famed appellation, which most spoke in reverence, with a venom that momentarily surprised even the Dark One.

A knowing, secretive smile crept over his sharp face; no other words necessary for him to understand what drove her. He had after all seen the quest for revenge bring many a man and woman to his door, willing to take his wretched deals whatever the cost, and then meet their doom, or at least soul’s ruin. He and the would-have-been Duchess of Cornwall had much in common, and always had. Both believed the world to have slighted them, and both plotting, scheming, grasping every bit of what they felt was their due wherever they could. Perhaps she would grow a bit too desperate, and he could then be certain of the upper hand in their arrangement. He would simply watch and wait to see.

Morgana, on the other hand, was not idle, even as she finally handed the contained hat over to Gold and began to move around his shop with mild interest as he examined the token ravenously. Just as her former mentor sensed her fervent desire and impatience, the seething rage pushing her forward, she could also read his extreme confidence, his discounting of the worthy mind and abilities she had cultivated since the time he had known her well. He thought she would be easy to manipulate; powerful enough to provide the assistance he needed, but not a true threat to his own mastery of the exchange. 

He misjudged both her magical strength - and her loyalty. She had learned that no one could be trusted but herself. Though she was willing to side with him while it proved beneficial, she would not sacrifice her own goal, nor confuse a healthy respect with true devotion. Rumplestiltskin foolishly believed her indebted to him, simply because he had discovered where to summon the hat from Merlin’s safekeeping. That mattered little when she was the one who had retrieved it; she was the one he had needed to complete his task. Their purposes were not truthfully as aligned as he thought, yet she felt no qualms at playing along until it was too late for even the Dark One himself to stop her or ruin her plans. He saw her as a willing and able pawn, and she would let him do so for the time being. As long as he gave her the hat as promised when he was done, and she could increase her power, take it back to Camelot, usurp Arthur, and gain her revenge, she cared little how Gold’s plan worked out.  His power would be the first she would harness for her own devices - his and all the other Dark Ones who had come before - once the time was right.

“That seems only fair,” Rumplestiltskin spoke in his slick, indulgent tones that might fool someone who didn’t know him as well as Morgana did. Though neither fully trusted the other - nor any beyond themselves - the sorceror before her did seem near tittering with subdued malevolent glee. He really was an imp to his core, delighting in the fall of those who took might and control by vicious means, even if that downfall was not of his own making. “King Uther, Arthur’s father, did indeed wrong your family greatly.”

“I know that,” she snapped, eyes burning as they swung to his in sudden anger. “You needn’t recount the injustices! I remember them well.” Her fine, white hands clenched and unclenched, as her deceptively thin shoulders heaved. She was practically seething from every pore.

Unfazed, the Dark One stepped nearer, cradling his precious talisman in one hand as he wagged his forefinger at her teasingly. She wanted to snap the digit at its joint, but instead held her tongue stonily. “Easy there, Dearie,” Gold chided in his infuriating manner of jest. “Flying off the handle like that can lead to dangerous mistakes.”  He winked at her before turning to leave, clearly unconcerned with her alone in his shop to wreck it if the desire took her.

Morgana’s voice rang out quickly, before he could vanish in a puff of his magic, stopping him with the sort of ringing command he couldn’t ignore. “Midnight, a week from now, when the moon is at its fullest… If you wish for my help, you will bring the Sorceror’s Hat to the lakeside when the lunar orbit reaches the zenith. We will perform the ceremony, and then the hat will be mine once it has served its purpose for you. Do we have an accord?”

“Certainly, certainly,” Gold chimed, and though his tone was soft and sibilant, Morgana could hear the eagerness, the urgency for his full freedom and command of his power running beneath. She wasn’t the only one whose need for retribution had them chomping at the bit.

All that remained, she considered saying as the bell tinkled after Rumplestiltskin’s exit, was to see who would allow their quest to be their undoing. Then, without another moment’s hesitation, she vanished from the spot as well in her own column of cobalt blue smoke.

~~***~~***~~***~~

Once again nighttime darkness reigned over the quiet streets of Storybrooke. The main street, lined with storefronts, the Sheriff’s station, and the cheerily butter-yellow Town Hall, was so still and calm by 9:30 that one might think the place either deserted or inhabited entirely by senior citizens, Emma thought with a wry shake of her head and exhaled breath as she sat watching the scene before them from her usual work parking space. Apparently, fairy tale characters exiled in the “real world” adhered to a similar early bird schedule.  She was in the more roomy back seat of her Bug, not expecting to see much of anything that would require her to pull out quickly, and needing to sit somewhat turned in the seat to keep her eyes on Gold’s shop, a Thermos of hot chocolate on hand to warm her insides as the night grew more chilled, and Killian cuddled against her side assuringly, something in his lupine makeup keeping him always a few degrees warmer than the average human.

Reading her mild amusement as easily as he seemed to do with all her changes in mood and emotion, Killian leaned in to whisper against her ear, his scruffy whiskers raking deliciously across her cheek and neck. “What is it, Swan? Did I miss something humorous?”

Emma shook her head with a chuckle, swiveling a bit to look at his quirked brow and curious face more clearly. His crystalline, sea-blue eyes twinkled as if he could already anticipate her answer, and in that moment, Emma genuinely wanted nothing more than to kiss him senseless, plant little pecks all over his forehead and cheeks and chin, just for sitting there with her, for always being by her side, and for being her ridiculous, handsome, dependable companion, whatever new surprise or danger came their way. Though she managed to hold back the outburst of affection, she still couldn’t help the frisson of awareness that ran through her veins at his nearness, even while proceeding to answer his simple question. “No, nothing funny really, just thinking how there truly is no night life here. It’s not even ten o’clock, and there’s no one out on the street!”

“Aye,” Killian nodded conversationally in agreement. “You’ve a point there. Any port town in which the Jolly ever docked - regardless of how small or remote - was more lively than our little town currently.”

Both fell silent once more, eyes unavoidably drawn to the entrance of the darkened pawn shop, looking deceptively closed and shuttered,but nevertheless the reason they were sitting on the street in a stakeout and wondering whether or not they should trust the seeming peace of the night around them.  “Exactly,” she smirked at his comment, against her better judgement leaning closer as she did. She could feel that the spark always burning between them, fanned by both recent interrupted assignations, was still simmering hotly, barely banked by more pressing concerns, and knew that the right sort of look or touch might well be all that was needed to set it aflame once more. And yet, she couldn’t find it in herself to resist.

Killian reacted just as she had hoped, his response to her invitation almost immediate, hand balancing him on the seat beside her as he leaned even closer than they had already been seated, his breath warming her forehead as he exhaled and his hook tracing a purposeful path up her jean-clad thigh. “Looking for a bit more excitement, are you Darling?” he questioned devilishly, his lips and tongue pronouncing each sound and syllable of the words in a manner that left tingles racing up and down her spine. 

The intentional progress of his metal appendage swung inward to trace along her pants inseam, ever closer to the goal, and Emma swallowed hard, irrationally embarrassed that he might already feel the heat radiating from her center and how her pulse seemed to be throbbing there noticeably. It was all she could do not to start shedding layers and crawl into his lap. She could only nod eagerly for several tensely heated seconds before finally affirming breathily. “What if I am, Pirate? Are you gonna do something about it?”

Killian’s heavy, dark eyebrows practically danced across his forehead merrily, as if she’d given him a present with her challenge. The tip of his wicked tongue poked from between his full, tempting lips before tracing along the lower one as if he had just glimpsed a meal her wanted to devour. “Oh, you know I will, Emma. Don’t you even doubt it.”

In the next instant, he seemed to pounce, his warm weight pressing her back against the leather upholstery of the Bug’s rear bench seat, as that tongue swept into her mouth to lay claim. The curved edge of his hook found its goal at last, putting delicious cool pressure against her still-clothed heated core and making her moan shamelessly into his mouth in return.

“Oh...Ki - Killian!... Please…. Ummm…” she raised her hips almost unconsciously, bucking toward his questing hook, and the added stimulation of his hand, which had now managed to slip under her shirt, up her side to her heaving chest. Emma forgot all about Gold, the newcomer, and why they were outside in her car at all, between the way his hand and hook were making her feel and his lips suddenly veering from her own to wander along her jaw back to the sensitive spot behind her ear, driving her even more out of her mind. She would swear under oath that she shouldn’t be held responsible when her desperately clutching hands pulled so hard at his shirt in her haste to touch him too and hold onto something to ground herself that she heard the sound of ripping fabric over her own gasp and whimper of need.

Not in the least disturbed by wardrobe damage - he had lost count of how many shirts and pants his wolf had destroyed in transformation ages ago - Killian merely chuckled with indulgent pride at the effect he was clearly having on his usually cool and collected girlfriend. It wasn’t lost on him that Emma rarely allowed herself to let go of control so completely. Splayed before him openly, eyes half-closed in bliss, Emma was offering him the trust and vulnerability few others received from her, and it awed him all the more beyond what her beauty had already accomplished. Not wanting the swell of emotion to derail them, now that they had at last managed to preserve a long enough moment alone, he bent his head back to the task before him. He nearly lost a handful of hair when a few seconds later he caught the lobe of her ear between his teeth and bit down playfully, not expecting the force with which Emma grasped the dark strands between her fingers as she keened breathlessly.

The wicked smile that quirked his lips as he murmured into her neck, “Feeling lively enough now?” was entirely unavoidable, if he did say so himself. For a moment, he allowed his mind to gloat inwardly as her pants seemed to indicate his Swan incapable of speech from his pleasurable ministrations.

Letting down one’s guard around Emma was never wise, however, as he was soon letting out an indecently loud and tormented groan of his own satisfaction. Somehow, while he had been occupied with tracing patterns over her collarbone with teeth and tongue, she had worked a clever hand into his tight jeans and dealt him more than enough taste of his own medicine.

“Ah!  Wh- Swan…” he choked, his own head falling forward to rest on her shoulder as she squeezed and pumped delicately in the limited space she had to work with.  “Mmm, love...easy does it,” he finally managed to grind out after riding the sensation for a minute. “Much more of that and you’ll bring the night to completion before I can finish what I started.”

Reluctantly his bold lass did release him and pull back slightly, one sculpted eyebrow arched in what could only be the beguilingly feminine equivalent of the look he had given her so many times before. “Can’t have that now, can we?” she teased gently, stroking along his stomach muscles, which quivered in response to her touch and practically smirking up at him.

“Certainly not, Love. It would be poor form indeed to leave a lady such as yourself unsatisfied.” He licked his lips salaciously, but meant every word, and the way she threw back her head with a wholehearted guffaw of laughter made him certain she knew it too.

“Well then, Captain,” she purred, pulling him in once more by the charms that hung around his neck. “Let’s see you make good on your word.”

Pressing forward with a deep, almost feral sounding growl, part his own desire and part his wolf within howling to break free, he lay her back unresistingly on the seat beneath them, spread out before him like a delectable banquet feast.

When they surfaced some time later, bare and skin glistening with sweat from their enjoyable activities, they had already missed both clouds of magic and the reappearance outside the shop of their new female nemesis - the reason they had been waiting in the car in the first place. Still, even if they had been less than purposeful, as they rested together, sated and entwined in each other’s arms, neither Emma nor Killian could bring themselves to mind.

~~~**~~~**~~~**~~~

After checking in with Emma and Killian at the station - and gathering a much clearer picture of how his deputy and her beau were progressing as a couple than he had needed or wished to have - making sure they had been alerted about the strange woman he had seen at daybreak, Graham was more than anxious to see his own lady love once more. Firstly, because he longed to be at her side, to see her happy, every second of each day that it was reasonably possible; a truly jarring sensation for a man who had up until that point led a quiet, solitary life and thought himself reasonably satisfied, but a sensation he had warmed to and treasured all the same. And secondly, knowing that she carried their pup - a child conceived of their love for each other - in her womb made the normal protective urges he already struggled to manage at normal levels exponentially stronger. To think that Gold still lurked around town and must wish to win - or coerce or steal - Belle back to himself worried Graham enough on a daily basis, but the attack on Granny and this obviously magical stranger’s appearance had him all the more on edge. No, Belle might argue that she was quite alright and could take care of herself, but he intended to stick quite close by whenever his duties as Sheriff allowed, and he might just speak to David and Snow about seeing if someone could stay nearby, just in case, when he could not. He would simply bear her annoyance and exasperation with his fussing as best he could; it was much better than seeing any harm come to her.

Letting his mind return to that morning, Graham thought back on how, after sighting the cloaked woman by the lake, he had hastened back to his cabin with extra speed, shifting on the porch back into his lanky human form so as to let himself in with ease and check on Belle where he had left her sleeping. The sight of her peaceful in repose beneath the moss-green cotton sheets upon the bed, her auburn hair spread out across the pillow, and the softest little purr of a snore escaping her pretty lips, had made him loathe to wake her.

Shirtless and barefoot, clad only in the grey sweatpants he slipped on for decency once human again, he padded across the smooth hardwood floor simply watching her sleep for a few seconds longer with an adoring smile on his face. He had never seen her look so serene, stunning in her sweet fragility, her petite beauty and kind nature concealing what he knew to be a backbone of strongest steel. Still, however much he hated to rouse her from much-needed rest, she had made him promise to take her with him back into town this morning. She was not content to hide out and wait passively until all was safe. And even if it was only researching information that might help prepare the rest of them for the storm they all knew was coming, or finding any accounts which might might better inform the two of them on the little one they were awaiting, she would not settle for anything less than doing her part, in her library, surrounded and aided by her beloved books.

Perching lightly on the mattress near her hip, Graham reached out a large, calloused hand, with a gentleness he hadn’t even known he possessed (having never known a tender touch until this tiny spitfire of a woman came into his life) lifted a loose strand of hair from her velvet-soft cheek and tucked it behind her ear. As he had known it would, even such a light touch had her stirring, beginning to stretch and slowly wake.

Now that his duties for the day were mostly complete, it eased his soul to once more slip into the cool, enveloping shadows and hushed, welcoming space of the town library. He could feel the taunt hunch of his shoulders relax within seconds of entering his love’s hallowed space, at the sound of Belle’s voice farther within the stacks, directing someone he could not yet see. Perhaps one of their friends had already had the same thoughts he did and undertaken to keep her company.

Venturing on silent feet, long accustomed to moving swiftly and without sound on the forest floors and castle courtyards of their old world, Graham stepped into one of the larger conference rooms toward the back of the library, one appointed with a large study table and numerous chairs for large groups. He leaned against the doorframe there, happy just to watch and enjoy the comfort and relief of once more being in her presence and seeing her in her element.

The Hatter in their world - Jefferson, Graham believed he went by here, was the first other person he saw. He recalled with a wince that this man had also been painfully manipulated by Regina - both in the Enchanted Forest past and their small town present. He knew with the same guilt-ridden certainty that he had realized Belle could have been freed from her imprisonment sooner if he had been quicker to awaken and act, that he had probably passed Jefferson on the steps of the mayoral mansion or in the frigid labyrinths of the Town Hall, but both had been too ashamed at being ensnared or indebted, or in some way under the command of the Evil Queen, to look up and meet the other’s eyes, to see a fellow sufferer or brother-in-arms. If nothing else, he reminded himself pushing off the doorjamb and moving into the well-lit and enlivened conversation humming around him, at least now he was beginning to see just how many friends there truly were here, as well as foes. Good people who could be relied upon and were hoping for the chance to regain their lives, just as much as he and Belle were.

His adorable librarian was chatting happily with both Jefferson’s daughter Grace and Henry, who were all too content with darting back and forth from the stacks for any book Belle could think of to request - all of them trying to keep her seated and off her feet. Coming to her side eagerly, Graham leaned over to kiss her cheek, even as she turned her head upward to greet him with a welcoming grin.

“It’s good to see you,” he whispered in her ear, letting his scruff tickle along her skin slightly, making her giggle and tuck her chin toward her chest.

Still, she caught his hand and squeezed it back affectionately, holding on and pulling it down to rest his palm over her still-flat stomach.

His brow furrowed, confused, even as she beamed at him to wait and be patient. It was much to early for him to be feeling any sort of movement from their little one; Belle wasn’t even showing. He was more than a little puzzled, and a bit concerned if the truth were told, but willing to humor her, and so stilled dutifully, waiting for he knew not what.

Then, abruptly, a definite jolt jarred his large hand from where it rested against Belle’s stomach. Eyes widening almost comically as they darted up to her face, he felt as much as saw Belle suck in an excited breath as she nodded her head in enthusiastic affirmation.

“Wait, but, it can’t be… It’s too soon…” he sputtered. “Are you sure?  Should we take you to Whale?  Are you hurting at all, Darling?”

The flow of words was almost more than she had ever heard her gentle huntsman say at once, but no more than she expected. Still, she tried to implore him in her gaze and the steady pressure on his hand to calm, that she had learned some things about her particular pregnancy and she would fill him in, but she wasn’t in pain, and she wasn’t concerned or frightened - though she had known he would be, for her. Guiding his hand still, she brought it to her lips to gently kiss the back of it, hoping to soothe him. She merely wanted to share this miracle with this precious man, the depth of her joy causing tears to well in her eyes.

They were still for several grounding moments, and when she lifted her gaze to meet Graham’s once more, she saw that same welling of love and astonishment in his eyes as well.

Tagging: @cssns @kmomof4 @jennjenn615 @therooksshiningknight  @hollyethecurious @winterbaby89 @resident-of-storybrooke @teamhook @revanmeetra87 @gingerchangeling @ilovemesomekillianjones @spartanguard @whimsicallyenchantedrose @searchingwardrobes @laschatzi @darkcolinodonorgasm

[cchellacat]

The Price of Magic

Inspired by WHALTC and Charles Blackwood.

Warning:  No smut ahead, none, not even a little bit. Not even fluff.

Supernatural. 

 He was late.  I sat in the car debating my next move.  Charles prided himself on punctuality.  One of his many little idiosyncrasies, but one that I had over the course of a century knowing him, come to appreciate.    I could count on one hand the number of times he had stood me up in the last ninety years and each and every time he had gotten himself into trouble.  I turned the letter over in my hand, re reading it for the tenth time. 

He’d gone to check on some distant family.  He’d check in on the Blackwood’s every few decades, introduce himself as a cousin, find out how bad things were for them.  It was a tragic story and one he’d told me only once.  A curse placed on his family’s line, one of madness and power.  I knew he’d hoped it would eventually die out, but magic was poisonous.  It often exacted a terrible price.  It was also something that grew stronger over time when tied to blood.  I wasn’t sure why he bothered going back, but every time I tried to explain that the curse would only grow more powerful he shut me down.   

 This time he thought he had the answer.  The money, the silver pieces, he thought if he could gather them all up, remove them from the family, the curse would cease to have influence.  Maybe he was right, but magic would work against him, stop him. 

He and his brother had been close once, but Charles brother James had grown greedy, killed their friend who had  wanted to marry their sister and then stabbed Charles in a fit of blind rage when he had challenged him.  That’s how I’d met him.  Laying at the bottom of a cliff, blood pooling on the rocks, sinking into the sand, the stink of dark magic heavy in the air, curling around the dying man.  I’m still not sure I made the right decision, healing him…  changing him. 

 He wasn’t happy at first.  Haunted constantly by the thought of his brother, his twin.  We’d spent fifty years together before he’d decided he needed time on his own.  Living as long as we do, I understood the need for space.  We spent a decade apart before joining each other again.  He’d come back lighter, more sure of himself.  He’d come back fluent in Italian and Portuguese.  Another few decades passed and we parted ways for a time again.  That’s when he got himself in trouble with some witches in the French Quarter.  I loathed New Orleans, the place made my bones hurt.  Magic thick and suffocating, sunk deep in the ground.  Getting him out had been tricky, I’d had to buy his freedom with blood.  It took him nearly a year before he was himself again after that.  Then there had been Tibet.  The stupid man had went looking for some mystic or other and fell down a mountain, getting trapped in a crevice.  He was lucky the locals had remembered the path he took or I might never have found him. 

 Charles always meant well, but he was too reckless, too ignorant in how magic worked.  I couldn’t blame him, it wasn’t in his veins as it was in mine and I guarded my own secrets closely.  He hadn’t had hundreds of years to learn to be wary, to be careful of what it could do.  He seemed to think because he was technically immortal that he couldn’t be hurt.  That fallacy was far from the truth, it just meant we had longer to truly appreciate the horror of death.  It meant people could get creative with us and not worry about permanently killing us. 

 He was over a week late for our meeting.  I eyed the address on the back of the envelope.  It seemed I’d have to go find him and pull him out of trouble, again.

 The Blackwood house was a wreck.  The roof caved in in places, windows broken and boarded up.  Just what had happened here?  I didn’t dare approach the house, the place was warded, it was sloppy, but effective.   I could break the wards with a little effort, but I decided to wait, watch.  See if I could spot him.

 Five days later and not a sign of my charming lover had me agitated.

 I waited till dawn before breaking the outer ward, running a mental hand over my link to Charles and tugging.  There was no response, but the link was still there, so wherever he was, he wasn’t dead.  I had worried after smelling the linger scent of ash and smoke from the house that he had actually been killed.  Fire, the only way to truly kill our kind. 

 Picking my way through the undergrowth I reached another set of wards, marking off the garden.  Kneeling I dug my fingers into the earth and found the ward anchor. A silver coin.  I almost dropped it on contact.  The piece felt slimy and corrupt to my own magic. 

This then, was one of the pieces of cursed treasure.  They were planted all around the house!  What madness could possibly have taken root so strongly to make any witch worth her salt think spreading such tainted objects so liberally would do anything other than make everything worse threefold and three.  I centred myself and followed the ward lines.  They were sealed in blood, anchored not just by the tainted treasure but by sympathetic magics too.   

 A cluster off to the right circled a mound of freshly dug earth.  It didn’t take much to figure out where he was and why he hadn’t returned.  The warding was to keep things bound to the earth, to stop them returning.  It was old magic, magic I thought I had managed to eradicate decades ago.  A binding spell to keep my kind in the grave.  Just how had they managed to pull this off?  How had they known?  Or was it just dumb luck?  I’d have to break the whole warding scheme to free him.  When I got him out of here I was going to kill him myself.  First thing first, I needed set up my own wards, I didn’t fancy being killed because I got complacent.

Breaking the ward was more taxing than it could have been, digging up his corpse had me reaching my limits.  When I finally had him free, I checked him over.  No pulse, no breath…  lodged in the back of his skull a piece of glass.  I wrenched it out and sat exhausted, waiting for him to come back. 

 The jerk of his body and the sudden choking intake of breath startled me more than it should have.  Charles eyes were wild with fright and shock.  When he saw me he reached for me, burying his face in my shoulder as he cried, my name a whispered prayer of relef on his lips.  What the hell had happened here?

 I felt the tell tale tingling of another magic user and looked over my shoulder.  The girl was ungainly and thin, hair braided harshly on either side of her head.  Looking into her eyes, all I could see was madness.  The quiet sort that twisted a mind and ate away at sanity.  There was death in her shadow, she’d taken many lives.  I could feel the corruption on her soul.  She’d used magic to kill. 

 “Stay back.”  I reached for my own power and sent it out in warning.  Charles jerked, head up, staring at the girl.  I couldn’t read his face, but I felt his fear, his confusion.

 “He’s dead.  I killed him.  Why is he back?”

 I ignored her and hauled Charles to his feet.  We were leaving, I couldn’t stand to stay another moment in this place.

She glared at me as I led him away, her fingers curling into fists.  We wouldn’t be safe until we were far from her influence.  Actually seeing the cursed silver and feeling the taint of the magic in this place gave me much more information than I’d had before.  The source of the curse was not human, but demonic.  The girl was too far gone to be helped, even if we had managed to find a way to lift the curse, she would always be a danger.  I’d have to contact a coven, owe another favour to those damned witches in New Orleans. 

Charles stumbled beside me silently, his arm slung over my shoulder. 

 “Are you going to say I told you so?”

 I rolled my eyes and tightened my grip on his waist

.

“No.  I think you’ve learned your lesson this time.”

 “She killed me.”

 “Which one was she?”

 “Merricat.   I…  God my head’s a mess.  I feel like I’m waking up from a nightmare.”

 “No wonder, she’d powerful, she’s been messing around with cursed silver and using magic for years.  She’s a murderer.  I could feel it.  Your family weren’t killed by some servant or grocer with a grudge.  It was her.  She put death in their food and watched them die.  How old would she have been?  Twelve?”

 “Something like that.  She…  god I don’t know what came over me…  I think I hit her.”

 “Charles, you can’t save them.  They’re already as good as dead.  Let the line end with them, let me clean this up.  If that girl has children…  it will never end, do you understand?  She’ll birth a demon and bring hell to earth.”

 “I thought I could save Constance, but once I was living in that room…  I don’t know what happened to me, it was like I was someone else.”

 “Are the family buried on the grounds?”

 “How did you know?”

 “A lucky guess.  She’d trapped their souls there.  You were probably being influenced by one and the curse would have been reaching for you too, this is the longest you’ve ever visited since your brother died.  You’re lucky she didn’t burn you.”

 “I know.  I’m sorry, I thought…  I wanted to help them.”

 “Sometimes, there’s no help you can give.”

 He looked at me sharply, but I didn’t buckle.  He saw the harsh reality in my eyes, I watched as he gave in with a heavy heart.  He knew what I would have to do.

 “I’m sorry.”

 I looked away.  The trouble with Charles is that he’s always sorry. 

 “Don’t be sorry, just… don’t go off into danger like that again.”

  The shower ran in the bathroom of our hotel room.  The lights were on, I’d turned back the bed and I ran a towel through my hair, drying it as best I could.  The usual whistling the silly man indulged in was noticeably absent.  I took the clothes he left and stuffed them in a bag, I’d make sure we burnt them as soon as possible.  The shower shut off and he appeared in the doorway, towel slung low around his hips.

 “Better?”

 “Well, I’m clean.”  He answered somewhat bitterly.

 “Charles…”

 “I know.  I’m sorry.  I still feel like I’m about to snap.”

 “It’ll take a few days before you start to feel like yourself again.”

 I sat on the bed and patted the space beside me.  He looked torn and I faltered for a moment.  I‘d assumed the reason he’d written to me was because he planned for us to pick up our relationship where we left it twenty years ago but perhaps now wasn’t the time.  Maybe he had someone else out there waiting for him to return to.

 “Why did you come?”

 The question unnerved me.

 “What do you mean, why did I come?  Haven’t I always come for you?  Why would I stop now?”

 “We didn’t part on the best terms, I only sent the letter so you’d know…  if something happened to me.  I didn’t expect you to come help.”

 “Dear God you’re dense.  We’re connected, you and I.  I could no more leave you to your fate than I could cut a part of myself off.  I can’t ignore you, no matter how long we live, I’ll always come for you if you need me.”

 “I don’t deserve it.  I don’t deserve any of it.  I don’t understand why you didn’t just leave me on that beach to die.  Now I’ve cost you even more.  What will they want from you this time?”

 “The same as before no doubt, or maybe a future favour.”

 “It’s not your debt, it’s mine.”

 “That won’t matter to the witches of the French Quarter.  They want power Charles and you don’t have any, at least none that they need.”

 “You could have left me in the ground.”

 “I could have.  Did you want me too?  Did you enjoy the silence?”

 He sat beside me and braced his arms on his knees.

 “It was peaceful, being dead.  There was nothing, just…”

 I touched his shoulder, running my had to the nape of his neck and rubbing softly.

 “I know…”

 “I’m sorry, about Prague.  About leaving you like that.”

 “I know.  I didn’t like it, I might have disagreed. But I understood.  Besides, it was twenty years ago.  Your silly notion of needing to fight the good fight was the right one.  I went to Rio and stayed there for the rest of the war.  I knew you’d turn up eventually, you always do.  I was just surprised it took so long.”

 “You would really take me back?  After everything?”

 “I’ll always take you back.”  It was the truth, I always would.  He was stubborn and opinionated and passionate.  He was everything.

 “You ever going to tell me why you saved me that night?”

 He lifted his head and I smiled sadly.

 “Maybe one day.”

 It wasn’t a lie, I would have told him, one day, when he was ready, when he remembered.  It’s why I always came for him. 

 Memory like desert heat, rippled in my mind, hot sand under my feet and the sky an endless blue.  Him.  Standing in the light like a god, the play of powerful muscle beneath his sun bronzed skin, the spear held tight in his hand and the arena packed with people, screaming for blood.  His blood.

I’d been foolish, falling in love with a mortal, even the magic I had could do nothing to save him that day.  We’d had so little time, but it had been the happiest I’d ever felt, before or after. 

 He’d been tied to his family in this life, so much so that he couldn’t let it go. So driven by his need to free them that, although we had been happy together, a part of him was always plotting, thinking, scheming to find a way to help them.  Maybe now, finally, he could let them rest. 

 “Come on, you need sleep, real sleep, not the two week dirt nap you took.”  I scooted over to the other side of the bed and tugged on his arm till he lay down beside me. 

 He lay still, staring at the ceiling.  He was always the same, in every life I’d met him, always obsessing over every little detail.  I’d hoped, by linking his life to mine that eventually he might remember who he once was.  I could see the same traits come to the surface each time, stubborn pride, a quick temper, his need to be in control.  But under all that, the passion and heart of an artist.  He was more than just a few two-dimensional traits bundled together, he was like all humans, complicated chaos personified.  I switched off the light and we lay in the dark.  I let out a breath when he finally fell asleep. 

 Sadness welled in me, he hadn’t reached for me once, not since he’d cried on my shoulder in the garden.  Turning on my side, I finally let the tears fall.  I knew the answer to the curse on his blood line now.  I felt nothing but helpless anger.  I’d brought it on myself, the price of magic.  Foolish to think I had circumvented it for myself when I knew the laws as well as any. 

 Once upon a time I had been in love. In my anger at the man who ordered my lovers death I had summoned an entity I shouldn’t have, cursing him and all his line to madness and death.  The gods of magic must have laughed, my love’s soul reborn into the same line I had cursed in his name.  The price of magic was death.  I knew the curse would continue, even my own magic couldn’t shield Charles forever.  When he was the only Blackwood left, the curse would finally eat away at him, until there was nothing left but an unrecognisable shell of the man I once loved.  The price of magic was death.  My death.

[the-lady-bryan]

Untitled HP Arthurian Legend AU idea

This is mostly so I have my idea compiled somewhere that isn’t Google Docs or Evernote. I may or may not write on this idea, but it’s a good idea so if I never get around to actually writing it, then at least I put it out there for people to enjoy in some form or another anyway.

Each reblog is a different part stage of the AU that would be told as "tales" of a sort. And because each one is really fucking long, each one will have a “read more”. If this doesn’t work for mobile users, i’m sorry. But hey, at least i tried!

Anyway, on with the thing!

So basically it's this...

Part 1 “The Fall of Camelot”

Camelot was real. Of course it was because modern witches and wizards know about the great Merlin, a revered historical figure. BUT no one really knows what happened during that time because when Camelot fell around 280 years after the death of King Arthur at Camlaan, all records and such were lost, and in the two centuries after his death the magical population was hunted to near extinction.

The battle of Camlaan had nothing to do with a fight between Mordred and Arthur and in fact father and son fought on the same side against invaders who had already conquered the surrounding kingdoms. Morgana wasn't evil she just didn't agree with Merlin and the crown but didn't go out of her way to cause trouble until her eldest son was killed years after surviving Camlaan.

Anyway, so what really went down is forgotten and all records were destroyed, resulting in a lot of gaps that were filled in with myth and legends and made up rumours.

Okay, so. In this version, Merlin taught Mordred magic after he was brought to Camelot by Arthur to be groomed as heir apparent until Guinevere had their children at which point he would become Lord Protector I the event Arthur died before his children had grown up. Mordred was totes cool with this because he doesn't want to rule and wants the freedom he has as the king's nephew rather than his son. So nobody but Arthur, Morgana, her husband Lord Peverell, Merlin, and eventually Mordred himself know the truth and it stays that way for many years.

So, Arthur has this prophecy hanging over his head about this whole once and future king thing. And Merlin is this mysterious wizard with powers that are far beyond any other living being. He's fucking revered by the druids and various mystic orders. And it turns out he is cursed with immortality and has been roaming the earth for a thousand years because he gave into temptation and used a forbidden piece of knowledge given to him by the gods. The only way he can escape this date is to pass on that knowledge to another who is worthy of having the power, but also one Merlin believes will not use it as he had. He of course, ends up choosing Mordred, believing in his inherent goodness and nobility.

He teaches Mordred the powerful Charm of Making, which can give the user his hearts desire for a price. Merlin finds he cannot speak what that price is, so instead cautions Mordred never to use this power unless there is absolutely no other option.

The knowledge now passed on to another, Merlin is made mortal again. He is assassinated before Camlaan.

Mordred and Arthur go to battle. Mordred and Arthur are both mortally wounded. Mordred tries to save his king's life but none of the healing magic he knows is working. So he does the unthinkable and uses the Charm of Making, trying to will Arthur to live. Instead it heals himself and not Arthur.

Arthur's body is taken by Mordred himself back to Camelot. They get a priestess in to do the final rites and are informed that the gods have another date in store for the king. His body is to be committed to Avalon where his soul will reside with the gods and await the day of his return. Guinevere is not happy about this because this isn't the way things are done. Mordred insists that the do as the gods command. This causes a split and Mordred decides fuck it, I'll make sure it happens and the knights loyal to him accompany him. The queen brands him a traitor and Arthur's cousin through his father's family seizes the throne in Mordred's absence, branding him a criminal and wanted for treason.

Mordred does not return to Camelot after sending Arthur's body to Avalon and he goes on many adventures, befriending all manner of creatures and beings, going by another name - “Antioch” and taking the name Peverell from his mother's husband who had raised him as his own blooded son. One of the beings he befriends and has adventures with is Gringott the Goblin, who was kicked out of his clan for swearing an oath of brotherhood to a human after their many (profitable) adventures. Gringott ended up starting a band of outcasts who had been banished from other goblin clans and they continued their adventures before eventually forming Clan Gringott, which over the following 1300 years or so became the biggest and most powerful of the goblin clans in all of Europe.

Anyway, so Mordred eventually settles down after meeting a young Baron and falling madly in love with him, and the Baron in love with Mordred. Problem, the Baron is already married to a daughter of another Lord. A magic hating muggle Lord. After she births a couple of children for the Baron, he releases her from the marriage so that she may find love for herself because he never did and married her out of duty. He is also really chill and is like "I don't want our children to not know their mother. In fact, stay and I'll happily pay for your upkeep and anything you desire because you are my best friend and I do care about you. Hell, fall in love and remarry and you can have the castle. Me and .ordered will happily live in a mud but in the back yard." And Mordred's like "if you want I can even get like, servants and stuff for you. And you can live like a queen." But the woman's super pissed about it, rightfully to be honest, and plots with her brother to kill Mordred because he has magic. When she finds out the Baron also has magic, she plots to kill him, too.

Hell's fury and women scorned and all that.

So she hires someone to kill Mordred, and it seemingly works! Mordred is killed in a tavern on his way back home from visiting his mother and younger brothers Cadmus and Ignotus.

When word reaches the Baron, he kills himself in his grief, not able to bear life without his love.

When Morgana, old and bitter about Mordred's reputation in the kingdom after Arthur's death, learns her eldest son has been killed, she uses all of her magic to curse the entire kingdom of Camelot and the king's and queens to follow, with her curse gaining power with time and each generation until eventually 280 years later Camelot finally falls. The curse is so strong it takes her life as the price for such magic, and in the process her bitterness and malice transforms the Ruby stone she uses as her focal point into a stone of pitch black. This becomes known in later centuries as the resurrection stone.

So, Mordred used the charm of making and is actually immortal, having made the same mistake as Merlin and given into the temptation to use the knowledge without knowing what price he would ultimately pay. He is pulled into Avalon, regressed to the physical age of a newborn baby but still has all of his memories and mind intact. Normally if one with there curse is killed, they may take time to heal but they will return to life a little worse for wear. This did not happen to Mordred because of a protection spell cast on him by Gringott during their adventures. The goblin magic interacted badly with the curse and oops! Baby Mordred!

Mordred is found in Avalon by his father Arthur, who not knowing what to do takes him to the Lady of the Lake. The lady in turn calls up a council of the gods, to which the spirit of Merlin is summoned. Merlin is tasked with "fixing this monumental fuck up because ultimately it's your fault for teaching the boy the charm before he was ready to understand the power and the consequences of it".

So Merlin comes up with a plan to send Mordred back, but the cost of doing so is forcing Arthur's destiny onto him. Arthur was destined to return at Albion's greatest need and it's darkest hour, but Mordred cannot remain in Albion. And Arthur MUST return because you do NOT fuck with prophecy more than necessary.

And so ends part 1, “The Fall of Camelot”.

[dawnpil]

first draft

summary: you were raised to be careful with your heart around witches, but one pretty word witch is determined to change that. pairing: young k x reader genre: fluff bc honestly what else do i write notes: a continuation to a series i started literally a year and a half ago, oops (stone witch!wonpil)

you know about the day house boys, of course

you’re starting your junior year and they’re the most popular people on campus, after all

hell, you’ve got one of wonpil’s hematite rings for focus

your favorite scarf is one dowoon knitted warmth into the fabric of

you’ve seen brian around the house, but you’ve never gone to him for his magic

out of the witches his magic can do the widest variety of things, which means he charges the steepest price, and you’re just a broke college kid

your friend, who goes to brian every full moon, tries to explain how his prices work

but you’re not having it; you need your voice too much to lose it for three days, and you’re not sure you have anything else he’d want

here’s the thing: word magic evolves constantly, and word witches always need to know what phrases are going in or out of style

so from what you’ve gathered, brian’s price for his magic is to take a customer’s words for varying durations of time

and you can’t have that, not with your three a.m. spot on the campus radio

besides, you don’t really have a need for his magic: you’re never in enough trouble that dowoon’s woven charms don’t work, or wonpil doesn’t have some sort of stone for your problems

you avoid his magic successfully for two and a half years, but you don’t avoid him

he’s in your fundamentals of linguistics course your second semester, soft black hair falling in his face as he takes diligent notes

when you go to pick up dowoon’s charms at the start of fall sophomore year brian’s curled up untangling thread with nimble fingers, and he throws a soft little smile your way

you’re not sure what makes you proceed to drop your wallet and dowoon’s charm four times before you make it back out the door, but your friend is convinced it was brian’s smile and won’t accept any other answer

you shove their arm, tell them that they shouldn’t be projecting their own infatuation onto you

but it happens again near winter break, when you’re selecting a few pieces of onyx and rose quartz for your friends back home

brian’s wandering wonpil’s shop, inspecting the little baskets of crystals, and when you turn to head to wonpil’s register you nearly run into brian

startled, you start to take a step back, eyes wide, but he reaches out to stop you

it’s a good thing he does, or you’d have knocked over the table of crystals, and you really don’t have the money for that

his hands are warm on your shoulders, his dark eyes apologetic, and this close his chest is a whole lot broader than you’d thought from a distance

“sorry,” he says, and his voice is more musical than you’d remembered from linguistics. “i should have been more careful.”

this time you don’t lose your fine motor skills, but you do forget how to speak

he’s just. beautiful, this close up

so you stare at him and try to remember how to form words and after a moment he laughs gently, the sound honey-sweet

“i didn’t even have to cast seen and not heard to enchant you. interesting.”

is he flirting? you think maybe so. your friend thinks definitely so.

that really kind of terrifies you; it’s not that you don’t trust the day house witches, just that you were raised with tales of enchantments and love potions and falsities, and that kind of cautionary bedtime story is hard to forget

so you take to avoiding him as much as possible; you send your friend to get your hematite and carnelian recharged, and even as the warmth charm in dowoon’s scarf starts to fray you refuse to go get a replacement

if you could never set foot in day house again you’d be perfectly content

despite this you still think about him, about the silk in his voice when you go to karaoke night, about the way you always seem to find him in the library hunched over his textbooks at odd hours with coffee cups littering the table, about the way sometimes you daydream about holding his hand on the way to the coffee shop just off campus

you try to ignore these thoughts, try to ignore him, and bury yourself in your work for the rest of sophomore year

but the thing about junior year is that your classes are getting more serious, and as a creative writing major you’re expected to have new work for two different classes almost every week, and it’s draining

your carnelian is losing its charge quicker than ever, because this far into the semester you’re struggling to find creativity this constantly and on top of all your other work

it completely loses charge a day before a ten-page story is due for workshop and you’re stuck with a blinking cursor and a blank page

your roommate looks over when you slam your head onto your desk and understands immediately

“go to brian,” they say. “he’s got a spell for writer’s block, according to momo.”

if you weren’t so tired, so frustrated, so desperate you would never have considered it

but it only takes a few minutes’ persuasion for you to be lacing your boots and shoving your laptop into your bag and heading for the familiar little house

jae’s the one to open the door for you, feathers in his blond hair, and he grins

“please tell me you’re here for younghyun. he won’t shut up about you, not after the open mic last tuesday.”

you consider turning around and leaving—the poem you’d read at the open mic was much more personal than you’re usually comfortable sharing, and to think brian was so focused on it terrifies you a little

but then you think about how close you were to crying out of frustration, about the days of staring at that blank page and ticking cursor, and you nod at jae

“he’s upstairs,” jae says, “third door on the left.”

brian’s playing guitar when you find his room, sitting on his bed plucking at chords with his black hair falling over his face as he bends over the instrument

you freeze, in the doorway: you had no idea the room jae was sending you to was brian’s bedroom, since wonpil has the shop set up downstairs and sungjin works out of the kitchen. this is oddly intimate, and you almost turn tail and run

before you can brian looks up, his fingers stilling, and he smiles, and your resolve melts

he beckons you in to sit at his desk chair, and he sets the guitar aside to look seriously at you. “what are you here for?”

“writer’s block.” you run your hand through your hair with a sigh of frustration, and he smiles sympathetically

“writer’s block like you don’t have any ideas or writer’s block like you don’t know how to start putting them into words?”

there’s no magic in his voice, not yet, but there might as well be, with the enchanting lilt in every syllable. you could listen to his voice forever, you think

“the—um, the second one,” you say, fidgeting under his dark eyes, and again he nods

“my price is your words for a period of time.” it’s your turn to nod. “with this spell it’s usually a day, but i know you’ve got the radio show in a few hours and i wouldn’t want you to not be able to do your job.”

he pauses, considering, and you tug at your sleeves as you try to find a way around having your words taken away

“why...why do you take people’s words? like, what about them is the reason they’re your price, when you could be making money or something?”

“it’s how my magic works,” brian explains. “the more people use a certain phrase, the more power it’s imbued with, so i take people’s words to see if they can give me new spells.”

this fascinates you—your parents had never let you learn about magic, and as a result hearing the littlest bit about it is making you think of questions you never knew you had, and you want to learn everything about this

it’ll be good for stories, anyway, you think, good world-building and maybe an opportunity for new types of characters and stories

and you might have a way out of this, a way to pay brian fairly while keeping your words

“what about languages other than english?”

he pauses at this. “i have a few korean spells i got from my mom, but i hadn't thought about other languages. which one were you thinking?”

you’ve taken spanish courses for a few years, and you speak it with your roommate and their friend, enough to be reasonably conversational, and when you explain this to brian he nods and you spend another five minutes hashing out a schedule for you to come over and teach him

finally the business has been arranged and you set up your laptop at the little table he keeps in his room for this purpose, and he sets a mug of coffee and a bagel next to your things

“odds are you’ll be writing for a while, and the spell makes it hard to take breaks. if you need anything else let me know and i’ll grab it for you.”

his eyes are soft obsidian, and despite your overall hesitation about magic you wonder if there isn’t some sort of enchantment that’s making your heart beat like this

but a second later he sets his hand on your shoulder and murmurs “use your words”

it’s like a dam bursts: suddenly your fingers are flying over the keys, your mind racing sentences ahead faster than your hands can manage, and the story you’ve had rattling around in your head is taking shape on the formerly blank page

when you resurface a few hours later, a completed draft sitting in front of you, brian smiles as you take a bite of the bagel

“got something finished?” you nod, and return the smile

“it’ll need editing, but i got the draft done for workshop, and that’s what’s important.”

a glance at the clock says you barely have enough time to rush to the dorm basement the radio uses as its studio, so you gather up your things and down the last of the coffee and clamp the bagel between your teeth as you tie your boots

you’ve got one foot out the door when he calls your name and you turn, a question in your eyes since there’s bread in your mouth

“call me younghyun,” he says. “younghyun’s for friends.”

is that what you are now? you debate this with yourself for a week; you’ve only gone to him for one spell, though the first of your spanish sessions goes well

he’s got plans for de nada and de tal palo tal astilla freaked you out a little bit when he used it to perfectly replicate the origami rose you got from a girl in one of your workshops last semester

you think if you aren’t friends yet you’d like to be, now that you’re losing your fear of his magic

on the nights you lie awake staring at the fairy lights strung above your bed thinking of obsidian eyes and nimble fingers and lilting words you let yourself admit maybe you want to be more than friends

it takes another two weeks for anything to happen

it’s the last of your spanish sessions, the last of your payment for the spell, the last of your excuses to spend time with brian

he seems nervous the whole time, too distracted to remember en boca cerrada no entran moscas and as a result he has yet to make the silencing charm work

no matter how much you coach him through the syllables slowly, his attention is elsewhere

to be fair, yours is as well: trying to figure out where his mispronunciations are is giving you an excuse to stare at his lips, and regardless of whether he works magic into his words his voice is ridiculously easy to lose yourself in

before you know it the time is over, and you sigh and remind him of the list of phrases you’ve given him so he can strengthen the spells without your help, and he hesitates with his backpack slung over one shoulder but can’t seem to bring himself to say anything

as you study his now-familiar features you give in, and this time you’re the one to stop him halfway out the door

“one more phrase,” you say, and he turns and you square your shoulders

“tú me gustas.” i like you.

he’s like a deer in headlights, eyes wide, but he recovers fairly quickly and crosses back to you

“i thought you weren’t a witch,” he says, a smile playing on his lips

“i’m not,”you say, though your voice barely makes it above a whisper; his hair is flopping into his eyes and all of your restraint is going into keeping your fingers out of the dark curls

“then how can one sentence be so enchanting?”

he grins when this time you’re the one to get flustered, and he reaches out and takes your hand and your words get stuck in your throat

“what kind of word witch am i if i can’t find the words to confess to the person i like?” he says, then shrugs. “since you confessed first, can dinner be my treat?”

the first time younghyun kisses you he meets you just offstage when you finish a reading of one of your short stories in the little student-run coffee shop: your papers are still clutched in the hands you throw around his neck, and there’s a smile on his lips as they press against yours, and the moment weaves an enchantment you know has nothing to do with younghyun’s magic and everything to do with younghyun and the way the two of you fit against each other like a perfectly-crafted metaphor

dating younghyun is coffee shop dates to people-watch and pick out threads of language, is borrowing his hoodies even when it gets too warm for them, is laughter and falling in love with the way he scrunches his nose when he’s acting cute, is resting your head on his shoulder at a poetry reading and pressing kisses to his jaw between poems

dating younghyun is him waiting outside the studio at 3 a.m. with hot chocolate and that assignment you needed to print, is running your fingers through his hair until he relaxes enough to sleep after getting anxious about a test, is teaching each other the languages you speak and rewarding each other with kisses when you remember vocab, is closing his laptop and pulling him to bed when he refuses to stop working, is coffee and ink-stained hands and switching languages mid-sentence

more than anything dating younghyun is like a story, a draft that gets better the more you pour time and effort and love into it, is the magic of surprising turns of phrase, is a collaboration you couldn’t ask for a better co-author for, and you know for a fact this is going to be your magnum opus.