#but every time he dies and comes back - or even casts a spell - a bit more of his mortality burns away

[justaz]

god!merlin

druids can NOT speak in people’s minds. when they are before a high priestess, they can pray to her directly and she can hear them (hence the scene between morgana and mordred when he spoke in her mind).

merlin who constantly has this buzzing in the back of his head that he can never understand besides the occasional odd word which makes no sense. but when he’s closer to a druid or when their prayer is super strong, then he can make out what they’re saying.

merlin who brings up the fact that druids can speak into peoples minds to gaius who casually unfurls a scroll containing his ongoing list of reasons why merlin is/evidence of merlin being a god of the old religion.

[annab-nana]

peter: 86. “i meant it when i said i wanted to start a family with you.”

list f. Feeling the delicate coldness of the snowflakes on your skin

oh i can feel the angst with a happy ending coming on

warnings: not proofread, pregnant!reader

❀ masterlist ❀

you and peter had been through a lot. when you met him freshman year at midtown, you knew he was the one. you fell in love with him before it all. before spider-man. before uncle ben, tony stark, and aunt may died. before you were forced to forget him.

even after strange's spell, you found your way back into peter's life and fell in love with him all over again. true love always finds a way, right?

peter had since then told you that you didn't meet him for the first time during your second semester of college, but actually when you were fourteen and shared your whole story up to the present. it was so weird to hear, but you believed every bit of it because you'd always felt this unexplainable connection to peter. he was just providing the explanation now.

and maybe it was because you two had all of that history that your relationship now moved so fast. you had only known peter—from what you could remember—for about six months and you were staring at a positive pregnancy test.

if you had any true recollection of your past with peter, you probably wouldn't be as scared as you were, but you had no idea how he would react. if you knew him like you should, if magic hadn't been involved, you probably would've taken the test with him near. until you could gauge his reaction, you decided to keep the news to yourself.

"you sure you don't want a drink?" peter asked you when he refilled his cup. finals were over so naturally, peter's roommate harry osborn invited you both to a party.

after being cooped up in your dorm studying for the last couple of weeks, you immediately said yes when peter asked if you wanted to go without thinking about the fact that you couldn't drink. you could still have fun with peter though, if it weren't for the looming guilt of not telling him about your situation that followed you like a plague.

"yeah, i'm good," you told him, trying your best to not raise suspicion, "i'm not thirsty."

peter's eyes were on you as he took a sip of his drink. something isn't right, he thought. "are you okay?"

"yeah, i'm good." your fingers fiddled with the sleeve of your sweater to distract yourself.

"it's just," peter sighed when he couldn't figure it out, "you seem different. like you're acting different and you almost never turn down a drink unless you're sick or something."

you cast your eyes down to where you messed with your sleeve in an attempt to hide the tears that rushed to your eyes—damn hormones. you blinked rapidly to will them away before muttering, "i need to tell you something," and grabbing peter's hand to lead him away from other people.

the only place you could find with any privacy was a bathroom by the front door.

"you might want to sit down for this," you forewarned him which only caused his worry to skyrocket.

after following your instruction, he let out a light chuckle in an attempt to make things a bit more light-hearted than they seemed. "y/n, you're starting to freak me out. what is it?"

"okay, i don't know how else to say this other than to blurt it out, so here it is. brace yourself." you took a steadying breath. "i'm pregnant."

peter froze like a deer in headlights, the exact opposite of what you needed from him.

"peter, please say something."

"i-" was all he uttered before deflating and shaking his head.

normally, you would be more understanding of his obvious shock. normally, you would give him all the time he needed to think about this. normally, you would wait for him. but you couldn't right now. your mind was telling you to leave before he did.

so, that was exactly what you did.

you walked straight out of the bathroom and then out the front door right into the cold snow. you would've been more bothered by the temperature if your skin wasn't hot with embarrassment and your heart heavy with despair. each little snowflake that hit your face melted quickly into your flesh and dripped down to join your tears.

maybe a minute after you'd left the party, you were whirled around and met the eye of the boy who could now speak. "i'm sorry. i- my mind blanked, i'm sorry, but y/n, i need you to know that i love you and am here for you every step of the way on whichever path you choose. whatever you decide, i will be there, holding your hand."

"even if i keep it?"

peter could tell by the look in your eye that that was the way you were leaning. he nodded with a smile on his face. "especially if you want to keep it. i meant it when i said i wanted to start a family with you."

your brow furrowed, alerting peter of his mistake.

"we've had a few conversations about the future before the spell. i wanted a family with you then and i want one with you now."

"yeah?" you couldn't help the tears that fell freely from your eyes now.

"of course." the brunet brought his lips to your forehead. "i love you. always will. now, let's get you inside before you freeze to death."

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[moonchildstyles]

the witching hour

despite harry being the witch in this situation, maybe his crush on gemma's new friend was going to be the most bewitching thing he ever encountered

wordcount: 10k+

—————

"Are you just going to watch me set up or actually help?" 

Harry couldn't help the bark of laughter that left his lips at his sister's jab. He stayed just where he was even when he felt the glare of her eyes on him as he continued the game of changing the contents of her flower vases every time Gemma flicked it back to water before the blooms died. He currently wanted to see how long it would take her to noticed he'd snapped spiked seltzer into the water's place. 

"I don't know why you're worrying so hard, Gem," Harry sighed, sinking into the back of his stool where he sat at the breakfast nook, "Just cast a spell and make everything set itself up. It would take 3 minutes compared to the three hours you've been stressing over this." 

He didn't have to see his sister's face to know she was rolling her eyes hard enough their mother would have chided her, saying they were going to get stuck that way if she kept it up. "Sorry, I try not to rely on my magic, like you. Is it so bad I want everything to be perfect? This is the first time we're not living with the coven—or even near them. I want these people to like us, Harry." 

"And they're going to," Harry cemented, just as he had been since his sister started worrying over the opinions of the mortals that were now their neighbors, "We're giving them free drinks and food, there's no way they aren't going to like us—like you." 

"That's not a guarantee, Harry," Gemma argued, twisting in her spot so he could see just how exasperated he was making her. Her expression fell flat when she noticed the bubbling soda water soaking her roses. She shot him a glare that was only deflected by Harry's grin. "Could you at least try to be on your best behavior tonight? It's going to be hard to stay in the HOA if they realize you're a dick and a witch." 

"I always am," he said with a cocky grin stretching his lips. Not a complete lie, but definitely not the truth.

Gemma shook her head before she brushed past him, a large crystal bowl full of ice in her hands. "You don't have to come tonight, you know. You could go do something with Mitch or whoever; leave the house to me and I'll just tell everyone how nice my brother is without you contradicting everything I tell them." 

"I invited Mitch to come tonight, so I think he'd be a bit busy." Harry's voice was breezy as he kept an eye on his sister. He needed to find the right moment to fill the vases with almond milk when she wasn't looking. "If I didn't know any better, I would feel like you don't want me there, Gems." 

"You're not even dressed up, Harry! Do you even want to be at the party?" 

"Yes, I am dressed up," Harry argued, a pinch knitting his brows together as he sat up straight in his seat. 

"No, you're not," Gemma countered as she climbed on top of a chair with a strip of led lights in her hand she was planning on tacking along the line of the ceiling, "You look like normal." 

With an exaggerated wave of his fingers, deep purple nail polish glittering in the light, he gave her another self-satisfied grin. "Exactly," he said, "'M dressed like a witch." 

That seemed to finally get his sister to crack a smile, a matching dimple in her cheek making an appearance. As much as he loved to tease his sister, especially now that they were living together for the first time away from their family, he didn't want her to feel like he wasn't supportive of her or messing with her just for the sake of pushing her buttons, and not because he was trying to ease her nerves. Sure, the former was a part of it, but he was here to support her and make her days easier, especially knowing how much she was missing their coven. 

"You're annoying," his sister laughed, using a flick of her fingers to keep the strip light held up to the wall while she fixed them to the crease between the ceiling and the walls, "Are you going to change before the party, or is that really your costume?" 

"You'll jus' have to wait and see." And, so would Harry. He had no idea if Mitch was actually going to follow through on the corn costume they had been joking around about a few weeks prior, because if he was, then Harry had agreed to dress like a pad of butter. "Who's all coming tonight?" 

"Well, I sent out that mass invitation on the HOA's Facebook page, so hopefully a lot of neighbors we haven't met yet. But, I also invited a couple of the girls from work and people from that record store you like. One of the girls from my yoga class said she'd try to ma—" 

"Was it (Y/N)? The one from your yoga class." Harry didn't even pretend to care about how eager he sounded cutting her off. He needed to know if (Y/N) was going to be there. 

On more than one occasion in the last couple of months since moving to the neighborhood, Harry had picked up Gemma from her yoga classes after he finished with his spinning sessions, and without fail there was always this girl that walked out with his sister. After that first time he saw her, Harry couldn't help but begin to look forward to picking up Gemma if only for a moment's glance at her friend. 

Maybe it was the sweat that clung to her skin after the workout, but Harry swore she was covered in stars, glimmering in the light, even when it was after one of the late classes with only the moon above. Without fail, there was always a sweet smile on her face when he spied her, quiet while she listened to his sister talk about whatever, or growing brighter when she told her own stories. One time, he was able to hear her laugh after he had cracked the windows, and maybe his breath had been stolen at the sound, but he would never tell Gemma that. He wanted to get to know her as more than the pretty face that always escorted Gemma to his car after classes and gave him a polite wave before heading towards her own way home. 

"Harry," Gemma sighed, settling her hands on her hips as she gave him a pointed glare. 

"What? 'M jus' asking!"

His sister rolled her eyes, the fake lashes she'd glued to her eyes fluttering at the familiar movement. "She's my friend, Harry, you're not allowed to date her! We already share a house, I'm not letting you have my friends, too." 

"Would it really be that bad, Gems? I'm a gentleman, wh—" 

"If you fuck her and she stops talking to me like what happened with Meredith, I'm seriously going to be so pissed at you. She's much more fun than Mere, so she's completely off limits if you don't want me to tell mum." 

Harry groaned at the mentioning of his sister tattling on him to their mom. "How was I supposed to know she was a virgin beforehand? If she had told me, I wouldn't have put my—" 

"I don't need to hear that story again!" Gemma shouted over him, cutting him off. Stepping off the chair she'd used as her ladder, she gave him one more look as the room filled with a cool purple glow from the lights she'd just pinned up. "Just be nice to her, Harry. At least let me see if she wants something serious or whatever, so if she does, you can leave her alone and not hurt anyone's feelings." 

"Deal," Harry rushed out. He could work with that. "So I can talk to her tonight?" 

A sigh puffed her lungs, though she didn't offer any answer. 

"Jus' one dance, at least, Gems. I won't bother her after that, unless she wants to talk to me. I promise." 

That look only his protective older sister could give him crossed her features. He knew even through all her protests and claims to be protecting her friendships, that this was also in part of caring for her baby brother that sometimes felt too deeply, too quickly, for people who weren't in the same boat as him. 

"Just one dance, then. If she even comes tonight."

Sinking back into his chair as Gemma continued to flutter around the house, cheesy decorations in hand, a satisfied grin slipped into place on Harry's face. Knowing that (Y/N) was coming now, he really hoped Mitch didn't pull through with the corn costume.

—————

The purple glow Gemma had set up to emanate through the house was the perfect touch, Harry realized as he lent back against the breakfast nook, the view of the main space of the house perfect for him as he people-watched. Her invitation had apparently garnered interest in the entire neighborhood as Harry was able to pick out the faces of most of their neighbors and those who lived in the apartments bordering their subdivision. It felt like a teen movie, the comparison making Harry laugh, with the way alcohol was distributed out in novelty plastic cups with ghouls and ghosts printed on the sides, the contents of the glasses sloshing with the way people were dancing to the music that'd progressively become louder the more crowded the space got. 

Costumes of every type littered the room. A group of zombies were huddled by the backdoor, a pair of angels throwing shapes on the makeshift dance floor in the living room, and the Powerpuff girls along with a few of their most iconic villains had made an appearance as well. Amongst the groups and couples, single costumes of television characters, celebrities, and era specific getups were dotted throughout, coming together to make the perfect picture of Halloween. Parties like these were only fun when people weren't too full of themselves to dress up. As much as he played around with Gemma earlier, even Harry made a point to conjure up a costume (after he got the confirmation that Mitch had completely blown off the deal with the corn costume, of course). 

While it wasn't that creative given his identity, he couldn't help himself as he cast his spells and made a black pointed hat to sit on his head, his getup all black with fringed veils and bats stitched into the lace overlay on his flared pants. A well dressed witch, he had told Gemma when she rolled her eyes as he descended the stairs with a flourish just before guests started to arrive. As much as his sister wanted to disagree, call him out for not actually dressing up for the party, he knew she was going to see if she could make an outfit just like that soon enough. 

Speaking of his sister, he found her in the sea of guests, picking her out from the cat ears she had perched on the top of her head. She had been dragged into the fray of the dancefloor by her friends, leaving Harry to play the host with the most while she finally let loose. He didn't mind going around, greeting their neighbors and introducing himself while he nursed his own drink, knowing Gemma needed a break from all her worrying about making a good impression on these people. (Plus, he was given a slew of compliments on his outfit everywhere he went, so he was getting something out of this as well). By the time the party was in full swing, the constant in-pouring of guests slowing to a near halt, he was glassy eyed with his third drink in hand (he hadn't realized how much tequila he was pouring in until he realized he was just doing magic out in the open as he flicked his fingers to clean up the spills that littered the counter) while he watched his new home being filled with the laughter and mischief that he had been missing since moving away from the coven. 

But, there was one thing missing. 

"Are you waiting for someone?" Mitch mumbled behind the rim of his cup, lent up against the counter with Harry. 

"Hm?" Harry hummed, his reaction delayed as he looked to his friend.

"You've been watching the door for the last, like, five minutes. Are you waiting for someone?" he asked again, substantially less drunk than his counterpart. 

Harry didn't even realize he had his gaze trained on the front door until it was pointed out, making a point to whip his head back to face his friend, witch hat askew on the top of his head. "Oh, sorry," he murmured, not at all sorry, "Gem's friend was supposed to come, but she's not here yet." 

"The yoga one?" Mitch's dark brows were raised over his eyes. Harry didn't have even an ounce of embarrassment in him over the fact he'd told Mitch so much about her, that he knew immediately which of Gemma's friends he was looking forward to seeing.

Nodding into his cup as he sipped down another mouthful, Harry hummed. "Yeah, that one. I finally got Gemma to lay off some and let me talk to her if she came tonight." 

"Even after what happened with Meredith?" Harry could have rolled his eyes at the mention of the name. As far as he could remember, everything with Mere wasn't even that bad. 

"Yes," Harry sighed, taking another gulp of his drink when the doorknob on the front door didn't even twitch, "But, 's not like anything will happen if she doesn't show up." 

"I'm sure she will," Mitch reasoned, "It's still early in the night anyway, and she could have been stopping off at other part—" 

Harry didn't mean to cut Mitch off, but he couldn't help the way he choked on his drink the second the unlocked front door opened to reveal (Y/N) tentatively peeking into the party. He sputtered on the alcohol that burned in the back of his throat, aware of Mitch's hand slapping between his shoulder blades as he tried to suck in a breath though he couldn't find it in himself to tear his watery eyes from where she stood. 

"Is that her?" Mitch mumbled once Harry caught his breath, following his line of sight to the girl quietly shutting the door behind her as if the noise would disturb the loud music and rowdy set on people on the stairs. 

The breathy yeah he gets out is complimented by the soft smile stretching his lips. She was even dressed as a witch, he realized—a Stevie Nicks-era witch with gauzy fabrics and twinkling beads, but a witch nonetheless. He even spotted the purse hanging over her shoulder, stylized to be a witch's spell book with the name and the silhouette of a crescent moon stitched in gold over the black leather. Nice to know she, at the very least, would be fascinated by his culture.

"That's kind of funny," Mitch pointed out, nodding his chin in her direction as if Harry could have forgotten where she was, "She's dressed like you—a witch." 

Mitch was privy to the secret he and Gemma harbored, having met Harry in college. Being Mitch's roommate made it hard for Harry to keep himself in check, so after Mitch walked in on him concocting potions for the third time, he had to come clean. 

"'S cute," he mumbled out, dropping his drink off on the counter behind him when he determined he was going to talk her. "I'll be ri—" 

Just as he took a single step in her direction, he heard the sound of his sister's voice bubbling over the loud music filling the house. "(Y/N)! You made it!" 

He could tell she was plastered by the way she didn't even look a little embarrassed at the way she stumbled over her feet and a splash from her cup spilled her suede boots as she toddled to her friend. (Y/N) was much more reserved in her answer, nodding her head and speaking quietly while giving Gemma a hug. Harry watched as his sister tugged her to the kitchen, surely getting her a drink while he stood back, reaching behind him to take another swig of his drink. 

"What were you saying?" Mitch prodded, entirely too proud at seeing Harry's advances squandered for the time being. 

"Shut the fuck up." 

—————

Maybe Harry needed to be a little bit more careful, knowing he was leaning a little bit closer into tipsy territory than the comfortable buzz he'd been at earlier, but he couldn't help himself. 

(Y/N) was practically the center of the dancefloor as far as he was concerned. Her smiling face with her styled hair being tossed around to frame her features was the beacon in the middle of the muddled purple and orange hued living room, the music being an afterthought when her laughter was the main song that had Harry's heart thumping. He couldn't help himself as he traced his finger in the air, manipulating the beams of warm orange light to sit right on her as if it were a spotlight for the headlining performer. He just wanted a better view of her. 

Though he hadn't had a single chance to talk to her all night, that didn't mean he didn't keep an eye on her during that time. Not once, even with all the dancing and pushing happening on the packed danced floor, had her drink spilled, not with the way Harry ensured that every unbalanced raise of her cup was corrected with a trace of his finger in the air. She didn't go thirsty either, an enchantment keeping her cup full so she wouldn't have to stop having fun. He kept her spirits high even when Mitch teased Harry for being so invested in her time away from him; he didn't mind, not when each one of his tricks paid off, her smile glowing bright like the full moon outside. 

As the time ticked passed midnight, Halloween night technically over as the first of November had started twenty-three minutes prior, Harry didn't see their party ending any time soon. The main room was still packed, drinks still flowed in the kitchen, and every time he went around with a tray of shots for the guests to enjoy there wasn't a single glass left over. Though no new attendees had arrived after (Y/N), he hadn't seen many leave either. The energy filling the house had his aura turned up high, feeding off of the high enthusiasm exuding from each of his new friends. He didn't want it to end. 

While he was soaking in the fun of the space, a playlist going on in his head that had him touching his finger to the air as he added track after track to the running queue that played from the bass-heavy speakers, Harry hadn't realized he'd lost track of (Y/N) until he couldn't see her in the crowd. Gemma and her friends—including a pretty brown haired girl dressed as Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz that had Mitch currently wrapped round her with softened eyes—were still out on the floor, bubbly, bright, and loud as ever even with their missing piece. But, Harry had trained the orange spotlight to follow whatever which way she swayed. He just had to find the pumpkin glow and the witch standing underneath it. 

"I like your pants!" 

Harry jumped in his spot at the sound of the chirped voice bubbling off behind him. His vodka-dredged reflexes had him turning on his heel, the movement a lot slower than he intended. The orange light hit his hooded gaze first, a squint of his eyelids making him focus on the figure before him until details surfaced. 

With her hair a pile on the top of her head, stray strands plastered to her temples and neck with the sheen of sweat that covered her skin, stood his wannabe witch. (Y/N)'s gaze was cloudy as she took him in, though she seemed to be much more attentive than him. The gauzy sleeves of her costume were drooping down her shoulders, giving him more glimmering skin to drag his lazy eyes across if he hadn't been so wide-eyed surprised that she'd found him before he even had a chance to properly look for her. 

"Thank you," he choked out, remembering her chirped compliment in greeting. 

"Yeah, of course!" she beamed back, all but bouncing in her spot though he was sure she wasn't even aware she was doing so, "You're Gemma's friend, right? I've seen you pick her up from yoga before." 

So he hadn't been imagining the way her eyes would linger, even after giving a polite wave goodbye. "'M her brother, yeah," he clarified, leaning forward so he wouldn't have to shout to get his words across. 

"You're Harry!" (Y/N) bubbled, features lighting up with recognition, "She's talked about you before!" 

"And I'm sure it was all terrible," Harry joked, though knowing Gemma it wouldn't be that far off if she spilled all of his bad habits with her pretty friend, "You're (Y/N), right?" 

"No, no, no," (Y/N) shook her head, hands out as if to ward him off, "She always talks about how funny you are, never anything bad! I didn't realize that was you picking her up those nights, I would have said hi earlier." 

"'S alright," he waved off, thinking it was cute how excited she got when she drank. He was much closer to the mellow end of the spectrum when it came to alcohol. A perfect balance between the two of them, he thought. 

"And, yes, I am (Y/N), by the way," she laughed at herself as she caught up to his earlier question, leaning into the counter beside him. He hoped Gemma wasn't paying attention enough to catch the way he turned to face her, giving her the full of his attention with his cup being pushed to the wayside. 

"Gems talks about you all the time," Harry mused, talking quietly enough she had to crane her neck and shuffle closer to hear. 

"She does?!" was (Y/N)'s awed response, her eyes sweetly rounding out as she gazed up at him. "She's, like, my best friend. That yoga class always sucked before she started coming—it's all so cliquey, and I never got invited to the after class drinks the instructor would put on." 

A pout puffed out Harry's lips as he reached across, settling his hand carefully on her plush hip. "That's not nice. But, Gems talks about you like you're her best friend, too. 'M happy she has you; I was worried when we moved out here. She can be a little nervous trying to make friends, but she says y'were the first one to put your mat down by her and not make her feel bad when she couldn't hold some of those bendy poses." 

"Some of them are really hard," (Y/N) nodded, sipping from her cup though there was little left behind the guise of ghosts and goblins printed on the plastic as his enchantment on her drink wore off. "But, what about you?" she chirped, wobbling some as she bounced in his hold, "Do you have any best friends here yet?" 

Dimples deep in his cheeks, Harry could feel the muscles beginning to grow sore the longer he talked to her. "M'old university roommate lives out here, so I've been getting to hang out with him a lot more now that he's close. Actually," Harry paused, peering out at the sea of dancers taking over his living room, "he's over there"—pointing to where Dorothy and a costume-less Mitch were dancing—"with your friend." 

"With Sarah?!" (Y/N) blurted, eyes growing wide, "Your friend is the one that's too cool to dress up?" 

Harry laughed at her chiding. "Well, it was either that or a corn outfit—I personally think he picked wisely. If he'd picked otherwise, I promised I'd match him as some butter, so I think it worked out better for everyone this way." 

He only caught a glimpse of her features lighting up, mouth dropping into a smiling gape before their attention was stolen away. Somehow, over the volume of the music, his sister managed to yell (Y/N)'s name loud enough to be heard. With a gasp and her hair fluttering behind her as she whipped her head in the direction of Gemma's voice. 

Following (Y/N)'s line of sight, Harry caught his sister's eye as she beckoned (Y/N) with a flick of her hand to come back. The gloss of her eyes made it clear she was leaning on the side of drunk though the second she made eye contact with Harry, that pout turned hard. The glare of her gaze was quick, the same kind of look the would have fire sprouting from her fingertips if they hadn't been in the middle of a party. She was mad, mad that he was taking advantage of the permission he had been given earlier to speak to her pretty friend. With (Y/N)'s attention placed elsewhere, Harry only shrugged with a lopsided smile on his lips. 

Giving a small nod to Gemma, having disregarded the squinted look she gave to her brother, (Y/N) started curling out of Harry's hold. Just as he dropped his hand from her hip, the warmth of her skin lingering on his palm, she grabbed for his hand. Lacing her fingers between his, she gave a gentle tug as she edged towards the dancefloor. 

"Come dance with me," she requested in a smiley voice. 

"Don't know if m'sister would like that much, but I don't think I really care," he told her, his dimple sinking deeper into his cheek as he solidified his hold on her hand. 

"What do you mean?" she asked as he came up beside her, a pinch knotting her brows together.

He traced his gaze over her features before tugging her along through the mass of their neighbors dancing in his living room, eyes lingering over the height of her dewy cheekbones. "She's worried 'm gonna like you a little too much, love, that's all." 

Once close enough, Harry used his grip on her hand to tug her in front of him, chest to chest with Gemma standing behind (Y/N). It didn't take his sister long to reach for (Y/N)'s shoulder, black painted nails wrapping around the slope as she tugged on her dress. 

"Is my brother bothering you?" Gemma shouted over the music, absently taking a sip of her drink. 

"Harry?" (Y/N) bubbled, her hand in his squeezing as she tossed a glance at him, "No, no! I asked him to come dance with us. Is that okay?" 

At the mention of his tagalong being (Y/N)'s idea, he could see the way Gemma begrudgingly reined herself in. "Okay," she relented, "Let me know if he starts being annoying, though. He does that sometimes." 

(Y/N) laughed off her offer, muttering something to Gemma that Harry couldn't hear before she was placing her attention on him once more. On instinct, she moved along with the song, trailing her grip on his hand to land further up his arm while the other still had her drink. 

Feeling her warmth pressed against him, her smiling lips and bright, glossy gaze directed up at him, Harry felt his heartstrings tug. She really was so pretty, and here he had her tucked against his chest with his touch warming her. There was something to be said about the sparks flittering through his system, the ripples reminiscent of the magic that was a part of his being. It was easy to give in to the moonbeam that had accidentally just stepped on his toes. 

"What?!" she bubbled off, standing on her tiptoes when she noticed he was too distracted to dance with her. 

Shaking his head, he brought his hand up and brushed a stray piece of hair that brushed the top of her cheekbone. "Nothing, darling." 

He swore he saw her eyes sparkle. 

—————

Harry didn't mind using magic to make his life easier in mundane ways, but this wasn't something he could use a flick of his wrist to fix. At least not without exposing both him and his sister to their entire neighborhood. 

"Come with me, darling. Let's go to the bathroom and see what we can do, yeah?" His grip on (Y/N)'s hand tightened as she wobbled on her feet trying to follow behind him. 

He could hear the murmured okay coming from behind him, her mournful voice indicative of the pout he was sure was on her lips. Even without looking behind him, he was sure her gaze was still stuck on the spill dripping down the front of her dress, brightly colored liquor and juice staining the creamy white of her costume. Someone had bumped her just right when she had her drink huddled between their chests, knocking her cup askew and sending the contents down her chest.

While Harry could simply snap his fingers and lift the stain from the fabric without even a single dot of the shockingly blue juice remaining, he knew that wasn't a wise choice, even in his tequila touched brain. Instead, he was forced to clench his fist to keep from instinctively raising his fingers with a spark of magic on the tips, and escort (Y/N) to the bathroom. While it seemed the patrons of the party had began to spread out, some finding refuge in the backyard as well as waves realizing there were snacks set out in the kitchen for them to munch on, the space was still packed beyond comfort. Harry knocked people out of the way as gently as he could, mumbling sorry's and excuse me's with a soft smile on his face. 

Making it to the restroom, he knocked with his ear pressed to the wood. When no response came with (Y/N) shuffling uncomfortably behind him, he forged forward, jumping back as soon as he saw a blonde on their knees with their companion's thighs spread and head thrown back. Gemma definitely did not need to know that happened in their bathroom. 

"Shit, sorry!" he blabbered out before swinging the door shut as quickly as he could, his grip on (Y/N)'s hand still tight. 

Turning around, he saw his wannabe witch looking with wide eyes and her mouth dropped in a small gap. Their eyes met for a moment, flicking back to the unassuming door that was the only shield between them and someone else's intimate moment before matching once more. 

It was (Y/N) that cracked first, a choked laugh snapping from her lungs before she was melting into her giggles with her eyes fluttering closed. Harry couldn't help but to follow suit, the embarrassing moment combining with the amount of alcohol in his system to draw out a matching set of laughter.

"Did they even see you?" (Y/N) got out, doubling over with her forehead pressing into Harry's chest. He could feel her warmth through the sheer fabric covering his torso, only the piping of the spiderweb motif stitched through the mesh separating them. 

"I don't think so," Harry breathed out, his nose brushing the strands of her hair as he curled into her, "And I think the one on the floor was dressed like a Minion. I feel like that should be illegal."

His extra details only served to steal (Y/N)'s breath further as she succumbed to her laughter and all but fell into Harry's arms. It was ridiculous, the whole situation, but Harry only laughed as much as he did because he couldn't help but feel infected by her energy. Her reaction was his favorite part. 

As she slowly caught her breath, Harry ducked down with his lips hovering by her ear. "We still need to get y'cleaned up, love," he reminded his moonbeam, "The only other bathroom is upstairs. Can I take y'up there with me?" 

She didn't hesitate before she was nodding her head, unfurling herself from around him though neither of their goofy smiles dissipated. Along with her grip on his hand, (Y/N) reached to grab for the hem of his top in her fist, keeping close as he escorted her to the stairs leading up. 

Despite being only a floor above and hallway away from the noise, the second floor felt significantly more peaceful that the party raging on below. Luckily, no one seemed to have dared to go above and peek around the bedrooms for anywhere to conduct their own private times, leaving his bedroom free and clear for him to take (Y/N) to the adjoining bathroom. 

It wasn't until he was pushing open the unassuming white door that he remembered how not normal he had the space. While he and Gemma were considered to be apart of a very modern generation of those who were gifted with the Craft, that didn't mean he didn't appreciate the aesthetic and traditions of the past. That was why his room could be considered something of a lair if Gemma got to teasing him. 

Heavy drapes covered his available walls, blocking out the asylum white painting the plaster with ornate weavings of star maps and whirling designs baring crests and traditional scenes unique to his home coven. Shelves were nailed to the walls with bookcases propped up on either side of his potion table, the planks of purple painted wood holding volumes and tomes of spell books, diaries of witches before him, and his own detailings of magical happenings he planned on passing to his own coven when he formed one. In between the clusters of books were vials and flasks, tubes and containers all holding various ingredients to his most used potions. While they weren't readily available at a Whole Foods or farmer's markets, his shelves were still stocked to the brim of newt's tongue, friar's goo, and pixie clippings. Some bottles were glowing in the low light, others boiling without any heat beneath, and the rest standing atop the wood with clear views as to what was held inside. His bed had been an afterthought in the design process, leaving the mattress to float from the floor with the help of an incantation after Harry didn't feel like picking out a proper frame and boxspring to go along with the bedding. He hadn't planned on inviting anyone to his bedroom, so he didn't bother to will away any of the less than mortal items dotted throughout. 

Making a point to slow himself down with a calculated trip over his own feet, Harry flicked his fingers with a mumbled incantation under his breath. The vials were now replaced with the illusion of wildflowers and different decorations filling the glasses, his spellbooks guised as classics, and bed now held up with he help of a cherry-wood frame. The glamour rippled into place just in time as (Y/N) stumbled in beside him.

"Are you okay?" she giggled out, her attention solely on him after his fake stumble. 

"'M alright, yeah," he agreed with a breathy laugh, "Jus' drank a little more than I thought, I guess." 

(Y/N) accepted his explanation readily with a giggling nod of her head. Pulling her along with him, Harry showed her to the bathroom, opening the door with a flourish. Working together, they came up with a drunken plan to try to wipe the stain out using some soap and washcloths he had stored under his sink. All it took was a few swipes over the soaked stains to realize they weren't going to get too far with this method. 

"Do you have bleach or something we could put on it?" (Y/N) murmured with a furrowed brow, her hands holding the top of her costume taut as she worked on the bust, and Harry the skirt. 

"Not while it's on you," he told her absently, making a conscious effort to keep from using his magic to buff away the electric blue on her dress. Harry didn't realize she'd stopped her efforts until he looked up from where he was wiping away with a still pristine—though soapy—flannel, (Y/N) no longer matching his buffing. "What?" he asked when he matched her gaze. 

"Do you have anything I can wear while we bleach it?" 

Harry blinked as he processed her question. She wanted to wear his clothes?

"Are y'sure, love? 'S gonna take a while to get the stain out even with bleach, and we'd still have to rinse and dry it. 'S already really late." 

Her answer came with the help of a shrug. "It's already, like, one a.m. anyway. What's a few more hours?" 

A smile grew on his features at her nonchalance. She was cute.

"Alright," he said, standing to the full of his height, "I'll grab y'something and y'can get changed while I take your stuff to the laundry. That alright?" 

The perky nod she gave him was enough to have him backing out of the bathroom with his dimples poking into the apples of his cheeks. Harry gazed through rose-tinted glasses as he rifled through his dresser, looking for his softest sweats and most comfortable top to let her wear while he feigned the act of running her costume through the wash (now that he suggested the timeframe, he kind of had to stick to it despite the fact he was going to have the stain out in two seconds flat with a quick spell). Landing on a pair of emerald green sweatpants and a slouchy black top, he returned to the bathroom to find (Y/N) untwisting her hair from the ornate clip she had stashed in the strands. 

"Thank you!" Her voice was a chirp as she smiled up at him, the clothes being bundled to her chest after taking them from his offered hand. "I'll be out in a second, H." 

The dazed nod of his head came just before she shut the door to give herself some privacy in his bathroom. Harry didn't even think before he was sinking into the edge of his bed, gaze stitched to the jamb of the door to watch for any changes in the sliver of light peeking through, any sign of her coming back to him. 

Before tonight, Harry had thought she was pretty, sure. He wanted to get to know her, of course, but he couldn't say his attraction went further than the pretty face that was presented to him every time he picked up his sister, especially with only a few stories here and there shared by Gemma that explained some of the sweet character that made up (Y/N). But after this, getting to know her while she danced with him, flirting and playing while giving up tidbits of herself and the life she had outside of that yoga class, Harry could feel the cocoon of butterflies infiltrating his stomach. 

This was one of Gemma's friends Harry could understand where she was coming from with her attempts to fend him off and away from her. She was entirely too good for him, he was realizing. Even with her drunken mouth, not once had a soured word left her lips. Her unfiltered thoughts were just as kind and bubbly and Gems had talked her up to be. 

But, while he could understand he may not be the kind of perfection that should be gifted to a woman like (Y/N), that didn't mean he wasn't going to try anyway. Part of lacking perfection meant he made up for it with a smidge of selfishness. 

The second (Y/N) was twisting the knob and pushing the door open, Harry rose to his feet, ready to dote on her and fix every problem she might present to him. Dressed in his dark clothing, seeing the fabric adorning her body was a stark contrast to the creams and pastels he'd grown accustomed to seeing her in, especially compared to the ethereal white dress she'd had draped over her the whole night. 

Emerald green sweats dragged over the stained hardwood under her feet as she stepped out of the bathroom, the wad of white and blue fabric balled up against her chest while her hair had been clipped back, the twist refined and cleaner than how she'd had it tied back before. Her makeup wasn't quite as perfect as he was sure it had been at the start of the night, the shine of her skin peeking through the layer of powders and pigments she had distributed with her lashes losing the high curl he'd met her with. But, Harry liked those peeks at the less-than-perfect (Y/N) beneath; he liked every version of her. 

"Thank you, again, Harry," (Y/N) sighed, the glassy lacquer over her eyes shining in the low light of his bedroom, "You're sure it's alright if I stick around until my clothes are clean?" 

"Of course," he answered on instinct, canting his head to the side, "We'll jus' have to stay up here and hide, I think. I hear some people around here are real sticklers about having a costume." 

Catching the joke at her expense with the way she had reacted at Mitch not having dressed up, (Y/N) let out a peal of laugher, boosting his ego at the high reaction to his mid-level joke. When she leveled out, though her eyes were still creased and squinted at the width of her smile, she placed a gentle hand on his arm that effected his balance more than he would have liked to admit. "It's alright if I crash in your room then? I promise as soon as my stuff is done, I'll be right out, though!"

"More than alright with that, darling. Y'don't need to worry about rushing out, either," he cemented, the words sounding a lot dreamier than he meant, "I was getting tired down there, anyway. And we can actually talk up here; 's quiet." 

(Y/N)'s features softened at the mention of her taking her time with him, getting a moment to stay and speak with him without a time limit. 

With her looking up at him like that, it took effort for him to excuse himself with her stained costume in hand, keeping up the facade of depositing it in the laundry room and working to get the stain out with all the bleach and detergent he had. He left his room with slow steps, more than one glance tossed over his shoulder as he saw her venture towards his glamoured bookshelf. A look of wonder crossed her face when he was sure she wasn't aware he was watching. 

It was that vision that tided him over as he trekked to the laundry room, following the motions until he reached the space. Forgoing the bleach and whatever else she figured he would use to help resurrect the fabric, Harry only brushed the pads of his fingers over the electric blue stain, a warmth following after as the incantation muttered under his breath took effect. Before his eyes, the blue sucked itself in, reducing the long draw that started on the bodice of her dress and down to the mid of her skirt until it was nothing more than a tiny dot on the waist that flickered away in a blink. In pristine condition, Harry plucked at the dress by the shoulders and held it up. 

Perfect. 

In order to maintain the facade, he carefully hung up the garment in the laundry room, figuring he at least had another hour to spend with a quick break between so he could pretend to throw the dress into the dryer. The time it took him to make his way to the laundry room had been cut in half on his way back, eager to return to the wannabe witch in his quarters. 

Pushing open the slightly cracked door, he found (Y/N) on his bed with one of his vials in hand and a book splayed open on the mattress. She looked up at him with bright eyes when she realized he had returned. 

While his illusions were strong, able to trick the eye of even the most skeptical of witches, that didn't mean they could hold up against someone digging their fingers through the veil. The spell could only do so much when whoever was gazing upon it went looking for answers. 

"Harry!" she bubbled off, practically bouncing in her spot with the mattress creaking underneath. 

"W-What are y'looking at, love?" he asked her, voice cautious as he took measured steps towards her. While she didn't seem particularly disturbed by what she found, he didn't want to spook her if she happened to be teetering on the edge. 

"One of those books on your shelf," she smiled, pointing at a passage on the worn page in front of her, "You really go all out, don't you?" 

Crawling onto the bed beside her, Harry peered over her shoulder at the book. A spell for how to grow a witch's garden, complete with a guide for the best seeds for beginners and an illustration with different critters growing out of a soiled plot. This was a good one; he used this one a lot in college when he was too broke to go out and get his potion ingredients. It had been hard to hide from Mitch before he knew, though.

"What do you mean?" Harry pressed, feeling sober as he sussed out where she was coming from. 

"For Halloween," she stated, a 'duh' tone to her words, "With all your decorations, I mean. Where did you even find something like this?" 

Harry deflated on the spot when he realized she thought this was all apart of his costume, his commitment to the holiday stretching as far as filling his bedroom. "Oh yeah," he sighed, a gently nod of his head having his curls swaying around his face, "'S my favorite time of year, what can I say." 

"I can tell," (Y/N) laughed, turning the page of the book with a vial of lavender's blood in her hand, "It's like a witch's lair in here. All you're missing is one of those big pots." 

"A cauldron?" Only the head of the coven had one of those. 

"Yes, that! Where they make all their potions and cook kids for dinner, and everything." The way (Y/N) muttered those details, her words could have been taken as fact. If he got far enough, he knew he would have a lot of fun dispelling all of the myths floating around her pretty head. 

"I'll have to think of that for next year. Definitely not really selling the whole witch thing without it, am I?" Propping himself up beside her with a hand sinking into the mattress behind him, Harry settled into his spot. With (Y/N)'s shoulder exposed thanks to the slouchy nature of the shirt he gave her, he felt himself begin to float off in his thoughts.

He wondered what she would taste like if he stole a kiss on the cuff of her exposed shoulder. 

"I don't know," she mused, the sound of her voice pulling him out of his head, "I think you sold it really well. Even without that pot thing, you've got that thing about you."

"I do?" he pressed, feeling all too satisfied at the peek into her thoughts about him.

"Yeah, it's like... I don't know what to call it," she started, her voice falling to a lower volume as her brows pinched together, "Is it an aura? Or is it a—" 

Her explanation was cut off as soon as she turned her head to face him, her mouth dropping into a gap when she realized just how close he'd come to her. The tangle of her lashes could be seen up close now that he wasn't hindered by the colored lights from downstairs or the obstacle of distance. If he could, Harry would have sat here all night counting her lashes and recounting them three times over just to be sure. Anything to keep him close. 

But, right now, his main focus was the pout of her gaped lips. 

"What were y'saying, love?" he prodded, absently bringing his free hand up to cradle the soft of her cheek. He could have sworn he felt the skin heat under his palm. 

"Um," she hummed, her gaze flicking between his own before skating down the bridge of his nose and the hills of his Cupid's bow, "I don't know, actually." 

"My aura?" he offered though he didn't even really listen to what he was saying. 

Recognition flickered in her irises for just a moment before it was melted away in favor of letting something much warmer and honey-dipped to take it's place. Again, there was that circuit she ran from his eyes, to his nose, and down to the pout of his lips. Oh, a quick detour to the small mole that was stationed just off to the side of his mouth. 

"Yeah, that," she muttered, shifting in her spot to give him the full of her attention with the book forgotten for the time being, "I like your's. It makes me feel... warm. It's nice." 

"Yeah?" he smiled, tilting his head to the side just so, "'M nice? I like your aura too, honey. 'S very sweet; giving me butterflies if 'm being honest." 

"I am?" she asked, her features lighting up as she stilled with her gaze matching his. 

"Mhm," Harry hummed, a grin stretching across his features, "You've got me bad, darling, I can't lie. Been wanting to get to know y'since I picked up Gem that first time. You're so pretty, I couldn't get y'off my mind." 

When the tip of his nose nudged against hers, Harry felt a bit smug when he heard the hitch in her breath. His hold on her cheek solidified into a grounding touch, ensuring he was right here with her and he had her just where he wanted. In the same moment he opened his mouth to ask the same question he'd had on his mind since he saw her outside of the yoga studio, he was cut off by the sound of his wannabe witch's voice. 

"Can I kiss you?" 

It was a no-brainer, the way he reacted. Not only was she the sweetest thing in the world asking him for a kiss, but she'd read his mind completely. Maybe she did have some power in her, if she'd read him so clearly. 

Tipping his head, Harry pressed his lips to hers in a tender kiss. The lingering essence of alcohol was the first taste he picked up from her skin before he was washed away with the flavor of the remnants of her lip gloss she'd started the night with. Notes of hot cocoa with whipped cream had him smiling into the kiss, the slight grit of glitter touching at his own lips.

"Hot chocolate?" he murmured against her lips, unterrupting himself with another taste of her soft lips. 

"Hm?" (Y/N) hummed, the noise almost a throwaway as she brought her hands to cradle his face, the vial of lavender's blood rolling somewhere across his bed. At least he had a cork in it. 

"Your lip gloss. 'S hot chocolate, isn't it?" 

(Y/N)'s mouth erupted into a smile that matched his own, only falling when she had to pucker to give him something real to taste. "Oh yeah," she sighed with amusement tinting the words, "I forgot about that, sorry." 

"Don't be sorry, love," he said, going in for another smattering of kisses, the soft sounds of the contact filling his room. "I like it." 

She all but melted at his admission, Harry being the only thing that kept her steady as she fell into him. Mindful of the fact the both of them had been drinking tonight, (Y/N) seemingly a tiny bit more effected still, he maneuvered himself to lay back onto his bed with a bounce of the mattress. He pulled (Y/N) to lay atop him, her torso pressed against his while their legs tangled together side-by-side over his duvet. 

Slotting his lips between her own, Harry got to taste her mouth and a swipe of her tongue. As much as he wanted to explore more, taste more, learn more, he left her to tease him with those disappearing licks from the tip of her tongue and wet kisses delivered to his lips. It was more than enough to feel her heartbeat hammering against his chest from how tightly they were pressed together. 

"Harry?" she asked after who knows how long of their only communication coming in the form of lingering kisses.

"Hm?"

"How much longer do you think for my clothes?" 

Harry hummed with a growing smile. He feigned deep thought as he pulled away just enough to graze the corner of her mouth, pressing a lingering kiss to the apple of her cheek. "We have time." 

—————

"Did you sleep with her?" 

Harry rolled his eyes as soon as he heard his sister's voice in the kitchen. He had been hoping he woke up early enough to avoid her. 

"No, Gemma." 

"So why is her costume in the laundry room and she's in your bed?" 

He was too hungover for this. 

"She spilled something on her dress, and then we jus' talked in my room until she fell asleep. I swear on mum's spellbook that we didn't have sex." He looked her in the eye as he made his promise, raising a brow to see if she would bother to argue with him. 

For the first time since moving away from the coven, Harry saw his sister give in. With a flutter of her eyes that he swore were identical to their mother's, she took her metaphorical step back. 

"Sorry," she offered, shaking her head as she picked up another discarded ghoul cup, "I think I'm in a bad mood this morning." 

"'S alright," Harry told her, meaning the sentiment, "I get it, you know. After really meeting her, I get why you've been a little protective." 

Gemma brightened up at the roundabout way he had admitted she was right. "Yeah? Doesn't she kind of remind you of C—" 

"Colleen," he finished for her, referencing one of the sweetest women of their coven. The resident healer and brightest of their little family. Despite being closer to one hundred than Harry could imagine living, she never lost that starry sparkle or softened heart. 

"A younger, not as nosy version, but she's definitely a little like Colleen." 

Harry agreed with a hum as he jerked his chin to commanded the butter he'd pulled from the fridge to spread across his toast, extra slices for (Y/N) included. "I promise 'm not trying to mess anything up, Gems, really. We talked a lot last night, and she ended up falling asleep, that's all. But, if she'll let me, I do want to take her out." Harry paused, shuffling his feet with his gaze falling to the kitchen island. "Is that alright?" 

"You don't have to ask me for permission to date anyone," Gemma stated, shaking her head with a twist to her lips, "I'm sorry I've been hard on you about all of that stuff. I think I'm just missing mum a lot, so I'm trying to be like her as if that'll be the same, so I'm sorry about that. Whatever you do, as long as you're happy, I'm fine with it." 

It was unspoken the way Harry offered her a hug with his opened arms, Gemma wrapping her own around his middle when she was close enough. As much as they loved to argue, Harry would do anything for his sister; there was no one else he'd rather try out this suburb experiment with. 

A silence that felt alot like the kind that used to fill their home with the coven settled over the party-torn kitchen. Running a hand over her spine, Harry tightened his hug just before loosening and pulling away enough to catch her reaction to his next works. 

"I think (Y/N) knows, though. About the witch thing." 

"What?!" 

—————

Harry squeezed (Y/N)'s hand in his own as he followed the directions she'd given him to take her home. In his passenger seat, she was still clad in her borrowed clothes, slouching shoulder prevailing with her skin shining the morning light.

"I had the weirdest dream last night," (Y/N) started, sounding much too chipper for a night of drinking and the fact the time was still before noon. 

"Yeah? What was it?" Harry pressed, hoping he sounded as interested as he actually was despite the lack of energy under his skin. 

"Well, you were—I don't even know how to describe it," she muttered, stumbling over her ideas though Harry was very much stuck on the idea of him starring in one of her dreams. Even if it was weird. "I guess you were a kind of witch or something," (Y/N) picked up, her choice of words getting Harry's eyes widening before schooling his features. 

"Really? What was I doing?" 

"You had one of those spell books you had on your shelf, but it was real," (Y/N) bubbled off, sounding sweetly enthused at her imagination, "You were showing me all these potions, and there was this black cat following you, and then things got kind of weird but you were still a witch." 

"What got weird?" Harry pressed, his brows pinching as he took another instructed turn from his GPS.

"Well," she pitched, messy hair falling around her face, "Your black cat turned into some kind of squid or something and started inking all over the place and I kept trying to get the stains out and no one would help me. I had to wake myself up before I got too upset." 

The laughter that puffed from Harry's chest was incredulous as he listened to her recount the tale with conviction behind it. "'M sorry I didn't help you, love," he offered, bringing their joined hands to his lips with a kiss pressed to the back of hers, "I promise I'll help y'if m'cat ever turns into a squid, alright?" 

While his smile lingered on his face, Harry could tell the tone shifted when he pulled up in front of (Y/N)'s apartment building. Silence settled over the car. 

"Har—"

"So, I—" 

(Y/N) cut herself off with a jump while Harry immediately snapped his mouth closed to let her go first. It only took a nod of encouragement on his end and a squeeze of her hand to have (Y/N) taking the opportunity to speak. 

"I was just going to say that, I know we kissed and everything already, last night," she started, a beep breath filling her lungs in the middle when her gaze dropped to her hand in his, "But, I was wondering if you might want to go out, still? I get it if this was just a little party-thing, but—um—" 

"Are you asking me on a date?" Harry couldn't help the smug curl of his lips, a dimple thumbing into his cheek. 

With a shake of her head, gaze still down, (Y/N) rolled her eyes though the motion lacked grit with a tender smile on her lips. "I guess so. You don't have to sound so sure of yourself, though." 

"Me? Smug and cocky? I don't see it," he teased, leaning across the center console until he only had to speak in a gentle tone for her to hear, "If 'm not too sure of myself for you, I would love to take y'out, honey. It would be a bit of a bummer if we have to tell people our first date was jus' us making out in m'bedroom after walking in on someone getting head in the bathroom." 

The bubbling laugh he pulled from her was one he wished he could commemorate somehow, make it into something he could wear with pride wherever he went. That was something he would be smug about, no questions asked. 

"I don't know, I don't think that sounds that bad," she played along, chancing a look through the fan of her lashes, "But—um—I don't have to work on Friday, so maybe we could go to dinner or something?" 

"Got anywhere special in mind?" he asked, a lilt to his tone. 

Her messy hair fluttered with a nod of her head. "Kind of. There's this place downtown that's pretty good, but it's two doors down from this shop that has all of these 'witchy' things, so we could go there, too, if you haven't been yet." 

"I don't think I have," Harry smiled, the curl lopsided, "Y'gonna take me and show me how it all works?" 

The way she lit up at his gentle words had dangerous implications. If she wasn't careful, Harry was going to keep her forever. 

"Maybe, they even have a cauldron to go in your room next year." 

"We can only hope." 

He couldn't help but to kiss her then. The scent of hot cocoa and sparkle of glitter stained his mouth all the way home. 

—————

I know this is late for a halloween fic but I really hope you guys still like it! thank u sm for reading and sorry for any mistakes! if you have any ideas or requests of your own please send them in !

[cookies-over-yonder]

disconnected memory

Willy's forearm disintegrates into nothingness, and the effect slowly travels up to his shoulder.

Flesh shifts in colour to a dark shade of red, before crumbling into fine bits of dust that vanish into thin air.

And whatever happens to Willy… happens to Cass.

⋆ or ⋆

The spell Scary casts on Willy goes awry, and Taylor is the one who pays the price

ao3

1 | 2

this is the first fic for my new au: My Mom DIED... and came back as a DEMON!? a.k.a. demon!cass au!!!

shout out to @llumimoon for helping me come up with the summary and also for being my brainstorm buddy for this au (and for being amazing in general🥰💖)

1. love

⋆

Nicky wouldn't say that he and Cassandra were ever really in love. They loved each other like friends.

Like family.

And then they started one.

Nicky couldn't stay for long, and it tore him apart, but it was for their safety.

So he settled on supporting them from afar.

Nicky wouldn't say that Cassandra plagued his thoughts. It was more like fond memories that snuck up on him.

He would replay them to lift his spirits.

Nicky can only watch in horror as Scary's vampiric touch travels up Willy's arm, and Cassandra's screams follow.

"Mom!"

That's when Taylor rushes forward and snatches the phone, nearly dropping it, and then managing it to hold it steady.

Nicky looks back at Willy.

His forearm disintegrates into nothingness, and the effect slowly travels up to his shoulder.

Flesh shifts in colour to a dark shade of red, before crumbling into fine bits of dust that vanish into thin air.

And whatever happens to Willy… happens to Cass.

Nicky can't see the phone, but he can hear Taylor screaming, and as Willy's face begins to turn red and crumble away, he can hear Cass's screams stop.

"Taylor—"

Nick Close was seven years old when his dad got a phone call that changed everything. Well, it wasn't the phone call that changed everything, it was the information behind it.

"Mom—"

Nick Close found out through his dad's words that he would never see her again. Alive, anyway.

"Taylor, I love you—"

Nick Close never got in his last words to her.

"I—I love you too, I—Mom… Mom! "

In a matter of seconds, the goth kid's hands are trembling, and Willy is gone.

And whatever happens to Willy—

A glass-shattering scream echoes throughout the church.

And the clatter of a phone against the floor.

And the sound of shaky breaths increasing in speed.

Nicky snaps himself out of his hazy wave of shock to see that Taylor has lost his balance, and he's tipping over…

The next thing Nicky knows, he's holding an unconscious Taylor in his arm.

Nick Close didn't watch Morgan die.

"Taylor!" Grant's kid shouts, and despite himself, when Nicky hears footsteps approaching, a ring of fire encircles him and his son.

"No one go near him," his voice rumbles, low and fiery.

Taylor is completely limp. His eyes are shut tight and the only movement is the rise and fall of his chest.

He dropped the phone, dropped his cane, and fainted.

Nicky feels something burn inside him. It's a hot, flaming mix of love and fear and every emotion between the two and all that he can think to do is stay right here with his son.

"Taylor?" Nicky shakes him a little by the shoulder. His face scrunches up, and then his eyes crack open.

"...Dad?" he mumbles. His voice is hoarse from screaming, but even aside from that, he sounds so small .

"Hey, kid."

"Wha—"

Taylor's eyes go wide with horror, and his breathing picks up again. "Mo—Mom, she—"

He jolts out of Nicky's grasp, but when he stands on his own, it's clear that his wobbling legs won't hold him up for more than a second, so Nicky is quick to steady him with a hand on his arm.

"I—I saw her…she—she—"

"Taylor, breathe."

His whole body is trembling, and his breaths are coming in quick, and he has this wild look in his eyes that bounces around the room before it stops, staring directly back at Nicky.

What he says next hurts a million times more than any battle wound could.

There's a pleading in his voice. There's desperation, there's fear.

There's a sliver of belief.

"Tha… that wasn't real, right?"

Nicky can't bring himself to say anything.

It's a question he knows. It's a question he knows so well he can still feel the taste of the words on his own tongue. It's a question that coursed through him from age seven to age twelve in another life in another version of the universe, but it still pulls him right back.

"I… I—I mean I've had nightmares before," Taylor laughs in a sort of hysterical way. His eyes are wild and everywhere again. "About—about you, and about Mom—that wasn't—this isn't—"

"Taylor—"

"It wasn't real," he mutters and then stares daggers at Nicky. " Tell me it wasn't real!"

Nicky wants to tell him that. Nicky wants to believe it's true. But he can't. The tears in Taylor's eyes are soon reflected in his own.

"...Why aren't you saying anything?" he asks, and his voice breaks. "Please. Please ."

"I…" Nicky feels his voice laced with sorrow as the hot tears slide down his face. "I can't tell you that, kid."

Taylor's eyes widen, and he starts shaking his head.

When Taylor's head tips forward a little, Nicky realizes he's fully hyperventilating now.

"Ta—Taylor, uh—"

Fuck. He doesn't know what to do.

Fuck.

He can't let Taylor pass out again.

Nicky lets down the circle of fire around him, and the first person to Taylor's side is Grant's kid—Link.

Link takes Taylor from Nicky's hold and keeps him upright by the shoulders, turning him so they're face to face.

"Taylor, Taylor, hey, can you hear me?"

There's no response. No acknowledgement. Taylor's breathing is too shallow and too fast, and he has a faraway, horrified gaze that won't alter in the slightest.

Nicky thinks his gaze is something slightly similar. It must be, because Sparrow's hand is on his own shoulder now.

It's only for a second, but it's grounding, it brings him back. And then Sparrow is with Taylor and Link and casting something, and Taylor's breathing steadies, but his expression doesn't soften, and the horrified look remains all the same.

Not even the sound of gunshots make Taylor flinch.

Lark shoots the spot on which Willy stood maybe three or four times, shouting something Nicky can't decipher right now.

Willy is dead.

"Guys, I think we should go. Now."

Willy is dead, and no one is celebrating.

"Yeah, let's um, let's head out."

Willy is dead, and Taylor is borderline catatonic.

"Taylor, I—I'm gonna carry you okay?"

Willy is dead, and so is Cassandra.

⭒

[oliver-quick-ens-my-pulse]

Changes

Ominis Gaunt x platonic!Sebastian Sallow

Summary - Request for “hello! if your still taking requests i’d kill for a little hurt/comfort ominis/sebastian fix🥺maybe after the whole crucio deal?? he deserved better”

Word Count - 1,525

Warnings - angst, mentions of violence

Ominis took time for himself after what had happened in the Scriptorium. He couldn't grasp how you and Sebastian didn't seem bothered at all by what went on. You just let him cast Crucio on you like it was nothing then you were up and exploring the secrets of the room.

Sebastian didn't even blink and Ominis wished he was more surprised about that. Someone had to mean it to cast that curse. Ominis had meant it when he was a child purely because he was trying to save himself and even then he never stopped feeling guilty. Why would Sebastian be able to mean it to cast it on you? Of course it was the only way out, but Ominis wasn't sure that was a good enough reason.

Sebastian was just carrying on as if nothing out of the ordinary happened. He had taken the spell book and began studying it to piece together everything he knew. He sat in the Undercroft not thinking anything was out of the ordinary while Ominis sat in the dorms feeling pitiful.

His sorrowful feelings of how it felt to hear your screams of agony subsided to ones full of anger. You were the one who convinced him that it couldn't be too dangerous. Sebastian very well knew what he could be getting into and yet he charmed the both of you into his mischief. It wasn't just mischief anymore. Sebastian didn't understand any of what he was getting himself into, not like Ominis did.

The blonde boy took his wand out aggressively. He was disheveled; he had shed his robes because he found them suffocating. His hair was a mess from him running his hands through it and nearly pulling out. The sensitive skin around his eyes were tinted pink with the anguish he'd forced upon himself.

He pushed up the sleeves of his shirt and wasted no time taking the path to the Undercroft. He knew he would find Sebastian there even though it had been hours.

"Ominis!" Sebastian's voice was excited and Ominis heard him shift to stand and come towards him.

He put his hand up before Sebastian could come any closer.

"How could you?" His voice was full of hurt when he spat the question at Sebastian.

"You know what I've been through. You know more than anybody. But you're — you're so obsessed you can't see what you're doing."

"What are you talking about Ominis, we just got the spellbook. I —"

"Don't play stupid with me!" Ominis was feeling livid listening to even the smallest bit more Sebastian trying to spin things in his favor. He was using his hands now to gesture as he spoke, his face flushed red.

"I care about Anne every bit as much as you do. The pieces of a family you have left mean as much to me as they do to you. That's why I'm not going to stand by and let you destroy and start fitting in with my family more than I ever have." Sebastian closed the book and set it aside, angry and confused. He walked towards Ominis and got near to his face.

"How dare you say that to me. I'm trying to save the flesh and blood I have left. I'm sorry you wouldn't understand that because —"

Ominis outright slapped Sebastian, cutting him off before he could speak. Both of the boys were fuming and Ominis couldn't see the embarrassment on the other boys face. He couldn't see the mirrored tears being held back.

"The dark arts always have a price, Sebastian. They aren't full of whimsy and used just for fun. And did you even stop to think how I felt after you used me to get into the Scriptorium? You made me use what little of those disgusting abilities I have, took my to where my aunt died, and forced me to watch you re-enact one of the most awful moments of my life. Something I replay enough in my head you made me listen to right in front of me."

Ominis was breathing heavily at the end of his rant, inevitable wet streaks ran down his cheeks.

"You don't understand. You don't care about me or Y/N or Anne. You know she wouldn't want to be cured like this anyhow."

Ominis felt he had said his piece so he stormed out of the room as quickly as he had come in, shaking and using his sleeves to wipe his face. He left Sebastian standing dumbfounded and going through an array of emotions processing what he'd just heard.

He thought Ominis wanted to help his sister as much as he did. You and Ominis both possessed powers he couldn't ever imagine having and he thought you were both more than grateful along the way. You took the Crucio curse so well he had thought there was no way it could be as bad as others have said, at least not for someone like you.

He was conflicted about whether he had been wrong to make Ominis witness such a thing, but he hadn't said much at the time other than assuring you were alright after the fact.

Sebastian sighed deeply, rubbing his fingers into his eyes trying to make sense of this mess he apparently made. He felt exhausted with all of the thoughts swirling around his head and ended up falling asleep in the Undercroft.

Sebastian woke up feeling like he'd been hit by a broom. On top of the uncomfortable floor of the Undercroft, everything Ominis said came back to him the second he was conscious.

"Fuck..." he muttered, leaning his head up against the wall. He knew he screwed up and said things he shouldn't have. It's what he did best and he had done it his whole life. Ominis was right that he hadn't at all stopped to think about how his best friend would feel about the situation. All he had thought was it was the way forward to more information and the way out, so they had to do it.

He had hardly stopped to check on you and surely hadn't thought to check on Ominis at all.

Sebastian unfolded himself from the floor to go and look for Ominis. He hoped to catch him outside the great hall to have a private moment, if he would have him at all. When Sebastian didn't find him there he traced their usual path back to the dorms and was surprised to find the other boy alone in the common room.

Ominis didn't turn to acknowledge that anyone had come in, he sat by the fire with an emotionless stare. Sebastian didn't want to test his luck too much so he sat across from his friend, sighing and putting his head in his hands.

"Would you be willing to talk?" Ominis didn't flinch at all as Sebastian had taken his seat, but he tilted his head towards him.

"You can talk."

Sebastian looked up and decided spilling his guts was better than doing nothing to try and fix this.

"I made the wrong choice. I've made a lot of wrong choices and it feels like I just can't stop," he laughed softly, " if I didn't know otherwise I would think maybe this is my curse, but I know it's not. It's my own fault."

Ominis nodded as he listened, his grip visibly tightening on the couch. Sebastian scratched his neck out of nervousness. He really didn't know how to talk about feelings and he was uncomfortable.

"I was selfish. I convinced myself that I was thinking about Anne, but you're right that my judgement might have been misguided. I'm sorry I put you in that situation. I'm sorry I didn't even think to talk to you about it afterwards. As obsessed as I've been with following Salazar Slytherin's trail...you might be right about it.

"I mean, of course you know more about it. You grew up hearing about it so much more than I ever did."

Sebastian sat back against his couch, trying desperately to decipher what Ominis was thinking.

"I fucked up and I'm sorry. I can't take anything back, but I can listen to you more and I can listen to you now. So if you have more of last night then lay it on me."

The two of them sat in silence for a few moments, which was torturous for Sebastian. He felt like he couldn't breathe, knowing that Ominis had every right to tell him off more and tell him he didn't want to speak ever again.

"I forgive you, but only if you stop all of this nonsense for good. You can look for cures wherever you want, but not in the dark arts, Sebastian." His voice was soft and Sebastian could tell he was holding himself back.

Sebastian reached across the gap between them and put a had on his friends knee.

"If you don't mind doing some extra assignments tomorrow, I want to hear about how you're feeling. Well, maybe I could do without being struck again, but if it's what you need I'll allow it."

[abarbaricyalp]

Written for the @samsseptember prompt Riley // Rated G // CW: death, grief // title from the Laura Gilpin poem "Life After Death"

A Dead Tree Casts a Shadow

"Hey, Rye," Sam greeted as he dropped a backpack full of food to the ground and shook out the blanket under his arm. He laid it on the ground, tamped down the sun dried grass underneath it, and then sat and began to distribute the food.

"I just happened to be passing by and you know I've always gotta stop. I didn't mean to come this way, but I've been following a lead and he's dragging me all over the place."

Sam propped a beer and a Dr. Pepper against the gravestone. The screw top caught on the engraved letters that spelled out Beloved Friend, which was fitting enough. Really, it could have just stopped at Beloved.

"This is a crazy story," he admitted in half a chuckle, even if there was something a little darker, a little more bitter behind his voice. "This guy I'm kinda seeing--you may have heard of him, Steve Rogers, right?--dragged me into this mess. His best friend came back from the dead. Can you imagine? Hey, are you planning on doing that to me?" He reached over to rap on the stone and then smoothed his hand over the ground in front of it.

"Kinda wish you would," Sam admitted. "Even if you came back as much of a pain in the ass as this guy. Hey, you were into Captain America. Who the hell is Bucky Barnes? What kind of name is that? I know he was the handsome one in the photos. The one that died, obviously. I've been trying to do research on him but it would be so much easier if you just info-dumped on me. I know you know useless shit like his favorite record. Come on. Come back just long enough to tell me."

The ground did not part like some great, giving maw and Riley didn't pull himself out, bitching about dirt in his hair and 'why the hell did they bury me in black? I said blue.' Sam still watched for too long and then sighed.

"I guess it's only fair. Barnes didn't actually die. Rogers couldn't go down after him to bring home a body. I had you. I carried you."

The memory had been warped every which way to Sunday. Most of the time, he was saved from the true terror of it. In his memory, that old thing protecting him after all these years, Riley was just a little smokey and dusty, a little bloodied. Just dead enough that Sam couldn't argue about it, even as he begged Riley to wake up. In the nightmares, there was almost nothing left of him. Splatters of blood and uniform. Or a crawling, screaming zombie of bits and pieces. Really, it had been messy and horrifying. Sam hadn't really seen much of anything. Truly couldn't recall the exact state of Riley's body as he carried him away. He'd just known his best friend was dead and there was nothing that he could do to change it.

Nothing evil Nazis could do either.

"I miss you, man," he said softly. He rubbed the lip of his own bottle along the top of the gravestone and listened to the glass catch on the rock. "I'd almost convinced myself I was okay without you, but having friends again just makes it that much more obvious that you're not alone. I almost tried to text you the other day, y'know.

"Hey, you know it took your momma almost a year and a half to pull your number outta service? She kept saying it was the same price just to leave you on. You know how she is about that kind of thing. But I think she was calling you even more than me. Leaving all these voicemails just in case you might ever come back and need to be caught up thirty seconds at a time."

Sam bracketed his knees on either side of the gravestone and laid back in the blanket to watch the sky. There were two birds doing acrobatics on the breeze and, all of a sudden, hot tears sprang to Sam's eyes and choked him down the throat.

"I miss you so bad, man. I'm in the wings again. I kind of stole them back. And I love it. I love it just as much as the first time we strapped them on. And I hate myself for loving it. You're supposed to be here. It's not a solo operation. I look for you before every jump. I think about you every time I see a bird. And you're not here. You're never here. There's a whole empty section on my vital menus where yours are supposed to be.

"How am I supposed to do this, Rye? I'm one of a pair. And Steve, he's great, but he's not my other half. Not when I'm in the air."

He hadn't realized he was sobbing until he had to turn onto his side to avoid choking. The sky left his field of vision, replaced instead by a tranquil cemetery. Well, a blurry cemetery at any rate. There was no one else around, so Sam let himself curl up in the fetal position, squeezed his eyes shut, and tried to pretend him and Riley were twin commas in a huge bed. He hadn't done anything like this in months and months and months but he couldn't help it now. Even if he knew it wasn't going to work. He'd forced himself to stop picturing Riley next to him and now he couldn't make himself do it even under duress.

Of all the emotions he'd thought he'd have to deal with by tagging up with Steve Rogers, this bone deep ache for the things he'd lost hadn't been high on the list. If anyone had asked two months ago, he'd say he had friends. That he missed Riley but life had to go on and Riley wouldn't want him to mope. He hated moping. But evidently none of those friendships elicited the same kind of response that Riley had. Sam had barely known Steve before he started to fall back into old habits. Throw in a dead best friend come back to life and Sam was in further over his head than he anticipated.

There was no way Barnes could have known to drag Sam out here. After the program was grounded, all of Riley's information went behind walls of black marker. And Barnes would only have looked into it if he thought this was a good way to lose Sam's tail, which would imply he'd gleaned some amount of privy into Sam and Riley's relationship. All of it was impossible. Just a horrible coincidence. Or maybe a really good coincidence.

Sam had needed this. He could pretend that holing himself up in DC was actually steps in the right direction, that ignoring the ghost of Riley's presence, always right in his periphery, was the best course of action, that fiddling away time with mindless relationships was healthy, but he knew all of that was a lie. He couldn't just pretend this was fine. That he was fine. He clearly was not.

Man, he'd just jumped feet first into taking down a century old Nazi cult. And now he was hunting down an undead assassin who may or may not still be brainwashed. An assassin who had tried to plummet him to his death.

"He was rude about it too," Sam told Riley. He figured whatever Riley was doing, he could probably read Sam's mind. No need to fill him in. He turned over onto his back again. "He had this grappling hook thing that he shot at me. Why? That's not important. Point is, one second he was down on the ground doing these acrobatic jumps to avoid bullets--the dude can jump out of the way of bullets--and the next he'd yanked me out of the sky. Ripped the wing clean out of the pack. And then the motherfucker kicked me off the landing deck of a huge airship.

"You would've loved this thing, dude. It was like one of those navy jet ships you're so obsessed with, but in the sky. Man, I don't think I could've gotten you back off of it. You would have moved in and never left."

The birds had disappeared, following the current the way Sam and Riley would on the quiet days.

"You remember the first time the wings malfunctioned on us? When we were actually in the air? A whole system malfunction. We both lost control. Had to pull the parachutes for the first time. We pulled them so late. You probably broke your ankle but kept lying to the medical team. God, we were giddy when we landed. That freefall was unlike anything I've ever felt. I mean, it was horrifying, but wasn't there that moment where you just let yourself fall? Just felt the air and your stomach rushing by. The world was so far away."

Until it hadn't been.

"It felt like that again. I remembered to pull my parachute this time. You weren't around for me to fuss over, so I had more time to actually think. But it felt the same just for a second. I was less giddy on the landing. You weren't there to limp over to me on the ground, and I had someone to be mad at this time. But still. There was that flying-falling feeling that I only got with you."

The words ran out then, as quick as they came. There were a million other things he wanted to tell Riley, but nothing was sticking in his mouth. So he just sat up and parsed out the gas station picnic he'd brought. A whole extra meal for a man who couldn't eat it. But Sam would leave it out and maybe a different kind of shadow would take advantage of it before a billion bugs did.

He ate the sandwich and half the bag of chips in silence and had started to sort out a bag of M&Ms by color before he spoke again.

"I think I'm happy. Like, actually happy this time. I mean, I'm exhausted. This superhero thing is no joke. And weirdly lonely? I mean, Steve and me are together most of the time but I haven't met, like, Iron Man or Thor. I hang out with Black Widow though. You never stood a chance by the way. You would literally be like a cute puppy to her. But she's great. She's teaching me a lot. She's hilarious. But she's busier than Steve is. Has a real job in this organization, I guess.

"I forgot how good it could feel to be tired. Full days and new experiences. Chasing this other asshole all around. But, I mean, I'm getting that travel vacation I always wanted. Went to the coolest natural history museum. It was, like, a literal cave. And rock climbing. I had to do some crazy rock climbing. God, I just wish I could be doing this with you."

He laid out all of the yellow M&Ms across Riley's headstone and then leaned over to kiss the stone itself. "I'll see you later, man. Won't stay away for so long this time. Tell my mama and dad I said hi for me and I'll stop by and see your mama, alright? Be good."

He let himself trace Riley's name one more time before he stood up and collected his trash and blanket. He shoved it all back into his bag before casting one more look around. There was no one. No best-friends-come-back, no shadows, no other picnic-ers. Up in the sky, the birds had come back, circling around each other and tumbling down and then soaring back up with joyful little calls.

Sam smiled at them as his heart squeezed in his chest again. "Yeah, I see you, Riley," he said. "I'm right there too."

[itsmeimcathy]

{ klarolineauseason } - week 1: canon divergence

It's been one thousand years - Caroline has officially been alive for as long as Klaus had when he died, and yet, she has never forgotten him.

But a millennia is how long it took her to find a solution to her hybrid-less life, and now she's more than ready to go back and change the past. It turns out that an eternal existence without the warm comfort of Klaus' presence on the sidelines wasn't what she wanted - she had missed him for so long that his absence almost turned into an obsession, and Caroline was tired of dreams and memories.

So now, with the help of a few rare artifacts and some very powerful dark magic, Caroline is going to get herself back in time and prevent the tragedy from happening - no matter how much she will sacrifice in order to do so.

It's time for her to be selfish.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

"The entire world is a dreadful collection of memoranda that she did exist, and that I have lost her!"

[Emily Brontë, Wuthering Heights (chapt. XXXIII)]

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

She had died; when the old crone had pierced her heart with a blessed wooden stake, as her chanting became louder and louder and the words lost meaning, Caroline had unequivocally died. She had to, so that her soul could travel backwards, annulling the last millennia like a hand swiping across a blackboard.

One moment she was, the next she was no more - and then it felt like being everywhere and everytime, as the spell warped reality, undoing it, and dragging her back to the time in which she had anchored herself through the little bit of hybrid blood that she had kept all of this time.

It felt like being in the eye of a hurricane, until abruptly everything stopped.

And she felt like being in a corporeal state once again.

A hoarse gasp echoes in the deadly silent living room, and the vampire laying on the couch blinks her eyes open.

The tangy taste of blood still lingers on her tongue, a blood she immediately recognizes - centuries weren't able to delete that particular memory from her brain - and instinct tells her immediately when the spell has taken her.

It was the chosen moment - before everything started going downhill for him, and for her too.

She turns her head, slowly, barely allowing herself to hope - and there he is, sitting on the leather lounge-chair next to the window, the warm glow of the lamp casting morbid shadows upon his stony face.

He looks angrier and more dangerous than she remembers - or maybe time had simply allowed her to grasp a bette understanding of him to the point of noticing even the smallest of his expressions - even so, she couldn't be happier.

Before she has fully made up her mind - she should probably evaluate the situation, come up with a plan, try not to fuck up too much the timeline as the witches had repeatedly reminded her, but those thoughts come a second too late - she's already up and across the room, a knot closing her throat as she tries not to cry, and --

-- in his arms.

((It doesn't feel real to touch him, hold him, feel his breath against her cheek after all this time. It would be a lie to say that her every waking moment was spent thinking of him, yet there was always something - a word, an object, a place - that made the memory of him go off in her mind, feeding her longing, alimenting her obsession. Exacerbating the void left by his absence. And the feeling of their last kiss still seared in her brain, the bittersweet taste of a goodbye that they weren't supposed to say.

He had promised her an eternity, but was gone long before that started. It wasn't fair - he wasn't supposed to die, not after everything.

She had lived missing what they never were.))

Klaus is not privy to the whirlwind going on inside her mind - he simply found himself holding the trembling bundle of a distressed vampire before he had the time to blink her back into focus. His ancient instinct works faster than his mind, and his hand circles around her throat in a manner both harsh and delicate.

Yet, despite the grief and the rage still cursing through his veins, his voice is surprisingly soft when he calls her name, confused and wary. "Caroline…?"

Her hands hold on tighter on the lapels of his jacket, and a sound somewhere between a sob and a laugh comes from her lips.

"It worked," she murmurs, finally backing away to look him in the eyes. "God, it worked! You're alive."

That's when he notices it.

There is something different in the depth of her eyes, something that wasn't there only a few hours earlier - a weariness, a harshness that belonged more on one of his siblings rather than someone like Caroline - and it gives him pause, forcing to assess her, for the first time in a long while, as a potential enemy.

She doesn't look bothered by his hand around her throat, as if she trusts him, implicitly, not to overly harm her. Which is strange, considering that he bit her no less than twenty-four hours ago for much less than a potential physical threat.

Klaus frowns, barely noticing when his own thumb starts rubbing gently against her skin, lost in thought. The Caroline he has gotten to know wouldn't act this way, he is sure of it, even if she's apparently aware of his feelings - as she even told him earlier, in her attempt to coax him to save her.

If she was able to unleash this kind of gaze on him... He can almost taste her relief, see the yearning in the way she seems to physically restrain herself from - what? He swallows, his gaze dropping to her pale lips before catching himself - he must have given her more blood than he realized, if his brain has stopped working to this extent.

He almost calls her again to bring her back from whatever place her mind seems to have stuck, but in that moment Caroline backs away slowly, steel suddenly bleeding into her eyes.

"And I'm going to make you stay that way."

[masterqwertster]

My internet died while sending the first ask so I case it didn’t go through 31 with Orym and opal or Fearne for the touch prompts?

Prompt Oh, good thing you sent again. That first one did not come through. I'm going to take this one to my Accidental Ascension AU because I've been meaning to write something more for it, but every time I sit down for it, the writing juice is gone. 31 Doing a pinky swear

Orym's kind of been expecting this ever since the idea that Bells Hells' ascended trio could be warlock patrons came up.

Fearne is possessive and there's very little she wouldn't do for her friends. To offer them power in return for binding themselves to her is almost more a continuation of their friendship than the controlling contract that a Pact is supposed to be.

And the truth is, while the continuous solstice has been brought to an end, there are still battles to be fought against the Ruby Vanguard. After all, their leadership is not dead. Yet.

But...

"I'm not a magic kind of guy, Fearnie," Orym gently rejects her offer of warlock powers.

"But, but. I can make your sword extra magical! Like the captain's," Fearne pleads.

The child-like innocence and eagerness contrasts heavily with her sharpened and lengthened Archfey features as Fearne crouches lower than ever to be on his eye level.

"I don't need my sword to be more magical," Orym earnestly says, taking one of her long-fingered, burning coal looking hands between his own small hands. "I just need my friends to be there and back me up."

"You're sure?" Fearne asks, goat-like eyes still wide and pleading.

"Yeah."

"Pinky promise?" she tempts, clawed pinky held out towards him.

There's something in her eyes, her bearing, that hints at something more than a child's unbreakable vow. Or maybe he's just seeing things. Orym's not entirely used to the changes made in his friends by what they did at the Malleus Key, how unnerving the sheer power of their presences can be.

"...Okay," Orym relents, curling his tiny pinky around hers and shaking on it.

A little splurge of magic flows into Orym from where their fingers are intertwined, just a bit stronger than his gift for druidcraft and gusts. It settles into him almost as soon as he notices it, there to stay.

"Fearne," he admonishes.

"It's not a Pact. Just a boon for my best friend," Fearne shamelessly reassures him, placing a warm kiss on his forehead.

"A bit of magic to let you go where you need to be, a bit of magic to help you bring down your prey." A predatory grin splits Fearne's face as she describes the second of the spells she's gifted him, showing off sharpened teeth.

Orym sighs, and hugs her anyway. "Thanks, Fearnie. I'll put them to good use."

"I know. That's why I gave them to you," Fearne says, returning the hug with her own near-burning embrace.

So I don't think Orym would take a warlock multi-class, even with his best friend as the Patron. But Fearne's stubborn, so she gave Orym the Fey Touched feat (by literally touching him as an Archfey😝), granting him access to a daily casting of Misty Step and Hunter's Mark. I thought about giving Orym Aid for his 1st level spell selection, as that is a very Orym spell, but given there's still Otohan and Ludinus and Liliana(?) left to find and kill, I felt Hunter's Mark was more fun/appropriate. No foe shall escape his sight!

[hot-illithids-near-you]

Character Bio - Carylin

[Placeholder image until I finally draw her]

Race: Human

Gender: Female

Age: 25

Alignment: Neutral Good

There was never much of particular interest about Carylin. She couldn't cast a single spell of any sort, was hardly strong enough to pick up a good weapon, and wouldn't have the skill or courage to use it even if she could. She liked to read, and draw, but only as hobbies in her spare time.

She worked the day shift in a little tavern to make a meager wage, coming home to her parents' house to eat and rest and chat about the minor adventures of the day. This was perfectly fine for her. Her life provided little stress, and little excitement. Though she tried to be kind when she could, she knew she was no hero - heroes risked their lives regularly, after all, and often died in horrendous ways. No, working at a tavern suited her just fine.

But one day, Carylin was pulled astray from her comfortable duties - into working the evening shift at the tavern. And it would get even worse. She already wasn't used to the increased traffic, and the increasingly rowdy patrons who consumed far more alcohol than the lunch crowd. She was frustrated, and stressed, and when the next person opened the door to the tavern, she initially thought she must've been seeing things.

But she wasn't. She blinked, and stared, and the thing in the doorway stared back, seemingly just as stunned to see her.

She screamed, and dropped the drinks in her hands, and ran toward the man behind the bar. With a trembling hand and shaking voice, she pointed to the door. To the mind flayer that hovered there, motionless.

But the tavern owner didn't pick up the weapon he had behind the bar, normally used to break up brawls. He didn't even join her in her fear. He stared at her like she'd gone mad, and as Carylin looked around, she saw the exact same look on every patron's face - confusion, anger, almost embarrassment. But she continued to insist there was a threat to the tavern, to the entire city, right in front of them. She looked from the door to the patrons to the door and back to the owner, getting increasingly desperate.

And then, the figure in the doorway was gone, as suddenly as it had appeared. The tavern owner finally pulled her aside, and tried to calm her. Then he promptly fired her, for 'embarrassing him' and 'making a scene'. She was ushered out of the tavern, gently yet firmly, and told not to come back.

Carylin was without a job and beginning to question her own sanity when she started to trudge home in the darkness. She was nearly halfway there, with only the moonlight to guide her down the dirt path, when she heard a voice in her head.

"What are you?"

She whirled around, and found herself face to face with the mind flayer - or with a figment of her imagination, for all she knew. Knowing that it could very well be the latter, she wasn't so scared. She was mostly angry, and shot its own question back to it.

"My name is Lawrence," it said, "and I am an illithid, though everyone in this city perceives me as a human. Everyone except you. Which brings me back to my question: what are you?"

The last of her fear finally ebbed away, replaced by rational thought. There were two options, as she saw it: the thing in front of her was a genuine mind flayer, in which case she was dead already. It could kill her any time it wished, and given the response from the tavern, nobody would believe her if she told them her story.

The other option was that she was really mad, and only seeing things. In either case, it mattered little what she told the aberration. So she explained to the mind flayer that she was just a human, and one without a job thanks to it.

It was difficult to discern any sort of emotion from the tentacled face of the thing, but Carylin could've sworn she saw a bit of excitement from it. The mind flayer told her that it had a solution to her problem (entirely ignoring that said problem was its fault, much to her irritation), and offered for her to come to the temple of Kelemvor to become its assistant.

She was puzzled, and began to explain that she didn't know the first thing about serving Kelemvor, or any god for that matter. But when the mind flayer reached into its pocket and withdrew some coins, offering them to her, she quickly shut her mouth.

This was to be her first day's pay, it explained, putting an entire weeks worth of her old pay back in its robe. All she had to do was follow it around as it did its own job, allowing it to observe her.

Carylin did some quick calculations. If 'Lawrence' (she doubted that was its real name) was a genuine mind flayer, she was doomed whether she said yes or no. If it was a mere figment, her mind would likely spiral even further into insanity soon enough, and yet again she was doomed.

But the glint of gold in its hand looked real enough to her. And as she thought about that, she realized that there was a third option: the mind flayer was indeed real, but she had a chance to live. While it paid good money to 'observe' her, she would make her own observations. Find the thing's weaknesses, and save the city and herself.

Maybe she'd be a hero after all.

Random Facts:

Carylin was born with a complete immunity to psionic power. Whether this is by an incredibly rare mutation, some blessing, or something else entirely is unclear. All Lawrence knows is that he can't use his powers to influence her, read her mind, or even detect her presence. To him, it's like she doesn't even have a brain. (How does he use telepathy to speak with her? He just kinda shouts into the void, telepathically, or something...don't think about it too hard.)

She eventually realizes that Lawrence isn't actually a bad guy, and uses his powers to do a lot of good in the city. It's not much longer after this that she starts to become sort of a friend to him and later even more.

She takes a while to use the right pronouns for Lawrence, and even longer to use his actual name. Until then, he's referred to by an assortment of nicknames including but not limited to: tentacles, asshole, stupid squid, and stinky squid man. That last one actually leads Lawrence to develop a theory that she's able to see through his disguise by smell (he has no sense of smell, like all illithids), which he attempts to test by using cologne. Unfortunately, Lawrence has no idea how cologne works, and assumes that a bottle is a single-use item. When she next sees him, he smells like an entire flower shop just exploded. She still laughs about that even years later.

[feywhimsy]

If you wanna do fluff: 11. Angst? 24. (For Aloth/Watcher) :3

both? both. both is good

from here: 11. “I’m just glad you’re safe. I wouldn’t know what to do if I lost you.” 24. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

this one got away from me a bit

also on ao3

Catriona’s blades clattered to the floor, their owner frozen in place. She stared at the unmoving form of Aloth at her feet, horror filling her mind before she could act.

It had all been fine moments ago. But the fampyr had wiggled his way into her mind, convinced her these people were the enemy. So she struck out at the one closest to her, using every advantage she could find to slip past his defenses and…

The spell had broken when the fampyr was struck down. But the sinister laugh as he died, seeing Aloth on the ground, told Catriona he still won.

“Aloth!” Catriona screamed, her senses coming back to her. She fell to her knees, wrapping her arms around Aloth and rolling him onto his back. She wracked her brain for knowledge she once had, years ago she knew she knew how to patch wounds. She remembered tenderly wrapping a severe burn on Aloth’s arm after a mishap with a spell. But the information just wasn’t there. Something taken by the other half of her soul inside Eothas, no doubt.

Catriona didn’t realize she was crying until a tear dripped from her onto Aloth’s cheek. He was still alive, but barely. His breaths were shallow and there was no doubt that the amount of blood he was losing would soon turn fatal.

“Pallegina!” Catriona yelled out, pressing her hand to Aloth’s wound, her head swiveling to locate the other godlike. She was helping Edér to his feet, who had sprawled out on the ground after a particularly nasty blow. At her cry, Pallegina looked up, face going grim as she rushed over.

“Show me where,” Pallegina said as she approached, her hands starting to glow softly. Catriona blinked at her. “Vielo, Watcher, where is the wound?”

“Oh,” Catriona breathed, looking down to Aloth and a sense of dread once again filling her. Was his breathing more ragged than it was before? With her free hand she motioned to her other, blood now seeping through her fingers. She must have hit something vital.

Pallegina gently eased Catriona’s hand away and pressed her own to the deep wound. The light from her hands dissipated… And nothing happened.

Aloth wasn’t breathing.

“Merla! We need Xoti,” Pallegina said as she stood.

“What?” Catriona asked, her voice barely a whisper. Everything was moving so fast, she could barely keep up.

“Stay with him, Watcher,” Pallegina replied, her voice soft, then walked away to find Xoti.

Catriona turned her attention back to Aloth, cradling his head in her lap. His face was twisted into an expression of pain and shock, sending a wave of guilt through her. This was her fault. She had sunk her blade into him as far as she could manage, intent to kill. It didn’t matter to her that her mind was not her own at the time, it was still her sword that dealt the final blow.

“Please,” Catriona begged to no one in particular. If she were of a better mind in that moment she would be looking up, searching for Aloth’s soul. But whether she didn’t think of it or didn’t want to face the reality, was a matter not even the gods knew the truth of. Another sob wracked her body, hugging Aloth close, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Please. I love you. Don’t leave me. I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

Catriona was pulled from her thoughts as a heavy hand laid onto her shoulder, turning to see Edér looking down at the two of them. Xoti was a pace behind him, already starting to cast a spell. Catriona met her gaze, pleading. Xoti nodded.

The seconds felt like they stretched to hours as Xoti completed her spell, Catriona refusing to let go of Aloth. Xoti didn’t need him laid out for this. She held her breath as the magic flew from Xoti’s hands into Aloth, waiting for an eternity to see if the spell worked.

Aloth drew in a deep breath, a wet cough following short after. Everything hurt, especially his midsection, and he was vaguely aware of someone holding onto him. His mind raced, trying to remember what got him here. Above him, he heard Catriona led out a relieved sob.

“Aloth,” she whispered, and he looked up to smile at her. Her usual glow was dim—no, gone, and her cheeks were stained with tears. His heart shattered.

“What… happened?” Aloth asked, thoughts still swimming.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Catriona sobbed, her hand reaching for his. Her hands were slick with something, and as he glanced down he realized they were both covered in a frankly alarming amount of his own blood.

“I didn’t, the fampyr, I thought I was never going to see you again. I… I did this,” Catriona continued, squeezing Aloth’s hand so tight he thought she might break something. With a grimace he lifted his free hand, stroking her cheek. Her ramblings stopped, staring down at him.

“You didn’t do this,” Aloth managed, voice weak. Catriona started to protest but was cut off as another coughing fit came over Aloth, causing him to groan in pain. Once he steadied his breathing, he looked up to her with a weak smile and continued. “You said yourself, the fampyr, correct? You shouldn’t blame yourself. I’m alright.”

“You almost weren’t,” Catriona breathed, another tear spilling from her eyes. Aloth reached up and wiped it away, trying his best to smile up at her. Moving still hurt.

“But I am. And that is the important part. I… Will need a few days of rest, I imagine. But I’m here,” Aloth assured her, turning to look to the rest of the group. “Thank you.”

Pallegina and Xoti both mumbled something in response, already moving away to give Aloth and the Watcher space. Edér was still there, relief clear on his face.

“Glad to see ya alright,” Edér said, pulling out his pipe now that action was settling. Aloth gave him a pointed look, causing Edér to start. He was already moving away as he spoke next. “Sorry, you want me to give you two a moment?”

Now that it was just the two of them, Aloth turned his full attention back to Catriona. Her glow was starting to return, but it remained faint, barely perceptible. She was staring down at him, a guilty expression on her face. Aloth sighed—a mistake, given the pain—and squeezed her hand gently.

“Catriona. I am going to be alright. I need you to—don’t blame yourself,” Aloth spoke softly. “No matter what happened, I’m here now. And I-I… I love you, too.”

Catriona’s eyes went wide, and he could see the wheels turning in her mind. “You heard that?” she breathed, and if circumstances were different he might find her bewilderment endearing.

“Of course I did. And I…” he bit his lip, considering his words. His ears burned, but nowhere near as bad as was typical given the blood loss. “It’s something I’ve known about myself for a long time. But I wasn’t sure you felt the same.”

“I. Oh,” Catriona blinked. Realization hit her, how Aloth was able to hear her, needing to take a moment to steady herself from the harsh reality of what had just occurred.

“And what about you? Are you alright?” Aloth asked, moving to sit. He winced and Catriona carefully but firmly made him lay back down.

“I… Yeah. Yeah, I think so,” she responded, her hand trembling in his grip.

“Good. When I… I wasn’t sure what was going to happen, if the…” Aloth frowned, another confession bubbling to the surface. “I’m just glad you’re safe. I wouldn’t know what to do if I lost you.”

Catriona stared at him, amusement glowing in her eyes. “You really think, after all I’ve been through, a fampyr was what was going to do me in?” she asked, a smile slowly spreading across her face. Aloth’s blush deepened.

“Well, no, perhaps not. But there are things worse than death. If they saw fit they could have made you one of them, or. Worse things,” Aloth stammered, trying very hard to keep his mind from spiraling. Catriona pressed a finger to his lips, quieting him, the smile on her face spreading.

“Aloth. It’s alright,” she murmured. “Are you able to move? We should get out of this place, get you to my bed.”

Aloth’s eyebrows shot up, blush spreading to his cheeks. “This is hardly the time, don’t you think?” he asked weakly.

“What? Oh! No, no, I meant,” Catriona stammered. “To rest. You need it, and my bed is better than the bunks.”

Aloth relaxed, nodding in thanks.

“Though once you are rested up, I have plans to… make this up to you.”

Catriona gave him a wicked grin, and Aloth knew he was in for it.

[grimm-rider]

Entry 30

It’s done. We had to fight Keisuke, and it’s over and done. I couldn’t convince him to give up Nestian’s mother and her Eidolon. They were too connected to his damned ritual. And he was afraid of Nestian’s mom trying to kill him. Which, I mean, yeah of course she was going to try to kill him, he murdered her husband and got her son stuck growing up in another universe without her.

I’ve talked to the others. I’ve talked to Greta. It helped. Somewhat. I think there’s some stuff I’m just going to have to work through on my own. But they all helped to get me moving in the right direction. Again.

But I’ll write more on that when we get to it. I have too much to say about it—better to write it all then rather than write in circles getting it down now and then again when it comes up later.

I went to visit Keisuke basically first thing in the morning. I put it off as long as I could—long enough for us to eat a meal at least and for me to try to think of any other reason we shouldn’t go. Which was ridiculous seeing as I was the one who had brought up to Nestian in the first place! But…I don’t know. Knowing we needed to help Nestian to get his mother back as soon as possible, and knowing I needed to do what I could to try to work this out peacefully despite how the others felt about Keisuke were two separate thoughts that just didn’t interact. They were both just as true.

So with Edeya and Nestian’s help, we teleported back to Artrosa, and made the trek back inside to the chamber housing the Eon Pit.

I asked the others to wait outside for me, until I gave Aenland a signal through the Stone of Farspeech. I didn’t want to spook Keisuke by coming into his demiplane with a group of people who were—besides Greta and Talsune—all hostile towards him. Thankfully, the others agreed to give me time to try to speak to Keisuke one last time.

So I entered the doorway leading into the Nonagon. After walking down a short hallway, I came up a flight of stairs and found myself at the exact spot I usually Plane Shifted into the Nonagon at. Keisuke had his back to me, but his ears shot up at the sound of someone entering his domain. He asked before he turned if it was me, to which I confirmed.

He dropped the spell he had been casting when I spoke. Anyone else would have gotten an immediate Death Clutch—deadly to anyone not as incredibly powerful as my friends and I, and still crippling to even someone more powerful. I apologized for sneaking up on him, which he brushed off, as he seemed almost giddy to reveal what he’d been working on. He kept saying all he’d needed were ‘the time and the place’—which it turns out is what he traded the King in Yellow for his services helping Kostchtchie. He learned about the location of some foreign spymaster’s underground bunker—the place. And the time he needed to attune this ritual to—a moment in which his cousin, the one with Mythic Power he’d told me about so long ago, died for just a short moment.

Keisuke admitted he was getting a bit ahead of himself, as I’d mentioned that I was there to talk about something. He offered a seat at his table and some tea, as always. I took a seat and accepted the warm drink, and explained to Keisuke the real reason I was there. I asked if—since they’d been so much trouble for him recently—I could take Nestian’s mother and her Eidolon off his hands. He regretfully told me that before the Nonagon was fixed that would have sounded like a tempting proposition, but as it was, he needed the Eidolon to complete his ritual. On top of that, removing her now would apparently rip off one of his tails, which was exactly as gruesome as it sounds. He was also concerned for his own safety given that Nestian’s mother had every reason to kill him, even if Nestian was willing to listen on my behalf.

The subject drifted as I tried to think if there was any way to salvage this. Keisuke asked me about our mission to kill Elvanna. If I was still planning to go through with it. What I got out of it. The most obvious answer was that I don’t want the world to be frozen over any more than most people living on Golarian who aren’t fanatic Winter Witches. I prefer not living in an arctic apocalypse—especially if I’m going to try to live forever. That sounds miserable. The world has a lot more to offer me if it’s thriving. Keisuke pointed out that I could survive Elvanna’s apocalypse in Grimm Labyrinthus, but I countered that there was only so much I could do in a demiplane. I know myself—I’m very much a creature of pleasures. I need to experience the highs of living—preferably with Greta at my side. Being holed up in a demiplane would drive me mad.

It was probably a bit rude to point this out to the man who has clearly been spending the majority of his time in a demiplane since the Elvanna of his world froze it over, but it’s not like I was trying to say he was in the wrong for doing that. Just that I wouldn’t choose that life myself.

Talking about that brought Keisuke around to talking a bit about his own universe, the one where Elvanna did win. He’d been marked from a young age as someone meant for greatness—his silver fur meant he was destined to be an oracle or, as it turned out, a shaman. Keisuke was ambitious even back then, and did whatever he had to in order to keep the power in his tribe that he’s been promised—including killing those who spoke against him, claiming he wasn’t using his position to properly speak for the dead.

And then it all came crashing down around him when Elvanna froze his world, destroying his tribe with it. Keisuke tracked down a hole in time—the same one Nestian and Peanut later used. Keisuke believed he was meant to be the first to go through it, but as it turned out his cousin had beaten him to it. She went through first, and in doing so gained everything he felt should have been his.

I asked Keisuke what he planned to do once he had mythic power—hoping for anything I could grab hold of and cling to that might just give me another chance to talk him into some sort of bargain to release Nestian’s family members.

What he said caused it all to come crashing down around me.

He said he would go back and get the friends he was meant to have. He would get the friends and the mythic power that were denied him in one fell swoop. The time and the place he’d been given represented an extremely brief moment in which his cousin had been killed—disintegrated—and he was going to throw his soul back to that moment and take her place when she was meant to be revived. He would be the one with mythic power. He would be the one with friends. He would be the hero. And his cousin would be nothing but a soul lost in the ether.

I knew then that I would have to call the others in, despite how much I desperately wanted any other outcome. He wouldn’t be dissuaded, this was something he’d been working towards for years—something he felt he was owed by the universe itself. And if he went through with what he wanted, he would be taking the place of some sort of mythic hero, and…I liked Keisuke, but he was no hero. It would be a disaster. I would hardly call myself a hero despite doing arguably heroic things for the others’ sake. But Keisuke wouldn’t even play hero for the sake of people he cared about…I don’t know if he knew how to care about someone like that. He wanted friends for the idea of the friends that he felt he was owed, not for what friends actually are.

If he’d wanted real friends, maybe he’d have actually appreciated how hard I tried to keep things from escalating to the point they did.

Keisuke told me that this ritual would take a while—it could be anywhere from 9 hours to 9 days to 9 months, it was hard to say. But he said he would release Nestian’s mother and the Eidolon to the edge of the Eon Pit once it was complete and he no longer needed them. This is what he considered being nice. It was *almost* a compromise, except when I asked him if they would be unharmed, I could tell that he was lying when he said they would be fine. And anything that would bring harm to Nestian’s family was not an acceptable outcome.

Keisuke wanted to start preparing his ritual, and he was going to have to turn on the Nonagon’s defenses, so it was time for me to leave. He commented that I should let him know next time I’m planning on dropping by, since he’d nearly killed me this time. I laughed it off, reminding him that I am a very difficult man to kill.

At the time his response was foreboding, if not puzzling. He agreed with me that I was, in a tone that felt to me like it implied he’d tried to kill me before and knew from experience I was good at escaping death. But that didn’t fit any part of the story I knew of our forgotten past, and it certainly didn’t fit any part of our meetings that I could actually remember.

It made me all the more certain of what I needed to do—like it or not.

I left the Nonagon and began down the hall, but didn’t walk all the way to the door. Instead, when I felt I was out of range of even Keisuke’s sharp hearing, I activated the Stone of Farspeech and let Aenland know that I’d failed, and that we would have to go with his plan instead.

Aenland actually gave his condolences that things didn’t work out the way I’d hoped, before his voice cut out, and a moment later he and the others burst through the door ahead of me. Nevra cast Haste and then began singing as she and Aenland flew past. Nestian pat me on the shoulder—at least I assume it was Nestian. I had closed my eyes, just breathing, listening to them fly towards battle, the start of Keisuke’s ritual in the distance, and then the familiar sound of the Nonagon’s musical alarm sounding as Keisuke’s recorded voice began singing. I steeled myself as I heard Keisuke yell my name, and that we needed to have a conversation. When I opened my eyes, I knew I would find Talsune and Roscoe waiting for me there. I sent Roscoe ahead, then climbed onto Talsune’s back. I’d steeled myself for what I had to do.

I think Talsune knew what I was feeling well enough to know that no words were going to help. Just then his presence, and his own emotions offsetting mine a little, were more than enough.

Then I heard a yelp from Greta echo down the hall, followed by Keisuke in alarm telling whichever of his minions harmed her not to target her again. He sounded like he was being genuine in his desire not to target me, Talsune, or Greta—or at least his desire to not upset me further by harming the two people he knew I was closest to, and who he probably believed were the most likely to side with me if I suddenly switched sides to fight with him.

I would have been willing to hear him out again. Maybe even give talking one more shot. I would have liked that, really. Except for what happened next.

Keisuke called to me that there was an explanation for what was going to happen next—and then he invoked the name of the Grimm Rider. I heard a far-too familiar voice, followed by the sound of Wail of the Banshee being cast. The flickers of dark magic I could see emanating just beyond the staircase were also far too familiar. Because that was my magic. And my voice. The same voice I’d heard through that recorded scry of the Grimm Rider on Triaxus. The same voice I’d heard when Mirror Edeya had me battle The Grimm Rider in her twisted mirror maze.

Talsune swooped up the stairs and flared his wings so we could stop just before a floor to ceiling rainbow colored barrier around what had been Keisuke’s table, where he’d been standing moments prior. Now as I looked up, it appeared as though Keisuke was towering over us. As if the interior of the Nonagon had been shrunk and flung onto a war map on his table.

I looked to where I had heard my voice, and sure enough, there was yet another imitation of myself in my ‘former glory’. What really caught my eye, however, was the door behind him. Like the others, when I’d looked at them last time I was in the Nonagon, this one was replaying the moment Keisuke had caused me the pain and anguish that would allow him to create a simulacrum of me.

Keisuke was standing before a council of cloaked figures, some wearing Norgorber iconography, some wearing Urgathoan symbols. The man who appeared to be the leader had both of our patron’s markings, and he gestured to me—then a Skeletal Champion—and gave the order for me to kill Baba Yaga and to not come back until I’d succeeded. So I turned and left, to do as I was commanded.

It was exactly as he’d described my banishment from his cult to me before.

And then the thin strings connecting Keisuke to his Flesh Puppet Horde snapped, and everyone else in the room went limp.

…

Quite a while ago now, Keisuke told me about how I’d been sent to kill Baba Yaga by his old cult. An obvious suicide mission, meant to get rid of me. He told me not to worry, he’d killed them all for it. They made excellent flesh puppets. He’d said it as if it were to avenge my inevitable death. As if he’d killed them in anger and vengeance over a lost apprentice.

But, no. I was ‘lost’ because of Keisuke. He had sent me on that suicide mission, he had tried to make sure I get destroyed in an impossible task. This is what he must have been alluding to when he’d agreed that I was a hard man to kill. Because he’d expected Baba Yaga to kill me for whatever attempt I made. He hadn’t expected me to game the system and get myself resurrected, to become her Rider, to gain more power than him. He hadn’t expected me to come back a year later with amnesia and no idea who he was, ready to listen to whatever half-truths he fed me.

I listened to him, kept secrets for him, let him very nearly guide me down a path of being someone just like him, believing for so long that he’d saved my life and that I owed my very existence to him. Just to find out I was nothing but a puppet whose strings he’d already tried to cut once before.

I don’t even know how to describe how I felt in the moment. It’s not like the fury I felt at Rasputin for having caused the death that wiped my memories. It wasn’t like the hatred and disgust I felt for Nazhena. It’s not like the distain and loathing I feel for Queen Elvanna.

I was angry. Oh yes, I was very angry. But there was also this aching sadness that gripped at my heart and made me feel hollow. It drew in the fire of my anger that usually encourages me to reap bloody vengeance on someone who’s wronged me, and left it cold.

I did not enjoy fighting Keisuke. I did not enjoy killing Keisuke. Even if my spells had been what snuffed out his life, I would not have offered this death up to either of our gods. Although I wonder if where he did die has its own House of Murder. Abbadon probably has him regardless.

I’m getting ahead of myself. Probably because I would rather not remember and write the gory details of this fight.

But…there are reasons I probably should continue to write every detail. Not because I think I’ll have amnesia again. I’ll get to that soon. I should quit putting off the rest of this.

When I saw the images from my forgotten past, Keisuke quickly tried to explain them away. He said it was fine, because I’d survived and I was stronger now because of it (true, but that doesn’t make what he did to me fine.) He argued that he could see the future and knew that I’d survive (he can, but he did not.)

I told him as much, that just because he can see the future doesn’t mean he foresaw this. He tried to get rid of me, he sent me to die.

Keisuke said fine, if it was going to be like that. He rescinded his protection for me, Talsune, and Greta. His simulacrums and undead would target us just as much as they would the others. Maybe more, if he was out to ‘teach me a lesson’.

Talsune flew us away from the Prismatic Walls, and we dove at a simulacrum that appeared to be of an aasimar with wings made of fire, holding aloft a holy symbol of the same (illegal) dead goddess Edeya had once been interested in. My partner brought his blade down on the woman wreathed in flames, while I took inspiration from her fire and called down an Ectoplasmic Firestorm, which set almost every one of our enemies—except the Grimm Rider, go figure—on fire.

I decided to try to do a bit more against this echo of my past and quickened a Boneshatter. He resisted enough to not have any major bones snap apart, but I definitely heard the telltale cracking from the spell that told me I’d left him with a few fractures.

Unfortunately, Keisuke decided he was going to try to break my favorite pet. There was an artifact in the first room—an artifact which looked like the strange little chip that I’d seen through the image on the 1st door when I’d been looking last time.

It’s almost funny, how I could have discovered what Keisuke did to me so much earlier if I hadn’t quit looking at the doors when I found Nestian’s dad. If I’d had any inkling that knowing what was behind the other two doors would be important to me, and I’d looked, I would have learned before we ever went to the Eon Pit. Maybe we could have done something about Keisuke without the Nonagon being at full power.

Oh well…too late for what-ifs.

When the artifact activated, it shot a Maximized Fireball right in the middle of Nestian, Greta, Edeya, and Roscoe. Nestian, Edeya, and Greta made it through just fine (I will always be grateful to my past self for thinking of gifting Greta that ring. My only regret would be not just proposing to her already. I’ll have to somehow get her an even better ring when I do.)

Roscoe was not destroyed, but he was badly singed, and Keisuke made it clear that breaking what belonged to me in response to us breaking his things was the goal now. I told him fine, because we were going to break a hell of a lot more of his things than he would of mine.

I would be unhappy if I lost Roscoe for good, though. He’s just objectively better than any other undead we’ve encountered. But I wasn’t going to let Keisuke know that or he’d have redoubled his efforts on destroying him.

I didn’t get much time to think about it, though, because a moment later Keisuke covered the entire room with a Wail of the Banshee. My Wail of the Banshee. He was leeching that spell from the simulacrum of me, it’s not that he was just casting a spell I like to use with his own magic, he was literally using my spell. It was a little strange having someone else (well someone other than The Grimm Rider) throwing around magic identical to mine. Usually spellcasters have their own flair, something about their spell is unique to them, as different as a fingerprint or a snowflake. But, other than whatever he had from being a Shaman I assume, everything he had was pilfered power. His spells didn’t have that consistency, that through-line, they were all someone else’s magic tacked on top of his own.

Talsune and I resisted, but I didn’t have much time to think about that either, because then the angel woman hit me with a Heal spell. I really should have worn the Pallid Crystal. I knew that Keisuke knew that weakness, but I just kind of assumed he didn’t have that kind of magic. He implied as much back when I assumed that he’d resurrected me as opposed to raising me as an undead.

But then again, who knows how true that comment was? Maybe he wanted to keep that particular advantage over me close to his chest. I’ll never know now.

Fortunately, before anyone else could try to kill me (namely myself—or the echo thereof), Edeya was able to get a Harm spell over to me and undid the damage the Heal spell did.

Unfortunately, it would be hard for her to get over to me to do that again if it became necessary, because a moment later Nestian’s mother’s eidolon burst through the door she had been held in. And she was under Keisuke’s command. She immediately went after Nestian—likely because Keisuke knew that would hurt him the worst. I could tell it was going to be a nasty bite—one that would rip and then immediately burn with the electricity crackling across her scales. I threw some raw magical protection between him and the eidolon—not quite the Black Rider’s protection, but an approximation using my own magic. Not as powerful, but strong enough to protect my friends when they needed it if I was nearby. Nestian didn’t have to be the only one taking care of everyone, and always get himself beaten up and bloodied in the process.

Keisuke derisively said that I’ve gone soft—that that’s what this was, he just needed to get rid of the others and I would snap out of it. I destroyed the tracks that train of thought was on immediately. I told him that he was desperately trying to go somewhere else to find the group of friends he was supposed to have—these were mine. So, to torture the metaphor, he changed tracks and decided if I wouldn’t come back to him while alive, then he would just kill me and keep me as an obedient undead again.

Man, at least Rasputin never threatened to keep me as a pet after I rejected him.

Afterwards the Grimm Rider went for me, trying to cast a spell—the casting looked like Destruction—but it struck Vigliv’s protections (something the simulacrum thankfully lacked). He then tried to Quicken a Boneshaker on me, but again hit my defenses. My bones blissfully unshaken. Keisuke said something about how he honestly didn’t expect any differently—the simulacrum was fighting his progenitor, it was only natural that a pale imitation couldn’t live up to the original. I’ll admit to being pleased to hear that, despite Keisuke and I being at each other’s throats right that moment. If nothing else, he still had some respect for my power, even if it was questionable if he had any respect for me.

It was hard to keep track of what was going on around the battlefield. The Prismatic Wall was blocking half the room off, so I couldn’t see what Aenland or Illivor were up to, nor the goblin simulacrum or the reaper that went after them. I did hear Keisuke howl in pain and see one tail get rent apart, so I assumed that one of them had killed one of the two simulacrums back there. Then I got to see one of the simulacra get killed—a woman with goggles and multiple flasks of red reactive looking fluids, who appeared to have been paralyzed by Roscoe, if the bullet holes and lack of attempt to dodge anything that was happening around her were any indication. So, another point for my favorite pet. Peanut finished her off while she couldn’t move…saying something about how ‘being mauled by a bear wasn’t on her list yet’?

When the simulacra died, Keisuke howled in pain again as another one of his tails went up in explosive flames. Solidifying the connection between the clones and his tails for anyone who, unlike me, hadn’t already been directly told by him that they were linked.

In response, Keisuke summoned a new undead into the fray. A fucking Demi-lich. I heard the familiar Wail of the Banshee screams, saw that Greta was in the middle of that once again and remembered how that fucking Demi-lich in my bag had hurt her before. I threw the protection of the Black Rider around her, the screams of the damned parting around the black barrier like a river flowing around a rock. Then I saw Aenland’s arrows absolutely obliterate the damned thing in an instant.

I saw the Grimm Rider take his eyes off me. He was looking where I knew Aenland must be, based on where I saw the arrows shoot from. He pointed, and spoke a single word in Necril laced with power.

Nestian cried out, and threw his own protection of the Black Rider around Aenland—muffling the word that would have otherwise snuffed out his life.

Talsune tore into the angelic woman in front of us, then flapped away so I could focus on casting. I turned the full force of my power on The Grimm Rider. My magic—Power Word Kill, Wail of the Banshee, Destruction, all of it—was far too dangerous to have Keisuke and this echo throwing it around at my loved ones in this fight.

So, I ripped my magic away from him. By ripping out the pale imitation’s heart.

Keisuke noted that we really do learn things from one another. I agreed. I had never claimed otherwise.

Then he said he was going to learn from me and turn that method right back on me, since it worked so well on my simulacrum. I fell right back into step with whatever this dance of words was, reminding him that—in his own words—it was just a pale imitation. I wouldn’t be going down so easily.

‘Oh, we’ll see,’ he threatened.

He used some sort of latent power from the Nonagon to shift the position of the simulacrum of Nestian’s father—which was already badly injured courtesy of Roscoe, who I’d set on him so Nestian wouldn’t have to be the one to slay something that looked like his own father. He moved it so it was next to the dying Grimm Rider. The False-Isaac tried to Regenerate the Grimm Rider’s heart—and he did make it grow back, but in the process the positive energy burned inside of his chest where his heart was regrowing, and he died regardless.

So that was horrific. I don’t particularly want to die in any manner, but I think I just found a top contender for worst ways to be killed. And that’s coming from me. I kill people I hate in horrible ways for fun.

A moment later, Nestian flew across the battlefield and tried to finish off the thing wearing his father’s face. But he hesitated at the last moment, and his swing went wide.

So, it wasn’t Nestian who killed the fake Isaac.

It was Edeya.

She used a Quickened Dimension Door and appeared beside Nestian. She pulled him into a hug, so that his head was turned away as she gently said a few words—and the simulacrum slumped to the ground, falling peacefully dead and into a fine red dust as Edeya used Power Word Kill.

The effect it had on Keisuke was anything but peaceful, as two more of his tails tore apart. A moment later Keisuke howled with rage and pain as another unraveled—right before Aenland flew around the corner on Nevra’s back, soaked in his own blood and covered in cuts and burns, and enough blood coming out of his nose that I worried his brain itself was bleeding.

I called Roscoe over—he circled around to avoid the still dominated Eidolon, and landed near Nevra. Talsune and I flew over to meet them. I cast a Quickened Oracle’s Vessel on Aenland, then cast a Mass Inflict Critical Wounds on myself, Roscoe, and Aenland. It was enough to completely heal my wounds, but Roscoe and Aenland still looked like a stiff breeze might do them in. Fortunately for Aenland, he was near Edeya, and she patched him up with her more potent healing magic.

Then that strange artifact activated again, shooting another maximized Fireball at us. Most of us were fine—except for Roscoe, who looked like he was about to be engulfed in flames and likely meet his end, until Nestian threw his Helm of Teleportation to Roscoe—with an extra kick from his Black Rider powers—sending Roscoe safely back into my bag. Preventing Keisuke from having the pleasure of breaking my ‘toy’, and preventing me from losing my favorite pet. I thanked Nestian profusely later.

At the time Keisuke mocked me for going to so much trouble for a ‘broken bag of bones’, but I pointed out that he was a very useful broken bag of bones. Keisuke conceded the point, noting that after this he might see about getting a Baykok of his own—or taking mine. I told him over my dead body—and he wasn’t doing a very good job of that.

Despite his big words, it was clear that he was in a corner, and he knew it. He only had three tails left—and a moment later that was down to two when Nestian’s aunt, the Eidolon, broke free from Keisuke’s domination, and she and Nestian’s mother fused into one being and began tearing apart the Prismatic Walls. She disrupted the first one by throwing some sort of rounded object into it.

While she worked on that, I asked Edeya if she could identify the strange artifact that kept blasting us—assuming its destruction might help with taking down the walls. Edeya asked Illivor to look, as she was closer. Illivor glanced in, identified multiple Explosive Runes, and threw a Greater Dispel Magic into the room to nullify them all.

With the room now safe, I directed Talsune to get us in there and to smash that chip before Keisuke could activate any other defenses we didn’t know about. My partner did without a word from me, knowing my intention as quickly as it entered my mind. He plucked the small object from its stand—it looked almost like it could be a piece of technology from Numeria. A vision washed over him—and by extension me. Keisuke was somewhere in the mountains of Varisia, in a place piled with gold. He picked up the artifact, and when he did the room rumbled and a booming voice spoke to him. Keisuke fled in terror—but Talsune was a master of his own mind, and didn’t let Keisuke’s terror in the vision seep into him. He closed his fist and crushed the chip.

For the first time, Talsune and I were near one of these objects of Keisuke’s when they were destroyed. All of the suffering contained within that artifact—whatever it had once been—burst forth, trying to engulf myself, Talsune, and unfortunate Illivor who had still been a little too close when we’d swooped in.

We all withstood the onslaught, and as we did Keisuke once again howled in pain and anger and fear as he’s now lost all but one tail. The last one that must have been his original—he wasn’t born a nine-tailed kitsune at all, he’d simply stylized himself as one as he gained power. Not that I can judge him on that, with all I’ve done to style myself differently than the life I was born to. That’s just…ambitions for greatness. I don’t think that by itself is a bad thing. It’s the things he did to reach ‘greatness’ that put us on such different paths.

Destroying the chip also destroyed two more Prismatic Walls—just like I’d predicted. Nestian’s mother had already knocked down one wall, and Aenland did…something. It’s hard to say what. I know he used the luck blade, and I know it worked. But I think he might have toyed with time or something? Because on the one hand I feel like I remember the wall starting with nine layers—which fits, because Keisuke. But at the same time I feel like I remember only seven layers when I came up the stairs. And we only ended up destroying seven layers in total.

Anyways, I turned around and took out a diamond from my bag, and cast a Miracle through it. Out of the faceted sides of the diamond, the different spells needed to take down a Prismatic Wall were cast all at once—burning a bunch of scrolls we had on our person as payment in the process. When the diamond crumbled away, that was one less wall. Nestian’s mother cast a spell—I have no idea what she cast, if I didn’t know any better I’d say it was modified through an object like my pocket watch, because the spell didn’t fit any spell I know of. Maybe it was specific to her universe—although I don’t think I’ve ever seen Keisuke use magic that wasn’t in some way recognizable on Golarian.

What she did was…well, it looked like the threw the wall into space. That is the best way I can describe it, even though we were in a Demiplane and the concept of space in a place not directly connected to the material plane is a bit nebulous. Regardless of how she did it, it did get rid of another wall.

And I think Keisuke panicked as we were ripping straight through his defenses to reach him.

He used his luck blade twice to cast a non-existent spell—Mass Harm. I wish there was a Mass Harm, that would be really convenient for me. I guess I could apparently use Miracle to make a Mass Harm, but then I’d need a diamond for it every time and at that point I might as well just let someone die and resurrect them.

…My life is very strange that ‘Mass Harm’ would be more likely to be used for mass healing than for actually ‘harming’ anyone. If I wanted to harm a bunch of people I’d just use Wail of the Banshee, or Massacre, or Fire Storm, or Horrid Wilting…you get my point. I have a lot of ways to kill a lot of people at once. My best way to heal a lot of people at once is significantly weaker than Harm.

The final diamond of his Luck Blade he used to try to force his ritual to successfully complete early.

And it worked.

The Nonagon vanished, nothing but the room the blank simulacrum had been in was left. Only the blank simulacrum standing in the replica of some spymaster’s safehouse was now replaced by a silver haired woman, the remains of a green ray hitting her chest, and her body turning to dust. This was no longer the replica of the room, or the simulacrum. It was the time and the place that Keisuke was trying to fling himself into.

And Keisuke was running down a long hall towards it. We ran after him.

Edeya and Illivor acted first, our resident witches always the smart ones. They both stripped away his defenses with as many uses of Greater Dispel Magic as they could throw in the blink of an eye.

Talsune dove forward. He knew I wanted to reach Keisuke first. I let go of Talsune, trusting him to hold me aloft, as I pulled out the pocket watch. The pocket watch that once belonged to Keisuke, but which I pulled from the Eon Pit and have made my own. I channeled Slay Living through it, and even as Talsune’s blade skewered him, my touch was gentle. I was not aiming for a horrific death. Not this time.

The ritual seemed to have a strange effect on Keisuke’s personal time. The injuries were there, but formed across his body so painfully slowly. The dark flames of Slay Living that normally devoured a body in seconds instead danced across his red-stained white fur for what felt like an eternity.

I knew I couldn’t let him escape—not when I had no idea what might be at stake if he replaced his cousin as one of these mythic ‘heroes’. So I quickened an inflict critical wounds, remembering that he’d once mentioned he didn’t have my gift. The black and purple flames joined and intermixed with the almost ebony flames of Slay Living, twisting together in a dance of death and decay.

Keisuke looked over his shoulder at me. For once I don’t know what emotion I was reading in his eyes. Hate? Fear? Disappointment? Anger? Resignation? I don’t know. I really don’t know.

I told him I was sorry, that I wished this could have ended differently.

It wasn’t a lie. Despite everything, despite how much he hurt me, despite knowing how much he lied, despite all the things he said during this fight…I still didn’t want to kill him. That anger at him was a pile of barely glowing coals and ash by this point, seeing him like this. I couldn’t find it in myself to reach for that burning indignation and thirst for retribution that normally comes so naturally to me.

I don’t know what I wanted to do instead. I don’t think I had any realistic vision of another way forward until I talked to Greta later. I just know that despite everything, it tore at my heart to kill this man.

The others joined in my attack, equally unwilling to risk his escape despite not truly knowing the extent of the consequences like I did. I hadn’t had a chance to tell them what Keisuke told me. All they knew was that he was getting away, and that he’d completed some sort of ritual. They had no idea the full implications of what he was about to do.

For once, I suppose, it was fortunate that Aenland and Nestian were not going to hesitate to attack Keisuke.

Greta was the first to follow up on Talsune’s attack, however. When she pulled away from the strange time anomaly happening around Keisuke, she laid a hand over mine—still white knuckle clutching the pocket watch like a lifeline. No words needed—she was there for me, and she knew that this had not come easily to me unlike most deaths we’d caused. That was more than enough.

The others did what had to be done, with Nevra, Aenland, and Nestian finishing the job in quick succession. Time around Keisuke seemed to start to catch up to him, and I was sure that was the end of it.

But then his form flickered, the familiar displaced from time effect of a Temporal Status overtaking him before the spreading damage could snuff out his life entirely. I recognized a Contingency spell when I saw one—even if I don’t remember the time I saved myself from death by similar means.

However while he was frozen in time, the woman behind him finished dissolved into nothing but a fine dust, and the image of that other place faded away. He’d missed the time. The ritual was over. But with one final push Keisuke popped out of Temporal Stasis, alive but weakened, and stepped through that distorted point of reality into…somewhere else. He looked exhausted. Weak. I don’t think he had a single drop of magic left in him. He swore he would start from the bottom, and build his power up from scratch if that’s what it took. And then he’d come back for us. For me. To avenge himself of everything we’d just taken from him.

He never got a chance…he’ll never get the chance.

Keisuke was so focused on us through the rift in time and space that he didn’t see the man standing behind him. He’d stepped into what looked like some sort of golden casino, and behind him was a finely dressed man. Wielding a flaming glaive. The last I saw of Keisuke was a look of surprise as that glaive cut him down. The man muttered something about the number of temporal anomalies crossing through lately, before the portal snapped shut.

Keisuke’s body was left bleeding out and already dead in some other universe, out of reach.

There wasn’t time to think about it, as the entire Nonagon began to shake. I remembered that early in our fight Keisuke had told us that if we killed him, the Nonagon would break down and take us with it. I’d said then that I’d need to have a Plane Shift ready for when that happened. And I did…and as luck would have it, once Illivor returned to her fox form and her bond with Edeya reinstated itself, there were nine of us.

Because of course there were.

So I cast the spell through the pocket watch. I brought this to a close in a perfect circle, as I used the tool that once belonged to this man who caused so much death and hurt for my friend, and his family, and the people around them, and this time used it to save us all from his own crumbling Demiplane.

I took us to the safest place I could think of in the moment. Home. Grimm Labyrinthus. My own Demiplane. Maybe not as technically intricate as the Nonagon had been. Certainly not built siphoning power from the Eon Pit. But it is mine. Ours. And it is perfect.

I was more drained emotionally than physically when we arrived. I’d honestly not used that many spells, and I wasn’t that badly hurt—although I would need to expend quite a bit of negative energy later to patch Roscoe up. But in the moment, I was just…tired. And sad. And I wasn’t even entirely sure why I was sad. Was it because I’d found out that Keisuke had been lying the entire time, or because I was mourning that we had to kill him? The fact I’d been right, in a way, that what he needed were friends like the ones I’d had? Only he was too blinded by his own desires and obsessions to see it. Some strange mesh of all of these things?

I called Edeya, Aenland, and Nestian over, and just hugged them. I felt like I might pass out, but I held it together (although Nestian’s fur was very cozy). I don’t know what I was trying to say, really.

No. No, that’s a lie, I do know.

I just…wanted them to know I care. That they mean more to me than I can express. That…I’m grateful to have known them, because if I hadn’t I may well have stood with Keisuke today and let something terrible happen, for the sake of power, and for the sake of a friend who wanted nothing more than to erase anything we might have had, believing there was something more out there just for him.

I still can’t bring myself to be mad. I think I kind of pity him. I think I see a very dark mirror when I look at everything he did, and would have done. Not of the Grimm Rider, not this time. But of who I could have been without the others. All that power and no one to care about, to give me a reason to choose something more important than reaching endlessly for more power. No Aenland to call me out when I go too far, or lie to his face, or choose a path that scares him because he knows it ends in self-destruction. No Nestian to…quite frankly not want to disappoint. I’m more afraid of doing something that disappoints Nestian than something that makes him angry. I know I can handle an angry bear in my face. I can’t handle his soft-spoken disappointment. And no Edeya, my fellow Irriseni, my fellow spellcaster. She was the one I felt I had so much in common with when we first started, my confidant when I didn’t trust Aenland and Nestian with my secrets, and look how much she’s changed. She’s learned to be decisive, but she’s also so kind, and so gentle. And…I respect that about her. I could never…would never…limit myself the way she does. Yet she’s decided to do what she feels is the right thing to do, unabashedly, regardless of any jokes we make about her unusual take on pacifism. And she has still found a way to be an amazing witch even with her self-imposed limitations. I think…she’s set a really good example for me.

And, of course, there’s Greta. I don’t think, even with the other three, anything would have changed without Greta giving me that first nudge in the right direction. Being honest with her back in Whitethrone right before we fought Logrivich was one of the hardest, most terrifying things I have ever done. And it was the best decision of my life.

I know Nestian believes Keisuke and I are fundamentally different, but I think he just had the good fortune to have seen me at my best instead of at my worst. Even early on, before I liked or trusted the others, I still knew we were in this together and that I needed to at least act within a range of what they’d consider decent to keep this alliance we’d agreed to in Baba Yaga’s name running smoothly. But I also know for a fact I killed at least a few people in our early fights that Nestian wanted to spare, just because I saw no point in showing mercy to people who might come back and cause problems later. I think I would make a different decision now—I would respect Nestian’s wishes and his logic more than I did back then. I am sure I would still point out that keeping enemies alive might cause us more trouble in the long run—we have to take everything into consideration—but if in this theoretical situation Nestian understood that potential consequence and still wanted to be merciful, I would at the very least do my best to spare them for his sake. Although at this point I think Edeya is the one more likely to be the first to suggest nonviolent means.

Nestian and Edeya went off to make lunch to lighten the mood a bit and give me some time to process things. Aenland lingered for a moment. We talked. He said he’d give me space if I needed it, but he was here for me. He called me his brother. I thanked him to sticking by me, even though I’d been a bit of an ass to him early on. He said he could easily say the same to me. But what’s family for? I agreed, clasping his hand.

Just what I need, to go from being an only child to having a younger brother who is also over a hundred years older than me.

Afterwards I retreated with Greta to our room. I just laid there with her for a long time, in comfortable quiet. After a while I talked to her about how I didn’t even know why I was so upset, because logically I knew Keisuke had been a terrible person who hurt Nestian and his family, and was honestly kind of awful to everyone else around me. We talked a little about how I felt he was like that because he hadn’t had the same fortune I had, to have people around him who loved him enough to stop him. Then Greta said something that set the wheels spinning in my head, about how if I really wanted to give him a second chance, there was always Baba Yaga’s wish. At first it seemed like an immediate dead end—the others wouldn’t be ok with me bringing Keisuke back after everything he’d done and everything that had happened. But Greta pointed something else out. What if he got a fresh start when he came back. Like I had.

And she was absolutely right. If the Grimm Rider had come back like I’d planned when I’d convinced Rasputin to kill me in Taldor with a contingency spell in place, then I wouldn’t be who I am today. The Grimm Rider wouldn’t have teamed up with the others—or if he did it wouldn’t have been as equals. It took me starting over and rediscovering my power alongside my friends to become more than I was.

…

…I’m going to be giving up a lot if I go through with this. If I don’t take this opportunity for Mythic Power, another one probably won’t ever show itself. Keisuke’s ritual was to shunt his soul through time and puppet another person’s body and use their mythic power, rather than having a mythic ascension of his own, so I learned more about how not to get Mythic Power from him than how to get it.

And if I don’t get mythic power, it’s unlikely that I will find a means of immortality. Lichdom was a bust, and whatever Keisuke had going on with that artifact can’t be replicated since we broke it.

There’s no guarantee it’ll even work. I might bring Keisuke back, try to do right by him, and he’ll still turn out as a manipulative murderous bastard…well, more of a manipulative murderous bastard than I am. Then what? If he just goes right back to hurting my friends again, do I have to put him down a second time? If I bring him back I’ll be shouldering the responsibility for what he does.

Ugh. Responsibility is not something I have ever gone looking for. That’s why I told Greta I was never going to try to take over the world or even a country, regardless of how much power I get. Once you have it, what then? You have to manage running a country (or every country), that’s what. Sounds awful.

…

It’s so obvious that one of these things has so many more guaranteed upsides than the other, and one of these things had so many more unknown variables and could just blow up in my face all over again. And for once it’s not Mythic Power that’s the iffy option.

So why in the Nine Hells am I actually considering this?

…

I know why.

I had this chance. I wouldn’t be who I am today without this chance. I wouldn’t have everything I have today without this chance. Sure—I’d have the Grimm Rider’s power still. But what else would I have? Maybe I’d have made an empty demiplane with nothing but undead to lord over, just like Keisuke. Hell, for all I know the Grimm Rider did have a demiplane I simply don’t remember that will remain abandoned forever now. But beyond that, I’d have had nothing. Power, a wish from Baba Yaga, and isolation—because like Baba Yaga said, there was only one person that Calio Caecos trusted. Himself. I have so much more than the Grimm Rider ever did—I had to lose everything to get it, but now I am so much more than I was before.

I want Keisuke to have that same chance. Even if he turns around and screws me over again…at least I could say I tried. At least I could say he actually had that chance, and if it goes wrong again this time it’s all on him.

…I’m going to want some more time to think this through. Not to talk myself out of it, per-se. More…because I’m emotional right now. I am feeling about a dozen things at once, and it’s hard for any one feeling to come to the forefront at any given moment. I feel a whirlwind of emotions and a hollow empty place at the same time. It’s…a lot. I’m not going to make such a big decision like this while I’m in this headspace. Better to wait out the storm. We probably still have…what, a few more days before we kill Queen Elvanna? That…won’t be enough time to get over it, but it should be enough time for me to get my head on straight enough to really think this decision through.

Speaking of wishes, I finally had an opportunity to tell Greta about Baba Yaga’s offer of a second wish—one that had to go to someone else. Obviously, Greta was my first choice from the moment our kindly grandmother told me it couldn’t be for myself. I think ‘whatever your heart desires’ is a pretty good gift. Maybe a little behind ‘a ring that protects against fire’. But what can I do? You don’t outdo the classics.

Afterwards we decided to go back to the dining hall to see what Nestian had made for everyone.

Unfortunately, this extremely long day was quite literally only just beginning (Greta told me not to look at the clock so I just know in my heart what time it was.) While I was having a delicious meal with my family after a fucking awful day, my emotional state finally approaching an approximation of stable after Greta and my talk, I got a sending. From A’pul’a, that weird mythic plant person we met in the sewers who has technically killed Illivor twice now.

They apparently forgot to tell us something important. We needed to go to the royal cemetery immediately. Because someone was trying to create a new Crone Queen. And they asked me specifically not to ruffle the feathers of their bird friend—because he’s a Pharasman.

Of-fucking-course he’d be a Pharasman. Because this day couldn’t get any worse.

[aimportantdragoncollector]

Pretty please backstory on the demon Todoroki family in "If You Meet Your Father, Kill Your Father."

Here comes the essay Part 2! I'm deliberately doing this one after the ask about backstory for Hisashi and Yoichi, because there's some overlapping worldbuilding.

Enji's father was the Demon Lord of Envy and an absolute monster. Lord Envy was one of the old demons who treated their children as tools to be used and discarded. The old demons had no need for heirs, being immortal. Thus, they murdered their children when they got too strong. Enji's siblings all died, and he fled to the human realms. He vowed revenge on his father.

Rei was a human princess and her dad arranged her marriage to Endeavor in exchange for protection for his kingdom. This put envy demon Endeavor fighting on the side of humans, and everyone feels weird about it.

Enji was desperate for strong kids to aid this goal. He married a human (Rei), because he had better odds at more children due to humans having a higher rate of fertility. Plus, he was surrounded by humans so he didn't have that many other options.

Remember how last essay I mentioned that the old demons would encourage their children to sin in their area of magic? Enji deliberately tried to make Dabi/Touya more envious as a child. Enji recognized early on that Touya was an envy protegee, but he pretended that nothing Touya did was ever good enough and he told Touya that each new child was born to replace him. This was a common tactic that old Envy Demons used with their children.

When Shouto was born, Enji made a big fuss about Shouto being the greatest envy demon ever even though (unlike in canon) there was no way to tell how talented Shouto would turn out when he was only a baby. Enji flaunted in Touya's face that his little brother would become the strongest. Then Enji caught Touya trying to strangle Shouto in the cradle. Enji had a "My God, what have I done?" moment. Enji remembered that although he wanted to create strong children to overthrow his father, he never wanted to become abusive like his father. So Enji tried to walk it back and teach Touya to love his siblings instead.

But it was too late. Touya was proud that he exhibited his strongest ever mark of envy while trying to kill Shouto. Touya couldn't understand why his father got angry instead of praising him, then tried to contradict every single lesson he ever taught. In the end, Touya decided that his father must have hated him and set him up for failure, changing the criteria for success every time Touya succeeded. Touya ran away from home straight into All for One's arms.

Side story: remember how in "The Sin of Greed" the original demon Yoichi cast a spell to change the nature of his magic to Generosity? This gave him the magical power he'd lacked his whole life, because he finally had a type of magic that suited his personality. This research would have been revolutionary. All demons would have been able to develop strong magic, so power would have become more widely dispersed. The people currently at the top of society didn't like that one bit. That's why Demon Yoichi got assassinated by a distant cousin. Before that, Hisashi's protection had kept other demons from killing Yoichi. But Yoichi's latest research into changing magic, combined with his research to remove demons need to eat souls, would have shaken up society too much to suit the people currently in power. They arranged for his death and destroyed all his research.

By the way, a little bit of Yoichi's research still survives. Yoichi scribbled some notes in the margins of an old notebook that belonged to Second. If Izuku can find it, then he could use the notes to recreate the research.

[lloveyouinsecret]

I know I only have one critical role friend on this app and that I’ve already texted her about this but some people on Twitter are making me think that I’m losing it and that I watched a completely different version of vox machina whenever they talk about vax and the raven queen. Like. Ugh. It’s going under a read more bc no one else cares but I also have to rant about it

Wasn’t the fact that his deal wasn’t a good idea established as he was making it? Are you not familiar with myths and folklore and Percy Jackson???? Do you not get how stories work or how actions can have consequences both good and bad???? Were you also not present when Matt explicitly said that resurrections were becoming too easy for them because of how high level and how rich they were??? And were you not there when it was explained that RQ isn’t a fan of litches and necromancers?? I love Vax and VM as much as the next person but death IS part of the natural order of things even for main characters so the fact that they could keep coming back from the dead without anything really happening was getting a bit ridiculous by the time Vax died with the kraken and further still with Delilah. Of course the goddess of fate, a goddess who was once mortal and knows what death actual means, the goddess of the transition between life and death, a goddess who hates those that live past when they’re supposed to, is gonna be keen to get her champion back idk what to tell you. He died more than anyone had every died in the campaign when he got disintegrated! You can’t come back from that unless someone has 25,000gp and a ninth level spell slot!

I’m not super surprised bc the RQ has become a very negative character for basically everyone I’ve come across for the sole reasons that she was apparently really mean and unfair to Vax boo hoo! Yeah bitch! She’s a god! I don’t know what you were expecting! I also think that the fact that the cast (Laura and Mariah especially but also Liam) not liking her personally plays a roll as does the fact that they all treat her as if she’s a Bad God and not a god who they were told explicitly by the dm multiple times was seen as scary only sometimes but usually as a comforting figure. She’s even the god of death. It’s sort of part of her domain but Matt straight up told everyone she’s not the god of death. Her thing is the transition between the worlds. Anyway if anyone would like to explain why so many people seem to differ from me on this subject I truly would love to know because I just don’t get it.

[factorialsfandoms]

Bad Things Happen Bingo is such good angst and that's why I'd like to request something LU with the prompt "You Said You Would Let Them Go". I think this might be the only one I request tho, cuz I'd be way too tempted to suggest other prompts too.

I have combined it with captivity! As a little treat. Hopefully this is fine. I tried from the other PoV, and... my brain died. Not that it didn't die with this, too, but it was happier with it! Sorry this took a bit, longfic is annoying even if these are more fun.

How long had they been here now, sat in this tank? It had been around noon when the trio had been taken; Wind and Legend had stayed with Twilight, still recovering from the wounds inflicted upon him by Dark Link, while the rest of the group went to explore the area. One moment they had been having lunch together, the next... Twilight was ashamed to say that whatever spell had been cast had immediately knocked him out; Legend had obviously lasted the longest of the three, with so many travels and resistances under his belt, but he had no idea how long either had lasted.

Legend long enough they had resorted to physical means of making him still, Wind not quite that long.

Their captor, a sorcerer dressed every bit his part, was sat on a dais nearby, pocket watch in hand. He did not bother to address his captives, but he was clearly waiting for... Something.

Meanwhile, Twilight had already tried everything he could think of to escape - and failed in every way. It would be embarrassing if the helplessness - again - and failure to protect his own - /again/ - were not so overwhelming.

Beside Twilight, Wind was wriggling where he sat; while he had managed to slip the rope on his hands, without lockpicks he could do nothing for the chains on his feet. Twilight knew that to be true, had seen him tear his fingers bloody trying to manipulate the locks without them - and even then, he had still managed to untie everyone else's hands.

Even Legend's, motionless but for shallow breathing and blood sluggishly pooling by his head though he was.

Twilight desperately wanted to check on him, but the chain around his ankle did not stretch so far. He had tried hacking at the glass, but with his hands alone, what could he do? And so instead he had talked Wind through turning the veteran onto his side. He was bleeding slowly enough that blood loss was not an immediate concern, but it made a garish stain across the bottom of the glass.

If they survived this, Twilight thought as he tore up his shirt to bind Wind's hands, if they survived this, they were never trusting strange old ladies promising the area was safe ever again.

But with no knowledge of if that would work, and with Legend too far across the cell for his manacles to reach, Twilight simply pulled Wind against his side, holding him close.

Two big eyes looked up at him, and Twilight was reminded of the children from the village; he squeezed the boy’s shoulder, trying to give a reassuring grin.

“We’ll be fine,” he promised. “I’ve gotten out of a cell like this before, and even if I can’t work it out the others will be here soon.”

“I’m not worried about that,” Wind’s eyes glanced to Legend; he clearly was. “I just want my stuff back.”

Twilight let him save face, patting his shoulder twice before slipping into a gentler hold.

From outside of the cell, their captor was watching them. The scars under Twilight's chainmail shifted uncomfortably; when he squeezed Wind's shoulder this time, it was more to try tease his own pain.

The sailor's fingers tightened on Twilight's, leaving his knuckles white.

"Only an hour left," the sorcerer grinned at them. "And then we'll see just how much you mean to him."

"They'll come for us," Twilight took the role of Collin, promising things that only faith could believe in. "I promise, the Old Man won't leave us hear to die."

"That's what I'm afraid of," Wind muttered back. "He'll do something stupid."

Fearing much the same, Twilight could not exactly blame him.

---

As time marched ever onwards, Legend occasionally stirred, but never woke. While Twilight was not a healer himself, he knew that with head wounds... Legend needed a doctor hours ago, and every passing minute made it only more desperate. At least he was stirring - some response was always more hopeful than none at all.

It had certainly been hours, now, though Twilight knew not how many; their captor was starting to get antsy, tapping the pocket watch.

Eventually, the ornate doors opened.

In stepped Time - and Twilight really hoped that he had hidden his sword in his bag, because it was certainly not being carried.

“You finally came,” their captor grinned.

With a snap of his fingers, a multitude of people and monsters - all in robes - crawled out of the woodwork. They gathered about on the edges, bows and arrows aimed at Time.

“I did,” Time seemed calm, but for the glance he threw the way of the trio. “Let them go, now; they have nothing to do with any of this.”

Their captor's grin faltered only for a moment, "let them go? And why would I do that?"

"Because I came alone, as promised," Time replied. "That was the deal."

"Hmm..."

"You said you would let them go," Time's voice had turned a touch desperate.

"I lied."

At Time's flinch, Twilight knew that this would be the end. Nobody else was coming; Time had not even said where he was headed, most likely. It could well be morning before anyone realised he was gone, especially searching for the rest of them that they likely were.

It was hours they did not have; Time lunged for the sorcerer, who stepped on a switch.

High, high above, water began to pour into the tank. In a scramble Wind pulled Legend from lying on the floor to being sat against the side of the tank, head raised higher even as he slumped on Wind’s shoulder. Large as the tank was it would still take a while to fill, 

Panic flickered over Time’s face - not a diversion, then - and the old man reached for his bag. From it, he drew a mask - his own face, maybe a little younger, with white eyes and white hair and the red and blue tattoos burning bright.

Their captor laughed, “what can a mask even do to me? Oh child lost in time, I will have your power for my own.”

“Boys,” Time’s words were calm - unnaturally so. “As soon as the glass breaks, I need you to run.”

Twilight wanted to object, he really did. But then he looked at Wind’s hands, bleeding through the rags, and where Legend lay, flinching from sudden pain but others still unresponsive.

He had to get the two of them to help first. Help, which meant the others - if Time was here already they had to be close-ish - and the others meant coming back for Time.

“I’ll come back for you,” Twilight promised.

Time did not even look at him as he pressed the mask to his face.

The room shook with Time’s agonised screams, the pitch shifting as his body twisted and transformed. Hearing the sound of the glass cracking, Twilight threw himself under the waterline - just in time, as the giant fish tank shattered. Glass exploded around the room, covering everything in shards.

Embedding themselves in people, too; Wind had somehow managed to cover Legend and protect himself from shrapnel at the same time, though both were now lying in the broken glass having fallen with the force.

Twilight did not look up until Legend was safely in his grasp.

When he did... The screams did not belong to Time any more.

They belonged to their captors, and to a white-haired, blank eyed /god/ that radiated fury stood in the place Time had been moments before.

The god stopped screaming and began to growl.

A growl that sounded very much like an order to /run/.

[cookies-over-yonder]

disconnected memory

Willy's forearm disintegrates into nothingness, and the effect slowly travels up to his shoulder.

Flesh shifts in colour to a dark shade of red, before crumbling into fine bits of dust that vanish into thin air.

And whatever happens to Willy… happens to Cass.

⋆ or ⋆

The spell Scary casts on Willy goes awry, and Taylor is the one who pays the price

this is the first fic for my new au: My Mom DIED... and came back as a DEMON!? a.k.a. demon!cass au!!!

shout out to @llumimoon for helping me come up with the summary and also for being my brainstorm buddy for this au (and for being amazing in general🥰💖)

ao3

1 | 2

2. fear

⭒

The tension is so thick in the catbus, Nicky could slice it with his sword.

Taylor is sitting sandwiched between Nicky and Link. He's shaking, and there's a faraway look on his face. Every time Link has said anything to him, he's neither moved nor spoken.

Nicky knows better than to even try.

Taylor is out of it, and if Nicky's being completely honest with himself, everything is kind of fuzzy for him, too.

Before Nicky knows it, he and Link are helping Taylor out of the bus because the kid still can't stand up straight.

And now, here they stand at the front door of the Swift household.

Link asks Taylor for his keys, and a second later, he fishes them out of Taylor's backpack himself.

As Link slips the key in and unlocks the door, Nicky notices that his hands have a slight tremble to them.

As soon as the door is open, Nicky's stomach drops.

This was a bad idea.

This was a bad idea, because Cassandra's laptop is open on the coffee table.

This was a bad idea, because her wedding ring is on the couch cushion.

This was a bad idea, because once they walk in, Taylor is screaming.

And sobbing.

Nick Close never screamed, and Nick Close never cried.

" Taylor! " Link calls.

He's running, despite his unsteady feet, he's running into every room. Opening and shutting doors so fast they can barely follow. This is a gigantic house.

He trips on the first step up to the second floor and yelps. Nicky and Link run over and help him up. Nicky picks him up this time, and holds him tightly, because he's keen on escaping his grasp to continue running around this house.

"What is it?" Link says, and it's at that point that Nicky realizes Taylor has been muttering something.

"Where is she?" he asks.

Link and Nicky exchange a wide-eyed glance.

"We need to—" he tries once more to squirm his way out of Nicky's grasp before settling for shouting. "Put me down! We need to find her! "

Nicky sighs lightly. "Taylor, I… I don't thi—"

"Just fucking let me keep looking!" Taylor yells, and Nicky thinks he can see his eyes glowing for a second as he glares daggers, and he feels hotter than before.

Link puts up his hands in a placating motion.

"Taylor—"

" What , Link!?" Taylor snaps.

Nicky hears Link's breath catch, and his eyes go wide. "Uh…"

"Okay, okay, we can check the other rooms slowly ," Nicky starts up the steps with Taylor in his arm. Link walks beside him, silent.

Once they're at the stop of the staircase, Taylor squirms again. "Can you put me down now?" he asks, and all the fervor he had a moment ago is diminished.

Link hands Taylor his cane—Nicky hadn't even noticed until now that he'd been holding onto it this whole time.

When Taylor's feet touch the floor, his legs wobble and he collapses against Link almost immediately.

Taylor sucks in a breath through his teeth and the hyperventilating starts up again.

"Hey, hey, hey, okay, you're okay, Taylor, you're okay" Link hushes him with a sort of half-hug while holding him steady.

Link is good with soothing words. The way he says them, the tone of his voice, his actions, his expression, it all looks so right.

Nicky has no idea how to do that.

Did he learn it from Grant?

Come to think of it, back when they were still… talking—back before the world got fucked up, Nicky remembers that while he mostly felt very little, Grant would sort of… flip-flop. It was concerning, to say the least. There would be times when the light was lost from his eyes and his words had no soul to them, and other times when Nicky would see him barely keeping his breaths steady and most of the time, failing to.

Maybe it does… make sense for Link to somewhat know how to handle something like this.

"How're your pain levels?" Link asks so softly Nicky almost doesn't hear it over his own racing thoughts.

"Really bad," Taylor mumbles.

"Okay, that's okay, maybe you should let your dad keep carrying you then, right?"

Taylor nods, so Nicky picks him up again, and he calms down the tiniest bit.

Taylor is insistent on seeing the inside of every single room himself, so Link stays close as they peek through each door and Taylor scans each room.

The last place to check is Taylor's bedroom.

Link slowly opens the door, and again, Nicky notices the way his hand shakes.

Once the door opens, Taylor squeaks. It sounds like a squeak. It's some high noise from the back of his throat.

Then he lets out a breath.

And his voice is so small when he speaks.

"I thought…"

I saw her , Nicky knows. Nicky knows all too well.

He knows, and he holds Taylor closer.

"We—we should check downstairs one more… one more…"

"Taylor, I'm sorry, she's not here," Nicky steps into Taylor's bedroom, and he can feel Taylor tense up.

"No—I—I can't… I can't…" his breathing gets fast again, and Nicky is quick to take him back out of the room.

"Okay, you're okay," Nicky says, and he takes Taylor back down the steps. Taylor looks too out of it to notice, so Nicky seizes this opportunity to shut Cass's laptop with his foot, and kick the ring off the couch and as close to the trash can as possible. He'll take care of it later.

Taylor's hands are wet and clammy holding onto the back of Nicky's neck. His mouth is agape, his eyes are wide with a faraway gaze, and his face is red and stained with tears. His breathing is still staggered, and Nicky can feel his whole body trembling violently.

This environment is probably doing more harm than good.

"I have a, uh, I have an idea," Link says, and his voice is so small it's barely audible.

And before Nicky knows it, there they are, at the Oak-Swallows-Garcia household…

…for a sleepover.

⋆

[pitynostars]

this is baseless speculation as ive done the bare minimum deep thinking on potd but you mentioned the master’s bitterness because of ttc when talking about the forced regen and that has me thinking a little bit like. i haven’t made real sense of what happened but maybe him becoming her stems directly from that bitterness and the knowledge that there is a piece of the doctor in every time lord. if the master is the doctor then he’s the special one, not her. in s12 he says something like ‘you went around acting like you were special and now i know you really are’ and so mayhaps the forced regen can maybe be seen as him wanting to level the playing field? take her down from the pedestal he’s put her on bc of ttc or allow him to get up there too. the doctor made the time lords but now the master is the doctor and he’s making his own bigger army of special cybermen (? is that what he was doing? i maybe didnt pay enough attention) it’s the whole ‘we’re not so different, you and i’ thing. he’s just trying to make them equals again and it’s such a big deal for him that if he has to kill her to achieve his goals then so be it. maybe. they still coulda fleshed it out a bit more (that’s an understatement)

unrelated but man it’s so frustrating to have to come up with all these what ifs for intention like if it had been written well then we’d know! it feels like an attempt at making up for how much things were spelled out in s11 like a 180° turn from infodumping to not even having the time or care to rationalize the stuff that happens. it’s hilarious that ive seen so much more speculation about the things that happened and were supposedly resolved IN the episode than about the (literal) cliffhanger. good riddance.

him becoming her stems directly from that bitterness and the knowledge that there is a piece of the doctor in every time lord. if the master is the doctor then he’s the special one, not her.

yeah thats how i'm reading it atm. there's also this deep self hatred w Dhawan master so i think part of it is supposed to be that too, especially with the emphasis of the "i erased you doctor. don't let me go back to being me" line as it's being reversed (+ dhawan emphasised this self hatred in his interviews)

"it feels like an attempt at making up for how much things were spelled out in s11 like a 180° turn from infodumping to not even having the time or care to rationalize the stuff that happens."

this has been on my mind a lot actually. i dont think it HAS been a 180 but i think its symptoms of the eps/place in the era.

we still get mountains and mountains of unnecessary exposition, but it's all about just. what's happening in the plot. we dont get much insight into whats motivating the characters (or if we do, it's heavy handed exposition like dan's "oh i almost died so i want to leave" which is simple and understandable) but say 13, the master, yaz i'm left just like.... why'd any of them do any of that??? unless you sit there compiling notes about one off lines the characters had in the past + what the cast and crew have said they were TRYING to do.

compared to s11 i think it's just become more noticable because back in the beginning they were still building the characters (lol) + there was less going on plot wise for them to react to in ways that felt in or out of character. but at this point the END of the era we should KNOW these characters well enough to understand why they're doing xyz. but say like, yaz's reason for leaving the tardis is so difficult to understand because it just sort of. happens. i think a lot of that can be built on the back of weak characterisation before, but as i've argued already in the case of yaz i feel her exit goes completely AGAINST her defining characteristics and "Doctorification" arc as i understand them.

i feel the same with 13. her defining character has always been about her being "socially awkward" and closed off, an arc which like. in any other situation the logical satisfying growth and resolution is "the doctor opens up to her friends". but no instead it's like. don't bother making an effort actually. it's fine to be an ass and just pass it off half heartedly as social awkwardness.

they all jsut feel so static and one note, but equally this characterisation is sometimes just ignored when its convenient for the plot or another piece of characterisation (e.g., i'd say one of yaz's defining characteristics in the beginning is she's quite stubborn... but not really to the doctor, because she's been so beaten down after being snapped at/told off every time she dares ask the doctor something (which then i guess is supposed to tie into her... loving the dr ???))

again like the logical conclusion to yaz's arc mirrors something like Clara or Martha's. either she needs to realise the Doctor not returning her feelings (or, if you think she DOES return them like, at least not being willing to act on them) hurts too much and leaves for her own adventures, or they have a tragic thing where yaz strives too hard to show herself like. worthy or whatever and crashes and burns. instead she just... sort of walks off? for no apparent reason??

of course, that's not to say that those arcs HAD to finish in those ways, but DO SOMETHING with them. why bring them up as character flaws/traits if they're not going to go on a journey alongside the plot and character??? everyone just feels so static. i could watch TWWFTE and TPOTD back to back and i'd be like "oh that Doctor had a short run"

off from character, but i also think the "over exposition" in s11 vs say flux and that in s11 the plots were simpler, and so the exposition was just repeating things you already knew/had seen so it was like beating a dead horse with The Point, whereas in this and flux, there's so much going on that it's like a new point every second. "paintings are stolen. the master is rasputin. oh cyberman planet. oh there's daleks in volcanoes. the master is doing something funky with regeneration and the doctor. ... wait the doctor is regenerating.... now they're dhawan?? ... wait no but it's just the master. but then why does the tardis let him in ?? so it's the doctor?? then why are they acting like that it must be they've merged. why is tegan climbing down a shaft. oh they solve it by... making all volcanoes on earth metal now??? that seems a very very bad idea. that kid from the beginning i forgot about, the master can apparently control it and kills the doctor w it." it's just wham wham wham new point about something completely different that if you're just trying to watch it you blink and miss like 3 different plot points. (or maybe thats my undiagnosed potential adhd unable to keep up lmao)

it’s hilarious that ive seen so much more speculation about the things that happened and were supposedly resolved IN the episode than about the (literal) cliffhanger.

LMAO literally i've spent (checks calendar) 3 days just trying to make sense of the plot and character choices chibnall era has been EXHAUSTING