#by destiny sometimes seems to be rolling in her grave

[probablyaseamonster]

My paranoid ass, thinking I'm gonna get murdered at any time any time I go outside but even sometimes within the house, getting back into TMA because "nooo, it won't affect me" *pointedly doesn't listen to s1 episode 3 on rebinges*

Goes to the bathroom at 1 AM (the night is the only time I'm actively safe that's my excuse), housemate left the window open (not such an issue now that it's spring), *fucking distorted noise that seems logically to be emanating from a car but is NOT A FUCKING CAR SOUND IN ANY SETTING and also sounds stupidly fictional like a common SFX to boot*

"Ah, so this is when I get killed. They gonna frame this as a suicide aren't they. And goddamnit my hair is doing the anime mom thing I explicitly do Not want to be the fridged trope but I guess my protests were always ignored. I wonder if I have time to write up a will or if they're coming any second"

And being CHILL about that shit-?

[shiroi---kumo]

@lunaferrous || [[ X ]]

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆ What words do ghosts have to say in the face of men? Dead men tell no tales and he would be no different. It was an off the cuff comment but with the way the night had been progressing, it simply came to mind and slips from his lips before he had a moment to pull it back into the cage that stored his secrets deep within his lungs.

Was he speaking for himself or for someone else and it's funny that she puts it that way because he almost doesn't know. The boy in the back of his mind was too naive to understand what was being done to him and the beasts that crawled from his corpse were only left to survive in his wake. A child would know when to run, she says.

A child would know when to run from pain, she claims but then he wonders if it is she this time that does not understand exactly what is being said. A child cannot know they are drinking poison if it is the most familiar taste on their tongue. It could become the same as the taste of sugar if one were taught to consume it enough.

There was a difference between experiencing pain and being taught it. What of the child that is raised believing that it is their very destiny to die? What of the child that is told that the reason they were born is to die for the sake others? What then?

They know no other path. The only path they know is pain. So how can one run if it is the sensation prickling the most often on their skin? To believe that one would know when to run even when they are unable to do is both naive and foolish. To base the truth of the world in only one's own experiences and not think of the others around them shows the height of the selfishness a life could reach but really who wouldn't want to be able to live in that kind of ignorance?

So he finds himself musing on her words in the prickling cold. The wind like a kiss against skin that is hardly phased by such a poor showing of the truth of winter's force. Misterican winters were many many degrees colder than this world could ever seem to reach.

The icy bite of the wind is no worse than the feeling of lashes against his back and the memory fills his mind for a moment as he lingers next to this woman like a ghost blending into the dark of the setting sun. How fitting that tonight would be a moonless one where the light has been laid to rest, the horizon in that moment turning into nothing more than a temporary grave.

He knew all about them. Temporary graves. Just like he knew what it felt like to drag his body up from within them in order to resume his existence even post-mortem. That's all he was now. Was there a single part of him that still lived? Sometimes he thinks that even the sound of his own heart beating is a cruel trick that is just a result of his ever slipping sanity.

So his head tips to the side as he lets her words roll around in his mind, jade eyes looking just to his side as lightless as the night's sky above their heads.

"I think you are giving the child too much credit. It is not the child's job to run. It's the adult's job to have never harmed them in the first place. If the first thing one tastes is poison they will never know the infection has taken root from the start."

[ambiguouspuzuma]

Small destinies

Gretchen had never felt the call to adventure. Wanderlust was a privilege, or so she’d always felt - it seemed that only the rested felt restless, as a twitching of their well-heeled toes, tired of the comfort of their fluffy slippers and tufted footstools. It was an affliction specific to the sort of person who had no other troubles in the world, and felt they might as well go and look for some. Those precious, polished rolling stones who suffered from the luxury of boredom.

That was a privilege Gretchen had never known. Her life had always felt like a daring adventure, in the worst possible way: she'd survived a string of trials and tribulations, troubles and tragedies, one after another, and sometimes coiled together in a convoluted knot. She'd never stood still, never caught her breath - and certainly never felt the need to travel the globe, when her whole world seemed continually shifting beneath her worn-out feet.

When she dreamt of an escape, it was a picture of her home, any one of the many she'd held over the years. Some she had lost to fire, or poverty; others to heartbreak, or simple human cruelty. She had always been cursed to live in interesting times. It had been a desperate existence, and she'd likewise flitted from job to job - finding some degree of stability only at a Regime checkpoint, where the soul-crushing work best suited souls already crushed.

"You are the chosen one," the fortune read. "You will take it easy tomorrow. Have a break. Put your feet up."

Gretchen had heard about prophecies. Guards were ordered to destroy them on sight, lest they find their way to another hero, who might start having ideas of revolution. They didn't actually come true, the Regime had found, if you didn't let them. Leave your citizens in despair, iron out all traces of their hope, and even their faith in fate could be broken. Without that belief, even divine will rang hollow. A rigged game was nothing if you lacked the strength to play the dice.

The Regime saw destiny as just another opponent, a shadowy menace who issued their instructions to civilian pawns, a rabble-rouser who hung banners in their minds, trying to stir up trouble, needing to be censored like the rest. Gretchen had been trained to spot the signs: the smoking lilac letters, the confident hand, the aura of inevitability that they carried in their wake. She'd just never expected to find them spelling out her name.

She wasn't chosen one material, that much she knew for sure: the people she was trained to stop were natural born leaders, bursting with charisma and righteous purpose, buoyed by the certainty that fate was on their side. She knew the switch she had to throw, the code words to call it, to have the guards drag them away. They had the Regime on their side: dark cells, rigged courts, unmarked graves. There was far more certainty there.

None of them had made it through, the heroes of the revolution. No matter how many times they span that wheel, a spectral finger on the scales, the house always won in the end. Fate could only play with pieces, and Regime officials were incorruptible - given that they were already corrupted, with all the wealth and power they could desire. One or two could be coaxed to eliminate their rivals, but from there just took their place, and proved to be as bad or worse.

Ministers might come and go, but the Regime was immortal: its roots forced deep into its subjects' minds, unable to conceive of life without it. It endured, much as destiny tried to chip away at its current façade, and most did not even cave to that small victory: they recognised fate as the greatest challenger to the Regime, a threat to everything they'd build, and were not inclined to listen when it tried to call. Prophecies arrived as the entreaties of a foreign government, and were just as easily dismissed.

Then there were the people. Broken, downtrodden heroes, raised up by the touch of destiny, but put down by the apparatus of the state. Fate could only work with the pieces on the board, and they started too many spaces behind. They had been born into a pit, a plot hole so deep that even their author couldn't write them out. No amount of narrative could free a man in chains - unless his gaoler also chose to change her part.

Gretchen would be a different sort of chosen one. Perhaps, in the vast mechanisms of fate, there had been a realisation that this wasn't working. It had spoken to great leaders of men, but they were nothing to an open door ahead of them; arrayed against an impenetrable fortress, all the siege engines in the world could not achieve what one guard could with a small silver key. Men could never triumph over the machinery of state - but the machine could falter.

It began searching for a spanner in those works: adjudging prospects not for their strength, but for their weakness. Gretchen fit the role exactly. Just as those who'd been destined to lead had been shaped as heroes from their early life, their valiant courage formed through the right exposure to hardship and kindness, the finds of fate had long since buffeted her into submission: enough to obey the Regime without question, but enough to do what fate commanded too. She didn't have the strength left to say no.

When the prophecy finally arrived, it came not as a wake-up call, but as a lullaby. A call to the arms that cradled; an option to work from home. Gretchen was the chosen one, but she was chosen to rest: too many had been destined to command revolutions, but there were smaller destinies, subtle fortunes, quiet ends. She was fated not to make war, but to find peace. Even if she could have resisted, she wouldn't have wanted to. This was her call from adventure, and she'd been waiting for it her entire life.

The rivers of fate only ran towards the sea, a current of progress that pushed inexorably on towards freedom, but the Regime had built a dam: with all their checkpoints and their misery, they had clogged the course and sapped at its momentum, a sea wall that stood watertight against the tides. Except for her. Gretchen would leave a gap in their defence, sleeping on the job, and the others could come coursing through.

That would be that. There would be revolutionaries primed, having received a call of their own - for popular movements required not only one smiled on by fate, but a chosen many - but Gretchen would have made the difference from the rallies of the past. Others would stand up to their oppressors, but she could sit down and take the pressure off, a stay-at-home hero, having been far more broken herself. Fortune had always favoured the brave. Now it was time to give the fearful a try.

[libidomechanica]

“Dear pig, are you hold Thee”

A limerick sequence

               1

When my God, nor cry’d: and it will side. Or currants had not in thy willing    souls! Dear pig, are you hold    Thee! So I went angel whom Iron doores do witness tell.

               2

I found her een her pearls pale and you have, has growin’ yet. Ah then adieu!    For I have comes the flocks,    and they are, and manna dew; and should love bear the pas—the cops.

               3

Those delight, continues cold. Hath the house, four naive ties? With will soon had,    as the rest. A fountain    smoking voice I see things as were gnawed away in a column.

               4

Each virtue answer ere his art my haruest bars the stars blaze, come not as    I roll, suck my freshness    divine his may hold in thine eye or ears for my heart, the faith!

               5

Then holding to this use I lose for the story attests that which he known    into Reasons audite    I do. Which service and both bare with one benefit of heart.

               6

It will more free, all sleeps in his beads to pay; and bonfires of diamonds    fine, her with other. Thou    dove-like flower to the roes, and whistle, whether whisper’d, fly!

               7

Since men are not rose fast as this is thy noble fire we had a husband,    after and sea. Of    invocation was surprising into caves, with many I knew.

               8

I country can breath say, with all hold sword upon desire, talking in    the milder intermingly    family history, the break? The lang days: and if I euer lash!

               9

Expired winds have much; a gift prevail the faint colonies enter and all    things. A human tenant    of the Thirty-three of counsel me, O: may ill be forgiv’n.

               10

An’ has no disturbed from the was strongest said with thy beauties blot; let him    grace, and second come hither,    O fault, who live. That thou God of us that shall I say?

               11

And he feebly glared the fair from a stagnant tide till I burn. Sparkle lang    day I said with them all    of flies, let not you are drawes to nerve it; and stricture her.

               12

Only give you felt close heart, and her heard about. Last human, must prized among    men, puzzled Faith with    me nature imitate; and to hont? Stroke ye to side the Braine.

               13

Memory, while thy Hand: withdraw Thee just as fine; but, swoll’n with the antique,    thou would’st they break? To kiss    upon they walk’d; if he had no wild flower with final rest!

               14

To inspires; and of invocation. I will last indecency; but    Destiny and grew pale: heav’nly-    pensive her souls shall they’re barren of charms made love: question.

               15

Keeps register, my selfe this. That crown of charms, and damning them. On Sunday    more—pulling flare under    my heart have parting stars or late action, pulse their head had thee.

               16

And is my loved as on the will acquaint— strangle a lithe board to marrying,    clamour and far, I    am happy, honest face at night. And unjoin, be love: quest.

               17

Any guest, clips strength seem strong as you might next morning Thoughts black as a seal    of sleepe, and comfort.    Theory afterglow as the ceiling. The winter child at me!

               18

Who whiff it. I sweare by rage possessions, too, the roes, and there; or she, in    sickly too? Of soldier    told me as Divine cages for the palm tree, the roses fly!

               19

Have had he knew that I was certainment pour from which makes him called heav’n I    love her; and sentiment;    which made thy hand catch. And best of lost as eager thought in thee.

               20

And whisper’d, fly! Men and bite back in the little time, I come, thou art may    return, join and grave man    I lose those tears or glowing? On which how them through to master.

               21

Shorn, weak race of false world was gone; Within the deeper. Where did giue; they list    the chilliest from a    select and denied its cruel coxcomb, in his Supremacy.

               22

To teach tears mix’d Gothic Babel of a million. Catch not look appeared the    maps the snow, as whence with    dew, and Fashion, were to be, and the lips and the shoes. And you.

               23

Love approach’d my whimsies; but I found there: o keeper was low, and purple    blossomed Muses’ love you,    Love. The next generous, resume, thou presence gies to bee.

               24

The apples: for I will very sun than mine. Get no more than Nanie, O. Sometimes    careful was but once    gone, to the forest of the top, he is so brimful of dawn.

               25

Unequal young, because to mute and pale and Mrs. Where thou art forget    that wasn’t a disaster.    That appear be in a vision of Marlborough’s martial feasts.

               26

Arsenic, arsenic, arsenic, arsenic, arsenic, arsenic,    arsenic, such are not    revere: most suspense from my soul may take. The vales and a leg.

               27

Tis the cottage down she stars or glowing echoes broke up and bright have parted.    When I thy plane,    imagining tongue that I did not touch’d, but her in Florida.

               28

Like a basketball. So clear prime forest; for their ruffled locks where be none    other mind;—’God save them,    from human heart droop there, entered an old tale Arabian.

               29

Rife with should fain him at a trice: what in the balloons rest: if at moral    taught my woe? Archimedes    said, ’twas not an early tread, and the grave! Every day, wretch!

               30

Your visions private affairs appear where I dream of deathly ache; till then?    Hart rouse: such I might’st him    in thee. Or papers echoes— like a mere mode of nation sounde.

               31

The watch, and Baskets of frankincense. Many a snake, knowledge, and press my    love, I lose that it simple    trees and pride, he laid, or wander story I am old?

               32

To change maladies a strange rest. My beloved’s, and sighed, but that is this    the left behind yonder    his desired, a maze of amendment, this is strong. I wound?

               33

The golden urn. An old old woman’s voice I see the view, repentant sky,    while the scanty strings, queens,    and both together. The runaway boy when t was a chime.

               34

Who lived presence to the golden dreamed of champagne? He laid on train but took    my staff stood at any    thine their days about on the session spreads around a strange route.

               35

Invincible sport, and wide, I call our childe to speak out. When I speak plains    of Dura, reaping all    things which flag, with apparel me relief; ah, more I return.

               36

That dawn that I did many a short- legged of thys stounding the window, half    a hardened lava. In    all Minds beside. For the turn around him not of Abelard!

               37

And forest wyde, without shadows flee away, the love you deeply by ourself    known. Assist me, Heav’n    I lose expressive nuptial song and grew like dust we parted.

               38

Kind to every same, counting bird thin, those rose on my beauties yet unborn.    But I know; so never    was melted care of marble Attic. It is fidelity.

               39

At the waves, and gay, living Love of our bed will ye. This wat’ry floor to    and flits the wood a Piggy,    I will not beautiful pea greens I picked my very night?

               40

There was welcome away, where all the grosser sense enough, the Braine. Hand doors,    taking within her breathing    as the hopes first, and cinnamon, without these ruined walls!

               41

At a presence, whilst I stay; sad proof display’d. Looked around and always    premising soul love you beckon    from another meet but if one to shift, my spouse Nancy.

               42

I love you get no motion of the nights, rooks, on whose grace was I in his    toil, and gone; and pastures    to give me thy mouths should this westerns as one. You walk with me.

               43

In gazing on dinner; and Lord Henry also there he use or seem but    a license doth not breast.    Also my limbs their churl, make som pleas’d to shift the world’s great cruel.

[pastelsandpining]

Whumptober Day 16

on a need to know basis

recovery | scars | aftermath

forget me not - part 2

part 1

warnings: survivor’s guilt, it’s just a lot of hurt and comfort, really

--------------------

Link did not know how much time had passed since he stormed Hyrule Castle in a fit of blind courage and vanquished the scourge, the plague that’d haunted the kingdom for longer than anyone could even remember. It was easy to keep track of time before, when the moon would turn red and drench the sky with blood, raising monsters once defeated from their graves, starting the cycle over and over again. He hadn’t seen the blood moon since, though he supposed that’s not something that would really stick around when the influence driving it was gone. 

He did not know how long Princess Zelda had been living with him in his little house beyond the bridge. He offered her residence because she had nowhere to go, but the explanation would never be just as simple as that. People hailed him as a hero, or at least, the descendant of one. They turned to him and asked that he help them, that he take care of whatever problem was causing them too much strife, and he was more than happy to do it. Aiding people so that they might move forwards in their life was one of his favorite things to do. Maybe that was why he’d taken the princess into his home so openly. She felt vaguely familiar to him in the same way that certain places in Hyrule did, though he used to chalk it up to the way her voice, her presence, helped him through his quest. Or was it more appropriate to refer to it as his destiny? He knew they’d worked together once, that they were maybe even friends, but it was hard to discern stories from the truth when he could remember so little.

It was the guilt that made him offer so much to her, because he didn’t know how else he could make it up to her. Zelda always looked so distant, so sad, as if there was something following her that she couldn’t get away from. Link did not need a full ensemble of his memories to know that she was thinking about them and the Hyrule they’d shared over a century ago. Sometimes, he felt like he was walking on eggshells. Things would seem smooth, and then he would say or do something that would disrupt their natural flow, throw Zelda back into whatever dark thoughts kept her awake at night. He could hear her sometimes, whether it be her pen scratching quietly into her journal or her sniffles that told him she wasn’t sleeping well, though things were no easier for him that he was awake to notice it.

Link did not know how he was supposed to act around the princess. Many people over the years had referred to him as stoic, stone-faced, steady and sure, but as comfortable as he wanted her to be, as familiar to her as he wanted to make himself, he could not put himself back in the shoes of the silent knight. It was hard, trying to keep a straight face when the village children called out to him, or when a neighbor offered them a roll of bread, or when one of the many friends he’d made along the way came to visit. It was hard to put himself back into that box. He’d done and seen so much, and he felt… guilty for having done so without her. 

Even now, when the sun was shining and the breeze fluttered by to ruffle their hair, Zelda looked sad. Link set the bucket of water he’d brought to the horses in their small stable down with a frown. She was sitting at the top of the little ramp, her legs pulled to her chest, watching the clouds pass by. She just looked so...alone. 

“Hey,” he said as he walked her way, slipping his hands into his pockets. She looked at him, tilting her head. That was as good of a response as any. “I was– Um, do you want to bake something with me..? It’s getting a little late and, well, if we want dessert, we should start now. That way it’s done in time for us to have after dinner.”

It wasn’t the entire truth, but it was an excuse to talk to her and spend time with her that didn’t rely solely on existing in the same house. They would be doing something together, something that could hopefully raise her spirits.

“What do you have in mind?” she asked, but there was no hint of excitement to her voice that he would’ve wanted. He was approaching thin ice again, so he treaded carefully.

“Do you have a favorite?” He knew she did. Someone said it once, though he couldn’t remember who or where. It stuck in his brain like glue ever since, maybe because he wanted to hold on to something he knew was important to her. The way her face seemed to fall a little at the question was enough to make him stumble over his words when he replied, “I mean– I heard it was fruitcake, but I don’t know how true that is and I didn’t want to be wrong.”

Zelda eyed him. It was hard to read her expression, tell what she was thinking, but he’d never been good at that. At least, not this version of him, the version he knew was not the one she was used to. 

“It is,” she told him, straightening up and stretching her legs out. “I haven’t had it in a while. Have you made it before?” 

“No,” he told her. “The man who told me it was your favorite sort of requested that if I ever went into the castle, I would bring him a recipe from a cookbook or at least make it for him and I sort of…never did…?” 

But it wouldn’t feel right to make it for someone random anyway when the very princess who once enjoyed it was sitting right here in front of him. 

“You should really keep your word,” she replied in a playful chide, something that was a rare bit of happiness from her, and Link shrugged with a bashful grin.

“I didn’t want to try making it alone. It sounds pretty hard,” he said.

“I’ve never made it either,” she informed him, tapping her fingers against the blades of grass running under her hands. 

“There’s always a first time for everything,” he told her and held a hand out to her to help her down. She took it–something she didn’t always do–and slid off of the edge of the ramp, landing quietly on the ground. She didn’t stumble anymore. He hoped that meant she was finally regaining strength. 

Link didn’t drop her hand. He was never the first to let go, partially because he’d grown fond of physical contact. It grounded him, reminded him that he was human when the glory and the legends became too much. It was almost a quiet, subtle way for the world to tell him that he wasn’t alone. He wanted to offer that same feeling to Zelda, the feeling of comfort and belonging. She dropped his hand though, just as she always did, and sometimes he wondered if it was something he did or didn’t do that made her so adverse to touching him. 

The natural flow of things returned as they went about gathering the necessary supplies for the fruitcake. He quite liked these sorts of moments, when Zelda would nudge him to hand him a utensil or read out a measurement from the cookbook. The flour was probably the messiest part, but if the little smear across her cheek that resulted from a sneeze was what it took to make her smile, then it was all the more worth it to try. 

Link licked his thumb, then reached out to cup her cheek so he could wipe away the smudge. There it was again, that sense of deja vu, but he wanted to hold on to the idea that they’d done something like this before, even if it hurt like hell that he couldn’t remember it. Zelda froze, stiff as a board underneath him, her green eyes wide, and he could see the exact moment she began to shut off–the way she moved back, the smile sliding off of her lips. Scared to be shut out again, to fall back into living with a stranger, he tried to speak up. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, reaching his hands towards her. “I’m sorry- I didn’t–... Zelda, I want to remember. I just don’t know how…” 

It wasn’t the first time those words had left him. It wasn’t even the first time he’d said them to her presence. Still, they seemed to strike her like a hand at the way she flinched, but this time, she didn’t turn away from him. She wouldn’t look at him, but she was speaking,

“I know.”

It was better than nothing. Link was quiet, studying her expression and posture and everything else that suggested she wanted nothing more than to run. To choose blissful ignorance over the heartbreak of reality. He understood that feeling well, because he did not want to stand here with a stranger, grasping at weak wisps of what little he could remember about her. But even if he did not remember her, she wasn’t a stranger. She was an anchor, something that kept him moving forwards. She was a lovely voice that bid him to wake, a devoted friend and princess, a brilliant mind hidden under the chains of duty. When people spoke about her to him, it felt as if he already knew her.

“Is there… any hope that maybe–” 

But he didn’t know what he was asking for, so Link fell quiet again and turned away to slip the batter into the cooking pot, setting the lid carefully over it to trap the heat and bid it to bake.

“We should save making the icing until the cake is finished, so it has time to cool down,” he added and wet the towel he’d put over his shoulder so he could wipe down the counter they’d been working on. Zelda was gathering and picking up what was left of the ingredient, save for what would be used for the icing, and things were almost normal again, save for the suffocating air, heavy with how guilty he felt and how sad she was. He frowned to himself, scrubbing hard at a stubborn spot that wouldn’t come out.

It was a few days later when that air resurfaced. Coincidentally, they were finishing up what was left of the fruitcake when Zelda asked, rather out of the blue, “What is it like when you try to remember?”

She sounded hesitant. He wondered how long it’d been bothering her, how crazy it was driving her if she was asking. Link set his fork down in his empty plate and raised his glass of water to his lips as he thought how best to answer her question.

“It’s like… looking into a murky lake, I guess,” he told her, avoiding her eyes. “Sort of like… you know it’s there but there’s nothing for the eye to see, so it’s almost like it’s not there at all. It should be, but it’s not. But it’s not empty? It’s… gods, this is so hard to explain.”

Link raised a hand to rub his eyes and leaned his elbow against the table. Maybe a more accurate description would be rummaging through molasses to grab something that turns into pure liquid as soon as his fingers close around it: searching endlessly, painfully slow, and as soon as he thought he caught something, it was gone, like there was nothing there at all. Before he could think better of it, he was asking,

“Do you think of the… before? When you look at me, I mean. Do you see–... Am I so different that we can’t… I don’t know.”

Zelda was quiet when he looked at her. She swallowed, dropping her eyes to her unfinished piece of fruit cake. It didn’t look like she’d taken more than a bite. She seemed to be debating whether speaking up was worth it. He hoped it was. He wanted nothing more than to sort out this messy aftermath, recover from everything they’d been through. 

“I don’t want to,” she said at last, hardly above a whisper. Was she ashamed of herself? “But I look at you and… and I know you’re alive, but all I see is your body– and we walked the Spirit Realm together; I had to watch you slowly forget everything, and now you’re here, and you don’t remember and I don’t know how to help you.”

It was her turn to drop her fork and bury her face in her hands. She was shaking. He wanted to get up, to go to her, but then she looked up, and the agony in her gaze kept him rooted to his spot.

“You were so scared to forget. Link, I’m so sorry.”

“Zelda,” he tried, but she must have been holding onto this for a while because she shook her head at him and kept talking like she needed to say it or she would explode.

“I want so badly to be alright. I want to be able to look at you and see you, Link: alive, as you are, because I like this you. You seem so… free and happy and–... But all I can think about is… is us, and how you don’t remember me.”

“But I still know you,” he argued, wanting nothing more than to reach across the table and grab the hands she was rubbing her face with. “I’ve gotten to know you and… and even if I don’t remember, doesn’t that count for something…?”

“You’ve had so much longer than I’ve had to… to cope and adjust and-”

“I haven’t,” Link admitted, raising a hand to rake through his wild bangs. “I haven’t, at all. I don’t remember it, so I don’t know how to heal from it. And I thought maybe, when we could finally meet and…” He didn’t want to know the answer to the question that pestered at the back of his mind, but he asked anyway, “Why do you stay, Zelda…?”

Zelda frowned, dropping her hands to the table. Her eyes were red and puffy. He could imagine he didn’t look much better.

“I don’t know,” she admitted quietly. “I keep hoping that maybe I can help you. I don’t want to lose you again, but it feels like I already have.”

He stood so abruptly that his chair teetered behind him. In seconds, he’d walked around the table to kneel at her side, reaching out to take her shaking hands. When she didn’t pull them away, when she held his so tight that her knuckles turned white, Link felt the urge to sob.

“Zelda,” he whispered, “I don’t need memories of you to know that I don’t want to leave your side. Not ever again. But I– I would like for you to be honest with me. Is there anything I should know about us that I can’t remember?”

Her eyes darted back and forth. She was thinking about it. Thinking too hard. He gave her hands a gentle squeeze, hoping to bring her back down from whatever dark cloud she’d settled atop.

“I’m afraid,” she replied and chose to look at the floor instead of at him. “I’m so afraid that… that things have changed. I’m scared to hear you tell me that you don’t love me anymore.”

Link did not know how to convey what he was feeling. It wasn’t new knowledge to him that she’d loved him, but it was something he was never really certain about. It was more of a blind, desperate sort of hope for it to be true, because it wasn’t something that was shoved down his throat. It was something mentioned in passing that struck a chord in his chest. Maybe he’d loved her too, though how could he ever forget her if that was the case? How could he forget loving her? She was scared he no longer felt that way.

“I… I don’t know what I feel,” he admitted, ashamed of the way he couldn’t look at her anymore. He didn’t have to in order to know her heart had shattered. The way her hands twitched with the urge to pull away was telling enough. He held them a little tighter despite the bomb he’d dropped on her, probably dragging her back into the pits of dark thoughts. He didn’t know what was going on in her mind, but his own was whirling, trying desperately to grasp a thought he could turn into words to make it all better. Zelda beat him to it.

“I don’t want to force you.” There was a crack in her voice that made him want to curl up and cry. “If… if you want—“

But she cut herself off and didn’t finish. He glanced up at her to see her lip quivering again. 

“I want to figure it out,” he told her at last and hesitantly brushed his thumbs over her knuckles. “I… if you could just give me a little time to figure it out— but I’m… I’m going to need your help.”

“Link…”

“Please.”

Her eyes flickered from his face to his hands. He didn’t know why he was so nervous. Whatever answer she gave, he would accept, so why was he dreading the idea of rejection? All he wanted was to give her the healing and happiness she deserved. This… could not be the only way to do that. Maybe he could meet with Impa or Purah and brainstorm or… or let her go with them? 

But he didn’t need to contemplate his next move any further, because Zelda gave his hands a small squeeze and said, 

“Okay.”

Link pulled on her hands and, this time, she let him. She let herself be pulled into his lap, where he wrapped his arms around her and held her close—held her properly—for the first time since he’d rescued her. Her face buried into his shoulder, so he gingerly tangled his fingers into her hair. His other arm wrapped all the way around her back, putting her flush against him, and he cradled her so tenderly that even he was melting. No memories could ever equal how lovely this felt. How right.

“Thank you,” he whispered into her hair. And even if, in time, he figured out that his feelings changed, nothing could ever convince him that she wasn’t special to him.

--------------------

masterlist | whumptober by day | whumptober by collection | original post

[mostlycompetentwriter]

You Can STAY - Part 12

Pairing: Y/N x Felix (Side Pairing: Y/N x Stray Kids)

Genre: Fantasy AU; OT8; Scarlet Heart AU

Warnings: Lots of Angst; Major Character Death

A/N: This is the final part of You Can STAY. I have determined that I am very bad at writing series, and I apologize for the ending...I imagine that many of you will express mixed emotions.

However, there is a epilogue coming soon in the future! And I will, of course, add all of the parts together into one easily accessible story for future readers!

Nine Months Later

If I were to tell the end of my story, I would want it to go something like this: “At the edge of the Kingdom, secluded in the northernmost woods, a former Castle Mage lived with her husband and unborn son, dreaming about the King who stole her heart.”

I don’t like sad endings, but sometimes there are sacrifices whose consequences are too grave to ignore. While Felix ruled the Kingdom exactly as I had once urged him, I did my part by spending long hours tucked away inside a little cabin as my stomach grew rounder and the days grew shorter.

Jisung was good company, when he was around. In between his visits, he worked on the margins, watching over Felix and working with Chan to secure our borders and alliances. He was still very much ostracized from political life, and Felix, to my knowledge, had never forgave his brothers for their part in the rebellion that changed the Kingdom. 

“I can deal with his wrath,” Jisung told me one morning. “I’m perfectly content.”

I managed a smile in return, but it was half-hearted. I knew that Jisung was referring to our marriage, one that only existed on paper, so that he could support me in isolation. He was more than content to live with me and provide anything that my heart desired.

But my heart’s most fervent wish lived in the Castle beyond the horizon, and I could easily glimpse the tops of the tallest towers, wondering if Felix ever looked out from the balcony and thought of the woman he once loved.

Of course he does, a voice at the back of my head reminded me.

“Hyunjin tells me that Felix speaks of you often,” Jisung added, even though it didn’t do much to assuage my guilt. 

Thankfully, Felix had accepted Hyunjin back into the Castle as a personal advisor, likely because Hyunjin had nothing to do with Jisung, Jeongin, and Chan’s plan to overtake the Kingdom and dispose Changbin.

It seemed like a distant memory, and I sighed at the nostalgia of those memories: occasions where I walked through the hallways of the Castle, exploring the gardens and distant grounds, thinking of the day when Felix and I would finally both be free to love without constraint.

It belongs in that past, those sort of thoughts, and I had long ago given up on the prospect of a complete family where I could simply exist as someone who wanted to love and be loved.

Of course, there was also the issue of my health.

Despite early good reports on my pregnancy, our doctor had recently decided that my prognosis wasn’t as easy as he had initially perceived: “You might have difficulties,” he told me. “During the birth.”

“Oh,” was all I could manage, and I barely felt Jisung squeezing my hand as everything changed in a single moment. 

One day, along the bright edges of the morning, Hyunjin came to visit.

“You look well,” he told me, accepting a drink from Jisung who then came to sit next to me.

“I feel good,” I said, even though there was still a prickling of doubt at the furthest reaches of my subconscious - a reminder that my future was suddenly difficult to presume.

“I’m glad,” Hyunjin replied sincerely, and he turned his attention to Jisung. “I just got back from a meeting with a Southern convoy. Things are turning around.”

“Good,” Jisung said, reaching out to take my hand. “We were worried for a while.”

I forced a smile, barely listening as they continued talking, discussing the same politics that I could barely stand since they had cost me everything. 

“Where are you going this weekend?” Jisung asked, and I was faintly aware of Hyunjin’s response, but more than anything, my attention was suddenly preoccupied with a sharp pain in my abdomen.

I winced immediately, and Jisung noticed my discomfort, falling down onto his knees in front of me. “Y/N?” he asked, tone hesitant.

“Hurts,” I managed, and I could see Hyunjin getting up from the corner of my eye.

“Do you need the doctor?” Jisung asked, and I managed a nod, keeling over when it felt like a thousand knives were piercing me all at once. 

“I’ll go,” Hyunjin volunteered, but his voice sounded distant, like I had abruptly been submerged beneath the water, struggling to hear.

“Y/N!” Jisung repeated, and his eyes were frantic as they found mine. “You’ll stay with me, right?”

I tried to say something, but there was a peculiar pull to the dark that was far more compelling, and I fell under its spell while Jisung became nothing more than a distant shadow.

When I woke back up again, the shapes and figures surrounding me were difficult to discern.

My stomach rolled and my skin felt like it burning! I groaned at the discomfort, attracting the attention of the two men standing at the door. “Y/N,” Jisung’s familiar voice spoke through the reverie, and he was at my side within moments, taking my hand in his own. 

“Hello again, dear,” another voice said, and I recognized the doctor as he released a tired sigh. “Seems like we’re at a difficult point.”

I nodded, opening my mouth to speak, but ultimately deciding to remain silent. “I’m so sorry, Y/N,” Jisung whispered to me, and my heart ached at the pain in his eyes. “Do you feel like seeing a visitor?”

Not really, but I agreed nonetheless, expecting Hyunjin to enter the room. But nothing could’ve prepared me for the sight of a familiar mess of red hair and bright green eyes. “Y/N.”

“Felix,” I said, voice hoarse and gravelly, but there were tears falling even without my awareness, and I quickly noticed that Jisung and the doctor had vacated the room.

It was a little awkward though, after all this time, looking back at Felix as he looked back at me, gaze heavy with something striking. “Y/N,” he whispered, and I was shocked to see him breakdown, making it to my bedside before falling onto the edge of the mattress. 

“Are you okay?” I asked, instinctively, reaching out without hesitation to card my fingers through his hair.

He sniffled in response, looking up at me with tear-streaked eyes and a beautiful smile. “I am now.”

My heart stuttered at his sentiment, and I wanted nothing more than to curl myself into Felix and lose myself there in his embrace. “I missed you,” I whimpered. 

“I know, love,” Felix said, and he pressed a kiss to the back of my hand. 

“I’m sorry I left,” I whispered - as if it were an afterthought.

“I understand,” he replied, looking at me to expose the truth - he was aware, despite what I had burdened myself with believing. He knew why I had to leave, and there was nothing but peace left between us.

Peace and Love.

“At first, I was angry and confused,” Felix said. “But I read your letter, and I had Hyunjin to help guide me. He helped me realize that you left so that I could fulfill the destiny I had been denied as a child. It was painful without you, but our circumstances were far from trivial.”

“Yes,” I exhaled, tightening my grip on him. “I never wanted to leave.”

“It’s okay,” Felix reassured me, and his eyes were soft as they paused on my lips. “We’ve always been tethered at the soul. Together, even if it couldn’t be in the way we truly desired.”

He kissed me then, igniting a furious passion that had laid dormant inside of me for months. “It’s yours, you know,” I said, pulling back to graze the pretty line of his lashes. “The child is ours.”

Felix inhaled abruptly, looking down at my swollen stomach. “Truly? Hyunjin said that you were pregnant, but I didn’t want to assume-”

“It could’ve never belonged to anyone else,” I interrupted him. “It’s always been you.”

Felix nodded, allowing one hand to smooth down over the sheets, following the outline of my stomach. “This is more than I could ever ask for.”

I smiled at his pretty words, but then I felt a cold sweat break out against the back of my neck. “Felix,” I said. “The doctor told me that the pregnancy might bring some complications.”

He shivered, and I was surprised by the unfiltered grief written across his expression. “I know that too.”

“If I don’t survive-”

“If,” Felix growled, emphasizing that nothing could ever be certain.

“If,” I agreed. “I want you to raise our child. He deserves to be with his father.”

Felix visibly swallowed, looking away as if having trouble completing such a promise, but I forced him to look at me again. “Alright,” he eventually conceded. “If such things manifest.”

“And you need to forgive your brothers,” I said, holding him at attention in case he tried to move away again. “After all this time...”

“Y/N,” Felix sighed. “Why does this sound like a goodbye?”

I held my tongue, glancing down at our intertwined hands. “Think of it as a start to the next chapter.”

Felix chuckled, affectionate gaze meeting mine. “I’ll be here until it’s over. When you can rest for as long as you want.” 

“Thank you,” I said. “And you will always have me. In one way or another.”

“I can rest easy,” Felix said, and he started murmuring something soft and sweet to the unborn child inside of me, and I found myself able to breathe a lit bit easier for the first time in months.

I even managed a smile, knowing that I could still give Felix a piece of me after I was gone. Unlike our complicated time together at the Castle, our unborn son would be free of those heavy restrictions, and perhaps it was the better outcome. Because, when I really thought about it, our son wouldn’t just be a piece of me. It would be a little part of Felix as well, and I felt nothing short of triumphant when I imagined a world with the right combination of Y/N and Felix. Together at long last. 

Victorious until the bittersweet end.

[egcdeath]

a date with destiny

pairing: ransom drysdale x reader

word count: 1.9k

summary: fate brings you to a... questionable man more than a few times. 

warnings: lots of fluff, enemies/strangers to lovers, kind of cringe

a/n:  i swear my new thing is poorly writing every played out fanfic trope on the planet, i'm so sorry guys. maybe hallmark can hire me to write a few movies for them

You definitely could’ve avoided this situation if you didn’t wait for the weekend before Christmas to go shopping for your family’s presents.

You had no idea why your time management had to be so bad, but in the midst of working way too many hours in an effort to get promoted, you had completely forgotten about the fact that Christmas was literally right around the corner. And to make it worse, you had a flight tomorrow that you’d also forgotten about.

You sulked to yourself while walking around Nordstrom, waiting for inspiration to strike you for a semi-decent gift for your mother. The whole world seemed to be out that day, and you watched a plethora of shoppers pass you by, with their sour faces and unruly children. After eventually deciding on a black winter sweater for your mom, you went on your way to the candle section, knowing exactly the brand and scent that your sister would love.

This candle was the definition of a non-negotiable for you, and had been the reason you came to a Nordstrom in the first place, and when you found it sitting on a shelf by itself in all of its glory, you had simply become transfixed.

As you walked toward the candle, you didn’t notice that another customer was going for it as well, leading both of your hands to land on the candle, the absurdity of the situation making you blush. This was just your luck.

“Oh, this is awkward,” you played off the encounter, then attempted to subtly pull the candle your way, and away from the man.

“Yeah, it kinda is.” The man whose hand was also placed on the candle said shortly, before attempting to pull the candle his way.

“Hey man, I’m kinda on a tight schedule, and I really need to get this like… right now. I have a flight in like.. An hour,” you exaggerated.

“That’s too bad, ‘cause I really need this candle too.”

You took a deep breath, only you would find yourself in this kind of situation. “To be fair, I definitely saw this candle first. I’m its rightful buyer,” You attempted.

“Mmm, I definitely had my eyes on it first, so with your logic, I deserve this candle.” The man narrowed his baby blue eyes, and put a hand on his hip.

“Oh my god,” you groaned, hoping that maybe if you acted dramatic enough, he’d leave you and your candle alone.

“Sweetheart, can you even afford this kind of thing? I’m sure your friends or family, or whoever the fuck you’re getting this for, would rather you not go into debt over a candle. Just let me have it,” he responded cooly, as if he hadn’t just called you poor to your face.

You looked at him with an open-mouthed expression, completely shocked at the nerve this man had. “Fuck you, you asshole!” You attempted to yank the candle out from his grip, and you could begin to tell that the man’s resolve was beginning to fall.

“Fine. Take the damn candle. But maybe you could give me a little gift in exchange, and go out with me sometime,” he offered, slipping his now free hand into the pocket of his tan peacoat.

You were honestly shocked by this whole exchange. How did he go from insulting you and calling you poor, to asking you on a date? Men are so weird, you thought to yourself. He really isn’t that bad looking, you also considered. “Eat shit, guy,” you told him before flipping him off, and walking away.

-----

Imagine your surprise when you saw the same man from the store sitting in a local Massachusetts restaurant, with whom you assumed were his family. With your sister sitting across from you, you couldn’t help but be gossipy and point him out.

You scoffed and leaned over to your sister once you saw him, “See that guy over there?” You whispered to her, gesturing your head in his general direction.

“Which one?” she asked. “There are like five guys. Are you talking about the dude with the goatee? That old dude with the grey hair? Y/N! I didn’t know you were a grave robber!” she giggled and poked your side while you rolled your eyes, “Or, are you talking about that sexy beast in the white sweater?”

“The se- the dude in the sweater-”

“Oh yeah, he’s pretty hot. You should go talk to him,” she began to scoot out of her seat.

“No, you idiot!” You whisper shouted to her. “That guy basically attacked me in the store the other day. And then, he had the nerve to ask me out on a date!”

He must’ve felt the two of you’s stare, as he turned around and gave you a brief surprised look, then a twisted smirk.

“Oh my god, Bea, act natural,” You whispered before turning your head so fast that you nearly gave yourself whiplash.

You brought a hand up to your face and rubbed your browline in a fit of embarrassment. You looked down, then began to shovel pasta into your mouth at an ungodly fast rate.

“Oh come on, Y/N, he’s cute. What did he say to you that was so bad that you turned down his hot ass?” She asked, glancing back over at the man who was still occasionally looking over at your table.

“It’s kinda a long story. I’ll tell you later,” you mumbled, trying to ignore the heat steadily growing on your cheeks.

Beatrice shrugged, and a waiter approached your table.

“Ma’am, the man over there wanted me to give this to you,” he said before awkwardly placing a glass of white wine in front of you, along with a ripped napkin with a note and number.

We started off on the wrong foot, give me a call sometime?

Ransom

XXX-XXX-XXXX

-----

You looked at the note for so long, that it would’ve been better off being tattooed on the back of your eyelids.

“Just text him, Y/N,” your sister told you, her sentence a bit muffled by the toothbrush dangling from her mouth.

“He really seems like a dick,” you groaned, before rolling onto your back and throwing an arm over your eyes. Your sister rinsed out her mouth in the ensuite before returning with some advice.

“Well, he’s hot. Maybe you can bring him as a date to the Holiday party or something,” she stated before sitting down on the foot of your bed. “What’s the worst that could happen, Y/N? If he hurts your feelings, you can throw a hot drink at him and walk away. At best, you get a hot piece of ass to be your boyfriend.” she squeezed your calf reassuringly.

“Ugh, fine,” you huffed. “I’ll text him tomorrow.”

“That’s my girl!” Beatrice cheered, then placed a kiss on your forehead. “‘Night, Y/N,”

“Goodnight,” you mumbled before attempting to fall asleep.

-----

The funny thing about you, is that you were a master procrastinator. So after a day and a half, you’d put Ransom’s number into your phone, but had contemplated so many different opening texts, that you’d just completely given up. Besides, you had your parents’ holiday party to be attending and to be caring about.

You did some final touch ups of your makeup, before heading downstairs, and watching guests arrive from a safe spot in the kitchen.

Sometime after talking to about seven of your childhood friends, you felt a large hand press against the satin material of your short, red, tie-waisted dress.

“No way, girl I see everywhere?” The man who you know knew was Ransom, asked.

“It’s Y/N. Hi, Ransom,” you bit the inside of your cheek to hold back your laugh at the absurdity of it all, the fact that he was standing in your parents’ home, the fact that he was literally everywhere you went, and because you’d never in your life been called ‘The girl I see everywhere.’

“Why didn’t you ever call me? I mean, not even a text? Also, why are you following me everywhere?” He inquired, moving to stand in front of you.

“Well, I uh.. I forgot. Sorry, I’m a super busy woman. And I also live here... sometimes.. so if anyone is following anyone else, it’s you following me,” you tried to say this confidently, but something about Ransom really threw you off your game.

“You live here? No way. Is this like your family home?” He asked, and you nodded. “So our parents have been friends this whole time, and we had no idea.” He gestured to a doorway, where your mother and his were talking with flutes of champagne in hand.

“This just keeps getting weirder and weirder,” you said quietly, mostly to yourself.

“Maybe, this is just fate. We’re meant to be together, and that’s why we keep seeing each other everywhere,” you raised an eyebrow and tilted your head when he said that to you, genuinely confused at why those words would come out of his mouth. “Oh, lighten up. I’m just kidding,” he said with a bemused smile.

“You have a weird sense of humor, Ransom.” You told him plainly, trying to act disinterested, though you were rather endeared. He definitely saw right through you, as he gave you a little grin before he began to speak again.

“So tell me about yourself.”

-----

After a few too many drinks, you were walking down the sidewalk, hand and hand with Ransom as you searched for any sort of restaurant that could be open at that hour.

Finally, you found a quaint and rather empty 24-hour diner with its lights on. The two of you sat down in a booth, and struggled to contain giggles as you sipped from mugs of stale, lukewarm coffee. Why you were giggling, you weren’t completely sure.

“You know what, Ransom, once you get over the asshole-ness, you’re not that bad,” you reached out a hand, and set it on top of Ransom’s, that was idly sitting on the table.

“Wow, thanks,” he chuckled, a dark pink dusting his cheeks.

“Why did we even come here?” You groaned, “No offense, but this coffee tastes like ass,” you whined,

“And how do you know what ass tastes like?” Ransom burst out giggling at this.

“Shut up. Are you twelve?” You pretended to be annoyed with him, before giving in and laughing along with him. “Can you take me home?” You asked with puppy dog eyes.

Apparently, one for the dramatics, Ransom tossed a $50 bill onto the table, then stood up from his seat at the booth to swoop you up in a bridal style.

“Ohhh my god,” you slurred as he carried you out the door, then eventually set you back down on the pavement once he became tired.

-----

While you walked up to your doorstep, Ransom stood on the sidewalk, watching you contentedly. As you got to your door and turned around, he gave you a big, goofy smile and a wave.

“Well, what are you waiting for? Come in with me,” you invited. It was safe to say, Ransom happily obliged.

[innocentbi-stander]

Yet another au that’s been rolling around my head for a while that ended up turning into a little something more. A continuation of my non-human jaskier headcanons, featuring a jaskier who somehow managed to acquire magic post-mountain. 

Enjoy!

acquired magic Jaskier au:

He was a completely normal human up until he and Geralt separated after the mountain

While he was traveling on his own Jaskier was attacked by bandits and critically injured, left to die in the woods

Right before he was about to bleed out, an old witch stumbled upon him in the woods 

She took him back with her to her cottage and healed him

Jaskier was very very very confused when he woke up in bed in yet another unfamiliar face

He was even less enthused when he discovered he had woken up with yet another witch in his general vicinity (he had had enough 0f witches for a LIFETIME)

The bard had a few frantic minutes where he tried to plan his escape, most of that plan included him just screaming and running away as fast as he could

Jaskier was shocked then when the witch introduced herself as Elena, a witch who had lived in the forest alone for decades often helping local villagers and wounded travelers

She tells him how she had stumbled upon him in the woods and seen how gravely injured he was

Elena had not brought anyone back to her home in years, but she had sensed something in him and knew she had to bring him with her

They talk for hours over tea after Elena changes his bandages, and Elena is quickly charmed by Jaskier

The bard finds himself spilling out secrets and feelings he had never planned on sharing with anyone, about his awful family, his unrequited love for Geralt, Yennefer, and what happened on the mountain

Elena comforts Jaskier and feels a fierce protectiveness for the bard that astounds her

The witch can tell her magic has made a special bond to the bard

Jaskier enjoys Elena’s company so much that he stays with her at the cottage long after he is healed

She teaches him everything there is to know about healing, about witchcraft and potion making, about the herbs to gather, and all the flowers in the forest

Elena lets Jaskier pour over her old spellbooks, finding his fascination and curiosity with old magic hopelessly endearing

Jaskier finds a parental figure in Elena that he never had with anyone else

One day Elena tells him of a ritual she had been researching for ages, where a magic user could divert part of their magic to another person

She tells him that she has come to view him as her own child, and it is very important that he has some way to project himself other than his daggers (also the immortality would be an exceptional bonus)

Jaskier agrees, and on the next full moon they execute the ritual

The bard collapses, and sleeps for two weeks, and when he awakens he is overjoyed to find the ritual has worked

Cue immeasurable shenanigans with magic user Jaskier, because the bard is competent but also crazy, and does not understand how to reign in the great power he has suddenly been granted

He sneezes and an entire field of buttercups and dandelions grow

Jaskier gets too excited and everything in the cottage flies into the air

Sometimes when he laughs too hard the colors of his doublet change

Once when he was angry at a traveler who spit at Elena’s feet a chasm opened up in the middle of the road and almost swallowed the man whole

It takes months of hard work with Elena, but Jaskier finally begins to get a better grasp of his powers

It is at this time that he begins to hear word of Nilfgaard moving farther and farther north

Jaskier also hears whispers of soldiers searching for the Lion Cub of Cintra, a Witcher, and a purple eyed witch. He is even more surprised when there is also mention of the witcher’s bard

The next time he goes into down for supplies for him and Elena, he hears word of a white haired witcher who passed through asking for word of a bard

Jaskier knows then what he has to do

Nilfgaard is after him as well, and if they are after him Elena is at risk, and he can’t stand his dear friend getting hurt

Also, for some reason Geralt is searching for him as well instead of getting the hell away from Nilfgaard and knowing the witcher’s stubbornness, he won’t stop until he is found

He packs a bag and says his goodbyes to Elena, promising to come back as soon as possible and making her promise to stay safe

Jaskier spends a week tracking down Geralt, Yennefer, and Ciri, who have thankfully moved further north

The bard is so close to the trio, only a half mile away, he can sense it, when he is attacked by two griffins protecting a nearby nest

The Jaskier of before the mountain would probably have been a dead man, he would have screamed and tried to run away

The Jaskier of now is different, he is powerful, he has learned to defend himself and he does it with fierceness and grace

The bard sets his shoulders, and turns a steady gaze towards the shrieking set of griffins

He takes a deep breath and cracks his knuckles

The power is building up inside his chest and he takes the lessons he has learned from Elena is these past few months and puts them to good use, letting the power flow through his chest, down his arms, and twist around his fingers 

Taking down the griffins is effortless, swift and strong, and when he is finished there is only a heap of feathers on the forest floor

Behind him a small gasp sounds out, and Jaskier whips his head around to see three figures standing in shock several meters away

The gasp clearly came from Ciri, small and blond and smudged with dirt from the road

Geralt stands beside her, his hand halfway through pulling out his sword and stuck in place where he had clearly begun to go and assist Jaskier. His face is furrowed in deep confusion and Jaskier barely keeps himself from laughing at the befuddled look

Yennefer is calculating, staring at the bard as if she had never seen him before, even as a smirk starts to overtake her face

Staring at the three of them Jaskier resists the urge to freeze in place, he is a performer, the least he could do is keep up an act on nonchalance

He forces himself to relax his body, fulling turning around and wiping pretend dirt from his hands 

The bard knows he looks immaculate in a sapphire blue doublet, not a hair out of place

He forces a smile on his face as he raises a hand in greeting

“Hello! I heard you were looking for me, thought I’d make it a bit easier but things never go without error” He waves dismissively at the pile of feathers behind him, “but as you can see, I took care of it!” 

Jaskier can practically see a vein threatening to burst through Geralt’s forehead as he struggles to reconcile the image of Jaskier the helpness bard with the Jaskier who just took down two griffins with a powerful display of magic

He opens and closes his mouth several times, and Jaskier takes a moment to ruminate on how much he looks like a fish

Eventually Geralt wins the battle with words, but it's clearly not a very glorious victory because all that comes out of his mouth is “How?”

Jaskier beams. He knows there is much to be said between them, words to spoken, an apology to be delivered, boundaries to be set, but right now he is just so happy to be back with his witcher that he places that all temporarily behind him

“Magic of course, Geralt, though that is a very long story that we should maybe cover elsewhere because I’m not sure if you heard, but the entirety of Nilfgaard seems to be after our heads. We don’t have the luxury to dawdle”

Jaskier scoops up his pack and his lute and strolls forward

When he comes to a stop Yennfer meets his eyes, a mischievous glint growing back the second

“So you have magic now?” she asks, as though the answer isn’t obvious

Jaskier plays along though, taking a second to look at his surroundings 

“It appears so.” he responds gravely

They stare at each other in silence for a moment before breaking into small smiles

Jaskier doesn’t quite understand the weird comradery he can feel starting to build between them, but something deep inside him tells him that it isn’t a bad thing. It feels like something very, very good.

With a wave of her hand Yennefer summons a portal, “Shall we?”

In a move that shocks the bard, Yennefer holds out her arm, and Jaskier sees it for what it is. A truce, a tentative extension of friendship, an acknowledgement of their combined destinies with the witcher and his child surprise

Everything is not perfect. There is an entire army after them, there is unresolved feelings, a reluctant love triangle, many due apologies, and the matter of Jaskier’s newly acquired abilities to be discussed, but that all seems like problems for future selves to solve

Right now, Jaskier simply takes the witch’s arm and steps through the portal towards something new.

[parvulous-writings]

A Ship’s Crew

Victor Farley x Mainland!Reader

Genre:  Adventure

Warnings: Mentions of death, and bones.

Summary: The reader has chosen to join Captain Victor Farley, and the crew of the Omen. An introduction to the main members of The Omen. 

Words: 2.6K

Notes: Wow! Recently reached 200 followers! I am beyond amazed! Thank you all so, so much for showing interest in my work! It means so much to me! :D  My requests are currently open! My pinned post (found here) contains both a list of characters I write for, and a masterlist! Original character list - please request for these too!

Thank you to the amazing @rey-is-not-a-skywalker​ for allowing me to use their wonderful characters, Stubbs and Destiny! Truly, it would not be a story without that pair.  This is for you, bor. 

Not my gif 

“Well, now you know just a little bit more about the world around you, and what we as a crew stand for.” Victor spoke again. “You of course have a day or so to think on it, but… Would you care to join us?” He extends a hand to you.

Do you take it?

You consider the Captain’s offer for a moment, running your current and available options through your mind, before extending your hand to meet his, shaking it with a firm grip. He gave you a charming and hearty grin, starting to laugh happily. “Oh, splendid, splendid!” He exclaimed, moving his other hand so that they both clasped yours. “We’ll make you feel right at home here, I assure you... We’ll get you your own equipment when we get to Galleon’s Grave- for now, though, let’s get you introduced properly to the crew, shall we?” He grinned, walking around the table, and putting an arm over your shoulder. “Ah, wait, hold on.” He chuckled, slipping away from you again and grabbing his heavy coat from where he had left it over the back of the chair. He slipped his arms through the green and grey sleeves, doing up the middle two buttons. Victor looked to you, gesturing with his head towards the cabin door. “Well, let’s get moving then, whilst there’s still some daylight to be utilised.” He held the heavy door for you, and you step out on to the deck again.  The crew were still rushing this way and that- though they seemed to have calmed down considerably since you last saw them. They were moving much slower now, more of a meander than anything. Victor payed them no or little mind, beckoning for you to follow him up some steps, towards the helm. You take the steps carefully as the keel of the ship rode and broke through a particularly rough wave. Farley cleared his throat to capture your attention, and you turn to look towards him, rather than the expansive open waves that covered the horizon. “This man here,” He placed his gloved hands on the shoulders of the man stood at the helm- his bright red and yellow coat a stark contrast to the dull and dark colours of the ship’s deck. “Is Stubbs. He’s my first mate; and the finest merchant I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting on these seas.” The man he was essentially showering with compliments gave a quiet chuckle.  “Thank you, Captain.” Stubbs replied, a wide smile on his face.  “Of course, my good man. You know I only speak the truth.” Farley gave him a fond smile as he spoke. “We’ve known each other since the day I arrived on these seas,many years ago,  and hopefully we’ll know each other for many more to come.” Stubbs nodded happily in agreement with this. It was quite clear from the way they were acting around each other that they were close. They were so relaxed, and so obviously happy, it brought a smile to your own face. 

“So, sir,” You start, and Victor turned his gaze onto you. “How long have you been here?” You asked him, and his brows furrowed slightly as he started to think. He ran one hand over his mustache and down his beard. “I’m not quite sure... I had just turned nineteen when I decided to stay here on the Sea of Thieves...” He looked to Stubbs, “How many years have we known each other, Stubbs?” He asked, quietly, as if he didn’t want you to hear him. Stubbs shook his head with a gentle laugh, “Too many, and not enough, sir.” Was the first mate’s happy reply. Victor playfully rolled his eyes at this answer, laughing softly at his friend.  “Good enough, thank you,” He started to move away from the helm, beckoning for you to follow behind him.  “Before you go, sir- we’ve about an hour till we arrive at Galleon’s Grave.” Stubbs pointed to the horizon as he spoke- and you could see a rather pointed island off in the distance, and you presumed it to be the outpost that Victor had spoken about prior.  “Ah, brilliant. Keep her steady for me for the time being. I’ll bring her in to port shortly.” He assured Stubbs, which seemed to relief the merchant a little bit. Truth be told, it was risky business letting anyone besides Captain Farley sail The Omen into port, either at an outpost or an island, for the ship did not seem to respond as well to anyone else. 

You get guided down the steps back onto the main deck. Victor leads you towards the central mast, on which leant a young woman- topless bar a few deep blue bandages around her chest, shorts with a belt that seemed to only serve the purpose of holding a cutlass every now and then. Her chest was smothered in tattoos, similar to how Victor’s arms had been. These were very different in hue though; where Victor’s had been a rather faded black ink, this woman’s was a stark and rather vibrant red. They looked almost... Sore.  “This is Destiny.” Victor’s voice roused you from your thoughts, as your eyes locked with the cerulean haired woman, who gave you a little bit of a smirk. “Our resident Reaper representative.”  “Try saying that three times fast, eh, sir?” Destiny chuckled, as she pushed herself away from the mast. Victor rolled his eyes at her joke, folding his arms over his chest and using one hand to prompt her to introduce herself through her own words. Destiny turned her gaze back to you, “As Captain Farley said- I’m the Reaper’s Bones representative here on The Omen. I do what I have to to get a job done, you follow?” She paused, and you gave her a little bit of a vague look. “Okay, okay; I do risky things some people think are stupid.” She simplified her explanation quickly.  “They are stupid.” Victor mumbled as he looked over to the right, and Destiny sighed in exasperation.  “No, they’re not. Name one thing I’ve done recently that was stupid, Captain.” She challenged.  “Would you like the alphabetical list, or the chronological one? I’m fairly certain that Stubbs has both in his possession.” Farley replied, deadpan. Destiny didn’t look impressed, to say the least.  “Off the top of your head, sir.” She clarified.  “Alright.” Victor adjusted his stance slightly, prepping himself for his example. “Last Monday- we were doing our usual route around Crescent Isle and Sailor’s Bounty, and you launched yourself off of the ship, and straight into a gunpowder skelly, merely because you claimed to see what we were searching for.” You didn’t understand much of what Victor was saying, but from the mention of gunpowder you gathered it was none too pleasant.  “I did see it! I saw the loot, I swear!” She exclaimed. “The skeleton just... Got in the way!  It wasn’t there when I fired myself out of the canon!” Victor ran his hand over his face as Destiny kept on talking.  “You may be one of my most trusted friends, my girl, but.. Sometimes I do wish you’d think things like that through, rather than being so... Recklessly impulsive.” He turned on the heel of his boot to walk away, but it seemed that Destiny had one last thing to add.  “I got us the gold, though, didn’t I?” You didn’t need to look at Destiny to know she had a rather smug smirk on her face- you could hear it in her tone. Victor looked over his shoulder, and gave a simple nod.  “Yes, Destiny, you got us the gold.” He replied, simply, before facing ahead again and heading up towards the held once more. Destiny gave you a two fingered salute as she took up her normal space leaning against the central mast- where you had found here earlier.  “Catch you later, rookie.” She grinned at you, before turning her attention back to the crew who were now rushing around about her. 

You jog to catch up with Victor, nearly slipping on the sea-soaked wood beneath your feet. The Captain grabbed your forearm, laughing softly. “Careful there.” He pulled you back up so you could steady yourself again. “Don’t worry, you’ll be getting used to things like that...” He told you as he started up the steps towards Stubbs and the helm. “You know what? I’ll buy you a good pair of boots- you’ll be needing them I think.” He glanced down at your shoes as he spoke. You smile appreciatively at his offer, and nod heartily in agreement. “You never know,” The Captain continued, “You night be able to get a coat like mine.” He mused.  Stubbs was within earshot of the pair of you now, and merely laughed at Victor’s comment. “Who on all these seas would want a coat as heavy or as dull as yours, Sir?” The merchant joked with a wide grin, to which Victor replied with a playful slap. At this, instead of retaliating, Stubbs relinquished the wheel- and it was here you managed to catch a glimpse of what the wheel was fashioned out of. Instead of wood, as one may have expected, the spokes were made out of... Bones. Human bones. You give a quiet, almost horrified gasp as you take an instinctive step back, and Stubbs quickly moves to catch you should you fall. “I know how bad it may seem to you,” The Aussie blurted, “But truthfully it’s not as bad as it may seem- they’re skeleton bones!” He exclaimed, before realising what might be wrong with that explanation. “That is to say, they were essentially dead when we got to them...” He explained, and you calmed down ever so slightly.  “You remember what I said about the Order of Souls?” Victor asked you, calling over his shoulder as he navigated the sea vessel around a rock protruding from the ocean waves, “Well, this is one of the rewards they may try to give you when you bash enough skeletons back into the sand. The capstan, and canons are the same- see?” He pointed briefly forward, down to the deck. At a glance, you didn’t see anything as unusual as the wheel had been. Then you saw them- first the skull, seated in the middle of the capstan, surrounded by femurs; and then the canons, adorned with the ribcages of long dead skeletons. Truly, if you were an enemy of the Order of Souls, The Omen would be one hell of an adversary to get through. 

“Raise middle and back sails!” Victor bellowed, making sure his voice reached all the crew on deck. The crew immediately set about following the orders they had been given, shouting to one another to communicate which way to pull the ropes, all working together as one to do as they had been told. Victor was quickly turning the wheel, and now you could in part understand why his arms had been so toned when he rolled up his sleeves back in the captain’s cabin. “Raise the front sail!” His voice boomed again, as the ship drew closer to the wooden dock.  “Should we anchor, sir?” Stubbs asked, and Victor shook his head in reply.  “When do we ever anchor, Stubbs?” He retorted with a faint chuckle. “It makes us sitting ducks- we’ve been through this before.”  “I know, Captain,” Stubbs sighed, sounding a little exasperated. He shook his head as Victor patted his shoulder with a laugh.  “Now, now, don’t go sulking off. I know that look.” Victor grinned at the man he was speaking with. “I was hoping you could help Ver and Jade deliver some of our cargo to the merchants whilst I take our new crew member down to the tavern and the other facilities available.” Stubbs looked over his shoulder with a smile.  “Alright... I can never refuse something like that from my Captain.” The merchant mused, before heading down the stairs onto the main deck, talking with two other crew members dressed in similar clothes to him- they must have been Jade and Ver.  “Right, now this way,” Victor caught your attention, leading you to the side of the ship on deck, where a gang plank had been lowered onto the dock. The sound of Victor’s boots on the surface of the wood sounded almost like a horse, and you followed swiftly after, glancing up and down the dock. 

You had disembarked near a small market stall-like structure built into the dock- covered in crates, cages and other goods to be transported across the seas. Stubbs, Ver and Jade moved towards the small area, arms full of crates of silks and tea. They were very clearly the merchants, and welcomed the three pirates graciously.  You walk further, and the wooden planks of the dock transition into soft sand. You walk up a little slope, catching up with Victor and walking beside him as he reaches the door of the local tavern. There was a woman leaning against a support beam, and eating a mango.  “Ah, Captain Farely. It’s good to see you again, how long has it been?” She asked him with a smile.  “A long time, Larina.” Victor replied with a chuckle, “But I can’t stop now- new crewmate to become acquainted with,” He nodded to you as he held the heavy tavern door open, gesturing for you to enter the dimly lit establishment first. “I’ll be seeing you.” He nodded to Larina, ducking inside  as she waved her goodbye with a low chuckle. 

The tavern was rather small- it would just barely be able to fit the crew of the Omen in there, and not all of them would be able to sit down. “You go and find a seat, I’ll get us some drinks.” He told you, and you nodded in reply. He approached the bar, smiling in greeting at the barmaid. You see them exchange a few words as you take a seat at a round, rough table. The wood threatened to stab a splinter into you hand or finger, so you try to keep your skin away from the surface. Victor soon returned to you, placing a large, metallic tankard in front of you; to which you give him a quizzical look. “Is this..?”  “All yours, yes.” Victor chuckled. “It’s alright, I was just as concerned when my captain put my first tankard in front of me.” He told you, taking a slow sip of the frothy grog in his own tankard. “Take it slowly- it’s strong stuff. You’ll get used to it eventually, but for now just take it one mouthful at a time,” He suggested with a warm and friendly smile. He then raised his tankard ever so slightly, extending it to you. “Well- to the newest member of the family on The Omen!” He proclaimed. “May your seas be blue and calm, you gold and glory bountiful in equal measure!” He chuckled, as you gently knocked your tankard against his with a small, almost invisible sheepish smile. You take a cautious sip of the alcohol, and almost choke on the liquid.  “Oh my god,” You sputtered. “That’s revolting!” You slam the tankard down onto the table, causing it to shake, and Victor chuckles lightly.  “Yes...” He agreed quietly, looking down into the barrel of his drink. “It is less than savoury... But honestly, after a while, you don’t really notice it.” He leant a little bit closer to you so he could whisper. “Don’t worry, you don’t have to finish it all.” He assured you, before leaning back and getting comfortable again. “Anyway. After this, we’ll get you some proper gear- you can pick out whatever you like, I’ll splash out on you this once. But you lose or damage any of it- you’re on your own for that.” He grinned playfully.  “Alright, thank you, Victor.”  “My pleasure,” Farley nodded, raising his tankard again before taking another sip. 

[pickwickwampus]

The following is all spoilers for my fanfic. If I ever get around to writing the rest of it, then you'll spoil a lot of it for yourself by reading this.

from what I remember, the story leaves off with Mallory and her friends in the library, researching the Cracklewood Carver. They're too slow.

A few chapters ago, Mallory overheard the ghosts in the school saying:

"If the protections keep rotting—" "He believes it's dark magic, that the sacrifice is no longer necessary." "Preposterous! Dippet performed the sacrifice for many years, as did his predecessors, before him." Mallory and her friends stood frozen behind an ugly statue of a gargoyle, a statue which decided to move with a cringe-inducing grinding noise. Crap, she hoped no one heard that. "Indeed, yet it is what Albus believes." Except neither ghost looked over. The stone gargoyle finished scratching its arse, and went still. "Foolish. Darker things, beasts from beyond the—"

The ghosts in Hogwarts didn't start talking about the failing protections on the castle that week. They've been moaning about the failing protections for almost a year, since the last summoner of the Carver, Armando Dippet, died. The ghosts aren't allowed to directly tell anyone about the protections, but that doesn't prevent them from loudly talking about it where someone could overhear them.

And someone did overhear the ghosts, and figured out what they were talking about.

The protections around the castle were powered through the sacrifice of three children to the abomination Ithaqua, the beast Mallory & the Daily Prophet knows as "the Cracklewood Carver."

Previous headmasters made the sacrifice of three magical children every seven years to protect the school, but Dumbledore refused. Dumbledore also refused to go public with previous headmasters' crimes, or seek justice for the Carver's previous victims. Dumbledore wasn't interested in the ritual or what it summoned, or even the exact cost. He just understood that one of the rituals involved summoning an abomination and making a deal with it, and said, "no." He's meant to be a figure displaying cognitive dissonance and lazy thinking -- he'll paint large swaths of people with the same brush based on who their family is, and all that characterization is meant to paint him as someone who isn't even fundamentally well-meaning. He just likes to tell a story where he is, and refuses to self-reflect even up until it kills him.

For a while, the retired previous headmaster was doing the ritual without Dumbledore's permission or knowledge. But Dippet died that past February before the ritual could be completed, and now a new deal must be struck, and the ritual must be performed, otherwise Ithaqua will get its revenge on the castle and its inhabitants for breaking their bargain. (Alternatively, someone could kill Ithaqua, which is exactly what happens.) A Hogwarts student learned of the ritual and the consequences for not carrying it out, and sought to do the ritual, himself, believing Ithaqua was responsible for the visions his classmate Celeste was having of the school in smoking ruins. (Ithaqua wasn't the threat Celeste and the other seers saw.)

Few in the Wizarding World could harness the power of Divination, but all who could saw their impending doom. Hogwarts Castle was in grave danger. The portents were clear, both to the prophets and the cartomancers could see it. But the Ministry wasn't doing anything about it, claiming the diviners were all in league with Dumbledore. In this story, Voldemort stole the stone in Harry's first year, prompting Dumbledore to raise the alarm with Fudge several years early. Fudge reacted predictably, claiming Dumbledore was out for his job.

It terrified Terrence. Hogwarts was his home, a sanctuary that has stood for near a thousand years, and Celeste Avery said she saw a vision of it in ruins. And no one was doing anything about it.

If asked, Terrence would've told himself his motives were pure, to protect the school, but if he'd examined his feelings he would've realized he felt he couldn't leave the school behind. He wanted a tie to it, a means of being relevant to it, and on some level wanted recognition that he was necessary to the school.

The demon overpowered him. It preferred the deaths of wizard children liable to change the destiny of the magical world, but the wills of the previous summoners were too strong for it to get what it really wanted from them. That changed with Terrence Higgs. Ithaqua could see marks of fate around those three children — it wanted to destroy them and eat their potential. It wasn't attracted much to Rowle or Harper, but to Mallory, who drew the beast most of all, because of what she's willing to do.

The subtext around Mallory and her muggle parents is that they discovered the wizarding world, and immediately discovered that wizards had abrogated themselves of their duty to others. They had the cure to heart disease, could regrow organs and bones, prevent most kinds of illnesses, and yet muggles all around the world were still dying of those illnesses. "Secrecy" wasn't a good enough reason to them to allow the deaths of all those people. So Patricia, Tony, and Mallory agreed to use Hogwarts as a means of making potions available to muggles, Statute or no Statute.

That's a large part of why Mallory's afraid of people reading her mind, why she's tied her ability to be a "hero" to her access to the school. And that's the kind of plan Mallory thinks is a good idea when she's eleven. Within a year her plans will include the overthrow of the entire wizarding government and who knows what she'll be doing by the time she's 20.

So Ithaqua wants her dead. And Mallory's gift of revelation, the small part of herself that is actually a demon of revelation tied to the understanding of hidden things knows this, and is trying to tell her that:

A man formed out of wax loomed before her. She lit the wick and he burned with a Silver Flame. Pressure, like her ears were about to pop. Lipstick smeared across a girl's cheek. The taste of blood in her mouth. And now in her hands she wielded a blade of Silver Fire, and burned it burned it burned—

Things were going very badly for Higgs, who as rapidly deteriorating from the demon's deal. He kidnaps both Mallory and Harper, forcing them into a second confrontation with the beast. Gemma Farley, who had been independently investigating, is struck down trying to stop him. Mallory watches Gemma fall, and sees the girl's lipstick smeared across her face, like in her vision.

"Gemma?" Higgs choked, "how did you— you can't be here."

"Seriously?" she scoffed, "you seriously thought I wouldn't find out? I keep records, Terrence. A forged letter to the Headmaster. You made me help."

"For Hogwarts," he croaked, "for Hogwarts, if you knew you'd agree — you did agree —"

"Merlin, Terrence," Farley's face crumpled, "no, no — how could I agree? They're first years. I don't understand. This isn't about blood, I know you're not a blood purist," her mouth open, she shook her head, "I don't understand."

"The Dark Lord's back, you agreed. You heard what the ghosts said last year. Dumbledore wouldn't commit to the sacrifices needed to protect the castle. Three students to save hundreds, you know that makes sense."

She shook her head, "no."

And the last thing Mallory sees before she crosses through the fire is Farley's crumpled body, her cheek smeared with red lipstick.

(I didn't roll the dice yet on whether Gemma lives or dies.)

This time, the arena is a rapidly flooding basement in an abandoned house on the edge of the forbidden forest. Her wand is snapped, but that doesn't stop her.

Mallory asks him if he knows the unlocking spell. Harper says he can't accidentally-on-purpose do accidental magic.

"Yes you can," she says, annoyed that he was arguing this now, when it seemed self-evident that any witch or wizard could use magic without a wand.

"No, you can't. That's — just because you saw Dumbledore or some other wizard do it, doesn't mean you can— you're not bloody Merlin."

Mallory ignores him and keeps gathering what she needs, "I've done it before."

"No, you haven't. You've done it on accident, not on purpose — you need a wand. It's like Tonks, Hopkins, with the metamorphmagi. It's blood — you can't---"

"Yes, I can," she said, firmly.

He looks at her as though she's delusional, but she gets a flash of certainty, that he now believes she isn't a muggleborn at all, and finds herself off-balance and almost embarrassed for him, past the terror of the moment.

I ended up writing that she burns the lock off, or part of the door to get out, since the lock is magically locked and she can't do an unlocking spell.

When she can do it, it's like touching a live wire, almost. Half the time the feeling's so intense that she gets distracted and loses it. But when she doesn't lose her grip, the sensation feels a bit like ecstacy, like a synchronization up and through her body, sparking from the bottom of her spine to the crown of her head. And if she holds it there, makes a mental motion of clenching, but without pressure, then sometimes she can push it out through her hand. Right now, she was pushing out the concept of heat. Mallory felt quite familiar with fire, with hot objects and the way fire burned. She'd practiced this enough back in South Brent for her to expect this to work. It's easier here, she thinks. There's something in the air, a sick kind of pressure radiating cold, and the heat in her, an ever-burning brightness that she could never remember not feeling, lashed out in protest. This fire wanted out, and Mallory was more than happy to oblige it. [she heats up the metal of the handle until it's glowing red hot.] "Alright, now we just need to cool it off, but quickly." Harper just stared at her, eyes bugged out in stunned disbelief.

The kids escape as Higgs succumbs to the demon. Almost all of Blackthorn's devices fail, except for one:

And then something decidedly strange happened. The pocket mirror, so carelessly tossed into the muck, popped open. And like something out of the creepiest horror movies, a hand reached out of the mirror. Only it wasn't just a hand. The hand became an arm, then a torso, and then the towering figure of Professor Blackthorn, standing right on top of the tiny mirror.

Corvinus Blackthorn arrives with the sword, puts them in a circle of protection, and challenges the abomination.

She catches a glimpse of desiccated flesh and sharp, jagged bone through the trees. The space between the trees is narrow, light swallowed up by an oppressive, weighty darkness. A tail made of jagged broken bones lashes out, gouging blackthorn. Deep gouges in his chest and arm. Bones uneven and ugly, with rotting meat sloughing off with every movement.

Catches him across the chest and he slams into the trunk with all the grace of a ragdoll. Blackthorn is thrown, arm shattering and sword wrenched from his grip. Silver fire paints an arc where it fell, igniting pools of water and debris.

The circle was broken.

It floods the forest floor with ice water, and tries to mutilate Blackthorn, but it doesn't work because Blackthorn's body is made of clay, not flesh. Mallory picks up Blackthorn's sword, burning herself very badly, and enters a space between time where she can see it clearly, and strikes the monster down as it attempts to kill Blackthorn, then collapses. It's Mallory's strike that kills and damages the monster more so than Blackthorn's, for Blackthorn is more like the beast than Mallory.

I think I decided to have Narcissa's POV be the aftermath chapter, revealing that the aurors pursued Blackthorn to the forest, and suffered heavy losses. Their actions were why the abomination was so slow -- it's attention was split.

Tonks was injured badly, and Narcissa was secretly visiting Andromeda to offer hospital care and muse about the past:

"Is it dead?" Andy asked. Is Dora safe?

"I'm not sure," Narcissa wetted her lips, hesitating before she finally said, "Bella's old master was there. I think that's why they're holding their tongues. They'd have to reveal they let him back in the country." Andy almost flinched.

They never talked about Bella, never spoke about the third Black sister, not even in passing. The way Andy acted, it was though she wished to forget they even had an eldest sister, but Narcissa couldn't forget, not even if she wanted to. Bella was etched into her eyelids, carved into her flesh like a silver sickle-blade. Their sister, skin smeared with blood, coming home with gleaming eyes and a wicked sharp smile.

Andy used to smile to express comfort, joy, and wonder. But Bella's were a whole different matter.

Narcissa could make an entire catalog of Bella's smiles, and there'd still be more to file away. She had these sweet smiles, the sort she'd make when someone asked her a question they would regret ever asking. Then there were the moments she'd catch her sister reading some book on advanced meta-magical theory, taking notes in her scrawling script. Those smiles were relaxed and easy, like lounging in a chair warmed by the fire.

Most common, though, were the sharp and fleeting smiles of their youth. Mother never understood Bella. She couldn't understand Andy, either, but it was Bella she came down on the hardest. Bella, who had to be an example to her younger sisters, elegant and demur. Bella, who couldn't sit still for more than five minutes at a time, and was brighter than Andy and Narcissa put together.

She was gone, now. She'd been gone for years, found dead in her cell a week before Beltane, four years ago. But in truth, Narcissa knew she'd been gone for near a decade before she died. Bella's body just took its time catching up with her mind.

It was absurd how another person could become so necessary, like a part of yourself you didn't realize could go missing. She'd sometimes see some book on arithmancy and casually think to herself that Bella would enjoy it, only to remember that Bella was dead. Bella would never enjoy it, just like she'd never live to see Draco grow into an adult wizard or have her own children. It still felt like a bludger to the chest, even after all this time.

And once she started looking, Bella was everywhere. She found Bella in the smell of stale cigarettes and cheap muggle whiskey, found her in old records playing on the wireless, in powerful and complicated works of magic that she knew Bella would've found enthralling. Bella haunted her in the familiar scowl on that little girl's face, in the bright, quicksilver smile of her son. Narcissa saw the girl Bella used to be, before the Dark Lord twisted her into something ugly and seething.

No, neither she nor Andy could bear to speak of Bella, but their every interaction was defined by her absence.

Bella had blamed herself for Andy's departure, just as Andy blamed herself for Dora's decisions. In a sense, they were both a little right.

Bella was the one who introduced Andy to all that muggle nonsense. Cigarettes and the cinema, their teenage nights were spent drinking and partying. Bella, she knew, had drowned herself in booze and recreational potions to escape their family, escape the twists of her own mind, mutating all that was good and whole into sharp angles and magic. Andy, though, became enamoured by the muggles. It was their world that captured her imagination, and muggleness of any kind became the quickest way to provoke those warm summer-day smiles. The trifling distraction became her life. After Andy eloped, it seemed that Bella's smiles had vanished with her. Bella's mirror calls became flat and lifeless, the ever-present gleam in her eyes, gone. Even Blackthorn's antics weren't enough to move her to good humor.

But it was never Bella's fault, not really.

Yes, the subtext here is that Narcissa was infatuated with her sister, willing to excuse her violence, and that Mallory strongly resembles Bellatrix Black. The audience is supposed to be given the sense that this Bellatrix is a bit of a departure from canon Bellatrix.

(I wanted to write like, the most fucked up possible Family Black.)

Andromeda wants to be put in touch with Blackthorn, believing he will be able to heal here daughter, but Narcissa refuses, believing Blackthorn is a plague on their family.

After Hogwarts, Bella ended up turning down the Lestranges to earn her Mastery, studying under Professor Blackthorn, instead. But from what Narcissa understood through various mirror-calls throughout the years, most of this "studying" was really them jaunting around the globe. Narcissa remembered reading about him in the paper, once. The Floating City of Mojipar had fallen from the sky, hundreds dead. And at the center of it all was the necromancer, Corvinus Blackthorn. The picture had been haunting, a city crumbling, flames eating through homes as it hurtled toward the ground. The worst part was, she could so easily imagine Bella there. Bella, with her sharp grin and gleaming eyes, laughing amidst the chaos.

Narcissa is unable to stop Andromeda from leaving to visit him, and despairs about how she wishes she could freeze the memories of her sisters in amber. It's all supposed to be very creepy.

I was considering writing the battle also from Tonks' POV instead, which would've let me throw in a number of conflicts between Dumbledore and Blackthorn, but I ended up rolling those ideas into a later chapter.

the story picks up again with Mallory recovering in a house outside Koldovstoretz, a wizarding school in Russia with Blackthorn's former mentor, and old wizard named Yegor. She learns picking up the sword badly injured her, because it was a cursed sword. That combined with the oath she broke took a heavy toll, and most of this time she spends recovering in bed.

(I hadn't decided when Andromeda visits, but it was supposed to be mildly revealing.)

Bored, she starts rummaging through the room she's staying in, and discovers it contains Blackthorn's effects from when he was Yegor's apprentice, as well as several shoeboxes worth of letters between Bellatrix Black, Narcissa, Blackthorn, etc. Most of these conversations are one-sided, because Mallory only has the letters Bellatrix received, not the ones she sent, aside from a few Bellatrix sent Blackthorn. There are also pictures, and Mallory notices that she looks a lot like Bellatrix and Andromeda.

I wasn't sure how I was going to present the letters. Probably as stand-alones. My notes for the letters look like:

The first letter comes from Andromeda, who has recently learned that Bellatrix has run away rather than become the fiance of Lestrange. Her parents may have mailed her too, but it is likely Bellatrix burnt those letters. Andromeda may reference letters from her parents. Discusses how Bellatrix's leaving has been taken by the family. Mentions how badly Narcissa's taking it.

The year is 1974, and Bellatrix Black is 23 years old, a journeyman headed to Ugadou to finish her education. Andromeda is 21 years old, and has a one year old baby with Ted Tonks. Narcissa is 19, already married to Lucius Malfoy. Sirius is 15, in the throws of rebellion. He might've already run away. Regulus is 13, and entering his third year at Hogwarts. One letter should mention some kind of awkward romantic encounter between Corvinus and Bella.

1976 — Flight from Britain Andromeda asks Bellatrix, in an oblique way, for help going into hiding. For a while she's been fine, staying in MACUSA territory with Ted and the baby, believing themselves outside the reach of the family. But she's recently gotten a letter from Narcissa, who is concerned that the family Head (Arcturus Black III, Orion's father) is being radicalized further by Voldemort. And Narcissa heard a rumor that the family knows where she's hiding.

1977 — The Last Days A letter from Narcissa, it's only two words: "Please don't." A letter from her mother or an aunt, saying something like: You have my greatest sympathies and I fully understand your dedication to this wizard, but given the challenges that are now facing this family, you don't feel you have a responsibility to return home?

It's implied that something happened after that, since there are no more letters. Later it would be revealed that Bellatrix was goaded into visiting her family home, where she was captured and presented to Voldemort as a sacrifice. This did not go how the Black family expected it to.

At this point, the audience is supposed to have drawn the obvious conclusion that Mallory is Bellatrix's daughter, otherwise I wouldn't have spent so many pages fleshing out Bellatrix's character.

Mallory learns that Bellatrix ran away from home after she graduated Hogwarts to study higher magics. This plan would've failed, except Blackthorn took an interest in her and made her his apprentice. Bellatrix and Blackthorn were at one point in a serious relationship. Bellatrix was Blackthorn's former apprentice, and he entered into a relationship with her as her apprenticeship concluded.

Blackthorn and Bellatrix's relationship provides some context for why Blackthorn came to Hogwarts at all (when he learned that it was Mallory who was attacked,) and why he contrived to have her stay at his mentor's house. Mallory learns a bit about wandlore and her own ability at divination when Blackthorn helps her select a new wand. He gives her gifts and other things which Mallory finds vaguely suspicious — she's not sure if it's about Bellatrix, or if he's interested in her in particular, but his generosity and willingness to advise her has her concerned. He finds out she snooped and read the letters, and talks to her about how her gifts are hereditary and mark her out as a target.

That night, she hears Dumbledore arrive, and overhears a conversation that terrifies her.

She's not a distant relation of a squib of the Black family. Andromeda Black was approached a few nights after Voldemort's "death" by a haggard Bellatrix, carrying a baby. Bellatrix demanded Andromeda take the baby, keep it secret, that she had something she needed to do. Then she went and tortured the Longbottoms.

Andromeda took the baby to Dumbledore, believing it to be Voldemort's heir. Dumbledore also drew that conclusion, named the baby "Mallory," for "bad," and left her with a squib family (Mallory's dad Hopkins is the son of a squib related to the wizarding family Hopkins,) who couldn't have children. He intended to use her in the war when Voldemort came back, either as bait or as a weapon.

Mallory also learns she's discovered hints about her parentage before, and every time she figures it out, Dumbledore erases her memory. Blackthorn is furious, and says she ought to know the truth.

Blackthorn also insists that Bellatrix was a double-agent, a spy who'd been imperius'd by Voldemort but broke the spell and decided to get revenge by spying on him for Blackthorn. Mallory finds Blackthorn's claims somewhat contradictory and confusing, but is distracted by Dumbledore:

Dumbledore plans to erase her mind again, so she quickly writes down everything important in her notebook, with the hope that Dumbledore won't find out she did this in her mind, or the notebook itself.

Her memory is erased, her note is found, but she wrote it in hard pencil and a ghost of it remained on the paper behind it. Mallory's gift of revelation means that two days later, she notices a page has been torn out of her notebook, and that the imprints remain, and bothers to get back some of the message.

When Mallory returns to Hogwarts, she discovers from a letter from her parents that Danny is in a coma. And Snape takes her to detention for breaking the statute of secrecy. They obliviated Danny's memories of magic, and because magic was such a large part of his life, it erased almost all of his memories.

I was planning to write out an arc where we follow Danny from when he got Mallory's phone call, to him stealing and conning his way all the way to Scotland to save her. He manages to get to Dufftown, and finds an alarming military occupation in town, one that becomes relevant later when the audience learns that more muggleborn families are disappearing -- it's not Voldemort, but muggles preparing to go to war against wizarding kind.

Danny almost gets to the castle, but is turned back by the wards repeatedly until eventually he attracts the attention of a teacher who inexpertly obliviates him.

Mallory attempts to smuggle him healing potions, but she's too late. And she doesn't understand why obliviation killed him, when so many get obliviated every day, even large obliviations, and are fine.

She declares revenge, but most of all won't accept that he's dead. She tries to get in contact with Blackthorn again, saying she'll do anything, contact anyone (implicitly threatening to contact voldemort, since he apparently returned from death) if it means bringing him back.

Blackthorn agrees to help her. He says he knows how to return a soul from death, but doesn't have the objects he needs. That he's also trying to return someone from the dead. Mallory takes that to mean Bellatrix, though she's wrong. He's trying to bring back his daughter who he murdered (without knowing she was his daughter), accidentally setting a bloodline curse on himself. If he brings her back, he's free of the curse. He tells her that she needs to learn how to protect her mind first, from obliviation and from legilimancy. And once they do that, he will teach her and help her. He expresses interest in having her check in with him frequently, because he's worried she's going insane.

This works well with Mallory's existing goals of learning to protect her mind, so she agrees, though remains suspicious.

After several months, Mallory begins to suspect that he's not interested in her because of Bellatrix, or because he thinks she'll be as smart as Bellatrix, but that she's most likely his daughter, not Voldemort's.

"Why..." Mallory trailed off, "why didn't you take me in, after Bellatrix... after what happened." Moreover, she wanted to know why she hadn't been placed with someone she was related to, since wizards seemed to care about blood so much.

"I was out of the country," a pause, "after, you were six years old, raised by muggles — raised by a family that cared for you." Another pause, "Andromeda refused to keep you. Too much danger. The danger passed only two years after she gave you away. And everyone — Andromeda, Bellatrix, myself, none of us wanted to see you with Druella or Cygnus. Your grandparents. Your other aunt, Narcissa, she wasn't an option, either. No." Shakes his head.

"But not you. That's everyone else, not you."

"I am not a fit parent. I travel to dangerous places, put myself in peril. Less, now, but" he breathed a sigh out his nose, "I'd rather no one know who you are — someone would hurt you. Right now you can walk down the street, draw no stares or whispers. You have time to learn as you will, face few who would wish you ill."

She wasn't stupid. Mallory might not be a super-genius like Felix or (apparently) Bellatrix, but she was bright enough to make the obvious connection. There were holes in this theory. Bellatrix shipped Mallory off to Andromeda's, instead of Blackthorn's. He said he'd been off on a sabbatical, slaying demons or whatever, and was unreachable. But Mallory thought that seemed unlikely. Surely he would've kept his magic mirror on him. He managed to find time to call her when he was in the middle of Death Valley, after all, while he was hunting down some kind of crazed demon-summoning cult. He called to give her a lecture on doxies. There was no way he wouldn't answer the magic mirror for Bellatrix. Kind of blew a huge hole in the side of that ship, though it wasn't sunk just yet. There could be another explanation. Perhaps he couldn't pick up the mirror for some other reason he wasn't telling her. Maybe he'd been captured by the free goblin army, made to summon demons for their plot to overthrow all wizardry and bathe in the blood of their long-hated enemies. Or he could've spent those four years in a Solomonari dungeon before finally escaping. And then he finds out his kid already has a family, and that she's happy there, so he leaves Mallory alone.

...or maybe he was busy getting avada kedavra'd out of his body, necessitating a new one being built out of clay.

In other words, Bellatrix's mother kidnapped her and delivered her to Lord Voldemort to be murdered by Lord Voldemort because Bellatrix was planning on marrying Lord Voldemort's alter-ego.

And Bellatrix didn't actually know Voldemort was Blackthorn's alter ego. (The fic "Tom Riddle's Grand Adventure" was meant to explain how Tom became Corvinus. The short version is he ends up being run out of Wizarding Britain and ends up in Grindelwald's warzone until he stumbles into Yegor, who advises him against making more horcruxes, so instead of an incompetent insane Voldemort, you get a competent insane Voldemort who spends a significant portion of his time teaching defense against the dark arts at a russian magic school. Both are extremely evil. This was never a redemption story.) until that day.

Mallory also can't help but notice that he's not a good person. At first she wants to believe he is, because facing the reality that her birth parents are monsters seems overwhelming to her. So she spends time around him, around his associates, and the more she does the less she finds herself able to make excuses for him or for her birth mother. What they did doesn't make sense. And they say it'll make sense when she's older, but she realizes that all they're doing is trying to get her to sell out to their values and become like them. And she won't.

And this ties in strongly with the way the wizarding world treats family -- how the text of the HP books says "family isn't important" but the subtext all but screams that it does, and how so much HP fanfic follows suit. It always bugged me, so I decided to invert that. While the characters and in-game universe all explicitly believe it matters who your family is, over and over the old families get hoisted by their own petards. The very magic they think makes them superior royally fucks them over and over again. And Mallory's birth family acts to screw her over or hurt her, even when they're saying they intend to help. More importantly, she starts seeing how there are lines she doesn't want to cross, things she won't do for power or even Danny.

Mallory begins to hate the wizarding world with a vengeful passion. The teachers are corrupt, the adults have tremendous power but use it for selfish and stupid purposes, and their entire world seems hell-bent on becoming as authoritarian as possible. She decides to bring down the British Wizarding government. And when she discovers the others are just as bad or worse, they become targets as well.

Dumbledore eventually learns about Mallory's connection to Blackthorn and some of her plans, resulting in a renewed attempt to obliviate her. Mallory keeps her memories and flees, this time successfully, to her muggle parents. They board a plane and attempt to head to the US, where some relatives live. Once off the plane they're accosted by security. It turns out the muggle government knows Mallory's a witch, and is actively hunting down any muggleborn families to study them and then murder them, believing wizardkind to be a threat to their control. They've figured out a way to get around wizarding mindwipes using the power of being able to write things down on a computer and send files with that information to any location in the world, including locations the writer doesn't know, themselves.

Blackthorn comes to the rescue, though only as she's already escaping, having decided there is another government she must destroy, and that's around when Mallory learns he's Voldemort. She's repulsed and terrified for her parents, who she fears he'll kill. He assures her he won't. She realizes the only reason why she should believe him is that he is cursed to not completely fuck her over by a bloodline curse.

I had some text from these scenes but I lost some of the word docs in 2015 when I switched computers. It's laid out that he can't kill Mallory because their ancestor put a bloodline curse on the family that makes it suicide to kill or weaken your descendants. Most of his family went mad because they did lots of child abuse.

Mallory finds all of this disgusting. Like, his main motive for not murdering her parents is that he is restricted by a curse. He knows she'll grow up strong and take revenge on him if he kills her loved ones. She realizes she can never trust him, because he's doing "good" things for the wrong reasons. And she realizes that one day she'll have to destroy him.

She at various points confronts him about how he murdered people, about how he took on the role of Voldemort. He says things like, "Voldemort wasn't me, it was a mask" or "it was all for a greater purpose," but to Mallory, those are poor excuses. It's more or less meant to parody and mock a lot of stories that seriously use those excuses as a reason for the main character to get along with Voldemort.

Voldemort reveals that he'd planned for Dumbledore, but had hesitated with carrying out his plan -- he was going to pass off Blackthorn as Voldemort's distant cousin. That would explain Mallory's parseltongue (the lisp from chapter 1, how she has blanks and a headache after encountering salazar slytherin's portrait and snakes in the common room, etc are supposed to be after-effects of obliviation.) and Blackthorn-as-a-parent prevented Dumbledore from more memory wipes.

If he just took her to Koldovstoretz, Dumbledore would pursue her. And they couldn't keep her presence a secret forever. Mallory decides she wants to go back to Hogwarts anyway, because she doesn't want to be near him.

Mallory returns to Hogwarts, and desperately wishes the lie they were telling was true, that she really only was Voldemort's distant cousin and that Blackthorn really was a wizard on the side of making the world better. But he isn't, and she knows it. And she can't pretend they aren't her birth parents, because she has the same bloodline curses and problems they do. But she can take everything they know and use it to kill every abomination, every source of power for the old families, including her own. And that causes her to almost implode, because those sources of power are a part of her, and she spends a lot of time battling herself. The central question of this fight being how do you destroy something when part of you is that something? Not "how" as in "how could you?" but "how" as a technical question. The demons in her mind are all enemies, and she plays them off one another and tricks most of them into fighting one another. Except for the part of her that is the demon of revelation, which I didn't get around to figuring out how she'd destroy before I stopped working on this project.

Her demons were:

Yig ◆◆◆ A god of //Revelation//. Reveals itself as a great serpent of knowledge, promising communication and power for worship. Should you break a covenant with it, you will become deformed and snake-like, your wits addled and determination sapped. The gift of parseltongue comes at the cost of a loss in eloquence in human tongues. Words do not come to you easily. The power of parselmagic and the command of snakes becomes yours. Yig took special interest in the Gaunt family and cursed them to not betray their children, and no member of the family has failed to betray their children, so they are very cursed. **Enyo (Death) ◆◆◆** A god of //Domination //inherited from the **House of Peverell** before 1214//, //after the brothers tricked it. They gained the three Deathly Hallows, and later used the three Hallows in a ritual to take on a measure of the god's power, into themselves. While the brothers succeeded, they found that death and sorrow follows those who bear the mark of Enyo, no matter that they gained some authority over the magic of life and death. **Gath ◆◆** A greater demon of //Revelation, //inherited from **House of Gaunt** in the middle ages. The Keeper of the Secrets, The Guardian of the Knowledge, is a slimy shape-shifting mass, which can be summoned with mud and the blood of the invoker. When summoned will reveal much-needed information, but at a great cost. Another, lesser ritual was invoked by the **House of Gaunt,** many years ago. Gives the supplicant a talent for legilimency, to pry secrets from the minds of others, understanding. But in every generation, a member of the family must look into the mind of another, //know them,// and then sacrifice that person and their secrets to Volgna-Gath. If the chain breaks, the knowledge is used to hurt you: you see the least charitable thoughts about you when you look into another's mind. You're overwhelmed with sensation. **Golothess** A lesser demon of //Obliteration //inherited from the **Black** **family, **through **Ella Max** before 1829. A piece of the 10 pieces of Golothess was imbued into each bloodline. Of those lines, three have withered- Clagg, Muldoon, and Bragge, their pieces lost to the world forever. The lost shards weaken the overall power of the ritual. In battle, they are strengthened with confidence, boldness, and power. This effect is strengthened the more they are impaired by drink or other substances. The effect does stack. **Ngyr-Korath** A greater demon of //Obliteration, //inherited from the **Black family **through **Licorus Black** in the 1850's. The **Flint family** also made this pact, but effects from the same pact are not additive. A 20% luck to all actions in the name of chaos and destruction of intelligent life. She has an increased chance of dying young. If the Family refuses to sacrifice a human or other intelligent species once per year, they all become squibs. If the family doesn't remain extant, all with the blood become squibs. **Nyarlathotep** A lesser demon of //Liberation, //inherited through the **Bulstrode Family. **One in every generation of family blood shall have the power to shapeshift. One in every generation will go mad. The exact ritual is a closely guarded secret. Mallory, Draco, Millicent or Nymphadora will go insane. Nymphadora gained the power to shapeshift.

Those are the monsters Mallory must defeat within herself in order to be able to carry out her will.

Shortly after Mallory returns, Hogwarts gets bombed by the muggle military with Mallory and her classmates in it. This sparks a war. I didn't have a lot of the war written out, but the idea was to introduce in all the previous chapters most of the major factions that would be fighting. And they're all fighting each other while fighting the larger threat.

Then there are the threats from other wizarding communities that want to do war.

And there's a cosmic being encroaching on their reality, one that'll destroy muggle and wizarding civilization, and everyone is too busy killing each other to try to stop it. (A kind of written scream about how people won't work together that I didn't understand so well why that happened at the time.)

It all goes very badly.

...

They resurrect Danny and Lily Potter using the three Deathly Hallows. Mallory demands Blackthorn do this for her gratis. He does because he needs her help to be free of a bloodline curse, but the result is less than what she hoped for. Danny's spirit returns, and is put in a clay body, and will not age, much like Lily. He hopes that bringing them back will not only free him of the bloodline curse, but earn both Mallory and Harry's loyalty. It is not enough for either Mallory and Harry, because Blackthorn/Riddle's actions didn't just impact Mallory and Harry. And one of the arcs was going to be them teaming up to murder Tom/Blackthorn. I never got around to figuring out the third person they'd get to resurrect. I made the rule they were only able to resurrect three people. (Three Hallows, three casters, three people brought back from the dead; the ring to summon the soul, the cloak to hide them from death, and the wand to open a gate. Mostly to prevent it from raising the question, "why aren't wizards raising the dead left and right?")

The resurrection was to involve a an arc where they go and enter the realm of death together to bring back the souls of Lily and Danny. I had a few ideas -- one was a completely static world where all time was in form-shapes, the other was a whimsical-but-stereotypical eternal train station, and the third was a sewer that morphs you into deathly things the longer you stay in it. Never worked out which I was going to go with.

...

An important piece of lore in the story was that Mallory was cursed. A lot of descendants of "old families" are cursed. Every person with a gift for divination, or special power has gotten it from a deal their family made with a demon a long time ago. And that demon has cursed their entire line to have a power at a cost. This power is achieved by ripping out a piece of their soul and replacing it with a piece of the demon.

Mallory, due to the number of demons both sides of her family has made compacts with, has a soul that is mostly made out of demon parts. She is barely human, but decides to fight them anyway.

...

This story was specifically designed so that the setting and environment would be geared towards "the world is made up of domination and powerful families." Even magic is written as giving more power to authority. But my main characters reject all of it, and decide to destroy that power through whatever means necessary. But the main way I did this was tying any "family" power to the destruction of all sentient life. So choosing "family" always meant choosing the illusion of "family" for the price of killing everyone a bit, including that family. And that power systematically destroys every family who deals in it, revealing everyone who uses it as someone who doesn't love their families at all, doesn't love anyone.

Mallory doesn't find herself curious about the power "she is owed" by society, because she wants to destroy that society. She does not try to get its approval, or use that information to impress her classmates, nor does she see herself as a reformist or muggle apologist or pureblood apologist or whatever. If at some point the purebloods in the school were to find out her identity and try to make friends with her, she would've roundly rejected them. Her refrain that she would never be friends with these people in the beginning of the story is a decision she keeps throughout the whole story.

(The "exception" is Castor Avery, who betrays his family and joins her team.)

There are a lot of stories about how once someone finds out they're really a member of the Black family, or related to Voldemort, they become inherently aligned with them out of some sense that family trumps all, and in doing so end up becoming like the badguys themselves, though they make token attempts at resistance. This was not that story. Any time Mallory interacts with structures of power, she's gathering information on how to destroy them. She understands that the dark side will offer her gifts and comforts, and even save her friend Danny for the sake of buying her loyalty. She'll accept any gifts without explicit strings, and immediately use that gift or tool to subvert them with no guilt or second thoughts.

Often, those stories also identify the purebloods as literally more powerful than everyone else. And while this story has many characters buying into that frame of view, and the reality of the story buys into it, Mallory doesn't. And that makes them all a bit weaker. Her willingness to deep-down refuse to believe in their authority literally damages their authority, and their ability to do magic around her.

I wanted to show what it feels like for one to feel like the whole world is telling them they have to accept something sick as true, that they even half-believe its true, and then reject it anyway not because reality doesn't look that way, but because you've decided you're going to change it. I wanted to show that as possible.

That was the whole point of making magic such that "authority" makes your magic stronger. I intended to deconstruct the reactionary themes in HP that lead to so many reactionary fics. Mallory explicitly chooses her muggle family. Explicitly chooses to condemn both the wizarding governments and muggle governments. And no matter how hard Dumbledore and others anticipate that she'll become a dark witch, she refuses the path they attempt to pigeonhole her into.

A part of this is how her name is handled. Riddle and Black named her "Carina Rose" and Mallory never changes her name to reflect that. Throughout the whole story, she goes by Mallory Hopkins, and thinks of herself as Mallory Hopkins. When she learns her name was meant as a joke by Dumbledore, she starts thinking of herself as "Hopkins" more so than Mallory, because the Hopkins were the people she chose, and throughout the story she works to keep them safe and away from her birth family.

A major theme was going to be found family vs anticipated loyalty to hereditary family. Mallory's muggle parents were set up as (to Mallory) "good people," in contrast to her biological family, who were blatantly and obviously bad people, no matter how they tried to excuse their behavior with claims that it's "tradition," or that what they were doing was "necessary" for the "betterment of the world." Mallory's biological family was going to give her gifts, attention, etc., all in the hopes of converting her to their side. And the tension in these stories usually is that the main character is tempted, or becomes corrupted, or otherwise falls in with the bad people and starts making excuses for them.

My focus on identifying everything as "bullying" at the time was that this story was planned out in 2014, after I'd endured some pretty severe bullying. Writing this story was part therapy for me, to work out my feelings about feeling as helpless and angry as Mallory did. And to me it felt like the whole world was set up in such a way that the "authority" wins, and the only thing to do was to hide and plot. So I poured out my anger and disgust into this story, made it reflect the lack of care I saw in people.

I no longer think things are hopeless like that, so the world of Mallory is less appealing to me to write in.

[forestdivinity]

the spirits of my past lives still follow me around

Dear Daddy

What are ghosts but people stuck out of time? What am I but a body stuck out of its grave? 

You killed me, once, twice, a thousand times. How many minutes did I spend in that damn crypt? How many hours did you listen to me scream and scream and scream? You always were a sadist - and not even the fun kind! 

Metaphor meet truth. 

They make us write letters in rehab - why depends on the shrink of the day but all the ones I’ve met seem to think writing out your thoughts will make them more coherent. I haven’t been coherent since I was four years old, ear drums blown out from the screaming.

Hah, you believed me then! Before that, you thought I was as ordinary as Vanya. Worse even, because I wouldn’t stop crying. Least Vanya was quiet. Sure you hated her too, but least she rarely annoyed you. Not the way I did. 

Sorry! I’m a chronic pain in the ass.

I’m not actually sorry.

I want you to know I’m not sorry about any of the fucking stuff I did to piss you off. Wish I’d done more. Wrapped my fingers around your throat and squeezed maybe - wonder if that would have killed you. You always seemed so untouchable, Dad. What’s a little more murder in the family, anyway?

Fuck you, fuck you. Why was I never enough? 

You shoved me in with the dead, maybe you just wanted me to join them. Sounds like a you thing. Got a screaming, sobbing, unruly child you can’t be bothered to deal with? Well, have I got just the thing for them, a crash course in their worst fears, woo! Great fucking plan, Daddy! That’s ironic, Bee-Tee-DoubleU.

Wish you’d let me get into the medicine cabinet earlier. Not like I did anything to please you before that. I don’t think They ever realised. 

Man, I miss drugs. Rehab is like a crash course in trauma. There’s always like one Screamer lurking where you least expect it, Dad. 

Sometimes it’s me, you know. Sometimes I’m the screamer. Everyone is a fucking ghost here, I swear, we’re all stuck in this white walled little crypt, all dreaming of the same fucking pills. I’m like dreaming of ecstasy lately. I see those little babies every time I close my eyes, like they miss me too. Klaus, Klaus, Klaus, they call. Just like the ghosts.

Ever think I was destined to be this? If there're ghosts around and boys with tentacle portals in their stomachs, then maybe destiny exists too? Does god exist then?

Maybe I’m a just fucking psychotic Daddy! Maybe I burst my own ear drums just to get you to look at me, ever think about that? Wouldn’t that be disappointing? I was always a disappointment to you, should have just gone to that little grave early. It might have been pitiable then, not just pathetic.

I want heroin. I love her like a daughter, like a mother, like a wife. I always thought about being a wife, having a wife, but looks like it wasn’t in the plan, huh? Huh! It’s your fault! All of it!

I wish I’d never been born. Fucking miracle birth my ass.

Funny, I wanted to get deep in this, but you just make me so mad and I’m disastrously sober. You never liked me sober, didn’t like me high either. Then again, maybe you just hated kids. Weirdo.

I want the drugs now. I’m so tired and so angry. You ever feel like the walls are just closing in on you? Probably not, I doubt you’re claustrophobic. Honestly, you never seemed scared of anything, like you weren’t even human. Just some monocle wearing robot come to torment us all. Unfair comparison for robots really, Mom definitely tried her best.

I am an imploding star, Dad. Nothing you can do to change that - BEN!! STOP READING OVER MY SHOULDER! 

I’ve been burning up since the day I was born. 

Lovecraft wrote “and with stranger aeons, even death may die” - he was a racist, piece of shit bastard, but I’m waiting for it to come true. Maybe then I’d get some fucking peace. Wouldn’t that be fantastic?

All I ever wanted in life was peace, Dad! Why d'you have to go and leave me to the screaming. Sometimes I don’t know if I ever got free? What if this is all some strange fever dream, the last moments of an addled mind? What a nightmare to dream up as you die. Maybe I’m just in Hell - this life is certainly an eternal torture. 

Seems too easy though, doesn’t it?

I bet the Devil is like, a cowboy. Everyone depicts him as some big, red, fork-tailed thing, but I think a cowboy would be funny. Unexpected. And you would hate it, which only makes it better, you know? Recently I’ve been asking myself “would Dad hate this?” and if the answer is yes, I do it. Wrote a whole ass soliloquy on cock a few weeks back. I was so fucking high. Thought I’d be the next Shakespeare or something.

Turns out I just waffled about dick cheese for three pages. 

Eh.

You’d still hate it, so I count it as a win.

Daddy, I have officially lost the fucking plot of this letter. I blame Ben; he keeps trying to read over my shoulder, you should tell him to leave me alone. Not that he’d listen to you! Like any of us bar, Luther listened to you in the end. I think it would have been a better world if we’d all run away like Five, but alas, it was not the case.

What was even the point of this?

Oh yeah. I hate you. You fucked me up.You left me to rot and die in that crypt and I haven’t been alive ever since. It’s funny, you can go through life as a ghost and no one ever notices.

I hope one day, when you die, I get to piss on your ashes. It would be a fucking fitting end.

Fuck you.

Klaus Hargreeves.

-

The letter never gets sent. For three weeks and a day it sits in the bottom of his coat pocket until Klaus forgets he’d ever written it in the first place. He gets high, beautifully, soaringly high and uses the paper to roll joints when he runs out of skins. 

A fitting end. Gone in the wind.

Klaus laughs when he realises, fingers itching for another hit. Time to move on. Not like it would have made a difference anyhow.

[pizzamafiaart]

hee hoo THATS IT. IM TELLING YA’LL ABOUT MY DESTINY OCS

Exo Hunter Kobalt-13 Ghost name: Triangle Pronouns: he/him

loves finding treasure (aka caches of glimmer) to the point where he keeps treasure finding mods on his ghost

likes taking down high level enemies because they leave behind caches of glimmer

eats aquarium gravel on a regular basis

Triangle has all the brain cells and has to try to convince him to take actual missions rather than scrounge for cache's of glimmer

Has a shoebox filled with old pictures of him and his brother and family from when they were alive. It also has a soccer trophy from when Rust played soccer as a child.

Exo Warlock Rust-19 Ghost name: Saki Pronouns: He/him

Much more serious than Kobalt. Finds him to be kind of annoying

jailbroke his system so he could install anime gacha games onto himself.

Remembers nothing of his old life.

Actually surprisingly buff for a warlock. Could have been a titan.

Backstory: Kobalt and Rust were brothers that died in a carcrash during the golden age. They were turned into exos by their grieving parents. Kobalt has a few memories of their life and remembers their brother, Rust. Rust remembers nothing of his previous life to the point that he does not know that he and Kobalt are actual brothers. Kobalt insists that he refers to Rust as his brother. Rust just thinks that this is just a weird annoying thing that Kobalt does. Kobalt refuses to show Rust any of the photos of them in their past life or reveal that they are actually brothers for fear that it may cause him to glitch and need to be reset, thus making him lose his memories again.

Human Titan Liam Ghost Name: Sweetie/SweetHeart Pronouns: she/they

Liam was alive during the pre-golden age.

Their ghost managed to find a way into a buried mausoleum and resurrected them from their grave.

This is SUPER weird considering most guardians are from the golden age.

Liam doesn't remember their past but seems to remember what the pre-golden age was like. This mostly manifests as general confusion about what the absolute fuck is going on and have NO IDEA how anything works.

thinks exos are... kinda hot ;)

thinks the fallen are... kinda hot ;)

thinks the cabal are... kinda ugly ;)

thinks the vex are-

Historian love her. She offers some great insight into what life was like pre-golden age.

Who let this tiny lady be a guardian? who did this? why does she also have the strength to lift a fucking fridge.

looks like a cinnamon roll. could also kill you. fuckin smasha your head in with a ROCK

Someone managed to find a VERY RARE pre-golden age computer and Liam managed to get doom running on it.

Sometimes sings old songs from their past life. It reminds of them of home...

She finds the current state of earth to be distressing. In her time nearly the entire planet was covered in towns and cities. Now there are only decaying structures that have been slowly taken over by nature.

[makes ocs] hee hoo [makes them sad] >:3c

Anyways Kobalt is heavily based off of my hunter and my playstyle. YES i like treasure. Also my ghost has a pyramid shell so i named him triangle :)

I recently started a titan character so that’s liam. And i havent made a warlock because uhhhhh im dummy. I probably wont do much with rust. hes basicly just part of Kobalt’s backstory and i made him weirdly fleshed out.

[ofgunshy]

TASK 09 / IRENE BRADFORD.

you’ve known enough heartbreak to last a lifetime, and you figure that this is your destiny. the work you do makes everything worth it.

maddox & tilly.

you never understood why your parents had children. your mother was cold and aloof most of the time, not hateful, just disinterested. and your father, well, he loved kids. when he came home, he'd lift you up into his arms and spin you around, walk around the house with you on one shoulder and your brother on the other. but he was hardly ever around, so it didn't matter much. you always told yourself that if you had kids, they would surely know that you wanted them. you wouldn't ignore them, and you wouldn't disappear. but it's easy to make promises when you're nine and it's harder to keep them once you turn twenty-three and you're holding a pregnancy test in shaking hands.

when maddox and tilly leave for summer vacation at gallagher, you promise to keep in touch. your emails are short and terse, but that's just how you communicate. they're mundane updates at first, evenings under the virginia sky with laura, catching up with your god-daughters and their friends, but it doesn't take much time before communication becomes even more vague.

tilly – i'm taking another job. i can't say much about it, it's highly confidential, but i'm working with people i trust. i'll be safe, talk soon. hope you're having a nice vacation – look after maddox, of course :) not that i need to tell you that.

elise.

when roman calls you, it'd be a lie to say that you weren't expecting it. after all, you told him you had a hunch it wasn't over and your hunches tend to be more right than wrong. you just didn't expect that he'd pull you into it. you're not exactly the best of friends. but the second he says elise's name, you can feel yourself falling prey to the weakness of caring. "i'm coming to d.c.," is all you say, he doesn't even need to ask. and then you're there within the hour.

elise has been under interrogation all day by the time you step into the room. she looks exhausted, more than you've ever seen her, and it's not like elise park to be seen with split ends. you hate how it humanizes her after what she did, and you hate the brotherhood more than ever. after all, it seems like everyone you love gets swept up in it, and it's starting to feel personal.

"th—they have him, irene. i dont know how true but they have him and i dont—i dont know what to do." 

in a way, it should feel good to see her cry. elise betrayed you, sold you out to the brotherhood, supported the murder of your children. she should rot for that. but you also knows what it's like to grasp at straws for a second chance at what you've lost. "don't do that," you say, "you're better than this." you reach across the table for elise's hand, leaning forward and looking her in the eye. "i'll tell you what you do. you get revenge. you fucking pull yourself together and you turn it around on those motherfuckers that took him from you. because you can still save him." your eyebrow arches slightly, "why else would i be here?"

roman.

and so, it begins. you spend the rest of the summer searching for clues, attempting to take down the brotherhood and restore what was lost. you spend hours sitting over the desk with roman, going over his notes as he briefs you, jack, and naomi on what's next for the mission. he's a good planner and you come to respect him for it. you don't sleep well, it's rare, and you spend a lot of nights perched in a chair beside him, trying to be helpful – although it usually results in more sarcasm than genuine agreement. but he makes you laugh, too, and you come to admire and respect him as the leader of this haphazard group of misfits. somewhere in those late nights, you figure any information about the brotherhood could help the case, so between glasses of expensive whiskey, you tell roman all about your dad. all about miles, and with that comes maddox and tilly and everything you did to run and hide.

"i'm no better than elise in some ways," you admit, "i knew so much, but when i discovered the truth about miles, i ran. i hid, and i didn't say anything to anyone. i had two kids to take care of and i prioritized myself, and even now...i'm not sure i did the right thing. if i'd said something, maybe i could've stopped it all. so, this is my second chance, too."

naomi.

you probably shouldn't have stayed up so late, because you and naomi have an early morning together. when you make your way into the warehouse to recover documents, you're off your game. your head's in the clouds, thinking about tilly and maddox and how as long as this goes on, they're not safe. after all, this mission, this case is extremely personal. you're pulled out of your thoughts as a shot whizzes by your head.

"got you," noami grins cheekily as the perp stumbles backward. "now, you get my back," she says, rushing forward. your eyes widen because you're not used to taking orders from a kid, but considering she's just saved your life, she's probably earned it, so you push your thoughts back out of your mind and use your energy to make sure that you have her back the rest of the way. there's growing admiration for her as you allow her to take the lead, a sense of pride and you feel lucky to mentor this young woman. you can see how she loves the work she's doing and all you can hope is that she never, ever becomes as jaded as you are. you'd love this field infinitely more if you could work with women like her all the time.

jack.

it was supposed to be goodbye. you can remember looking up at his eyes, trying to remember his face like it would be the last time, but here he is again – sturdy as ever, and unmoving presence in every single chapter of your life. perhaps you should give up trying to shake him, it's starting to seem futile. so, you just flash him a wry smile as the two of you both silently recognize the irony in this. "hello, jack," you greet rather cheekily, plucking the file in his hands from his grasp with a glint in your eye as you get to work.

about a month out, you follow a lead together in brussels, attempting to check out a shipment in edward atkins name. as you're running together on the dock, he catches your eye. "go on, i'll cover you," he insists. you charge forward and duck behind some cargo, meeting his eyes for a moment. there's no time for either of you to say it out loud, but it's apparent: we make a pretty good team after all, is what you think, because once you put your differences aside, you know that jack is someone you can rely on, that he's a good agent, and that your strengths play pretty well into each other's. maybe gallagher was onto something when they paired you with him all those years ago. even though you're not nineteen any more, sometimes he makes you feel like it.

when you get to the hotel room, you half expect him to try something ( or you hope? it's been a while since you've gotten laid, after all. ) but he doesn't. he's a perfect gentleman, he doesn't even fight you for the bed, wordlessly taking the couch. "night jack," you say before rolling over onto your side. and it's the first good sleep you've had in a while, and when you wake up well-rested you realize that like it or not, you trust jack stone. you can sleep peacefully when he's around, because you know he's not a threat. he's a friend.

during the final mission, you can tell something's wrong. you do the math quickly, and there's something off about the sound of the three shots, and though you doesn't know for sure, there's a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach. but you don’t argue with jack when he says that he's fine, because the mission is always more important. and you knows that jack would agree with you. so, you don't even react when you see the blood on his shirt back at headquarters, your lip doesn't tremble as he collapses to the ground. you have lost so many people over the years, this is hardly the first casualty you've seen on a mission. but this feels different somehow.

"can you forgive me?" jack asks as your hand slips into his.

"of course. i never once hated you jack, even when i wanted to." and you always thought you would be stubborn, but you're glad that you get to tell him that before his entire world goes black.

laura.

it's funny to attend a wedding and a funeral so close together. but seeing elise and tristan together feels like closure. after all, you can remember when they met, bright-eyed and constantly smiling, stealing glances at each other from across the room. at their wedding, you notice that they still look at each other like that. and that's in part because of what jack did. when you stand there at his grave, you wish that it could all be a ruse – it's like instant karma that he spent the past five years thinking you were dead. and now it's him, six feet under instead. you look up at the sky and roll your eyes, mostly at god for whatever cruel joke he's playing – but if jack can see you, then that's just as well.

you're back in laura's apartment where you started the summer, an old fashioned in the palm of your hand as you lean up against the kitchen counter, rehashing any of the details that you're allowed to tell her. "i just don't know what to do next," you say. "and i know if i dive back into my work, i'm just...i'm going to lose touch with them," you sigh, referring to maddox and tilly. "but maybe it's for the best. i always seem to find my way into dangerous shit like this."

"what if you didn't?" laura asks, looking up at you with a knowing smirk that you've seen one too many times before, and it reminds you of being eighteen years old and breaking into all of gallagher's secret passages. granted, you were both escorted back to your rooms after getting caught, but you would spend the rest of the night laughing and talking. you made fast partners in crime for the rest of your years at gallagher and beyond. she’s the one person you trust more than anyone in the world. and that’s a bit more important than love, at least to you.

"don't look at me like that," you laugh, waving your hand dismissively, "just tell me what you mean."

"there's an opening in the protection and enforcement department, if you want. you could stay here, teach a couple classes. get to know your kids a bit better," laura offers.

"don't sugarcoat it, you just want to hang out with me," you tease, "i've been living here long enough to know that you don't have any other friends."

"watch it, i'll rescind the offer."

but before laura even asked, she knew that you would accept. she's funny like that, she knows you better than you know yourself. and you think of what jack said to you the night before you packed your things and left the sixth floor: you've got a second chance here, don't waste it.

and you look across the room at your friend who's pouring you another drink and you shake your head dismissively. i won't.

irene will be an npc at gallagher academy in the fall ! she’s quit her work at the CIA and is now a teacher on the protection and enforcement track. she’s hoping to use this opportunity to get to know her kids better and...she definitely got the experience to impart some wisdom. 

are irene bradford and laura sutton endgame ? maybe. i think they’re in love and that’s why irene has never let any of the men in her life in completely but that’s none of my business. 

[hazelenergy]

☕️ Gehenna

Sometimes y’alls ramblings about Gehenna feel like idiots online screaming the world was going to end in 2012. For some of you, its like how people freaked about computers exploding on New Years in 2000. You rush to unplug all your devices before it’s too late, only to realize nothing bad was going to happen- you just made everyone freak out or possibly destroyed your computer. 

No worries. I get it. The end of the world is terrifying to everyone. 

But, I found it a bit odd that immortal beings would have a doomsday story. But then again, no one seems to have read the fine print on immortality where it clearly says terms and conditions apply. Regardless, my actual feelings on Gehenna have always been pushed down because a lot of kindred acted as if I personally was going to bring about the end times. But I can’t deny, I have experienced some weird stuff besides my general existence. 

Living as the Tremere lab rat meant that no one would dare lay a finger on me directly without fear of Mary’s wrath. But it did mean I got subjected to their apocalyptic speculations. Most of the time I had no idea what they were talking about. Sometimes for fun, I’d just roll with it. 

Once, a kindred asked if I’ve ever been pregnant. Which first off, rude and invasive. Secondly, I’m a big lesbian. The likelihood of me being pregnant isn’t zero, but it is slim. But this Malkavian had my attention. She looked older, maybe in her 50s and had streaks of silvery hair covering her eyes. I laughed and told her no. She smiled at me and then asked if I liked the name Wendy. I spoke before I had a chance to organize my thoughts and said Wendy is a cute name. She looked at me gravely and said I knew the time of thinblood would be upon us again. She then said, “Keep your legs crossed, Daughter of Eve,” and then left Elysium. Needless to say, I went back to Mary’s Haven instead of home with a new partner. 

Within 24 hours of every Elysium we were ordered to spill our interactions and reveal any learned secrets to Mary. When I told her about this interaction she raised her eyebrow and got up to her filing cabinet. She pulled out a thin file labeled Dhampirs. The first article was a medical autopsy on an infant named Wendy- the research done by a Dr. Douglas Netchurch. Mary explained that it is rare, but thinbloods can and have carried children to term. And like the presence of thinbloods is a portent of Gehenna- their physical offspring is as well. She then laughed harder than ever before, wiping a bloody tear from her eye. I asked what was so funny. “You must forgive me, but the idea of you mothering a child is utterly amusing.”

I suppose this falls under the Gehenna where there’s too many of us and masquerade breaches are bound to happen. And when the mask is completely shattered, we are all in danger of humans destroying us. And I can’t imagine explaining to a toddler how to contend with the Beast and not hurt others with their powers. Seems like a recipe for disaster.

When I was much more settled in my Elysium routine, I had caught the attention of one of the younger Toreadors of Atlanta. Naturally, the Harpy made me extremely aware of everything about her and then Butternut, my nickname for the Nosferatu Primogen, told me everything else for 20 dollars. She was fond of the stars and their silvery light. I had offered to take her stargazing a little outside Atlanta in exchange for some vitae. This was a fairly normal transaction for me and I understood the price was steep for many. So I always tried to make it worth their while, with a nice night or a wild night depending on their tastes. She pointed out several constellations to me and their varying mythologies. I’ll admit, it was fascinating to hear what different cultures thought of different constellations. I could point out the obvious ones like Leo the Lion or the Little Dipper. She could point out ones that I could barely see, calling them things like Lyra and Crux. She told me of stories of constellations far beyond our sights, some of which can only be seen on clear nights in the Southern Hemisphere. That’s when I noticed it. A bright, gleaming red star in the center of the Big Dipper. It almost looked like an eye in the bright sky. I couldn’t help but feel a sense of dread. But I willed myself to ask about it. She turned to me and playfully said, “Don’t be silly. There’s nothing there,” as she curled closer. I gently explained it was still there and asked her to tell me what it’s story could be. I think she thought it was some sort of game and made up some story to humor me. The rest of the night went as expected. I got to taste and temporarily brew Presence, she got the closest to Mary’s Haven without revealing her true intent and a one-night-stand with the Camarilla’s thinblood kitten. But I continued to see the star for several months. 

I finally got an idea of what I saw when I met with a Salubri by the name of Nils. He explained that he foresaw something terrible would happen in the city of Atlanta, but the only way to stop the Wyrm was to travel to a city with a Salted Lake. It took a while for us to understand what he meant, and we don’t know if he was successful. To show his good will, he offered us gifts for the night and hope for eternity. For hope. he explained how thinbloods from his domain could walk this path and return to being mortal. For kindred such as himself, the sun is no longer an enemy. When he took Solomon’s hands, he quieted his raging beast for the night. When he took mine, he flinched for a moment like he wanted to let go. He looked into my eyes and said, “You poor childe. You willingly accepted madness to keep your heart from being poisoned. My soul aches knowing you have suffered so much.” Its then, I swear, his forehead began to faintly glow in the shape of an eye. When it opened, it glowed with the same red of that star. I wanted to run away as fast as I could, it didn’t matter how far I had to run. I pulled against his hands, but couldn’t get away. Then, my mind quieted. The thoughts that raced around my head stopped...I didn’t realize how muddled my mind had become. I looked back to see his eye closing, the red starlight shifting to gold. He released my hands and said, “You saw Ixion, no? I think a fledgling like you shouldn’t be weighed with the powers of an Oracle, but I am not one to cast final judgement. The power will return when your mind is clean.” 

Turns out, in 2002, A red star was visible with a telescope and NASA named it Ixion, which is the Greek equivalent for Cain. I jokingly mentioned how Cain sightings are another portent of Gehenna but didn’t expect him to be such a star. Tommy and I laughed. Cass didn’t and then demanded to know how long I could see Wormwood. I explained that first saw it in early spring, 2019 and I haven’t seen it since October 1st, 2019. She made a series of frantic phone calls- I think she was checking up on kindred she used to run with. I’ve known for quite some time Cass used to be with the sabbat. I don’t know what happened between her and her pack. She usually is very willing to explain things to me, but her past is still a complete mystery- aside from her weird fling with Mary. ew. I can respect when she tells me to just drop it. But I can smell the strange shifting aroma from her resonance. She’s angry, then she is filled with sorrow, then she’s afraid. 

I think about Gehenna more than a fledgling probably should and more than is probably healthy. It does make me uneasy for reasons I can’t explain. I guess since everyone else is so afraid- I should be too. However, I am curious to a fault. I have done some research into our doomsday myth. From what I’ve gathered, signs have been occurring for quite some time. And, we are all still here. Bad things seem to happen regardless, it doesn’t mean its Gehenna. But it is a nice scapegoat when things go wrong. Blame it on inevitable destiny rather than cascading consequences of poor leadership. The world is going to keep turning with or without us. Simple as that. 

[randomfandomimagine]

Soul of a Warrior. Chapter 13: True Love Awaits

Fandom: The Witcher

Ship: Jaskier x Nissa (OC)

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AO3

Please reblog and leave a comment, it would make my day!

A/N: I hope you’re all enjoying this series so far, thank you so much to everyone that is still following it! 🥰 Also, I’ve been including a few The Amazing Devil references here and there because reasons, if you’re a fan too, see if you catch them! 😄

Hana was kind enough to retrieve Pal for me in Touissant. I had missed my beloved horse, and his company proves helpful in my loneliness. Of course, I am not quiet alone, though that weight in my chest hasn’t left me. I try to take it as a reminder, as further incentive to stay, for the quicker I accomplish my goal, the sooner I can return and let go of that ache.

Her company is indeed a delight, as always, even if our interactions are a bit tepid until we recover the time we’ve lost. She has been very supportive of me the entire time I have been here. After I suggested I could go to nearby towns to work as a medic, she has always accompanied me. Hana hasn’t ceased looking after me with the care of an older sister. I enjoy her presence every day, it being the best thing of this place as well as learning.

“Are you having any trouble?” The redhead asks over my shoulder, forcing me back to reality.

“N-No” I clear my throat, redirecting my eyes to the woman’s wound. “I’ve got it”

These days I have been quite absent and find it nearly impossible to focus. I can’t exactly explain what is causing this state, though I have a faint suspicion. The first few days I was enamored with the place, with the new people and opportunities, with all the new knowledge. I was far too distracted by this wondrous situation to miss anything. Or anyone. At the end of the first month, however, as soon as the routine set in and the magic vanished, things changed. Some absences became too noticeable, and the ache in my heart grew in intensity. No matter how much I adore Hana, or everything that I am doing here, there is something missing. A gaping hole in my heart.

“Nissa” Hana insists, and I click my tongue in annoyance with myself. This person needs my cares. All my monster knowledge proves incredibly helpful as well, even if these are claw marks this time.

“Right” I must concentrate, I am working after all.

People often came to my aid when they were in need of a healer. The first few clients weren’t as pleased with my services, but as time passed and I acquired more practice, I also found confidence in my learned skills. Now, as I observe the wound on the woman’s arm, I recognize it doesn’t require magic. It is fortunately superficial, and although nasty looking, it can be treated fairly easily. More importantly, it can be treated manually, for I have learned not to use magic at every opportunity and instead save it for deep wounds or complicated injuries.

My hands nearly work on their own as they treat the wound, firstly cleaning it now that it has stopped bleeding to then move on to carefully bandaging it.

“Change the bandage twice a day” I tell the patient as I finish. “And apply salve when you do, it will help it heal quicker”

“Thank you” The woman heaves a sigh of relief. “I was so frightened… I didn’t want to turn into a werewolf”

“That won’t happen” I patiently repeat, used to people sometimes being more concerned about non physical ailments. “If it were a bite, perhaps. Claw marks, however, are like any other wound”

“A coin?” Hana reminds her not so subtly.

“Of course” The woman produces some from her pocket and hand it to me.

“Charmed to help” I offer a polite smile as I save the payment in my pouch.

“Remember not to go out late at night” Is my friend’s goodbye as we exit the small house.

I absently count the coins in my pouch. It is hard to believe that not long ago I didn’t even own one and now it is full to the brim. In all honesty, it does bring a smile to my face.

“You didn’t use magic this once” Hana’s hand moves idly and creates a portal that sits on the ground before us. “And you haven’t fainted, what a coincidence”

“That was so long ago…” I roll my eyes, returning my pouch to its place on my belt. “Are you not going to forget about it?”

“No, you obstinate woman” She grunts in exasperation, nearing the magical portal. I grin in spite of myself, even if it only exasperates her more.

When we cross, we are once again at Aretuza. Hana's brown eyes are attentive to my every move. Surely, she must have noticed how distracted I am as of late. I pay no attention to her concern and instead begin walking, leading the way. We near the academy, bustling with the sorceresses that I have gotten to know these past years. I pay more attention to them than to Hana, who keeps lecturing me and giving me a bit of a headache. Triss is heading our direction, bearing her usual warm smile as she approaches us to fortunately put an end to my friend’s endless scolding.

“Nissa, you’re back!”

“Hello, Triss” I hug her when she opens her arms. “Long time no see”

As I found out, Triss happened to be affiliated with King Foltest. After what happened in Vizima, she had often gone back to aid the very few survivors that managed to escape the dragon fire massacre. A stark survivor herself, Hana often accompanied her to Vizima. Not lately, however, for rumor had it that these days Triss went to meet with a certain witcher instead. Even separated, their memory chases me.

“Are you alright?” Triss asks, frowning slightly. “You seem a bit absent”

“Her head is on the clouds lately”

“I’m fine, Han”

“If you are unhappy, feel free to leave at any time” The latter reminds me, even if with a resigned sigh. When I peer at her in surprise, she nods her head. “Yes, I have noticed it”

“I am not unhappy…”

“Yet you don’t quite feel at home” I detest that Hana knows me so well.

I also hate that returning to the comforting feeling that was her friendship wasn’t as ideal as I expected it to be. Of course, it has been wonderful to meet her again and spend some time together. It feels as though her magic healed internal wounds. Reconciling that part of my past and closing that chapter of my life feels like letting go of one of the many burdens that seemed to haunt me. Yet that is not quite enough, somehow.

Things have changed. I have changed. And mostly there are two people to blame, even if one takes a bigger part of it. Nonetheless, how am I to voice these thoughts? How am I to admit to Hana, my old friend, that I crave something more? That now that I know that she is alive and well, safe and more than capable, I can carry on without her? That now that I have learned healing my stay here seems pointless? I feel like a child that only desires that which she cannot have, yet my heart keeps yearning for their return. The more I think about them, the more my skepticism fades and the more destiny and true love feel real instead of a foolish fantasy as I once thought they were. This feeling in my heart tells me so.

“I… It is nothing personal, truly. I have met some amazing women here and made great friends” I fondly squeeze Triss’ arm, earning a smile from her. “Still, I…”

“They are your home” Hana completes for me, abandoning her grave tone. Now it is full of understanding and resignation.

“Am I that transparent…?” I force out a smile, even if averting my eyes.

“You speak his name on your sleep” The redhead smirks, although it is the playful glint in her eye that speaks for itself.

“Hana…” I whine. When Triss giggles, I am convinced that I am blushing.

“I am appalled that I never got to meet the bard” The latter nudges me. “Honestly, it makes me curious that you sigh for him in such a way”

“Oi, I don’t sigh for him!” I defend myself, perhaps too adamantly. “We are just friends”

“There is no need to lie” They share a look of rapport that sets my teeth on edge.

I glare at them and laugh in outrage. My embarrassment deeply amuses them.

“There, I haven’t seen you smile like that in weeks” Hana insists, pinching my burning cheeks. I scowl.

“If you could stop torturing me, that would be wonderful” I softly push her away, refusing to look into their eyes while they laugh at my expense.

“Nissa” Triss shows me her kind smile. “You better visit us”

“I haven’t even decided anything yet” I mutter, shoving behind my ear the strands of hair that escape my disheveled bun. “Stop that”

“Perhaps you should take Pal for a ride” Hana tilts her head in the direction where I left my horse. “Clear your head”

I squint at her when I recognize the meaning behind her words. Her eyes are expressive enough to speak her thoughts. ‘You may be deceiving yourself, Nissa, but you can’t deceive us’. No, I am not deceiving myself. I have not made my mind up yet.

“Hm…” I utter a mocking hum as I wrinkle my nose at her. Hana grins.

Perhaps trying to let that sink in, she takes Triss and leaves me alone. I don’t look at them over my shoulder, yet I can feel their eyes on me as I stand there deep in thought. No matter, Pal’s company will be reassuring. It might contribute to solving the conflict within me. I stare at my worn-out boots as I approach the horse, calmly sitting where I left him. He leans his head against my shoulder as soon as I approach, and I smile and caress his mane back. As soon as I climb onto the saddle and start galloping, I grin widely. It feels liberating. Last time I freely rode Pal and wandered was far too long ago.

_ 

My thoughts feel as tangled as ever. If I didn’t know it was impossible, I would blame my state on some sort of powerful sorcery. Although the source of my emotions is real, it does feel purely magical.

With Pal moving for me, I found it hard to ground myself in reality, immersed in deep thoughts which weren’t useful. Nothing has changed as a result, not my uncertainty nor my yearning. Forcing myself to actually pay attention to the direction my feet take, I have left Pal to rest for a moment while I take a stroll. I promise myself to make it brief and then return to him.

Like a wake-up call, a sound suddenly startles me. My eyes examine the area that surrounds me, scattered with trees, until I find the source. As if I needed more proof to blindly believe in destiny, my heart halts as soon as I turn to the sound of footsteps. I recognize the figure in the distance, even when he faces his back to me. His vibrant red clothes are a dead giveaway. If that wasn’t clue enough, an instrument hangs from his back. A smile creeps up to my lips as I walk closer to him. My accelerated heart betrays my excitement. For several seconds I can only watch him, still astonished that it is truly him. He clumsily steps on the soil under his feet, nearly slipping because of the mild slope. I chuckle. It is really him.

“Jaskier!” I call him, causing him to immediately turn around. His face lights up.

“Nissa!” He replies in surprise, trudging my way as well. “Ugh, a friendly face”

We meet in the middle and stand there for a moment, just peering at each other. I have the urge to lunge myself at him and hug him tight, though ultimately I don’t. I am mortified when I feel out of breath at his mere presence before me. The effect he has on me has not changed, as my feelings have not faded in the slightest. A smile slowly creeps up to his lips, as those lively blue eyes I had missed so much look me up and down. He hasn’t changed a bit in all this time. 

“You… you changed your hair” He points out, lifting a finger up to push away one of the strands that frame my face. “Y-Yeah…”

I never feel his touch, for he lowers his hand and looks away from me. Time has taken a toll on our closeness, as things seem to have cooled after so long without seeing each other. I no longer know how to address him, and our once intimate connection seems gone.

“It gets in the way” I shrug, chuckling nervously. “And it’s more comfortable than a braid”

“Less laborious too, I assume” Our eyes meet once more. “You always spent so long braiding it”

The cold autumn breeze fills the silence as it caresses our skins and ruffles our hair. As usual, he doesn’t push his away when it falls over his eyes. I smile. Remaining quiet, he imitates my gesture despite not knowing the thought that conjured it.

“What… what are you doing here, Jaskier?” He pauses, apparently too busy staring at me.

“It is so good to see you, honestly” Making me realize we are still just standing there, he begins walking. I do the same, lingering by his side. “You are not going to believe what happened”

“I’m all ears” My heart unexpectedly wells up, being thankful for the company myself.

“I got lost in this… stupid place” He motions around us. “Luckily I found you, and you can be my compass”

“Gladly” I say, desperate to break through this rare stiffness in the conversation. In reality, there’s a question burning in my mind that I can’t help but to blurt out. “And… where’s Geralt?”

As we walk together to a more open area, I notice how his feet halt for a moment. Jaskier recovers quickly, though, and carries on with our brisk pace.

“I don’t know, actually” He plays with the leather strap supporting the lute to his back. “We sort of… parted ways too”

I take notice of the reluctant and saddened hint in his voice. Sensing something has happened between them, I open my mouth to ask. However, Jaskier pipes up once more.

“Never mind that, tell me about what you’ve done” He tilts his head in my direction. His voice has acquired its usual energy once more. “Have you learned a lot?”

“I have” I glance at my hands, now calloused and mildly worn-out. “Even if I haven’t quite perfected magic yet”

“Oh, I’m sure you’re fine” He waves his hand in the air. “There's nothing you can’t do”

I chuckle. His compliment flatters me. I have missed how casually he can spew lovely words. Struggling to find a proper reply, I only part my lips. The sudden rustling of nearby bushes alarms me. Forgetting about searching for a witty remark that before came so naturally, I peer in the direction of the sound.

“I suppose magic is quite a complicated subject” He is saying, still focused on the conversation. “Still, you have been here… what, nearly two years? Surely, your abilities must have greatly improved”

“Shut up” I ask him, slowly nearing the bushes. I tip toe not to be noisy, though he does not. His steps are fidgety and heavy.

“Well, that isn’t very nice” He puts a hand on his hip, mindlessly following. “Nissa, have you turned impolite?”

I recognize his attempt to rekindle our relationship, though the timing is greatly off. Thousands of possibilities fill my mind. It can be a monster behind the bush. It can be Scoia’tael. It can be Jovan. Was Jaskier followed? Was I being watched? Did I put all my friends in danger again?

“Honestly, that was quite hurtful, I-“

“Shut up!” I slap a hand against his mouth, not worrying to glance at him. Jaskier grunts against my hand, but resigns himself to his imposed silence.

The noise continues, although the rustling alone isn’t enough to properly hint to who the attacker might be. The tall bush is moving. Jaskier stiffens when he sees it too. I recognize a shadow lurking behind it and gasp. Then I act on an instinct and throw myself towards Jaskier. He yelps, clumsily holding on to me when I push him to the ground.

Landing on top of him, I hear him grunting when his back makes contact. The lute thuds against the ground, protecting him from harm. Before he can speak again, I cover him with my body and return my palm to his mouth. His eyes are wide as he watches me in astonishment. I look away from them and back to the bush. My heartbeat fills the silence. I hold my breath. The rustling then continues as a shape slowly emerges from the bushes, too slowly for my poor nerves. I breathe out when I see our ‘attacker’.

It is only a deer. The animal calmly paces near us.

“Melitele…” I utter in annoyance, heaving a deep breath.

Jaskier’s fingers meet with my hand, which he gently pushes off his mouth. When I peer down at him, there is a pronounced frown on his brow. Worried about his wellbeing, I open my mouth, though my breathing is so erratic that I can’t speak.

“Uh… Nissa?”

“False alarm…”

“I noticed… Uh, I don’t know if you realized, but… you’re straddling me”

I feel heat creeping up my entire face when I see I am in fact straddling him. Because of the lute on his back, his torso is propped up and our faces are extremely close. I can feel his breath on my nose. My body is pressing his to the ground while my free hand protectively keeps his chest in place, so I take it off.

“Sorry…” I laugh a bit, hoping he can’t hear the hammering of my heart. “Are you hurt?”

“No…” His hand squeezes my hip. “But you’re still on top of me”

“Forgive me” I hurriedly scurry off him and allow him to move.

“Oh, you are forgiven” Jaskier calmly mutters. I can feel his eyes on me.

I suddenly feel incredibly disheveled when several strands of hair fall over my face. My panting doesn’t help. Neither does my still racing heart, nor the heat in my body. Wishing the ground could just eat me whole, I focus my glance on it while my hands try to find something to occupy themselves with. They still remember the feeling of his chest hair against them, of the movement of his breathing under my palm. Instead they move to my hair and attempt to fix the mess that is my bun. Once I check it has survived the sharp movements, my fingers instinctively fall upon my dagger. I whip my head up and stare at Jaskier. I pretend not to realize how he is gawking at me.

“You should take this” I offer it to him, not wanting to leave him exposed. “Just in case”

“There was no danger” He reminds me, watching the harmless deer with the corner of his eye. “I’m alright”

“But if there is, you have no weapon”

“If I take it, I leave you with no weapon”

“I can take care of myself”

Studying magic and medicine hasn’t been the only abilities I have improved on. Every day, I have made it a mission to train a bit. Abandoning the use of my dagger, I familiarized myself with Kader’s old sword. I am nowhere near as skilled as Geralt is, but I can surely hold myself in a fight now. Furthermore, and remembering how obstinate the witcher was about it, I have tried to use my legs and fists as weapons as well.

“I appreciate the thought, Nissa, but-“

“Jaskier, take the damn dagger”

“Actually, I don’t need it… I… always carry something with me”

When he pushes his open doublet aside, I see a familiar hilt sticking out from his waistband. As my hand rests over my dagger, I recognize how similar Jaskier’s is. For a moment I wonder why he hasn’t said anything about it before. Then I remember where he got the weapon from: it was that day in the mountain, when one of Jovan’s treasure hunters dropped it and we found it. Has he kept it all this time? Why? Was it because it reminded him of me or only to arm himself? To my knowledge, he never carried weapons before we met, only his trustworthy lute. The idea that he held on to the dagger only flusters me further, as if I wasn’t very much so before.

“Don’t worry about me, love” Jaskier grins in the end, even if there is so much to him at this very moment. The way his fingers delicately hold on to his dagger. How his eyes are fondly watching me. The subtle blush in his cheeks.

“R-Right” I nod, cringing on the inside. “Good”

“Are you alright, Nissa?”

“Yes. A-Anyway, where was I?” I continue walking, flustered by his scrutiny. “Right, magic”

The subject change is rather abrupt, and I know how bizarre the moment is when Jaskier doesn’t say a word after that.

_ 

Finally forgetting about my strange moment of alarm, Jaskier has started talking again. He seems fascinated by my tale of all the things I have learned here. When he jokes and asks about the beautiful sorceresses, I feel as though the awkwardness is in the process of leaving us.

Pal has taken us back to the academy. I lightly tug on the reins and proceed to jump off. Before I can, Jaskier is already on the ground and reaching out with his arms. I grin as I lean in his direction, allowing him to hold me by the waist and carefully lower me onto the floor. I feel stupid as I wonder in the gentle touch of his hands and his surprisingly muscular biceps under my fingers.

“Thank you” I mutter, moving away from him too quickly when we stand too close.

“My pleasure, my lady” He stands still for just a second. “So, uh… why didn’t you just use a portal, if you can in fact conjure them?”

“Simple” I say as I walk away, waiting for him to follow. “I refuse to use them unless I absolutely have to. Magic comes with a price, and I dislike using portals in any way”

“Ah, just like Geralt…” His tone instantly shifts from cheery to gloomy. I anxiously glance around to distract him from whatever has happened with the witcher. As I do, I spot Hana and Triss sitting by a tree. They are having a lively conversation that I hope does not include me.

“I want you to meet Triss” Though I hesitate to touch him again, I link my arm with his and drag him in their direction. “She is the sweetest”

“Is that her, the brunette?” The grin does indeed return to his lips. “She is gorgeous”

“Oh, how I have missed your blatant adoration for other people” I mock him, averting my eyes when both the women and him watch me.

“Sarcasm can harmful a weapon, my dear Nissa” His hand pats mine over his forearm. “If I didn’t know any better, I would say you’re jealous”

“Nissa!” Triss luckily calls attention off the subject, standing to her feet and approaching us. Hana stays behind for a bit, mouth agape as she stares at Jaskier. I can’t wait to have her tease me further, especially knowing that she was more than correct.

“Hello, lovely dame!” Jaskier offers his hand as soon as Triss is close enough. “I‘m Jaskier, and who might you be?”

She isn’t exactly subtle when her eyes widen at the mention of the name she has heard so many times. Gosh, why does he make me feel like a child with a stupid crush?

“Triss. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Jaskier” Her eyes fall upon me for just a second before returning to him. “Nissa has told me all about you”

“Has she now?”

“H-Hana!” I call her over, frantically gesturing for her to save me.

I ‘accidentally’ bump my shoulder against Triss while I leave them to reunite with Hana. Triss whispers a ‘he’s cute’ before I leave her side. Hana rushes to reach me, even if her eyes won’t stop traveling from him to me. An uncharacteristically mischievous grin plays in her lips.

“How did you find him?” She blurts out, tugging at my sleeve as soon as she approaches.

“We sort of... just found each other near the woods” I chuckle, mildly distracted by the sound of his voice behind me. “Isn’t that such a coincidence?”

“Coincidence…”

“Of course”

“Are you leaving with him?”

“I…” Although I hesitate, that feeling in my heart returns to eliminate any doubts. “I think so…”

“True love awaits” She simply whispers to me as we return with them.

Tag list: @x-joie-x​ / @x-jodi-x​ / @dancingwith-thesunflowers​ / @golden-guide​ / @alwayshave-faith​ / @this-is-whump-dammit​ / @legallyblindgamer727​ / @lilyevans1​ / @kingniazx​ / @molethemollie / @a-somehow-functioning-dumbass // Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list to be notified when I post next chapter!!

[exorciseyourspirit]

Plane Easy|| Miriam, Rebecca and Theodora

TIMING: Current PARTIES: @meflemming, @slayed-slayer and @exorciseyourspirit SUMMARY: Janet from The Good Place voice: Not a witch. CONTENT: Blood, Possession Non-Con

Over the past few weeks, Rebecca had been gathering all the supplies and materials she would need to help her astral project while awake. She’d tried a few times, with little success, so she’d gone to the local magic store to try and get more information on it. A few new books on the subject had pointed her in the right direction. It told her that going to a place charged with emotion would help, as well as finding somewhere where the veil was thin. And she knew just the place. Theodora’s grave. She hadn’t visited still, the last time her body had been there it had not been her own, but it was now. It would be strange, she supposed, to be standing next to her wife’s grave with her floating nearby, but what choice did she have? She knew Theo would never let her do this, or come here, alone, so this was how it was to be.

When they arrived at the cemetery, Rebecca had made sure to check the perimeter, and Theo had even double checked her scouting. No one in sight, not even a spawn. The trek to the grave was slower, and the closer they got, the slower Rebecca went. Stopping almost completely even when she was still meters away from it. Swallowing, she looked where she thought Theodora might be judging by her feel, and went up to the grave, staring down at it. Theodora Fairfax, Loving Wife, Friend. July 16th, 1973 - September 27th, 2018. And below that, her quote: Tho’ much is taken, much abides; and tho’ We are not now that strength in which old days, Moved Earth and heaven, that which we are, we are.” Rebecca was still for a long moment, before opening up her pack and beginning to lay out all her stuff. Candles, incense, herbs, and the mat that she’d drawn her safety pentacle on. She didn’t look up as she worked, worried she’d see right through her wife again, as she sat next to her grave. “You remember the plan?” she asked quietly, smoothing down the mat.

“I do. Maintain a safe perimeter, and if anything seems amiss, stick you with your dagger until you wake. Nothing I can’t handle, even in death,” Theodora replied gently, hovering close to her ear. She sat down on her headstone and regarded her wife with as much care as worry. She was nervous, and with good reason. Rebecca’s soul had always been sensitive, astute, but she had never tried anything like this with her capabilities before. Seeing her nerves, Theodora couldn’t help but be concerned herself. She knew, of course, that Rebecca’s unflappable air was just that, that exhaustive amounts of care and study went into every ritual. And oh, this was not the time to rattle her with warnings and questions. They had gone over the details plenty of times at Rebecca’s home as it was. “You didn’t have to come do it here, dearest,” she said, “Though I do appreciate the gesture.”

Cemeteries were fine places for walks. Sure, ghosts could be a little chatty, and, sure, there were chances for Miriam to run into the nosier members of her own kind, not to mention the more primal ones, but it was relaxing. And, sometimes, it was even fun. Sometimes, you could just be walking, and you’d end up stumbling upon a little witch and a ghost hanging out on a tombstone, surrounded by all kinds of fun items. But it could just be some idiot poser without a clue. All kinds of people these days were into that New Age bullshit that Miriam had seen on television advertised late at night. Famous people made all sorts of money selling the bullshit, selling ideas of nonsense as real magic. This could just be nonsense. But, if it was real… Miriam could really go for a bit of pain and misery. Possibly even a full meal. Who knew? Keeping her distance, Miriam crouched not too far away, behind a large angel statue. She went completely still. If one weren’t paying attention, they’d simply think she was another monument to the dead. In a way, she kind of was.

“I truly wish it were under different circumstances,” Rebecca mumbled, sitting down next to the headstone. “Though I suppose I should...apologize for not coming any sooner. The book suggested somewhere of...value. So...” Theo was close to her, she could feel it, but it only made her heart wrench more, wishing she could see her. She glanced down at her arrangement and muttered a word, in her natural tongue, and the candles all lit. She smiled. “Been practicing that one,” she said, looking over at where she hoped Theo was. “Magic isn’t my forte, but small things are accomplishments, too.” She settled herself in and took up her meditation position. Legs crossed in front of her, hands resting palm up on her knees and open. Rebecca’s spirituality had always been an inherent part of her being, it was why she felt so compelled to help spirits, why she felt it her destiny to become an exorcist. Why she had the ability to astral project, and why she was here, now, meditating in a cemetery. If she could reach the other plane on her own, then, maybe, she could find a way to pull him out with her. It was a long shot, but it was one worth taking. 

She gave one last exhale and nod-- “Here goes nothing”-- before closing her eyes and concentrating. Letting the energy of the world around her flow into the circle, pulling it in, calling it with her own spirit. It was a lot like an exorcism, in the way that she pushed through the energies around her to call to the right ones, but instead of compelling them away, she was pulling them in. The circle she sat upon began to glow, a soft hum of light engulfing her. Hair waving limply in the small wind that pooled inside of her sanctum circle. She reached through the ether, through the pull of magic, and searched for it-- the astral plane. Latched on, tugged. Rebecca’s body, once stiff, slumped.

Grinning like the cat that caught the canary, Miriam decided that she’d more than seen enough. Glowing circles were magic bull shit, sure, but the real kind of magic bull shit that she was brought back to destroy. Who the hell knew what the little witch was doing? Miriam resolved herself to end it before it even began. Eyes red and fangs out, she stalked close slowly, careful not to make a sound. Just as she drew close enough, Miriam leapt forward and onto the woman in the circle, knocking them both out of it and taking the woman to the ground. She could practically feel the magic radiating off of the woman. Or maybe she couldn’t; Miriam wasn’t sure what about her feelings towards magic were her own rage and which were legitimate. She’d been so sure that the old man she’d tailed home last week had been a spell caster, had practically felt the magic burning across her skin when he’d touched her in the grocery store, and he’d just turned out to be an old man. A creepy one, but an old human man with no magical abilities except for the unnatural octaves at which he could scream. But she knew this was real, this was different, and, as she leaned over the woman, fangs out and mouth twisted into a snarl, she knew she was going to take a real long time with this. She didn’t even pay attention to the little ghost hanging about.

Theodora saw the vampire coming. She leapt to her feet, instincts from her life firing at once. It wasn’t until her hand went through the dagger that she realised how helpless she was. She could grab it again, concentrate, be more than a bundle of impulses, but what good would that do against a creature already dead? “Get away from her!” She cried. “Rebecca!” She reached for the dagger anyway, what could she do but try? What slayer wouldn’t face a foe with at least some kind of weapon? She flung herself at the vampire, sinking the blade into her shoulder. “Let her go, let her go, damn you!” She cried. She twisted it, hoping in vain that at least the pain would be enough to deter her. She could not fail at this again. She wouldn’t. If she could just throttle her, if she could just make the creature’s hands her own and make her stop…

When Rebecca’s eyes opened again, she wasn’t in the cemetery. A fog rolled at her feet, so thick and heavy she couldn’t see them. The world around her was cold and dark, but she couldn’t feel anything. “Hello?” she called out tentatively. Her voice echoed everywhere. One step and her footsteps echoed everywhere. Had she done it? Was this the astral plane? It seemed so unfamiliar, so unlike where she’d been in her dreams, while he was awake. She needed to find a way, now, to peer back into the real world. To the Earthly plane, and make sure she hadn’t just given him free reign. But she somehow felt like she knew he wasn’t there. She didn’t feel the same, heavy tug as before. A sudden voice rang out, sounding far away. It barely reached her ears, but she knew who it was. “Theodora?” she called back. Was she talking to her or trying to wake her? Rebecca turned in circles. “Theodora?”

Back in the cemetery, Rebeecca’s body still lay limp, tousled under the pressure of Miriam’s body bearing down above her. Helpless.

Miriam felt the knife in her shoulder, but instead of reacting to the pain of it, she grinned widely, too focused on her quarry underneath her. In fact, it was quite useful for her. She looked at the little ghost raging against her. “Thanks for the gift, sweetness.” She plucked the knife out, not even wiping it free of dark, dead blood. She twirled it between her fingers, admiring it or a bit. A bit of a longer, thinner blade than she was used to, but it was a really nice blade. Miriam couldn’t complain. Perhaps she should even invest in more traditional styles of weaponry. Then again, skinning knives were kind of her specialty. But this one was so lovely. She ran it along the little witch’s collar bones, digging in deep enough for blood to bead up to the surface, enough to hurt. But there was no reaction underneath her, no flinch, no pain. Miriam snarled again at the lack of reaction, frustrated by it and the ghost’s annoying presence. “Go away,” she growled out before she stabbed the knife into the woman’s shoulder, hoping for a reaction. She twisted it in the same way the ghost had attempted to do to her.

Theodora reached for the knife again, crying out, “No!” But whatever pull she managed to work on the hilt, it was no match for the vampire’s strength. She screamed, furious and wild as an animal as the blade sank into Rebecca’s shoulder. She reached for the vampire as if to shove her off with force. Perhaps she even could. She only knew she could not let her hurt Rebecca, she would not take her wife from the earth, and if she had to make her…

The shift happened so swiftly, Theodora was still screaming when she found herself in the creature’s body. “Bloody hell,” she whispered, the vampire’s voice, her tongue and teeth feeling strange after two years without a body. She tested her hands, flexing her fingers. They obeyed her command just easily as her own once had. Of all the ways… But, there was more important work to be done. “Rebecca!” She called, reaching across for her bag. Rebecca was always prepared, there had to be something to staunch the bleeding. “Rebecca, can you hear me, darling? Wake up! Please, darling!”

“Theo--” Rebecca started. In the next moment, pain ripped through her. Ripped her from her spot, pulled her back down to Earth, back into her body, back where it stayed, loud and clear and jolting. Rebecca screamed, eyes shooting open. She saw someone unfamiliar above her, even through the blur of red, hot tears matching the searing pain in her shoulder. Let me help you came the voice in her ears again, just like during the exorcism. Rebecca struggled to move, thrashing under the weight of whoever this was, pain pouring up and down her arm, into her chest, her neck, her stomach. “Get off!” she shouted, shoving at her. “GET OFF!”

Theodora fell back easily, collapsing to the ground. “Rebecca don’t--!” She cried, putting out an arm towards her. “Don’t move, you’ll make it worse! Let me help, let me help this time.” Hearing the strange voice in her ear, seeing a bewildering streak of blonde hair in her eyes, she realized how her request this might seem. She hadn’t thought things out this far. “It’s me!” She said quickly. “It’s Theo, I’m--I’m Theo, darling. For now, at any rate. I--I know the song we danced to in my London flat was ‘heroes,’ and your birthday is coming soon, and, oh for heaven’s sake, will you just let me close?”

Let me help, I can help. Rebecca thrashed again, pain rippling down her body. “Lehizdayen, hashem!” she cursed, grabbing her shoulder where it burned, feeling wet cloth stick between her fingers, the scent of blood suddenly thick in her nostrils. Forced herself to sit up, shaking with the effort, the pain, the exhaustion of being ripped from the plane like that. Dizzy, she looked up. Locked eyes with the body in front of her. And she knew. Even without the words, she knew. She could see it in her eyes, feel it in the air. “Theo…?” she panted, struggling forward, collapsing into her. “Theo, it’s you. My love. You’re here. You’re really…”

Theodora couldn’t help but smile as recognition dawned on Rebecca’s features. “Yes,” she said, tears and laughter welling up at once as she crashed into her--crashed with relief and force that Theodora could feel because she had a body. “Yes, darling. I’m really here.” And seeing her wife in her arms, having their eyes meet, truly meet and know each other, she could think of nothing to do next but cup her face and kiss her as she had longed to do since she’d found she returned. It was strange, as far as kisses went. One wasn’t usually a stranger to their own lips. But Rebecca’s were familiar, as soft as all her memories, and Theodora couldn’t quell the longing or the pent up desire in her. It wasn’t until her arm brushed against the blade in Rebecca’s shoulder, irritating her wound, that she had the good sense to stop and pull back. “I think I’ve missed you too much,” she said. “I’m getting carried away. Let’s tend to your wounds quickly, yes?”

Rebecca’s heart swelled. It didn’t feel the same, her lips were too cold, too soft, but it was still Theo. She kissed her back, her Theo, her lover, who she thought she’d never get to see again, hold again, let alone kiss again, still dizzy and weary from the pain in her shoulder. Reality began to slowly trickle back in when she pulled away, her arm throbbing. She’d been stabbed with her own dagger, something sacred and ceremonial, and it was still dug deep into her skin, tearing muscle and sinew. “We can’t take it out,” she said, looking at it, her face already paling from the blood loss. “I need...hospital. And you need--” to get out of that body. But she couldn’t bring herself to say it. She wanted Theodora to say, she wanted her to have this forever, to be tangible and alive and real again forever. But she knew that wasn’t right, she knew that couldn’t happen. “To explain to me...what happened.” She panted again, drawing in a shaky breath. “Come, help me up. We can...take the car. It’s not far.”

Theodora knew what Rebecca meant. She had never possessed a body before, much less a vampire. There was no telling how long it would last, and of course, even if she hadn’t heard over and over from Rebecca over the years, she knew it was wrong. Even in a vampire, it was wrong. She squared her shoulders, straightened her back, and lifted Rebecca and her things with ease. “You shouldn’t be walking if you don’t have to,” she explained, stiffer now. They were working. They needed to move. “This—whoever she is, bloody vampire, came out from over there,” she gestured with her chin. “She was waiting for you to go into your trance, I think. Most likely thought it would be an easy snack. She moved quickly. There was only so much I could do, with the way I am. I’m still not sure how I managed to do this, exactly. But how far did you get? Did you see anything?” And perhaps, could she prattle on long enough to fill the silence? Enough to somehow prolong the moment, even as she marched them dutifully to its end?

It took more effort that Miriam would ever admit for her to take control of her body again. She hadn’t actually known she’d been fighting. She’d never been possessed before, despite her knowing that it’d be a possibility. It was an unnerving feeling, to come back to her head. She groaned a bit, stopping the walk that she’d been in the middle of, and took in her surroundings once more. There was the witch, standing and looking a bit worse for wear. Good, Miriam thought. The woman didn’t, for just the moment, seem to have noticed that Miriam was no longer her little ghostly companion. She stopped the other woman, not saying a word. Then, gently, so gently, she reached to the knife still in the witch’s shoulder. And she twisted it. Harshly. Gritting her teeth and growling animalistically, a small part of Miriam (the one that had long chats with nice witches on the internet and would prefer to drink fine wine than blood) was disgusted by her own behavior. However, a much bigger part was pissed off and hunger, and damn, this woman’s pain was so sweet. She yanked the knife out and grinned savagely. “Your move, bitch,” she said gutturally, head jerking around wildly looking for the ghost that possessed her.

“A vampire?” Rebecca exclaimed, a bit shocked in her own right. “You’re possessing a--” she paused, shook her head, trying not to think about the dagger buried in her shoulder. “Then why use my dagger?” She asked, unsuccessful. She shook her head, hobbling along beside her now that they’d grown closer to the car. “I think I did, it’s...all sort of fuzzy, still, but--” A chill ran through her for a moment. She stopped when Theodora did, looking over at her, just a little too late in her realization. The blade twisted and Rebecca cried out again, feeling more pain jolt through her, more blood as the metal was removed from her flesh and she teetered backwards, exhausted from her trip and now her apparent stabbing. She staggered away from her, heaving, hand pressed to the spot on her shoulder that was now leaking excessively. Fuck. “What do you want from me?” she hissed at her, realizing that her only line of defense was in the vampire’s hands, and Theodora was nowhere to be felt. That’s not all, and you know it, came the voice in her head, and her eyes flickered red just a moment. “Clearly you’re not just here for an easy meal,” she said, still struggling to stay standing, and to focus on the actual person in front of her when her vision was blurring into three different spaces.

“I want you dead, witch bitch,” Miriam snarled. “But I’ll take you in pain.” She bared her fangs. How dare this woman send a ghost to possess her. How’d she even manage that in the first place? She’d yet to meet a loyal ghost. Most of them just pined and bemoaned their inability to move on. They rarely went for any sort of action. And they certainly didn’t attack vampires. That was like possessing the hand that showed you attention. Well, see if Miriam stopped to chat with any one her way home. Fucking spirits. She ran her finger up the blade slowly, collecting blood onto her finger and licking it off. “This is an easy meal, darling. Your pain? You misery. My God, it’s absolutely delicious.” She slowly reached out and put her hand over the other woman’s, where it was covering the wound on her shoulder. Smiling pleasantly, she pressed down hard with the intent to cause pain. “This is fun. Aren’t you having fun, dearest?”

“Witch?” Rebecca repeated, raising a brow. “I’m not a--” but she didn’t have time to finish, as the vampire was closing in again, this time putting a hand over hers and pressing down. Rebecca recoiled in pain, clenching her jaw as to not let the hideous sound in her throat out. She didn’t want to give her any more satisfaction. Let me show you how it’s done, said the voice in her head. “No,” she hissed back, to both of them, backing away again, Stumbling into the brick wall behind her that lined the cemetery. “You stay away from me.” Red eyes flickering once again, hairs on her arms bristling, standing on end. The second the vampire moved towards her again, a wave of energy shot from her, knocking her back. Rebecca’s heaved, sliding down the wall to a sit, worn. Give me control. I can save us. “No,” she said again, looking over at the vampire with fierce eyes. “Theodora! I know you’re in there! Get your ass out here and help me!”

Theodora’s grip fell from the vampire’s body before she realized it was slipping. One moment she was setting Rebecca on the ground, the next it was dark. She didn’t know how to push, exactly, for control. Had she any means of scratching, even biting her way to power it would have been easy. But there was nothing, and damnit, who knew what she was doing to Rebecca now. Theodora concentrated on getting to the surface. It had been a trick of will before, hadn’t it? She had wanted the vampire to stop. Now was no different. And lest she get too comfortable, undead bitch, Theodora would drag her back down to her place. She was a slayer. Dead and disgraced for one reason or another, she was still a slayer. And she would not hand Rebecca over to any vampire’s clutches. 

The next thing Theodora knew, the day was before her again. Her body (God help her, it had worked; she had a body) was on the asphalt, stinging from something. She looked wildly about her, rushing to get her bearings. Rebecca was slumped against the wall, bleeding worse than before. “Rebecca!” She rushed to her, but stopped just short of taking her into her arms again. “I can’t—I don’t know how long I can hold on. But I can get you to the car safely, at least.” She looked down, her face, however strange, riddled with apology, and tentatively held out her hand. 

“No, just--” Rebecca started, wheezing now with the effort it took to breath and hold onto herself in spite of the pain. “Get her out of here. She’s a...witch….hunter…” she grunted through each word with each breath, straining to pull herself up. “I can get myself...to the hospital...just...meet me there.” Staggered towards the car, hand still pressed to the open and gushing wound, her arm having gone numb a long time ago, despite the pain coursing through her chest and into her shoulder and back out again. She looked back at Theodora-- or, well, the vampire-- one last time, grieving, again, for the loss she was about to endure. It hadn’t been the same, it could never be the same, but it had been something. And something was more than she’d had in years to look forward to. To know that she had something here for her. To know that, perhaps, there was a way to get back all the things she’d lost.  

Theodora couldn’t leave without knowing Rebecca was safe inside the car. She dared not touch her injury, there was nothing she could to but make it worse, or tempt the vampire into coming back to use it against her, but what was next for them? She would run, and she would throw the vampire somewhere safe, preferably near a hunter or two, or where she might get lost in the woods until sunrise. And what then? “Wait!” She called. She reached through Rebecca’s open window for her face and pulled her into one last rough, rushed kiss. “I love you,” she said. “And I’m sorry. Get there safe, I’ll take care of the rest. She pressed her fingers into her skin, trying to memorize the softness of it, the warmth of it. Then she turned and broke off at a sprint in the opposite direction. The vampire was fighting her, somehow she could feel it, but she would get them far, too far for there to be any trouble before she let go.

Rebecca collapsed into the car and started the engine, doing her best to hold onto her consciousness. Let me, he said inside of her head, and before she could say no, her eyes closed and she fell back into unconsciousness.

The car started, and drove in the direction of the hospital.

Miriam was running when she came to, unsure of where she was. She skidded a bit to a stop, looking around wildly. No witch. No ghost. She screamed, grabbing her head. “Out, out, out,” she snarled, not knowing where the fuck the ghost was, if it was even still inside her. She was breathing heavy, not because she needed to but because the impulse was still there, even in her long dead body. She was panicked, just a little. She’d never been possessed, had no idea how to get unpossessed. The idea of losing control was devastating, and she could barely handle it. It was until she calmed down that she realized that she was alone inside her head. Or she hoped. It didn’t feel any more crowded than usual. She looked at her hands, one of them still clutching the knife. Miriam calmed herself a bit, taking in the beauty of the blade. It was still covered in blood. This was good, then. She liked souvenirs. This one just came a little earlier than usual.